Page 7 of Flirty Fall Fling

“Great. I’ll take a cup reading,” I say, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. “Can I add a love spell?” I ask.

“You’ll have to come back for that. Only one service can be done at a time.”

I move to the register.

“One hundred fifty dollars for a basic cup reading and five hundred for in-depth,” she says.

“Wow. That’s … theft.”

“I guarantee my work, Mr. …”

“Call me Jamie,” I say, holding out my hand. She doesn’t take it.

“Would you like to think about it and come back later?” she asks.

“No,” I tell her. “I’ll take the premium one.”

She presses a few buttons, and then I tap my card on the machine.

“You’re tense. I’d like you to drink something before we start.”

Two minutes later, she hands me a cup of tea that smells like flowers.

“Drink,” she says.

“Should I trust you?” I tilt my head, the steam rising from the cup.

“What does your intuition say?”

Yes.

I take several sips, following her past the counter and under a doorway that’s covered with wooden beads. The area grows more intimate when she lights candles around the room. She points me to the seat across from hers, and I sit without question.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” she says, meeting my eyes.

“You have no idea,” I say.

3

BLAIRE

Isit in Flora’s chair. This room smells like vanilla with a hint of the cigarettes she’d sneak after hours once the shop closed. For forty-five years, she led countless people to this table to read for them. I spent many weekends right here, watching her flip cups onto saucers. She brewed the thick Turkish coffee and read the inside of the cup as if the message were written in cursive. That was always my favorite.

My vision blurs as the memory takes over.

“You use intuition,” she’d say. “That tingle deep inside your body. That’s magic. What do you see and feel when you look inside? Tell me.”

Now I’m sitting here, looking into blue-green eyes. It’s a color that’s hard to place. The man stares back at me as he finishes the rest of the lavender tea. He politely sets his mug to the side.

“Shall I call you Jamie?” I say in the low light.

“Yes,” he says.

His posture straightens, and he places his large hands on the table. I light the long candlesticks between us, allowing the flames to flicker. Our shadows dance against the wall, and the space grows more intimate.

“What are you hoping to get from this reading?”

“Insight,” he answers.