Page 22 of Love Letters from a Libra (BLP Signs of Love #13)

Libra Daily Horoscope – A quiet shift brings you alignment you didn’t have to earn, only receive. Love looks softer now. Let that be your peace offering to yourself.

Today marked one year of podcasting Between the Signs, and somehow this particular episode had my stomach doing somersaults.

Maybe it was the guest sitting in my kitchen, humming softly while he poured water for the tea, or maybe it was the fact that inviting Jules onto my show meant finally merging my public and private world in a way that I’d both been craving and dreading.

“You’re overthinking it, Z,” I muttered to myself, adjusting the mic stand for the third time. We moved here together into a bigger home six months ago. It was a leap of faith, more space.

I rechecked the sound levels. I twisted my moonstone ring, a physical reminder of my grandmother’s voice. “Trust yourself before you trust the stars, baby girl.”

My foot bounced against the floor, a nervous habit.

The podcast had grown faster than I ever expected.

What started as recorded versions of my blog post evolved into a platform with actual sponsors and listeners who messaged me about my cosmic insights.

How they changed their perspectives or gave them courage to leave trash ass boyfriends, but this episode was different. More personal.

It had been exactly one year since Jules and I sat in Franklin Park near the conservatory, watching the stars, one year since he chose to stay instead of retreating, one year of building something that felt both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

“Your mic is crooked.” Jules’s voice came from behind me, startling me out of my thoughts. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, holding a red mug that read, ‘I prefer the moon,’ a gift he had received for Christmas the previous year, a nod to the nickname that stuck.

His locs had grown longer and were now pulled back in a way that highlighted his cheekbones. His glasses, a recent addition after too many late-night coding sessions, rested low on his nose, giving him that intellectual sex appeal that still made my stomach flip even after all this time.

“It’s intentionally crooked. An aesthetic choice,” I lied, reaching to straighten it.

“Mm-hmm. And your heart rate is elevated for aesthetic reasons too, right?” He smiled and set his mug down on the coaster. Always a coaster with this man. Jules sank onto the couch beside me, close enough that I could smell the sandalwood soap he used.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me. I have a show to run,” I warned jokingly.

“You got this. Though I still don’t understand why you want me on your show, I’m literally going to give them the most analytical version of astrology.”

I laughed. That was the thing about Jules. He didn’t need flowery reassurances or cosmic signs. His certainty came from a source that was grounded and more persistent.

I tucked a curl behind my ear, buying time before I answered.

How did I explain that his perspective, logical, and methodical approach had become essential in my worldview, like any planetary transit?

That his presence in my life shifted how I understood compatibility in ways my audience deserved to hear.

“That’s exactly why my listeners hear plenty about cosmic signs and destiny. They could use some reality to balance the stardust. Plus, they’ve been asking about you ever since I mentioned my Moon Man on that meditation episode.”

Jules shook his head but looked pleased. “Moon Man . . . You ruined my reputation as a serious cybersecurity expert.”

“Please, your sister started calling you that too, so don’t act like it’s just me. Besides, your clients love that you have a secret life as an astrologist’s boyfriend, which makes you seem well-rounded.”

I punched the record button on the laptop to test the levels, watching the sound waves on the screen.

“Is that what I am, your boyfriend?” he teased.

There was something in his eyes that made my heart skip.

We hadn’t put labels on what we were. We hadn’t needed to in the safety of our world, but now, with the podcast, my followers, and this public declaration of us as a thing, the question hung between us.

“For public consumption, let’s go with ‘partner in cosmic crime.’ Less high school, more accurately descriptive,” I suggested half-jokingly.

“Works for me.” Jules was lying back against the couch cushions, relaxed in a way I was still getting used to.

Early Jules was always slightly alert, ready to run at the first sign of emotional intensity.

This version, lounging in my space, comfortable with my audience, potentially analyzing every word, was evidence of how far we had come.

I hit record on the actual podcast, sat up, cleared my throat, and put on my ‘radio voice’ as Jules called it. “Testing, testing, this is Zanaa Scales recording the one-year anniversary episode of ‘Between the Signs’ on . . . May fifteenth.”

“And Jules Smoke, reluctant guest and provider of skeptical counterpoints,” he added, leaning in toward the mic with unexpected ease.

I laughed and swatted at his arm. “Not yet.”

I stopped the recording, satisfied with the levels, and took a deep breath. In ten minutes, we’d go live. My audience knew to tune in exactly at two p.m., and the thought of their expecting ears made my pulse quicken again.

“Are you sure you want to do this? My followers can be intense. They’ll analyze everything about us, including your tone and body language. They’ll probably try to calculate our compatibility based on how many times we laughed at each other’s jokes,” I pointed out.

Jules reached for my hand with that same certainty I remembered a year ago, under the stars.

“I showed up to Sunday dinner with your aunt Camille, and I can handle your podcast listeners.”

I laughed out loud as I remembered that terrifying brunch. “Fair point.”

I adjusted my position again, sitting cross-legged on the floor cushion I used for recording.

“Okay, today’s guest is . . .” I paused, practicing my introduction while bouncing my foot slightly against the floor. “Today’s guest is Jules. Yes, that . . . Jules.” I glanced at him, his eyes already on me, warm with something that made my chest tight in the best way.

Two minutes to go. I twisted my moonstone ring, centering myself the way I’d done a thousand times before readings or podcast recordings.

This was just another episode. Another conversation about connections and human compatibility.

Except it wasn’t. It was us exposing our private journey for public consumption.

Offering a story as evidence that sometimes the stars didn’t write the path, but two people who chose to walk it together, step by deliberate step.

“Ready?” Jules asked.

I nodded and hit record. “Welcome to the one-year anniversary of ‘Between the Signs,’ where we explore the cosmic and ordinary everyday life. I’m your host, Zanaa Scales, and today’s episode is about cosmic compatibility in real life.

What happens when the stars suggest the connection, but daily reality has to maintain it?

For this special episode, I’ve invited someone who knows a thing or two about testing compatibility.

Today’s guest is Jules, yes . . . that Jules, the one I’ve referenced as Moon Man for the past year. ”

Jules leaned toward the mic with an expected ease. His deep voice still made my stomach flutter. “Thanks for having me though. I should clarify that Moon Man is not my chosen nickname. That was all her.” He laughed.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it. For those who don’t know, Jules and I have been together for exactly one year as of last week, and he agreed to help me explore what cosmic compatibility looks like when you’re arguing about whose turn it is to wash dishes.” I laughed.

“Or whose plants are taking over the other person’s workspace,” Jules added with a smile.

“The plants go where they want. I don’t control them. So let’s start at the beginning so my listeners know how we met.” I tried not to smile too widely.

Jules looked at me. “We met at a coffee shop. She thought I was either her soulmate or a serial killer. But our first date was at a botanical garden.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide my smile. “In my defense, you were unnervingly observant. You knew my birth chart before I even told you my name.”

“I read your blog, did my research.” He chuckled, admitting something our listeners didn’t know.

“Stalker,” I teased the word, carrying no weight between us now, though once, it might’ve been a genuine concern.

“Here we go,” Jules joked.

“Yes. He recited my natal chart like poetry and somehow convinced me to go on a date despite my better judgment.”

“Your judgment was excellent. Your rising sign in Capricorn equals a practical vibe. It’s literally in your stars,” he countered.

The ease with which he referenced astrology still caught me off guard sometimes.

“Let me tell them what happened on our first date at the botanical gardens,” Jules continued, reaching to tuck a curl behind my ear. Jules’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “She read the plants their horoscopes.”

“They were clearly stressed.” I defended myself, laughing.

“Nah, we’re joking.” Jules chuckled.

“Was that why the gardener asked us to leave?”

We laughed together. I noticed how we leaned in toward each other, unconsciously our bodies creating a small, intimate circle around the microphone. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, my favorite detail about his face. It told me his joy was genuine.

“So here’s a question. My listeners have been dying to know, who’s more emotional between us? Because I think we surprise people,” I asked, shifting to a topic we debated privately many times. “Definitely him,” I claimed before Jules could answer, pointing at him with an exaggerated confidence.

“I won’t even argue. I cry at commercials. The one with that old man who learned English to read his granddaughter’s medical textbook destroyed me,” he admitted, adjusting his glasses.

“Meanwhile, I’m the one analyzing the market psychology behind using elderly people to manipulate viewers and emotions. He’s the feeler, I’m the thinker—complete reversal of what people assume,” I added.

“You have feelings. You process them with a different framework first,” Jules corrected.

His observation hit me, revealing how deeply he saw me. “Let’s talk about our Sunday tradition. We’ve spent every Sunday together for the past six months. No missed weeks, not big vacations, just our regular routine,” I noted.

“It started as breakfast, then somehow expanded to include coffee runs, the farmer’s market, or folding laundry. It became our sacred time. Protected time,” Jules added.

“Yeah, we’re both very busy people, and it became our compromise to hold space for each other. I have to admit I used to think love had to feel like a constant revelation, when in reality, it’s two people deciding to stay when they don’t have to.

“Don’t get me wrong. I still believe the cosmos creates opportunities and alignments, but we’re the ones who decide what to do with them.” I looked at my watch.

“Wow, they have a lot of questions.” Jules chuckled, adjusting his glasses.

“I want to thank you all for tuning in, and from the looks of it, I’ll have to invite my Moon Man back for more. This is Zanaa Scales, signing off.”

I reached forward, clicked the stop button, and watched the screen go dark.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked, standing to stretch my legs.

“Not at all.” Jules closed the laptop and stood, pulling me into his arms.

“I think you were amazing. Thank you. I know it’s not your thing.”

“Whatever. I’m practically an influencer in these streets.” Jules smirked.

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how that influence carries in the bedroom.” I licked my lips.

“Bet.” Jules lifted me, and I straddled him as he found my thighs, bracing me against his body.

That was when I realized I wasn’t scared of falling. I had already jumped.

THE END

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