Page 3 of Love Letters from a Libra (BLP Signs of Love #13)

Libra Daily Horoscope – With Venus in your sign, you’re glowing without trying. Even if brief, expect magnetic encounters. Stay open, but remember not every spark needs to be a fire. Some people will remind you you’re still flammable.

I entered Honey and Sage with my notebook tucked under my arm. The afternoon crowd was in full swing as I scanned the room for an empty seat. Thursday afternoon shouldn’t have been this packed, but here we were.

“Hey, Zanaa!” The barista waved from behind the counter.

I smiled but kept it moving. I wasn’t here for small talk today.

Music played overhead, as some singer whined about lost love.

A perfect soundtrack for what I was here to do.

My followers expected their planetary movements, and I had deadlines to meet.

I weaved between the tables, dodging backpacks and legs, when I spotted the last empty table.

A corner table hidden by a potted fern. Perfect.

I made my move. Then I saw him, the guy from last week who knew my Venus was in Libra without me saying a damn word.

He moved toward the same table, his eyes locked on it like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

We reached the table at the same time. I dropped my notebook on it as he touched the back of the chair.

“I definitely saw the table first,” I said, gesturing to my notebook. I wasn’t backing down.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled. “Technically, I think we saw it at the same time, but I’ll concede.” I pursed my lips because I knew there would be a catch.

“You can have it, but only if you sit with me,” he said, smirking at me.

There it was, the catch. I tapped my fingers on the notebook.

I came here to work, not flirt, and these horoscopes weren’t going to write themselves.

My followers got antsy when I was late posting.

Plus, it was Thursday, and my grandmother would be waiting for her tea and gossip.

Still, something about him made me pause.

Maybe it was the tribal tattoos peeking out from his rolled shirt sleeve.

He didn’t push. He waited patiently for my answer.

“I came here to write, not entertain,” I replied, still tapping my notebook.

“Writing what?” he asked, yet he seemed genuinely interested, not like someone who was trying to extend a conversation.

“Horoscopes.” I watched for his reaction, but he just nodded.

“Oh, for your blog, Celestial Body, right?”

I arched my eyebrows. “You’ve read it?”

“Yeah, on Facepage.”

“No wonder you knew my sign the other day. Fine, but I’m still going to write,” I told him.

He smiled, pulling the chair out for me. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to entertain me, baby girl.”

He said that as if he were savoring it, making me tingle inside.

“And you are?” I asked.

“Jules.” He sat across from me.

“Just Jules?” I blinked.

“For now.” There was that smile again, the one that made me feel like we were sharing a secret I didn’t know yet.

I uncapped my pen and opened my notebook, trying to focus. Still, I was hyper-aware of him across the table, noticing how he signaled the barista without speaking, and the tilt of his head as he pretended to watch me write.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked when the barista arrived.

“Sure, a chamomile tea, please.”

“Make that two,” he told the barista before she walked away.

“You’re not working,” he observed after a few minutes.

I looked up. “Thinking is a part of the process.”

Jules lifted his eyebrows and nodded.

I capped my pen. “Look, if you’re going to distract me?—”

He raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes were smiling. That was when I realized I was enjoying this, the banter and unexpected company. Maybe I hadn’t come here to write after all. P e rhaps I craved his connection more than I cared to admit.

The barista dropped off the drinks.

“Thank you,” he told her.

I closed my notebook. “I’m clearly not getting any work done, so we might as well talk.”

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“So, what do you do when you’re not talking to strangers in coffee shops?” I asked.

His mouth quirked at the corner. “I fix things.”

I waited for the elaboration that didn’t come. “That’s vague. You fix what? Cars?”

He sipped his tea. “Systems. I work in cybersecurity.”

“You mean you’re a hacker?”

“I prefer a digital problem solver. Companies hire me to find their vulnerabilities before the bad guys do.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

I caught myself glancing at the tribal tattoo sleeve winding up his arm. It was intricate, not the typical design you saw everywhere. It was more specific, like it was telling a story. I looked up at his eyes that seemed darker, but maybe it was the light shifting from the window.

“What about you? Is your blog your only creative outlet?”

“At the moment, yeah. However, I would hardly call today creative. Mercury retrograde horoscopes are the worst to write. Everyone expects doom and gloom. Still, I try to find the silver linings in them.”

“And do you find the silver linings?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t get that far. I’ve been talking to you.”

“Do you regret it?” Jules asked.

I considered his question before answering. “No,” I admitted finally.

He smiled. “You seem like someone who rereads your old journals on your birthday. You probably light a candle, laugh, or shed a little tear. And you definitely smell books before buying them.”

I blinked. I did exactly that on my birthday last week. Sat on the floor with my tea, reading old journal entries like they were love letters from past versions of me.

“How did you . . .?” I didn’t finish my question.

Jules shrugged, his expression soft. “I guessed. You seem to be someone who appreciates the sensory experience of things.”

It was a sweet, reasonable answer. Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my purse in quick succession. The group chat was blowing up.

“Sorry,” I muttered, reaching for my phone.

Jules made a ‘go ahead’ gesture and sat back in his chair.

I glanced at the screen.

Toni:

Zanaa, are you at the cafe? We’re heading over.

Rell:

Please tell me you’re done working on those horoscopes.

Me:

Yes, at the cafe. With someone. Talk later.

The response was immediate.

Rell:

What!

Toni:

Is he fine??

Heat crept up my neck. I shoved the phone back inside my purse.

“Everything okay?” Jules asked.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, not pushing for details.

“Your Opal, is it a family heirloom?” he asked, nodding toward my hand.

I glanced down at my ring, which I’d unconsciously twisted. “Yeah, my grandmother’s. You pay attention to details, but it’s actually a moonstone.”

“It suits you.”

I smiled. “Let me guess. You think I’m moody and unpredictable?” I challenged, half-joking.

He shrugged and licked his full lips. “I’d say because, as an astrologer, you move with the seasons. You’re not afraid to shift, unlike most people who hate change. You pay attention to the in-between and allow yourself to feel things,” he replied.

“Not you reading me the way I do my customers.” I chuckled slightly. He made me feel exposed, not in an uncomfortable way but intimate.

He sipped his tea, eyes on mine.

“Do you allow yourself to feel?” I asked.

“I’m learning.”

His statement was heavy with implications. I wanted to ask what he meant by ‘I’m learning,’ but something in his posture suggested that I shouldn’t push.

Instead, I asked, “What made you share a table with me? You could’ve taken your tea to go.”

“I could have, but I wanted to talk to you,” Jules admitted.

“Why?” I asked, but it came out more direct than I intended.

“You’re interesting. You write about cosmic connection but look surprised when you actually experience it.” Jules’s gaze was unapologetic.

“Wow, so you’re going to use my words against me.” I laughed.

“You’re the astrologer. What did your stars say about a chance meeting?” His voice was playful but challenging.

I opened my mouth to give him my standard line about divine timing and synchronicity, but instead I said, “The stars don’t always tell the whole story.”

Jules smiled and glanced at his watch. “I should get going. I have an appointment.”

“Hot date?” The words slipped out, teasing, but I was nosy.

He looked amused. “Not quite. A work commitment.”

“Ah, yes, you have things to fix,” I joked.

“Yeah, something like that.” Jules pulled a receipt out of his pocket and reached for my pen.

I watched him write his number and slide the paper across the table. “Just in case.”

I stared at the receipt. “In case of what? A digital emergency?”

“In case you want to continue this conversation, no pressure.”

I picked up the receipt and tucked it inside my notebook. “I’ll think about it,” I replied, noncommittal.

He stood, and his scent drifted my way. Sandalwood.

“See you soon. You’ll want to.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a statement of fact, delivered with such confidence I didn’t think to be offended by his presumption.

Then he was gone, and I realized I’d been holding my breath.

“Well, damn,” I muttered. What made him so sure I’d want to see him again, and why didn’t the thought of proving him wrong feel like a missed opportunity?

Later that night, I scrolled through my Facepage comments on my latest post about the upcoming new moon. My followers were deep in their feelings tonight, asking about divine timing and soulmates, which hit a little too close to home after today’s encounter.

@celestialbody, do you think some connections are predetermined? I stared at the question. Usually, I’d have an answer ready, but tonight, all I could think about was Jules.

I closed the app and reached for my journal, pulling out his phone number like some lovesick teenager. I placed the receipt back inside my journal and closed it. Not a no, but a not yet.

I pulled my knees to my chest. There was nothing supernatural about Jules. He was just a man, perceptive with unusual eyes. Still, there was nothing normal about him either. Normal men didn’t notice moonstone rings.

My phone pinged with a text from Toni.

Toni:

So?? Are you going to tell us about the mysterious man or what?

I smiled.

Me:

Nothing to tell, we shared a table.

The response was immediate.

Toni:

Bullshit. I want details tomorrow!

I set my phone down without responding. “See you soon. You’ll want to,” he said.

The annoying thing was, he was right. I did.