Page 30 of The Sun and the Moon

Cadence

There was a random couple celebrating their twentieth anniversary on the shuttle back, plus a chatty driver, who homed in immediately on the fact that he could engage Sydney in conversation.

My resting bitch face made me exempt. But that also made it difficult to talk to Sydney about my conversation with Lola.

However, it did give me plenty of time to spin out over the way Sydney smelled (warm and bright and earthy) and the way her knee was bumping mine with the movement of the vehicle.

It gave me plenty of time to fixate on the fact that the whole purpose of my being here was to thwart Moira’s nefarious plans, and now I’m worried her plans may not be as malicious as I want them to be.

Okay, so it’s not that I want her to be a conniving con woman out to swindle Sydney’s dad.

Especially not when Rick looks at her as if she’s hung the moon.

It would be tragic to see him hurt by her, to be proved right that she can’t be trusted with another person’s heart.

But a reality in which Moira is in love with another person and not just in love with the use of them for her purposes is one I don’t know how to live in.

Wild things like us aren’t made for easy love.

Another Moira-ism. Even after she predicted my soulmate would appear on the doorstep of Kismet all because of her, she didn’t let me forget that just because a person is your destiny doesn’t mean that being with them will be easy.

A common misconception is that soulmates are guaranteed a happily ever after like we see in the movies.

The kind of connection a soulmate brings isn’t always the kind that settles down beside you for a long-haul life together.

Moira never believed she had one, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to preserve her comfort with a kind man’s help. Maybe that’s all this is. Not a con, per se, but a solution to her own fears about the future. A funny idea for a woman who claims to know all through the spirit.

The shuttle ride was just long enough to let these feelings fly to the surface but not long enough for me to get centered, grounded enough to know how I feel about this potentially new spin on our breakup scheme.

“My brain is on fire,” Sydney says as the shuttle pulls away and the random married couple trips off in what I assume is the direction of their hotel room.

She looks stressed and distracted, something I can very much relate to.

“I feel like I need a shower just to wash the flames away so I can think straight.” She cocks a hip. “Also, the grease. I feel grody.”

I laugh at the word. She looks heavenly to me, but I don’t say that.

Not with my lips anyway. My eyes take a trip over her, looking for anything at all that could be considered grody .

The idea of being in the same hotel room as Sydney while she takes a shower is going to undoubtedly cause me to enter another spiral.

“If you want to go back to the room to get some space,” I say, because I can’t bring myself to comment on the whole concept of her naked and wet in a shower in the room we’re sharing, “I don’t mind making myself scarce.

” I pause, trying to get a read on her. Her eyes aren’t settled on mine.

Is she nervous? Now that we’re back here, is she remembering our no-strings kiss and regretting it?

“The hotel has a good bar—I can go hang out there for a while.”

She inhales, scrubbing her fingertips in her hair, which makes the smooth strands stand on end from the friction. “Yeah,” she says, gripping a section of her hair and twisting. Her eyes drift to mine and hold. The force quakes through me. “If that’s what you want.”

What I want is to slip my tongue in her mouth.

To twist my hands in her hair and tug just enough that it exposes the soft, supple skin on her neck.

But what I don’t want is to give in and regret it. To play with this fire and get burned.

By her or by Moira when she finds out.

She may not know about how Sydney and I met, but that doesn’t change the circumstances. We can say there are no strings, but who are we to tempt fate? The more we give in to these wants, the harder it will be to untangle.

“I’m a little thirsty,” I manage to say without choking.

Her lips tug against a smirk. Heat floods my cheeks, chest, ears; it blossoms between my legs, and I have to get away.

“Enjoy your shower.” I spin away, walking through the double doors that lead into the lobby before she can say or do anything else.

Jesus Christ. Get a handle on it.

The hotel lobby is buzzing with people checking in, some of whom I recognize as friends and clients of Moira’s, which means, fuck, I wish I had a hat—

“Cadence Connelly!” a woman wearing a sun hat and a linen ensemble calls from the chair near the fire.

I cannot duck out fast enough to escape—she’s already walking this way.

I stall in place, and for some reason I smile, forced and tight, and then I lift my hand to wave. Her face splits into a pleased grin.

I hate that even though I’ve been out of Moira’s life for years, I still feel a pang of responsibility to play the part of dutiful daughter with her friends.

This woman, Adria Sloane, has been coming to Moira for weekly readings ever since her first husband passed when she was in her forties. Her LA-ageless face makes that seem like less time than it actually is.

She tugs me into an uninvited hug and smacks air-kisses to either cheek.

“How long has it been?” Adria asks me when she pulls back from our greeting.

I wish I could say that I don’t know, but I have a distinct memory of the last time I saw her.

It was during a neighborhood yard sale to raise funds for the animal shelter, and Adria bought my record player, that I was selling in an act of rebellion.

Moira wanted me to leave it behind when I left for college. I wanted to do anything else.

“Since the year I left for college,” I reply, already trying to edge my body out of her grip.

“Can’t be!” she exclaims. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated?” Her mouth hangs open in disbelief.

“It’s true.” I nod, reassuring her.

“How is that possible?” She smacks a hand to her hip in another show of shock.

“I haven’t been back…” I fight the urge to soften the statement by adding much to the end. It wouldn’t be true, but it would lessen the likelihood of more follow-up questions.

“Not at all?” Her face falls. Fuck, this is going to backfire. Lie it is.

“Much—I haven’t been back much.” I shrug, trying to look and sound as casual as possible. My soul dies a little with every second I spend in this ever-growing facade. “Busy, and work took me far away.”

“Ooooh, anything exciting?” If I say no, will she let me leave?

“Unfortunately, nothing too glamorous. I’m a park ranger at Acadia—”

She swats me. “Get out!” Gladly.

“Yeah, anyway—”

“I love Bar Harbor in spring.” Her face goes immediately wistful. I cannot let her get onto a new topic, even if it is one I am normally interested in.

“Oh, me, too,” I say, looking over her shoulder where I can see through the large double doors into the bar.

Sitting at a lounge table are a blonde and brunette who look about my age.

Jackpot. They will provide the perfect cover for my escape.

“I was just meeting some old friends at the bar, Adria.” I nod in the direction of the couple and she follows my gaze.

“Oh, of course, go, get caught up!” Every sentence is either exclamatory or questioning, with almost no in-between. “I should really freshen up, shouldn’t I?”

I smile, tight again, though thankfully she doesn’t notice. She lets me scoot past in the direction of the couple who are not, in fact, people I know at all. But since I can still feel her watching me, I have to do the unthinkable.

I drop down into the spare seat at their table.

“I am so sorry,” I say in a low voice when they both look over at me. “I told the woman back there in the sun hat that I know you two.”

The blonde, who is sitting across from me with a good view of the lobby through the doors, cuts her eyes over my shoulder. Her mouth twitches.

“She’s still watching,” she says, leaning over so her lips aren’t visible to Adria. “I’m Kit, this is Julia. Let’s get you a drink so she isn’t suspicious.” She has bright green eyes that remind me of fresh spring grass. It’s only when I look down at her that I realize.

She’s holding a deck of tarot cards in her hands.

“You brought tarot cards to a bar?” I ask, and Julia snorts. I cut my eyes over to her. She has a completely different vibe. Serious aqua eyes and a strong, straight posture. Her hair is shoulder-length, with a fade shaved on one side showing off a row of silver in her ear.

“She’s a tarot reader,” Julia says. “She always has a deck.”

Panic snakes its way through me. These two can’t be here by coincidence. Not on the same weekend that Moira is holding her engagement party.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Kit says. She holds the deck in one hand, raising her other and smiling. In seconds, a waiter is at the table asking for my order, and I mumble out something about a gin and tonic, to which the blonde says, “Do you want lime with that?” And I think I nod.

“Please tell me you’re here on vacation or something?”

Julia twerks her brow. “You tell us why you’re being weird.”

“My mom is a tarot reader,” I say, because psychic is not a word you just throw out midday in a bar. Kit jolts, a smile making her pretty face glow.

“Madame Moira?” she asks, and her hands do what looks like a robotic shuffle of the deck.

A habit, maybe, but that’s when I notice the delicate amethyst ring on her all-important left finger.

My eyes trip to Julia. She’s wearing a sapphire ring on the same finger.

It’s similar, though the band is thicker, weightier.

“You two are a couple,” I say, sidestepping her question with my observation.