I couldn't sleep.

I was restless and anxious, and the lingering intoxication made everything worse.

The sun rose the next morning too soon, and noontime arrived too quickly.

And I was without a jacket. And my wallet.

Reality hit me like a ton of bricks once I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. The beautiful man I had all but thrown myself upon just happened to have a tattoo of the exact same card that was making my life a living hell.

The poor bastard didn't even get the meaning correct.

It means you better find who's supposed to break your heart and figure out how to break theirs first.

Well, there would be no hearts breaking now. My dramatic exit last night made sure of that.

As I walked towards the store, I wondered how much I would need to bribe Nick to retrieve it for me before Mac left the city. My unsuspecting victim was already waiting for me at the front counter as I entered Clear Portals, and his expectant look turned to one of genuine curiosity as I approached.

"You left your coat," he observed.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. And I need you to get it back."

"No need." He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. "He's brought it back."

I whipped my head up, following his gaze to the back of the store towards my corner. Just through the separation of the panels, I could see a broad shoulder, a curl of red hair...

"You let him in here?" I snapped, trying my best to keep my voice low.

"Of course I did. Was there a reason why I shouldn't have?"

"What if he was a serial killer?"

Nick raised a brow. "You seemed to make it out okay."

I gritted my teeth. "Why didn't you just take the jacket and send him on his way?"

"He made an appointment."

I blinked. "What?"

Nick pulled over the clipboard where clients signed in when they arrived. With a black-polished finger, he pointed to the first line.

Mackenzie Stewart.

"How long has he been here?" I murmured, keeping my eyes on the paper, reading the name over and over again.

"Since ten."

"And you didn't tell him I was coming in late?"

"Of course I did. He insisted on waiting."

"Shit," I whispered, looking once again to my cherry blossom-paneled corner.

"Siobhan, what's wrong?" Nick pressed.

But I didn't answer. I merely shook my head as I gathered my pride and moved back to my table.

He must have heard me coming because he turned in his chair, looking at me with those perfect eyes above those perfect cheekbones framed by that perfectly soft hair...

"Mr. Stewart," I said by way of greeting, sitting in my seat directly across from him.

He watched me, turning to face me once I was seated. "Ms. Brady."

I glanced up at him at that. "I never told you my last name."

"And I never told you mine, yet it seems we have our ways of finding information, don't we?"

Letting out a sigh, I dropped my bag on the floor by my feet. "Should I even ask how you discovered where I worked, or should I just assume you went through my wallet?"

He gave a casual shrug as he handed me my jacket over the table. I quickly grabbed it from him, checking the pockets to ensure my wallet was there and intact. Pulling it out for further inspection, it appeared as though someone had, indeed, rifled through it, but otherwise, everything was where it needed to be.

"Thank you," I said simply, finally meeting his gaze after I tossed my wallet into my bag. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should begin my day."

"I'm here for a reading."

I huffed out a sardonic chuckle. "Very funny."

He wasn't laughing as he held my gaze.

I swallowed, my eyes drifting to his chest as if I could see his tattoo through his dress shirt. "Something tells me you're versed well enough in the cards. You don't need me to read them for you."

"Please?" he asked. "After last night-"

"I don't want to talk about last night."

"So, don't." He leaned in closer, his arms folded on the cloth-covered table. "Just give me a reading, and I'll leave you be."

I watched him for a moment, assessing him as much as he seemed to be assessing me. The atmosphere of Clear Portals was much more intimate than the thrumming scene in Ned Devine's. Where before we were trying to keep our personal space while surrounded by sweating bodies and a pounding bass line, here there was just a table between us with the smell of incense and the recorded sounds of a pan flute playing over a bubbling brook. Here there was no alcohol to dull the senses. Here I was in my element, across from the one man who could potentially be both my answer and my undoing.

"Please," he asked again. And there was a vulnerability beneath that warm Scottish accent that had been absent during our previous conversations.

I looked down at my clothed table, picturing my deck in its box, remembering the last time I used it and the results I received without asking for them.

No, he would not get anywhere near that deck.

"Fine," I said, pulling the black cloth that covered my table away. I moved the box, stone, and burner aside, ignoring them for the moment. I reached down into the bag at my feet and pulled from it the black satin bag that held my grandmother's Rider-Waite deck.

I wasn't screwing around this time.

"Shuffle the deck between your hands," I instructed as I removed the deck from its bag and placed it face-down on the table between us. "Stop when you feel you should stop."

"Alright," he said quietly, taking the deck between his strong hands. I tried my best not to think about those hands or how they'd felt on my skin.

Forcing myself to take in a deep breath through my nose, I willed myself to focus on the present.

Finish the reading. Send him on his way. Never see him again.

"There," he announced, pulling me from my reverie.

"Cut it," I requested, motioning to the deck between us.

I watched him as he took the top portion and placed it on the table, covering it with the second part of the deck before returning his gaze to meet mine.

I was going to drown in those eyes.

Clearing my throat, I placed my hand on the deck and fanned it across the table. "Do you have a question in mind?"

"Do I have to ask it out loud?"

"No," I answered, a small smile threatening to curl my lips. "Just concentrate on it while you choose ten cards, face-down."

Mac was very good at following directions.

I took his selected cards and laid them in the Celtic Cross formation; two cards crossed one another in the center, four cards surrounded them in the cardinal directions, and then I laid out a vertical line of the remaining four cards on the right-hand side to complete the reading.

"I'll read these from my position," I said as casually as I could while I put them face-down. "And I don't acknowledge inverse meanings."

"Clearly," he muttered.

I cast him a cold glare before returning my attention to the cards. "Ready?"

"Very much."

I ignored the purr in his velvet tone as I flipped over the bottom card of the center cross.

The Knight of Wands.

"This is your central issue. You have a passionate way with things, but there's something uncertain that's troubling you."

"It's almost as if you can read my mind." He smirked.

"Shh," I hissed, flipping over the second middle card.

Seven of Swords.

"You're wrapped up in too many things, and it's hindering your progress. You think you're in control of a situation, but instead, you're walking into a trap."

My gaze flicked up, but his concentration was solely on the cards.

I flipped over the card at the bottom of the formation, the one closest to me.

Seven of Cups.

"You have a history of focusing on too many details at once, and by not choosing what you need to, your past is hindering your present."

Again I gave him a glance, but again his attention was still on the cards, only this time, he frowned.

Continuing, I flipped over the card on the left.

The Moon.

"There are things in your past that remain in the shadows."

"Sometimes that's where the past belongs."

I swallowed as I tried my best to ignore his commentary, turning over the card at the top of the cross.

"These are the possibilities that lie above you or that which influences you without you realizing it."

Justice.

I worried at the inside of my mouth. "You are in control of your choices. You're able to leap out of the rubble and remain unscathed. But in order to do that you must maintain your focus, but you need to be careful so you don't trip up."

I didn't bother looking to him as I flipped over the cross' right-hand card.

Nine of Swords.

I furrowed my brows and inspected the card's position with a cock of my head.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"This is what lies in your future," I said with my attention focused on the cards between us.

"Why do you seem so concerned?"

"You're stressed."

"Blatantly."

I smirked, but I needed more. With my gaze remaining on the spread, I reached over and picked up the remaining deck.

"What are you doing?" I swore I heard worry in his tone.

"Sometimes things need clarifying."

I pulled the card from the top of the deck and placed it face-up so we both could see it.

The High Priestess.

I snorted.

"Now what?"

I looked up to him. "Everything is going to hell."

He blinked. "Has anyone ever commented on your bedside manner?"

"If we were actually in bed, I'd care more."

He went to reply, but I raised a hand to cut him off.

"Do you want me to continue with the reading or not?"

Again, he went to reply, seemed to think better of it, and sighed instead. "By all means."

Read. Dismiss. Forget.

Only four more cards to go.

Taking in a deep, clarifying breath, I focused solely on the last row of cards. Willing my hand to stay steady through the mixture of hungover exhaustion and caffeine withdrawal, I flipped over the bottom card.

Eight of Pentacles.

"You're very good at what you do."

"Why, thank you."

"You've accomplished many things-"

"Again, my thanks-"

"Because you throw yourself into your work."

When there was no quippy remark, I looked up. His face was drawn, lips thin and eyes dull.

Now it was my turn to want to ask more, to make sure he was okay. I cursed myself for caring too much.

There are only three more cards, Siobhan. And then he's gone.

I flipped over the next card without pretense.

Seven of Wands.

"You live in a world of downhill battles, forcing yourself to face a lot of issues all at once, pushing people away while you do so."

He shifted in his chair, the first time he'd moved since we began. His shoulders tensed, and his hands gripped the edge of the table. I didn't need my intuition to tell me something raised his guard.

I turned the next card over, not only to keep the session moving forward, but also for my personal curiosity.

"Hopes and Fears," I said softly.

Two of Cups.

Of course it was.

"You have a fear of commitment," I said, clearing my throat. "You're afraid of sharing yourself with others."

"Is there something else you want to know?" he asked hoarsely, watching me.

My cheeks flushed, but I continued. " Even though it may make you vulnerable, sometimes, you still need an emotional connection..."

"Siobhan," he said softly. "Please."

"There's only one more card," I reminded him.

"Will you at least let me explain?"

I hesitated. What could Mac possibly tell me that I didn't already know?

A lot.

"Once we're done."

He looked relieved as I reached for the final card, the one that represented the outcome of his reading.

I told myself that once this was over, I'd forget about Mac. Mackenzie Stewart. Whatever the hell his name was.

But now that we were at the final card, I wasn't so certain.

What could one final conversation hurt?

I flipped the card.