“Is interesting good?” Matthew asked. “Or is it astrologer code for ‘oh honey, you’re a mess’?”
“It’s good,” I assured him. “Matthew, you are a Sagittarius Sun, Libra Moon, Virgo Rising.”
He considered that. “So, I’m a cosmic mess?”
I laughed. “Not quite. Sagittarius Sun means you are a seeker. Truth, knowledge, experiences—you’re not meant to sit still and accept what you’re told. You’re built to explore, to teach, to tell stories about what you’ve seen. That’s the professor in you. The guy who takes off on sabbatical to dig in the dirt and call it fun.”
“Guilty,” he said. “And the moon?”
“Libra Moon is your heart,” I said. “You crave connection. Partnership. Balance. You feel best when you’re in harmonious relationships. You’re the friend who remembers everyone’s birthday and texts people back in actual paragraphs.”
“I feel attacked.” He put a hand to his chest, faking outrage.
“Virgo Rising,” I went on, “means the way you move through the world is practical, observant, maybe just a touch perfectionistic. People see you as put-together, reliable, kind of quietly competent. You notice the little things.”
He smiled, but his fingers twitched slightly on the mug. “So far so good. And what about…now?”
I glanced at him. “Meaning, what the hell you’re meant to do with your life choices?”
“Yes, that.”
I studied the chart again, moving to his transits.
“Okay,” I murmured, watching the outer planets line up. “We’ve got Saturn having just marched its heavy boots through your sixth and seventh houses these last couple of years—work, health, relationships. I’d wager work has felt like a grind and your love life…” I quirked a brow. “I mean, that doesn’t sound like it went all that well.”
He winced. “That it did not.”
“Pluto,” I went on, “is finishing up tearing through your fifth house of joy and romance. Which would explain why what used to light you up stopped working the way it did. And why love felt … intense. Transformative. Maybe a bit obsessive at times.”
He made a face. “I hate how called out I feel.”
“That’s Pluto’s whole brand.” I glanced at the current positions. “But here’s the big thing. See here?” I pointed to the little glyph for the lunar North Node, inching its way across his fourth house. “This is your North Node transit through your house of home, roots, and belonging. When this happens, life tends to shove you toward a new sense of home. Often literally.”
He sucked in a breath. “As in… Scotland literally?”
I shrugged, a smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not like the chart draws a wee picture of a loch and a castle. But … aye. It suggests a shift of base. Moving closer to chosen family. Building a new foundation.”
“And here I am,” he said quietly, glancing around the library. “In a castle in the Highlands, wondering if I could live here.”
“Exactly,” I said. I watched his face carefully. “What are you feeling, underneath the jokes?”
He took a long breath, staring into the fire for a moment. Sir Buster had fallen asleep and looked the most at peace I’d ever seen him.
“Lost,” he admitted. “When I left California, I told myself it was temporary. A sabbatical from the sabbatical. I’d write and drink too much tea and try to get Sophie to buy some new clothes. But every day I wake up here and it feels … right. More ‘home’ than home has felt in a long time.”
I nodded, letting him talk.
“I love my work,” he went on. “Teaching, researching, all of it. But the politics at the university, the pressure to publish, the constant hustle… it’s been wearing on me for years.” His mouth twisted. “It’s not just my ex. It’s the accumulation of everything. My life there feels brittle. This”—he gestured around the room—“feels like possibility.”
The threads. I could feel them humming already, just beneath the surface of reality, like a kettle about to boil.
“And you want to know if you’re being impulsive,” I said softly. “Or if you’re meant to stay. Or go.”
“Yes.” His eyes met mine, vulnerable behind his glasses. “I don’t want to blow up my life on a whim. But I also don’t want to cling to something that’s already dead because I’m afraid of change.”
I took a breath, steadying myself. “Okay. Then let’s ask the chart.”
I clicked to overlay the current transits on his natal chart. The wheel realigned, symbols shifting, and?—