I laughed weakly. “A good feeling, then.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked at me, eyes shining. “So? What now, oh Weaver of Charts?”
“Now,” I said, forcing myself back into practical mode, “we talk about timing. Saturn’s moving into your ninth in a way that supports serious study and long-term relocation. Over the next year, you’ll have windows—points where starting the paperwork, having certain conversations, will flow more easily. I’ll give you dates. But the headline is that you need to take your time with this choice. Don’t rush it. You are meant to be deliberate.”
We spent the next half hour going over details. I flagged a few months where opportunities were likely—unexpected offers, potential job opportunities and so on. I pointed out when Jupiter would exactly trine his natal Sun—prime time for saying yes to something big. We talked about practicalities of subletting his apartment, what it would look like to go part-time at the university before maybe cutting ties altogether.
Some of it was silly—arguing about which Scottish knitwear brand would become his new personality—and some of it was far more serious.
At one point, he went quiet.
“What if I move here and … nothing magickal happens? What if I’m just sad in a different time zone?”
I reached across the table and took his hand. “Then you’ll be sad with us,” I said simply. “We’ll feed you carbs and drag you to the pub and make you watch terrible Christmas films and help you write your book. Nothing in life is a guarantee. But at least here…you won’t be alone.”
His eyes filled. “Damn it. I’m surprised I’m this emotional. You’re very annoying, you know.”
“I know,” I said gently.
He squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”
We finished with a couple of tarot cards—The Fool, naturally, for the leap, and the Six of Cups for the sweetness of returning to something that feels like home even if it’s new. Last, he pulled the Ten of Pentacles showing a family, chosen and built, over time.
Matthew stared at them, then nodded once, decisively. “All right,” he said. “I’m doing it.”
My heart leapt. “You are?”
“I am,” he said. “I’ll start working on the logistics. And I’ll talk to Sophie and Lachlan about timing and whether they’re prepared to put up with me long-term.”
I snorted. “They’ll be ecstatic.”
He stood up abruptly, came around the table, and hauled me into a hug that nearly cracked my ribs.
“Thank you,” he whispered into my hair. “For this. For helping me to see what I needed to see and have clearly been avoiding.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I could understand that sentiment. “Anytime,” I said. “That’s what I’m here for, apparently. Seeing threads, I guess. And nudging the brave ones.”
He let me go, sniffed loudly, and reached for his mug like nothing had happened. Sir Buster got up, shook himself, and came over to bump his head against my shin in what I chose to interpret as grudging approval.
“See?” I told the dog. “He’s staying. You get another human to boss around.”
Sir Buster grunted, clearly satisfied.
As I packed up my things, Matthew flopped back into his armchair, staring at the ceiling with a dazed smile.
“I’m going to live in Scotland,” he said, as if testing the words. “I’m going to live in Scotland and fall in love again and probably adopt a dog and develop an addiction to oatcakes.”
“Correct,” I said. “The stars have spoken. Also your heart.”
He lowered his gaze to me. “And you? How are you doing, Chartweaver? You’re still new to the area, aren’t you? Too new to have a situationship with Mr. Complicated?”
I thought of my brooch with the new opal, of the threads in Matthew’s chart, of Torin’s hands on my skin.
“I’m…” I blew out a breath. “Overwhelmed and terrified. But also excited. All at once.”
“Good,” he said. “Excellent. Means you’re alive.”
Giving him a hug, I left him staring at the fire, arms crossed over his chest.