Chase smiles, hearing me agree. Part of me wants to challenge him with an opposing interpretation just to keep things interesting, but we have many more miles—and many more readings—to go.

“The Empress leans into her giving side, resisting the urge to become possessive,” Chase adds. “Pulling your card is a very good sign we are exactly where we’re meant to be.”

“Sounds like round one goes to The Minor,” Cleo says, a devilish smile on her face. Poking at any underlying tension is a never-ending source of amusement for her.

Amelia and Chase. The Major and The Minor.

Grandma gave us these nicknames, way back when. Major Amelia, named after the bold and chaotic personalities in the first half of the tarot. Then there’s Minor Chase, named after the numbered and precise second half of the tarot, structured like a traditional deck of cards.

Grandma believed what really makes the tarot so universal is the way it draws strength from two opposing halves that complement a whole. She also believed it’s what makes the bond between Chase and me so unbreakable. Lucky for Chase, when his instinct is to be the commanding and authoritative Emperor, I embrace the thoughtful and nurturing side of my Empress essence.

Still, that’s only half the story.

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“Okay, it’s four p.m. sharp,” Logan says, pulling my attention. “You know the drill. You all get five minutes of phone time before they go back into the box.”

I try to restrain myself from immediately reaching for my phone like some rabid animal. It was Logan’s idea to keep everyone’s phones in a shoebox during the trip so that we all remain present. The idea of detoxing off the grid for a couple weeks actually sounded lovely at first, but that was before I knew we’d be making a special stop in the hometown of my number one crush of all time.

Chase hands out our phones and, once I get mine in my grip, my thumb scrolls furiously through the stacked notifications. I hold my breath until, finally, I find the exact DM I was hoping for.

I swipe right and Anwar’s chiseled face lights up my screen. Everyone always says he could be a model, the tall-dark-handsome hybrid of Zayn Malik and James Dean. But Anwar is much too serious to ever consider modeling. His nose is always in a philosophy book or underneath the muscle car he restored himself. At least, that’s what social media leads me to believe.