“Mason.” Simply saying his name makes me blush. I look down at the card again, and this time I can see it. Dark hair. A slight stoop. The disorienting feeling that I’ve just stepped out of a dark movie theater into light.

I look up helplessly at the aunts. They’re all smiling big, knowing smiles. “What a perfect name,” Poppy says. “Strong and reliable. Perfect for a helper.”

“I don’t know if he’s it,” I say weakly, but then I glance up at the moon and I can’t help it. I feel a tiny bit of excitement. What are the chances he’d text me right at this moment?

“Of course he is! And shall we draw up a love astronomy chart?” Marigold asks. “Because I am sensing a match—”

“No!” I nearly fly from my cushion. “Nothing like that. I don’t even know him.” My phone dings again, this time with the address for where we’re meant to meet tomorrow plus a Sorry I’m sending way too many texts. I keep hitting

… send by accident. Sorry again

Each text is launching yet another butterfly in my stomach. He has my number and he clearly isn’t afraid to use it. This should be annoying, but it isn’t. It’s ridiculously charming.

Next time I text I promise to send you a normal number of texts

“Well, he is persistent,” Marigold says. “I like that quality. You can keep your love games, I like a partner who tells you exactly what they’re thinking.”

My face is redder than poppies.

“Willow,” Violet says firmly. “You need him. Go to the house and find Sage’s letter. It will tell you what to do next. And then I want you to bring this Mason to us.”