“Good idea.” I press my lips against the corner of his, where the tiny lip ring scar remains. “Maybe you can climb the ladder far enough to change the rules about face piercings and get this redone.”

His body shakes with his laughter. And then he’s kissing me, and the cold, the people milling in the background, the music . . . everything simply melts away.

“I see a lake,” a voice calls out.

We break free and turn to find Zelda watching us curiously from ten feet away, her garb—colorful beaded cloth, draped over her body in flowing layers, capped with a brilliant fuchsia overcoat—all the more striking against a snowy backdrop. She’s every stereotype I imagined Ashley’s psychic to be, right down to the wild mane of graying hair, the deep smoker’s voice, the piercing eyes.

“I see a lake,” she repeats, “and sunshine and warmth, and enduring love.”

“You’re telling us about our past.” Kyle’s arms tighten around me. “I’m more interested in knowing about our future.”

Zelda’s eyes crinkle with her smile.