She gave my shoulder an affectionate nudge. “Classic. Contemplative Cancer.” How the hell? “Run a background check on me, didya, then?” “Pfft. I just did the math. Besides, this”—Lark gestured to my entire form—“screams crustacean. I had you pegged as a water sign from the first time we met.” “I don’t believe in that. And refrain from suggesting you’ve pegged me, please.” “Would you let me run your natal chart? You’re a Scorpio moon, I bet.”
