Her boss can see the future. So why didn’t she see this coming?
Margo Tiptree has the most organized job in New York: assistant to a psychic who’s never wrong. She reschedules senators. She takes notes on things that haven’t happened yet. She does not ask questions.
Then, one Monday, Oona Solveig simply doesn’t come in.
Her phone is off. Her desk is untouched. And her appointment book is still open on Margo’s desk, a full week of instructions in her careful handwriting, with no explanation and no Oona.
Margo skips Monday’s entries. By Tuesday, she’s learned not to.
He’s here to manage the crisis. He doesn’t believe in the crisis.
Hollis Achterberg arrives with a tabbed folder, a laminated card of soothing phrases, and total confidence that psychics are a scam. He’s fluent, funny, and never met a silence he couldn’t fill.
He is also wearing a green tie.
Which is a problem, because at 4:17 this afternoon, the book says: kiss the man in the green tie.
She doesn’t believe in fate. She believes in the book.
So they follow it. Every strange, specific, impossible entry, all over the city, two people who could not be more different learning to work side by side, and then to want to. The internet is starting to notice. So is a very patient police officer.
And on Friday at six, the final appointment is Margo’s own funeral.
A warm, wry, slow-burn cozy mystery romance about the plans we make, the ones made for us, and finding the person you don’t have to translate youself for.