Chapter 2
Cherry
Cherry might just have met the man of her dreams.
Including dreams she’d forgotten she ever had.
Wangling her way into a random Scottish wedding this evening, because of the promise of men in kilts and the long-forgotten feeling of home, was only meant to be a ten-minute thing.
Cross another item off the bucket list by standing metaphorically on the solid Scottish land her bones understood.
Give them a small break from the restlessness of the road.
But now she was thinking about forever with this guy.
This kilted man who felt like sex and the safety of home at once.
The kind who had her reaching for something to steady herself the second she saw him, so rattled she nearly toppled into the buffet table and pretended it was intentional by grabbing the first thing she saw – vol-au-vents.
And the way he talked, he made it sound like all the fantasies on her list could become a reality of his making. He said yes to so many things. Didn’t hold back. Cherry needed that in her life.
Surely all this was insane. You didn’t think about forever with someone you’d met an hour ago.
Her mum had with her dad, but Cherry wasn’t like her mother.
She dealt in practicalities – decisions made by consulting probability and consequences – while her mother operated on whispers from the universe.
Cherry played poker. Her mum read tarot cards.
One was real, and you won from skill and odds calculation; the other was mystical waffle.
For years, she had used her maths degree and psychology to make poker her full-time job.
Yet so many people saw it as less than tarot.
But the universe was whispering something to her about Sean Butler.
What would her mother’s tarot cards say about this?
Would she see forever in them? Would they bring up an indication of marriage – such as the Lovers or the Empress – or something more ominous, like the Scythe, pointing to caution over making rash decisions?
For goodness’ sake, Cherry. Examine the evidence and make a rational decision, like you do at the poker table.
But Cherry’s emotional compass was spinning like a roulette wheel. North could be anywhere. Although, something about Sean Butler felt like a giant magnetic pull towards a place her needle could rest awhile.
Maybe forever.
They danced some more, stopped and refreshed themselves with champagne. Laughed a lot – about what she wasn’t exactly sure, but Sean made her abs ache in a very good way.
The one thing she hadn’t done much of was eat.
The room was spinning, and Cherry knew as she excused herself to go to the bathroom that, even in trainers, she was teetering.
But no way was she going to bed. The frustration of the tournament she’d crashed out of was mellowing into the background, helped by champagne and Sean Butler.
The words of her ex as she lost her final stack – ‘You’re a busted flush, Cherry’ – weren’t ringing so hard in her ears.
After reapplying her lipstick, Cherry spritzed perfume onto her hair and on the pulse points on her neck.
For a moment, she stood outside the ballroom, concealed from its occupants.
What if she didn’t go back in? Ignored the starlight in her brain and went to bed?
She’d wake up in the morning, drink some orange juice and go for a walk in Central Park.
Maybe go to the gym. Get refreshed and screw her head back on for tomorrow’s tournament.
Follow the rational route.
But there was a man inside that ballroom whose sweet skin smelled like oaked whisky barrels and whose laughter rumbled right into her heart, making her feel like she was the centre of his universe.
Poker hadn’t given her anything resembling that in a long time.
There was no competition.
As Cherry stepped back into the ballroom, she stared at Sean unfiltered.
He was gesticulating expressively whilst chatting to someone.
But, as if he sensed she were there, he turned.
His smile lit the way back to him. Cherry tried to keep her cool, but it was impossible. She gave a little wave and strode over.
To her future husband.
Don’t be daft.
But he’d said it. ‘You can marry the love of your life.’
Something in her gut wanted to marry him. Maybe it was the champagne. Or the promise of happiness after so long without it. To have this feeling for the rest of her life.
‘Hey, would you like a whisky?’ Sean held up a tumbler of amber liquid, the ballroom lights dancing over the surface like the sparkle in his eyes.
Cherry took the glass and sipped. ‘Mmm, Butler’s.’
‘Okay, my family name coming out of your mouth like that might be a little arousing.’
She laughed. ‘I know quality when I taste it.’
‘I’m impressed.’ Sean stepped closer, his sensual, woody scent clouding her mind. ‘Tell me, are you an instinctive poker player or one who does all the maths in your head?’
Cherry swilled the whisky. ‘Oh, I never decide in poker on instinct. I consider all the evidence, all the possibilities, read the other players. There’s too much at stake to wing it.’
‘And does that carry into the rest of your life?’
‘Hmm, mostly. Although, tonight, I kind of sailed in here on a vibe. Something was calling me. Someone maybe.’
Sean nodded an understanding, took the whisky from her hand, placed it on the table and led her onto the dance floor again. She wouldn’t fight being close to him. She might be addicted already.
‘You smell delicious,’ he burred in his rich Scottish accent. ‘Like honeysuckle.’
‘How does an adult man who isn’t a gardener know what honeysuckle smells like?’
‘We used to have it in the garden growing up. I’ll never forget that smell, and now I certainly won’t. You, Cherry Paradise, smell as good as you look, and you look incredible.’
‘The feeling is mutual, Sean Butler.’ She was transfixed. ‘I don’t know whether to look at your legs or your kilt or your face.’
‘Why not all three? You’ve got all night.’
As they danced to another slow song, Sean’s gaze dipped to the oval-shaped golden pendant around Cherry’s neck. ‘What’s in there?’
Unclasping the vintage locket she always wore, Cherry lifted it for him to see. ‘It’s a tiny photo, but that’s me and my dad at my third birthday party. My mum’s the blur with the cake in the background.’
Sean rested the locket on two of his fingers and examined the picture, the warmth from his hands radiating to her heart.
‘Your dad… He looks like an American soap star; that’s some ’tache. Was he an actor?’
Cherry laughed. ‘No, he was a police officer, but he retired early after being injured in the line of duty. And he’d have loved the actor comparison.’
‘He’s not around anymore?
‘No. He died when I was thirteen. Massive heart attack.’
‘Fuck, I’m sorry.’ Softly closing the locket, Sean placed it back against her collarbone. He pressed his hands a little firmer into her back. A protective hold that softened the edges of that need in her. ‘I know what it’s like to lose your dad, although I did have mine for thirty-two years.’
While it was sad that he’d lost his father, it was a comfort that he understood her pain. ‘I don’t think it’s easy whenever you lose them, especially if you were close…’ she said. ‘Were you?’
‘Mmm, aye.’ Sean’s focus drifted to something across the ballroom.
‘Losing him was like losing a limb. He taught me to surf, kind of a metaphor for everything else in life – the best stuff is hard won and all that.’ He dipped his chin and brought his focus to her again.
‘He was a good man; watching him go was horrendous.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks. Were you and your dad close?’
‘We were. Because he retired early, he always had time for me. I was his shadow. We grew veggies and plants on his allotment, fed the ducks, learned about birds and butterflies. He taught me to play poker. I was like Cherry the Champion of the World.’ She laughed at the comparison to one of her favourite books, for the way it idyllically captured her memories.
‘He sounds like a good guy… What about your mum? You have a similar relationship?’
Cherry brushed some invisible lint from the white cotton shirt covering Sean’s remarkably muscular shoulder – an action she realised was something her mum had done to her dad.
‘“Get on” might be a bit strong. As long as we don’t spend too much time together, it’s civil.
I love her but, my God, we’re different. ’
‘She’s not a poker player then?’
Cherry would need to be careful not to rant about her mum.
Keep it brief, keep it upbeat. ‘No. She’s Pamela Paradise, Mystic and Colour Consultant – and that’s for your wardrobe or your aura.
When my dad died, she absorbed herself in reading people’s futures with tarot cards, telling them not to wear pumpkin because they’re “a winter” and stuff like that.
Just as well she lives in Scotland and I travel around the States. We’re better thousands of miles apart.’
‘You’re actually selling her to me; she sounds fun. And I detect a fair bit of love for her in your voice.’
Slowly, Cherry blinked, not giving too much away. Who was this guy with his astute observations, seeing into her very soul?
‘Are you on the road a lot?’ he asked.
‘A bit too much.’ She tried to maintain a reasonable distance from Sean, not to press too close, stay cool and detached, but the heat of him drew her in.
‘Poker is losing its edge. Or I’m losing mine.
I have these dreams about going back to Scotland…
pinning my kids’ macaroni art to the fridge…
cooking hearty casseroles, even though I can’t cook for shit, or meet a decent man to have said kids with. ’
Sean’s mouth curved upwards – she could tell at her honesty rather than her circumstance. ‘Do you need a man for that stuff?’ he asked.