Cherry smiled. From Meg Jones, this was practically maternal. (Meg’s age was undeterminable; she waspossiblyold enough to be Cherry’s mother.)
Meg wrapped the scarf around her neck and tucked it into her collar. “You should sleep with someone else, you know. You won’t move on until you do.”
That caught Cherry off guard. Was it more career advice? They’d never talked about sex before... But maybe theycould? Strategically? Meg Jones wasn’t a prude, and Cherry was still dying to say this out loud...
“Actually,” she said, sitting up a bit. “I did.”
Meg stopped adjusting her scarf. “Youdid?”
Cherry nodded. She found herself smiling.
Meg smiled, too. Like a shark. “Who?”
“An acquaintance. Someone I saw at a concert.”
“You picked up a man at a concert? Cherry, this is very unlike you.”
Cherry could feel herself blushing. “I mean—Ihavebeen married for almost ten years, so I wasn’t really in the market...”
“That wasn’t criticism.”
“Okay, well...”
Meg looked sharp. “Is this someone you’ll see again?”
“Oh...” Cherry looked down. “I don’t know. Probably not. He took my number, but... that was Friday night, and he hasn’t called. I don’t think I’m the sort of person he dates.” When Cherry looked up, Meg’s eyes had narrowed. “I don’t evenknowif he dates,” Cherry said. “He has a kid. It felt very... in the moment. Like—amoment, you know? A night.”
Meg nodded slowly. “Good.” She pulled the handle of her bag up onto her shoulder. “You’re alive, Cherry. Act like it.”
With that, she opened the door behind her and walked out. (MegJones was never much for “hello” and “good-bye.” She started meetings with “let’s get to it.”)
Cherry looked back at the table. She picked up her notebook and papers and slid them into her bag. She was still holding a Kleenex, but she realized that she wasn’t crying anymore.
She took her phone out of her bag. (She always silenced it during meetings.) She’d gotten the usual deluge of texts from her sisters and her mom, plus two messages from an unknown number:
Three cherry emoji.
Then,“We should go on a date.”
Chapter 12
The next weekend, Cherry went on a date with Russ Sutton.
Sort of a date—he invited her to his house for dinner.
He came to the door wearing a blue cardigan and gold khakis, and Cherry laughed when she saw his face because she still couldn’t believe he’d walked back into her life, and this time, somehow, directly into her arms.
Russ laughed, too, and hauled Cherry inside by her wrist. “Get in here.”
His house was small, in an up-and-coming neighborhood. Craftsman-style, with two bedrooms—one for his son, Liam, who lived with Russ not quite half the time. Russ’s ex had a bigger house in a better neighborhood. “Divorce,” Russ said lightly, fussing with some garlic bread and putting it back in the oven. He’d also made pasta and Alison Roman’s Bolognese sauce—he had a crush on Alison Roman.
It was more carbs than Cherry would usually have in one meal. Or in one day. (Everyone in Cherry’s family had high blood sugar. She tried not to eat anything white.)
They ate at a small kitchen table. Russ used the dining room as a home office. Liam had a desk in there, too, “for homework andMinecraft.” The house was very minimally decorated. There were a few framed concert posters in the living room. And lots of pictures of Liam. (Light brown hair, Russ’s deep-set eyes. Apparently very into soccer.) Cherry’s mind skated past the possibility of being a stepmother, then quickly skated away.
She and Russ talked like old friends. Theywereold friends. They spun in different circles now, but adjacent circles. They had so many acquaintances in common, it was a shock they’d never run into each other. Cherry’s social life was more private than Russ’s—dinner parties, family gatherings. Russ liked to goout. He went to fundraisers and did charity walks. He volunteered for boards. He was like a kid building his résumé for college applications. “Are you running for office?” Cherry asked him.
“No,” he said, like she was being silly. And then—“Not yet, anyway. I’m waiting for my state senator to run for congress.”
