The Two Of Cups Is For Lovers

By Susanne Marie Knight

Contemporary romance with a paranormal twist!

NOT GONNA HAPPEN
Fame. Money. Booze. Women. It's just another ho-hum day in the life of retired NFL star quarterback, Drew "The Cowboy" Gavin. But Drew's one love is his young child, Elena. For months she's refused to talk, and he's in desperate need of help. He's exhausted every avenue in conventional medicine; now he's considering something different. Something unconventional, alternative. His manager sets him up with... what? A Tarot advisor? Not gonna happen! Can Drew put aside his prejudice against metaphysical matters and give his earth angel, Madame Laney, a chance?

NOT GOING TO HAPPEN
Isabeau Delaney, a.k.a. Madame Laney, has big expenses and responsibilities. A beautiful house, a beloved grandmother in a nursing home, and a slew of Tarot clients that depend of her to help them navigate the shoals of life. She has no time for a chauvinistic skeptic who turns his nose up at her life's work. Drew Gavin just isn't in the cards... Tarot or otherwise. Not going to happen! But if that's the case, why does the persistent Two of Cups--the card for lovers and soul mates--keep reappearing in the readings she conducts for Drew?

5 Stars! THE TWO OF CUPS IS FOR LOVERS written by talented author Susanne Marie Knight is a fun contemporary romance with touches of the paranormal. This story is a delightful change from many of the paranormal romances out there. The heroine is a dedicated tarot reader; the hero is a macho football quarterback. Their interactions are explosive! I recommend this story to anyone who enjoys romance that's not quite in the common way!--Twists On Romance Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanne Marie Knight
• Release date: May 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370798414

Susanne Marie Knight

Award-winning author and seven time EPPIE / EPIC eBook Award Finalist Susanne Marie Knight specializes in Romance Writing with a Twist! She is multi-published with books, short stories, and articles in such diverse genres as Regency, science fiction, mystery, paranormal, suspense, time-travel, fantasy, and contemporary romance. Originally from New York, Susanne lives in the Pacific Northwest, by way of Okinawa, Montana, Alabama, and Florida. Along with her husband and the spirit of her feisty Siamese cat, she enjoys the area's beautiful ponderosa pine trees and wide, open spaces--a perfect environment for writing. For more information about Susanne, visit her website at www.susanneknight.com.

Book preview

Introduction

Isabeau Delaney, Tarot Advisor

Professionally predicting someone’s future isn’t for the faint of heart. First off, the general public usually doesn’t believe what you say; then they ridicule you; and last, very often they don’t pay you for your time. So there you are: mistrusted, made fun of, and broke, in addition to just having wasted thirty minutes of your time.

Hi. My name is Madame Laney, otherwise known as Isabeau Delaney. Welcome to my life.

Being a Tarot Advisor is a helluva way to earn a living, but I would rather consult the cards than sit on my can all day, answering phone lines and providing customer service to a bunch of morons.

Okay, harsh. But truthfully, I love what I do. I provide valuable assistance to folks and help them gain insight into their lives. Very often they find themselves transformed. Yep, that sounds lofty, I know, but reading Tarot cards and using my intuition can make a small... or huge... difference in my clients’ lives. Fact.

So, let me give you my thirty-second spiel. I’ve been a professional advisor for twelve years now. Using the cards, I provide help for clients who are experiencing confusing challenges in their lives. I learned about Tarot at my grandmother’s knee when I was only six. Being a Tarot reader runs in our family--the patriarchal line as well as the matriarchal line.

FAQs: Here’s the down and dirty.

Is Tarot reading considered witchcraft?

Short and long answer: No! Tarot advisors connect with their higher selves and, if done correctly, the readings are spot-on. Folks who have doubts usually come around after they have a reading. Generally speaking, they find the advice supportive.

What are my qualifications?

Well, in addition to my twelve years of experience, I have a master’s degree in natural health with an emphasis on self-healing, and a bachelor’s degree in anthropology. I’ve worked in the corporate world and have written numerous articles for various professional publications. Also, I’m a member of the international organization: Spiritual Oneness.

How much do I charge?

Money can be a tricky subject. Since I consider my ability to read the cards as a gift from above, I don’t actually charge for the readings. Instead, I have suggested donations. For example, a thirty-minute reading has a suggested donation of twenty-five dollars. Definitely affordable and definitely worth the expense. In my home office, small red envelopes are stacked by the door. This is where the monetary donations are placed, in the envelope--a Chinese tradition that the metaphysical community has embraced.

I always see first-time clients in person, in my home office. In fact, I insist upon it. Although Tarot reading isn’t my main source of income, I’ll tell you right now, if I get stiffed, then the first reading is the last reading. Period.

Do I do email and/or phone readings?

Yes, I do, but only when the client becomes a regular of mine.

Do I do walk-in readings?

No, I don’t. As my office is in my home, you can appreciate why I don’t want walk-ins running loose in my house. I arrange appointments with plenty of time in between engagements in case the reading runs longer than scheduled.

One more thing on security: I always do a quick reading before the scheduled appointment so that I have a feel for what topic the client is interested in. It’s also a sneaky way to check out the intentions of first timers. If I don’t get good vibes, then it’s sayonara, baby. Appointments are easy to cancel.

So that’s the scoop on me, Madame Laney, a twelve-year veteran of the Tarot reading circuit. Thanks for your kind attention. I hope to read for you soon!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Introduction

Andrew Gavin, Recently Retired Pro Quarterback

Most of you probably know me, even if you don’t follow football. My mug’s been plastered over T.V., the internet, magazines, newspapers... hell, any place a picture can be plastered, you’ll find my baby blues. I earned the NFL’s MVP (Most Valuable Player) award three years in a row, and have two flashy Super Bowl rings on my fingers. And let me tell you, those rings are my pride and joy!

So, yeah, I live the high life. Or at least, I did. The women, the booze, the adulation... a dream come true for a small town boy like yours truly. But things that are too good to be true have a habit of ending, don’t they? Playing, as I did, for fifteen years, got me more than a little banged up: torn meniscus in my right knee, dislocated shoulder, and all usual aches and pains usual for one in my profession. But it was a torn anterior cruciate ligament in that same injured knee that made me throw in the towel three months ago.

But hell, it’s been good. I’ve no cause to regret retirement.

Except, well, you know the dirty details of my divorce. As soon as I called it quits, my wife did, too. She didn’t want to be married to a has-been. Her words, not mine. She had to live within a budget? What’s a budget? How was she supposed to manage without my million dollar checks coming in?

Quite frankly, there was no need for her concern because, with the help of a financial team, I’ve invested my dough wisely. And with product endorsements still coming my way, I’m not hurting for money, nor will I be, in the future.

I’ll give it to you straight, though: there are no ill feelings on my part--about the divorce, anyway. She was alone the majority of nights with my on-the-road schedule. And then there were other women. I admit it. So we grew apart. Big deal. It wasn’t just her pulling the plug; we both decided to cut the cord.

The only problem is, we have a daughter. Elena’s the cutest little tyke ever born, even if I do say so myself. Well, she’s almost four, but she’s still a baby to me.

Elena hasn’t coped well with the divorce, or all the arguments that led up to it. So, stubborn kid that she is, she made up her mind to keep her mouth shut and it’s been shut tight for months.

Not for eating of course, but for speaking. Hard to believe that not one word has slipped past those rosebud lips. I’ve taken her to pediatricians, psychologists, psychiatrists, speech therapists--you name the medical specialist and we’ve seen them. I’ve tried tickling, threatening, bribing, puppies, horses, Disneyland...

Everything is no dice. It’s not that she can’t talk; she won’t talk, and that’s that. She’s obstinate like her mother. Or me, depending on how you look at it.

I’m at my wits end.

My ex-wife is not one to deal with adversity, so she decided to divorce her child, along with me. Not legally, but let’s just say she’s moved halfway across the world, living off alimony and a wealthy prince in Dubai.

So the only mommy Elena has is me, and call me cynical but I don’t foresee the ex-wife flying across the globe to visit her troubled daughter.

It’s a good thing that I’m retired.

Bottom line here, I’m a thirty-six year old bachelor dad who will do anything for his daughter. I’ve rearranged my schedule, canceled appointments, and protected her from media attention that feed overzealous fans. The last thing I need is for my child to become fodder for the tabloids. Or Facebook. Whatever. I’ve hired a fulltime nanny, and whatever I’ve needed to do, I’ve done.

Yeah, I’m a lot more responsible than I used to be. Only my inner circle of friends and family are aware of what’s going on with Elena... and how I’m on the lookout for anything that might help my girl feel safe enough to find her voice.

So that’s the scoop on me, Andrew Gavin, pro quarterback, retired. Andrew to my parents; Drew to my brothers; The Cowboy to everyone else. My thanks for all your support, on the field and off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter One

Isabeau dashed through the gate of the mocha-colored picket fence and scurried up the porch steps. Opening her decorative front door, she then stepped inside the foyer.

Phew! Made it. She checked the time. Six thirty five. Her first client was due in ten minutes.

Despite her bluster to all and sundry that Tarot reading wasn’t her main source of income, it still was a very important part of her earnings. Her full-time holistic counseling job was the other part. Not that she sat on her can all day listening to morons. No, she enjoyed counseling her clients. She loved helping people achieve their potential, whether it was through counseling or through Tarot reading. But ever since this beautiful house had been deeded to her by her grandmother, she needed more money to pay the bills.

Much more money. And with Grams now living in a medical care facility...

To be truthful, Isabeau’s day job and her Tarot practice just couldn’t handle the additional monetary load.

Yet. She did have high hopes.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she hurried to her bedroom for a quick change. She depended on the subway for the commute to her uptown Manhattan office building. Usually she had no trouble getting home to Flushing Meadows, Queens by six fifteen at the latest. But today there’d been train delays... stops and starts and stops again, not to mention the subway air conditioner being on the blink.

Grrr. She had agita just thinking about it.

Cool down and get a hold of yourself.

Inhaling deeply, Isabeau closed her eyes and concentrated on ridding herself of frustrations. Three breaths later, she was ready to go.

Ditching her city clothes, she slipped into her long gauzy skirt, cotton tee, and comfy flip-flops. She splashed water on her face, spritzed some perfume, and then pulled her long hair into a tight ponytail.

She regarded her image in the mirror. Cool, calm, and washed-out. Making a face, she pinched her cheeks for some color. It really didn’t matter how she looked, though. Her first client, Patty Novella, was a longtime regular.

Isabeau liked to assign a Tarot card to represent each one of her clients--rather like reducing a person’s essence down to an archetype. In her mind, Patty was the Three of Cups, Reversed: a celebration card but one of self-indulgence. Too much of a good thing never ends well.

The second client, who also was the last one for the evening, was a first timer. Isabeau would assign him a card later.

She brushed her ponytail off her shoulder. Hopefully, the last appointment of the day would be mutually successful--for the client and for her. Fingers crossed.

After rushing down the stairs, she ran into the living room to turn on low voltage lighting. Her stomach growled but she’d ignored the hunger pangs. She had just enough time to consult the cards to see what was going on with Patty.

* * * *

Phew! That was a tough one.

Isabeau closed the door behind Patty and then leaned against it. Once again, the cards were spot-on. The quick reading had told Isabeau that her client was undergoing an upheaval, as denoted by The Tower card. Then came an emotion card showing celebrating, probably with alcohol. Definitely the Three of Cups Reversed. And then came the poverty card that showed Patty was now facing hard times, possibly unemployment.

Patty, an immature twenty-four year old, had confirmed what the cards hinted at. Her reading tonight had corroborated it as well. As she told the tale, at work a young man had led her astray, plied her with booze, and then left her to deal with the consequences. Her female boss placed Patty on leave-without-pay pending an investigation.

Isabeau replaced the box of tissues next to the client’s chair with a fresh one. It had been an emotional reading. Thankfully, the rest of the cards had been favorable for Patty. Her boss was working behind the scenes to repair the damage and so the outcome looked very good. The Ten of Cups in the last position of the reading augured well for Patty’s happiness. All she had to do was be courageous, wait it out, and learn from her mistake.

The majority of Patty’s cards were in the suit of Cups. Cups equaled emotions. And that was where the majority of Patty’s problems were: with the emotions. Unless she learned to act with more balance, or in other words grow up, she would be back next visit with another emotional issue.

Shaking herself to get rid of any residual vibes from her client, Isabeau then misted the living room with an infusion of lavender oil to clear the air and help relax the next client. Her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten, so she called the local pizzeria and ordered an extra cheese with onions. She delayed delivery until after eight when she’d be done with readings for the night.

That important business taken care of, she sat in the comfortable clamshell chair that was stationed in back of her reading table and the deck of cards. Now it was time to focus on her next client--the first timer. She picked up her journal to refresh her memory about... what was his name? Oh yes, a Mr. Gavin.

Hmmn, referred by Ross Folsom, a lovely man. Works as a manager for some local sports team. I’ve seen him four times so far.

Ross had a bit of an inferiority complex, but seemed to be very successful at what he did. She’d assigned him the Nine of Wands, Reversed: a card of sheer strength of will, but frequently feeling out of his league--an apt expression for a major sports team.

She nodded. Yes, here it is. That’s right, he mentioned that his friend, Mr. Gavin, could use some guidance, but that was all he’d said. I can do that. So what did I come up with on the pre-reading?

Flipping through some pages, she studied her notes. How odd. The first card, signifying the question, was the Two of Cups. The Two of Cups was for lovers. Or soul mates. So this was to be a love reading?

She studied the rest of the cards. No, I don’t think that’s Mr. Gavin’s issue.

She inhaled the soothing scent of lavender and pondered some of the cards that had appeared in the reading. Page of Cups, the World, the Devil... I bet he has a son or daughter, probably a daughter, who he thinks the world of but he feels trapped by whatever’s going on.

Yes, she felt sure that was it. She pointed at the Outcome card. The Six of Pentacles, indicating he’s a generous, giving guy. She smiled. Sweet. Maybe he’ll enjoy his reading enough to become a regular client like his friend Ross.

She could hope. Lately money was a little tight, well, more than a little tight, and Patty had only donated ten dollars tonight... fifteen short of the usual fee. Not that Isabeau minded in Patty’s case. She was a good client. Worry about job security and where the next check was coming from was always a difficult challenge.

She had no worries about Mr. Gavin, though. His reading had already been paid for by his friend. But since he was Mr. Six of Pentacles, maybe he would be generous and giving to her--in a monetary way.

* * * *

Drew sat back in the luxurious limo, eased his legs straight out, taking care not to jar his right leg. Hell, the workout this afternoon had hurt rather than helped his injured knee. He’d probably have to go back to pressing two hundred pounds instead of three on the leg weight machine. Probably should decrease the amount of repetitions, too. But before he did anything, he’d run it by his personal trainer.

The rush of coolness from the air conditioner caught his attention. Then again, the culprit for the throbbing now pulsating through his knee could’ve been the day’s super-soggy humidity.

He shrugged. It was a setback, true, but only a temporary one.

Glancing out the window, he watched the twinkling of lights on the Queensboro Bridge. It was early in the evening, only seven fifteen, and he had no idea where he was going and what the final destination was. He turned to his friend and former manager sitting beside him.

So, Ross, what’s this big surprise and why are you taking me to the hinterlands in Queens to get it?

Even though the limo was pleasantly chilled, Ross drooped... and dripped sweat. Fingering his shirt collar, the man loosened his tie. Either he was extremely affected by the heavy humidity or he was nervous.

Here’s the thing, Cowboy. You know I got your back, right? You know I think the world of you and your kid.

Sure, Ross. You’re like an uncle to Elena. A really old uncle. Drew took a swig of Irish Death--a dark, smooth ale.

Poor Ross was only fifty-five, but managing the prima donna players on the New York team made him appear at least ten years older. Regretfully, Drew could lay claim to aging the man at least two of those years.

What’s Elena gotta do with this surprise you’re trying to spring on me? She’s back at the apartment with my parents, who are, by the way, returning to Montana tomorrow. Meaning that this is their last night here and they’re watching Elena. Her live-in nanny is on vacation. So tell me why I’m with you instead of with them.

Ah jeez. Ross dug both hands into his thick, greying hair. He looked as if he might pull tufts out by the roots. See, Cowboy, I know you’re worried about the tyke. Holy Mother, we all are. Instead of saying more, he rolled his log of a cigar around in his mouth.

Drew reached over and took the cigar. He held it carefully, after all, who wanted cigar slobber on his fingers? You’ll get this back after you answer me, Ross. Seriously, what the hell is going on? You called and said we should hit a few hotspots and catch up on the news. Drink ‘til we drop.

He pointed the cigar at his former manager. Hell, I’m always up for a good time, but I don’t know any hotspots in Queens and I’m sure as hell not drunk.

Instead of meeting his gaze, Ross lowered his to the carpeted floor. Right. Okay. The truth. I, ah, you might find this a little, ah, out of the ordinary, but I’ve been seeing a-- He dropped his voice.

What did you say? Seeing a what? Ross, you’re not cheating on Molly?

No! No, the little wife and me are fine. No, this is different. This woman I’m seeing is like a counselor. She’s been helping me. Advising me. Ross swung around and grabbed his cigar back. Madame Laney has, well, given me info on just what I need, Cowboy. Things that allow me to make good decisions.

He ran his free hand back into his hair again. You know how crazy managing the team can be and sometimes I... lack the confidence, see? But she’s got the gift.

Madame Laney? What the hell is she? Some kind of damn psychic?

Ross furrowed his forehead. I think she can help your daughter.

After a big inhale, Drew took another swig of Irish Death. Elena was his Achilles’ heel. Just the mention of her name turned him into mush. Sadness squeezed his heart. If only he could get her to talk. To move on from the divorce. To stop missing her mother.

Impossible, really. How does a little girl recover from losing her mom?

While he processed his thoughts, Ross remained quiet, which was exactly what Drew needed. No matter what Ross believed about his abilities, he was an excellent manager.

The limo exited Northern Boulevard and now passed through picturesque neighborhoods, strip malls, and main street businesses. The pace was leisurely; the traffic light, especially for Friday night. Most likely everyone had already arrived home. Chances were good that soon they’d get to their destination. Drew didn’t need a psychic to figure that out.

But he did trust Ross’ judgment. Okay, I’ll bite. How can this woman help Elena?

Ross held out his pudgy hands. Specifically, I don’t know, Cowboy. Madame Laney’s... connected to something greater than us, though. And her advice? It’s right on the money. He shrugged. She’s a nice lady. I think you should see her.

Drew rubbed his five-o’clock shadowed jaw. There was no way on God’s green Earth that he’d even consider doing something like this... except for Elena. Yeah, for Elena he’d travel to hell and back.

Okay, sure. You got me, but hell, if you breathe a word of this...

No, no! Of course not, Cowboy. And same for me, too, right?

Right. Drew sighed. So what do I say to this Madame Laney and how much is it gonna set me back?

Ross smiled big, losing his anxious look. "Taken care of. Her rates are dirt cheap, anyway. Only twenty-five for a half hour. Best half hour you’ll spend. All you’ve