The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Sierra
“And it all happened so quickly!”
The petite brunette at the bar chirps as she flips her hand back and forth. I’m surprised she can lift it at all, what with the weight of the robin’s egg on her finger. “He asked me to marry him after only a month!”
She snuggles up against her fiancé, a strapping lumberjack type as he flashes a grin. “When you know, you know.”
I shoot them a practiced smile as I slide over their margaritas. “Congratulations. That’s so wonderful. And truly, I’m honored that you met here.”
She coos, stroking the bar. “I love The Spotted Zebra so much. This is our special place, isn’t it, baby?”
He runs a thumb along her jaw. “Always, honey.”
They’re too much. Too perfect. Too in love.
But they’re also proof—one month is fast.
One week, then, is crazy.
Which makes five nights certifiable.
What was I thinking? I seriously can’t believe I did that—got married in Vegas. That was just so . . . not me.
So out of character.
And yet, I’m so freaking blue listening to this happy couple toast their love and my bar.
“To The Spotted Zebra! All great loves begin here,” the brunette says.
I laugh to cover up the bubble of sadness threatening to burst inside me, and I glance around. This place has always cheered me up. It’s like my kid, making me feel proud and happy at the same time. The bar is the reason I didn’t want to get serious. Hell, it’s the reason I felt so dumb the other morning for getting married on a whim.
But as I look around at the busy joint—it’s jumping—all I see are the spots where Chance and I began.
Right here at the counter, a year ago, when we chatted and I felt those first sparks.
Then back in April, he came here with the guys but spent the whole evening talking to me.
Another visit, over the summer, he stayed late and we played a game of pool.
What did we discuss?
Music, TV, our families, our days.
It’s always just been so easy with Chance. Everything clicked.
And now, when I survey my home away from home, a new thought occurs to me.
This—Chance and me—didn’t happen in five days.
It happened slowly, day by day, night by night.
And damn it, I should have been responsible. Should have just told him I wanted to, well, date like normal adults. Instead, we both went crazy and flew straight at the sun in one wild moment.
The result? We burned too brightly, turning into ash.
I stare down at my hand, my naked finger.
My ring is at home.
All alone.
I take a deep breath, force away the regrets, and slap on a smile for the next round of customers.
* * *
When I return to my place, I slump onto the couch. Tom struts across the floor and hops up to join me.
“Meow?”
He’s asking if I’m okay.
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Maybe?” I answer, then I reach for the gold band I left on the coffee table. Tom parks himself on my lap, stretching out and purring.
I turn the ring over in my fingers, like it holds vital answers. But to what questions? Was it crazy to get married? Were we fools? Was Chance falling in love with me too? Or was what we said after we tied the knot all smoke and mirrors?
Was anything real?
I’ve no idea.
I rub my thumb over the ring. It’s just a piece of metal, meaningless now.
Chance will take care of it and end our joke of a marriage.
My phone buzzes, and I click open my texts, hoping it’s him. But of course, it’s three in the morning in Manhattan.
Clementine:Are you okay? Do you want some violet and sage leaf candles? I have a new face mask that’s incredible. Or . . . wine! How about flowers? I picked up some pretty lilies from Frankie’s. I can come over!
Sierra:It’s after midnight, but thank you.
Clementine:Breakfast, then? Let me cheer you up. It’s my special skill.
I smile half-heartedly. It is her skill. She’s amazingly happy. And I could use some of that.
I say yes, then I curl up with Tom, wrapping my arms around my cat therapist.
“I just miss Chance, and I feel so stupid,” I tell him, my voice wobbly. “And I think I fucked everything up.”
Tom sets a paw on my chest.
He understands me completely.
