The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Sierra
A little earlier that same day
Clementine arrives in the morning with a knock and a bright ding-dong.
I swing open the door, invite her in. She carries a pink box on her palm, like a waiter in a fancy restaurant. “Breakfast, aka cupcakes.”
“The breakfast of champions,” I say as we head to the kitchen. She’s so cheery, I refuse to stay in my funk.
She sets the box down on the counter, then slides a canvas bag off her shoulder, reaching in to extract a bouquet of lilies.
“As promised,” she says.
Grabbing a vase from a shelf, I fill it with water and pop in the flowers. “Gorgeous,” I declare.
“See? Flowers make everything a little better,” she says.
I have a flash of a memory of me as a little girl, traipsing through a field of flowers.
Huh.
I always thought I loved flowers as an adult because they were lovely. But maybe I’ve always known they make a day better. I needed that when I was younger.
Maybe my love of flowers as a woman has never been about pretty little things, but more about necessary things. About the happy things we find when we’re kids to get us through tough times. Through days when we don’t feel loved and wanted.
I sought that out in the world, looking for it in beauty, but I found it in other places too—my grandparents, my brother, my friends.
Myself.
I have all that now and more.
Friends, a cat, a business I adore. And today, sweets.
Clementine gestures to the box. “Chocolate buttercream or vanilla dream?”
I scoff. “Is that a trick question? Both. We split them.”
She smiles brightly. “Perfect answer.”
We break the cupcakes in half, and I stuff a bite of the vanilla in my mouth. “Mmm. This is delish,” I say after I chew.
“Best therapy ever,” she says once she’s done. Then her smile disappears. “Spill. You fell in love and are afraid to tell him, right?”
Whoa. Someone doesn’t mince words. I gulp then head for the fridge and pour a glass of milk. I down it, then face the music.
“Yes. That’s true,” I admit.
She nods sympathetically. “It’s your armor, girl. That’s what’s holding you back. The question is—are you going to let it?”
It’s an excellent question.
Am I ready to go after more than friends, a cat, a business I adore, and sweets?
* * *
Tom follows me around all that morning, alternating between meowing and purring.
The cat seems determined to tell me something. As I dress for work, he rubs against my leg, kicking up his motor to another level entirely. I’ve never heard him this loud.
I bend down. “What is it, love?”
He answers with more purring then stretches his front legs along my calves. I scoop him into my arms. “Did you just want to snuggle?”
The cat rubs his head against me. I laugh. “I swear, all you ever want is . . .”
I break off, startled by the obvious.
He’s a love bug.
He just wants love.
Maybe he has the right idea.
Am I going to take love advice from a cat?
Well, first I have to head into work to open for an early happy hour. But along the way, I text Grant and make a request.
* * *
I unlock the door to The Spotted Zebra. We open in an hour and a half, but I’ve mastered doing the prep work in less than sixty minutes. I bust my butt in a flurry of activity, readying the place I love for another night.
Last night, I felt so disconnected from my bar baby. Today, I’m connected again, and it feels so good.
The breakfast with Clementine reset me. The message from the cat perhaps did too. I’m pretty sure it’s time to woman up and rip off my armor, but I want to talk to someone else first.
Before we open, Grant strolls in.
“To what do you owe the honor of my presence?” he asks, then I blink.
I point.
Gawk.
My jaw hits the floor. “Is that a . . .?”
I can’t even finish.
He flashes his left hand at me, grinning. “Oh, this?”
“Yes,” I blurt out, flustered. “Is that a band? An engagement ring?”
His grin takes over the city. “Why, yes. I did get engaged in Hawaii.”
My hand flies to my mouth and tears rain down my cheeks. They don’t stop as I run to my brother, fling my arms around him, and cry the happiest tears I’ve ever cried. It took him five years and a lot of heartbreak to find his way back to Declan.
But he’s here, on the other side of heartache.
On this side of love.
And I’m not sure I have any more questions. “I am so happy for you,” I say in a broken voice—but from joy, not from pain.
“Thanks. Me too,” he says, brimming with cheer. “Now, what about you? What the hell is going on? What do you need? You seemed distraught when you texted.”
I swipe my tears away. “I was for a while. I was all mixed up about Mom and Dad, and the way I’ve tried to live differently from them,” I say, my breath steadying into place again after the excitement. “But . . .” I shrug, letting go of all that in one fell swoop. It’s time to say goodbye to the past. None of those issues seem to matter anymore. “You’re engaged. You’re happy. You didn’t let them hold you back. And I shouldn’t let them hold me back either.”
He laughs and spreads his hands out wide. “Check me out. I walk into a bar, and I don’t even have to say anything. I’m an instant problem solver.”
“You are,” I say, but truly, love is the problem solver.
* * *
Later, I slip out to run an errand, and at the end of the night, I send Chance a text.
Sierra: Miss you! Want to come over when you return tomorrow night? I would love to see you.
Well after midnight there’s a knock on my door.
