Chapter 3 Chryssy
Chapter 3
CHRYSSY
I’ m dodging bees when Auntie Violet lets me in on her secret.
“I’m a Chaobreaker,” she reveals.
I lift a frame out of the beehive and watch the bees go about their business on the honeycomb. “You’re not… are you?” I ask.
Chaobreakers are Vin and Leo’s fandom name, like BTS’s A.R.M.Y. Taylor Swift’s Swifties. Blackpink’s Blinks. After the Prodigy Party, I went down a very deep rabbit hole listening to the Chao Brothers’ music, watching music videos, and reading interviews they’ve done. They’re essentially Yo-Yo Ma meets Red Hot Chili Peppers. At some point during the concert, they play while standing, walking, and lying down on the stage as lights flash around them. The Chao Brothers and the Chaobreakers all look like they’re having the time of their lives. And why wouldn’t they? Their shows are basically rock concerts.
Auntie Violet chuckles from behind her bee hat and veil. “Proudly but covertly.”
I reverse the frame and slide it back in. “The ‘breaker’ part’s a little much, no?” I ask, once again questioning the pride they take in breaking hearts.
“The Chao Brothers are Italian-Chinese Americans. Chao is their last name, but ‘ciao’ in Italian is used for ‘hi’ and ‘goodbye.’ ‘Hi, girlfriends!’ ‘Bye, girlfriends!’” Auntie Violet explains. “Rumor has it they might play at the Colosseum. I saw them last year on my girls’ trip to Copenhagen where they performed at Rosenborg Castle. Very regal.” She reverses another frame. “I left with a bucket list item checked off and a pair of shimmery lilac pants I can still fit into. Now that was a good trip!”
I remember those purple pants. Auntie Violet specifically bought them to match the exterior of the Wildflower Inn. What I didn’t know was that she fangirled in them over two rock cellists.
“Given that they’re heartbreakers and we’re trying to, you know, help the heartbroken, I’m not sure your obsession with them looks as good as you do in those pants,” I tell her.
She’s reversing the frames in a purple hive built to look like a mini version of the inn. Mine’s a smaller yellow hive built to look like the converted shed I live in, which we call the Dandelion. Meanwhile, my aunties live in the top three rooms above the inn. The remaining six rooms are for guests who stay anywhere from a long weekend to three months.
“Remember, Chryssy, even heartbreakers can experience heartbreak,” Auntie Violet says as she checks the second hive’s food supply. “What were they like? They say to never meet your heroes.”
“The Chao Brothers are not my heroes, but the experience was still somewhat disappointing. Leo was nice. Vin, though… he’s a smartass. Tried to be charming, in his own heartbreaking way.” I finish my last frame reversals and place the lid back on the hive before checking to make sure the bees have enough food.
Auntie Violet tilts her head, like she’s disagreeing with my assessment of him. “He’s focused. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”
“I can’t recall you ever getting starstruck by a celebrity guest,” I say.
“Starstruck? Please. I’m a professional,” Auntie Violet insists. “Our guests are usually actors, though. Musicians have a different type of vulnerability.” She puffs the smoker a few times toward the bees. “We’re not in a spot to complain. Those photos of you two together put us on the map in a big way. Let’s enjoy the effects—”
“Consequences,” I correct.
“— results ,” Auntie Violet insists, “while we can. An editor from Condé Nast Traveler booked a stay. Maybe they’ll do a write-up!”
For most of its existence, the Wildflower Inn has flown under the radar. The celebrity guests started coming only in recent years, but the inn has always relied on a word-of-mouth marketing strategy ever since Auntie Rose, Auntie Daisy, and Auntie Violet, my mom’s sisters, opened it in the early 2000s.
Per tradition in my family, every Hua—which means “flower” in Chinese—woman is named after a specific flower that has relevance in TCM as an homage to my great-great-great-great-grandfather, who had his own apothecary. Beyond their names, many wildflowers symbolize strength, healing, renewal, and perseverance—everything my aunties wanted this place to represent.
Since the inn opened, not much has changed. The exterior paint is the original color. The main herb and flower gardens continue to take up most of the backyard, with the addition of a potting shed a few years back. Heartbreak is still the focus.
When people don’t understand or trust what we do at the inn, especially with TCM, they think of us as a last resort until they experience it for themselves. While we treat the entire body and person as a whole, we’re at the top of the recommendation list for those with heartache.
What has changed is that now I’m here. At first I wasn’t supposed to be, but life doesn’t care about the plans you make. When I started working at the inn, I brought not only my emotional baggage but a suitcase filled with ideas like planting a moon garden and offering medicinal cooking classes. The aunties shared their dream of starting a product line, and suddenly, we were all in on it together, as though I had been here from the very start. After years of squeezing in product brainstorming sessions between helping guests, we’re on the verge of launching In Full Bloom at the end of June.
“Yeah, Auntie Rose told me that as of next weekend, the waiting list for rooms is several months long,” I say, accepting the bee smoker from Auntie Violet.
A three-month waiting list because of a few photos.
There were screengrabs of the livestream of me whispering to Vin, as well as a few candid photographs of us in the winter tent. I didn’t think I was laughing at anything he said, but my mouth curled just enough at the right time for the media to think I was. It’s astonishing what eye contact and a solid handshake can lead to. It didn’t help that I was wearing his leather jacket. In less than a week, rumors caught fire and spread across the internet.
“This is our last weekend below full capacity. We better save up our energy,” Auntie Violet says. “This is the kind of publicity we need for In Full Bloom.”
I puff a stream of smoke through the bee smoker funnel. “Debatable.”
“At this point, we should be counting our lucky starflowers that anyone’s talking about us at all. Our website has been live since March, and our only preorders are from family members and former guests,” Auntie Violet says. “You know how hard it’s been to grow social media and secure media placements. There’s a lot of product to move.”
We spent months getting the website ready, taking photos of all the flowers and writing copy, only for it to launch and collect digital cobwebs.
Auntie Violet straightens to face me. “You really must not have liked him. Did he say something to offend you?”
Before starting the inn, Auntie Violet was a dating show producer. She’s asked—and answered—a lot of questions in her time, especially to vet contestants before anyone ever made it to air. She also loves drama.
I release my grip on the smoker. “We can’t be associated with their brand, Auntie. Not professionally, and certainly not personally. People like us are on the receiving end of people like him.”
And yet, now I am associated with the Chao Brothers without having any choice in the matter. My chest tightens at the resistance I feel against Vin, another feeling I don’t seem to have a choice over. He didn’t come off as a bad guy, but everything he stands for rubs me the wrong way.
“I’m sure it’ll pass,” I say, reassuring myself. “And he probably doesn’t care, so why should I? This is just another day in the life for him.”
In the distance, tires crunch on gravel before rolling to a stop. A shadowy figure exits a black car and moves toward the trunk.
“Check-in isn’t until three,” Auntie Violet says, setting the cover on the hive. “Ms. Conrad’s early.”
I follow her to the car to greet our guest. It’s when I get closer that I realize I’m not waving to Ms. Conrad. Instead, I’m welcoming… Vin?
I must say his name out loud because he looks at me with a funny expression, his eyebrows arched. This man has existed only in my memory and the occasional YouTube video since the party, and now here he is, taller than I recall and with sharper features. He’s in a black shirt, dark jeans, and that same leather jacket. His brown hair looks only slightly windblown from the ferry ride. He carries his intense aura in with him on the breeze.
A second door slams as another person—Leo—steps out of the car.
Vin gives me a single nod. “Chrysanthemum Chryssy.”
The man throws out this inside joke like we know each other. Clearly, he stores nuggets of information away until he can use them later to turn on the charm. To show that these small, casual details were important enough to remember. This is a heartbreaker at work, and I’m seeing clearly how the spells are cast.
At this moment, I’m grateful for my rules. They keep me immune from men like this, with their good looks and even better memories.
Suddenly, I feel a whoosh of air and an arm brush up against my side as Auntie Violet pushes past me. A loud screeching noise, reminiscent of an eagle, escapes her mouth.
“Sorry, I thought I saw a snake,” Auntie Violet says, trying to gain her composure. “Mr. and Mr. Chao! It’s so wonderful to meet you both!”
Leo smiles but his eyes are the opposite of happy. This isn’t surprising. Heartbreak presents itself in a thousand different ways, for unquantifiable periods of time.
Still, Leo says, “It’s wonderful to meet you, too.”
It’s only when I look at my auntie that I realize we’re both still covered head to toe in our bee suits. We remove our hats and veils and slip out of our honey- and wax-splattered outfits. The strap of Auntie Violet’s hat gets caught in the necklace the aunties and I each have a version of—a heart broken into four different pieces. I have the rounded curve of the heart’s left side on mine.
Vin, seeing the stuck strap, steps forward to help untangle it, and Auntie Violet’s knees start visibly shaking. He passes Auntie Violet the hat and accepts her gloved hand in his, giving it a firm shake.
“Just Vin is fine. And the pleasure’s ours,” he says, his statement accompanied by that charming grin.
Then he shifts his penetrating gaze to me, and my own knees wobble in what I hope is solidarity with Auntie Violet’s.
“To who—To what do we owe the pleasure?” Auntie Violet asks, wide-eyed.
Vin is still looking at me. “I need to talk to you,” he says, then turns to Auntie Violet and adds, “If you’ll excuse us for a minute?”
Auntie Violet nods quickly. “Of course! Leo, have you eaten? You’re here in time for the afternoon tea break.”
While Auntie Violet leads Leo to the tearoom, I guide Vin to the area behind the herb garden out back. Potted plants surround us, adding a layer of privacy.
“Is everything okay? Is it Leo?” I ask. “If he needs somewhere to stay, I’m sure we can make accommodations, but—”
“Leo’s just with me because he doesn’t want to be alone,” Vin says, pushing a hand through his hair.
The shock seems to have worn off from when I last saw Leo. This is how it goes, though. The shock comes in and out, as do the symptoms and emotions.
“Makes sense,” I say, running my fingers through a rosemary bush. The earthy scent fills the air between us.
Vin looks over a lavender bush. “Are these heart-shaped seats?”
“A previous guest was a carpenter,” I share. “His favorite part of being here was the Heartbreak Circle. This is where guests can talk about what they’re going through as a group. He sent these chairs over as a thank-you gift afterwards.”
“A Heartbreak Circle?” Vin asks. “Actually, don’t tell me.”
I suppress an eye roll. “What has Leo tried? Have you been getting him outside and walking? Made him any comforting foods?”
Vin frowns. “There was a denial phase once the shock wore off. That seemed promising, but then his ex came to get her stuff. The past week has been a fast descent back into darkness. Holing up in the bedroom, not eating much. We’re supposed to start rehearsing in a week.”
“Oh, yeah. That’ll do it,” I say. “Do you want to sit?”
Vin looks at the chair, his foot tapping impatiently. “No,” he says. “Thanks. I’ve been sitting all day.”
I sit in the nearest heart-shaped seat. “Is there anything he has listened to you about?”
“I told him to unfollow his ex on social media. I’ve heard people advise that before,” Vin says, looming over me.
“That’s a great start. What else?”
Vin starts to pace over the grass. “He refuses to go to the doctor. When he realized hospitals were nothing like Grey’s Anatomy , he swore off them. Uh, I told him to drink excessively and text his ex before crying himself to sleep. You’ve gotta get that out of the way, right?”
I raise an eyebrow at him, catching his sarcasm. “As early as possible. Has he tried journaling? What about watching romantic comedies and eating pints of ice cream?”
“Sure, I’ll get him a nice notebook, and he can try writing down… I don’t know… things,” Vin says. “We can check the movies off the list, though.” He grunts. “If I have to watch Notting Hill one more time…”
I hold back a smile at this. It’s clear Vin cares about Leo a lot. He just doesn’t know how to help. “You’ve tried everything, and now you’re here for real help,” I say. “I’ll admit I’m surprised. Pleasantly, though.”
“Leo didn’t want to talk to his therapist. I doubt he’ll want to talk to anyone here.” Vin notices a sage leaf on the ground. He picks it up and rubs the leaf between his fingers. “And that’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh,” I say. “What made you get on a plane, a car, and a ferry to come all this way then?”
Vin swallows and takes a seat next to me. “Can I just say, this place looks really special. Quaint. I bet you make a lot of healing lamb noodle soups here. And a Heartbreak Circle? Wow.”
“Cut the flattery, Vin,” I say, crossing my arms. “Why are you at our inn?”
A few heartbeats pass.
“A while back, when I was still with my ex, I agreed to attend a charity event,” he eventually says. “As a couple.”
If my research serves me right, this was the guitarist he broke up with after a little over two weeks. She did an interview with People afterward, shortly followed by a stint as a musical guest on Saturday Night Live . Not the worst way to get over an ex.
Next to me, a bee lands on a lavender sprig. “Sounds like you’ll be going solo now,” I say toward it before turning back to Vin. “Why are you telling me this?”
Vin passes the sage leaf back and forth between his fingers. “There are these photos of us.”
“I’m well aware,” I say, nodding slowly.
Vin studies me and leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “You’re not mad?”
Above us, the leaves create a natural wind chime as they dance in the wind. Vin’s eyes are a darker brown in the tree’s shade.
“It’s not my favorite photo of myself, but people are going to think what they want. Doesn’t make it true, right?” I ask.
Vin doesn’t agree one way or another. “The charity event has already been marketing it as this whole celebrity couple’s thing.
Tickets have been purchased. It’s set to be one of the biggest fund-raisers for them,” he explains, closing his eyes for a few seconds like he’s summoning the strength to ask something difficult. “What would you say to going with me?”
I choke back a laugh. “Like, as your date? I don’t play guitar,” I say before registering that I’ve just given myself—and my online sleuthing—away.
“You wouldn’t be pretending to be my ex,” Vin says with a knowing smirk. “That wouldn’t make any sense. You’d be you, pretending to be…”
“Your girlfriend?” I supply when Vin trails off.
“My date ,” he maintains.
“Wouldn’t that just feed the headlines?” I ask. The last thing I need is to become friendly with a good-looking cellist heartbreaker. Objectively, of course. “Maybe you can be photographed with someone else. The blonde from the party? Have you tried her?”
Tall and leggy does seem to be his type. In my research, I learned a lot about Vin’s past relationships. If you can call them that. They were more like flings, lasting less than a month. There was the actress who does only very serious films. The principal dancer in the New York City Ballet. Then there was the Victoria’s Secret model. How one could break an angel’s heart, I’ll never know. When I couldn’t find anything from the past six months, I turned to Gardeners’ World for higher-quality entertainment.
“The photos have already laid the foundation,” he says. Then he mumbles to himself, “I hate that I’m even asking this.”
I hear it, and I feel the need to understand. “Then why are you? You’re an eligible bachelor. What if you auction off a date with you to raise even more money for this event?”
Vin lifts an eyebrow at me. “Not a terrible idea, though that would take time to set up. The event’s next week. I was planning on bringing Leo, but now… I would hate to ask that of him when he’s feeling down.”
It’s a good instinct. While it’s important for some people to be around others and socializing during heartbreak, for some it’s too soon.
“I don’t know, Vin,” I say. “Me going on a date with you? It’s too… unlikely. No one would believe we’re together.”
I realize this isn’t necessarily true, if the headlines were any indication. The fact the claims aren’t being outright rejected means people believe there’s some percentage of truth to it. This baffles me.
The muscle in Vin’s jaw flexes. “Maybe it’s so unlikely, it’s believable,” he says.
“And then what? We just go our separate ways after? Won’t people still be curious about us?” I ask.
“That’s when I could… break up with you,” he says so quickly that it takes me a second to process his words. “You did say you wanted to help, right?” He attempts a weak smile.
“Wow,” I say, standing slowly. Now it’s my turn to pace. Does this guy actually prefer to break up with people? Is that his shtick? “Let me get this straight. You traveled all this way just to ask to break up with me? You should’ve saved yourself the trouble and called.”
Whatever the opposite of a grand gesture is, this is that.
“I figured you’d hang up on me,” he says.
I don’t respond. I like to think that’s what I would’ve done, but I’ve never hung up on anyone before.
Vin’s so straightforward with his ask that I don’t know whether I should be offended or impressed.
“Well, thanks for stopping by, but this is a little strange to me,” I say. “Do you always give the women you date a heads-up that you’re going to end things with them?”
Vin runs a hand down his face. “Despite what you’d like to believe, never. But these are different circumstances,” he says. “And honestly, this is weird for me, too.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “What if I don’t want to be broken up with?”
Vin exhales through his nose. “I need a breakup.”
It’s safe to say that this man and I have very different needs.
“What makes you think I’d be so easy to break up with?” I ask, working through my thoughts, stunning myself that I haven’t said no yet.
Vin’s lower eyelid twitches slightly, but his mouth is firmly set in a straight line. “I don’t think anything about you is easy,” he says, standing to meet me.
He towers over me, but his shoulders are slightly hunched. It’s not like he came here demanding I do this. Vin really is asking. He needs this.
“We have this tour, and it’d probably be best to go our separate ways before then,” he continues. “We probably just need to be seen together once more. Then I’ll get out of your way. And at the event, we only need to interact when absolutely necessary. You’ll hardly notice me.”
This is the moment that I do, in fact, start to notice him. Like, really notice him. The way he can’t ever be still, a part of him always in motion. His long fingers that are always fiddling with something. The tapping of his foot and the reshifting of positions every few minutes. He squeezes his hand into a fist while stretching out his arm.
I don’t know what Vin’s heartbreak is yet, but I can sense that there’s something there. I see remnants of it in his tired eyes, his frown, his constant being on edge, his shallow breathing. I wonder if I’d be able to help.
“When’s the tour?” I ask.
“In three months.”
“You think Leo’s going to be well enough for a world tour in, what, August?” I ask, counting the months under my breath. “You’re more optimistic than you let on.”
“He has to be. People don’t know Leo was in a relationship,” Vin reveals. “If they find out that he’s heartbroken, well, that’s just not what we do.”
“Of course, you don’t do heartbreak. You just do the heartbreaking,” I mumble a little too bitterly before immediately gasping. I didn’t mean to say it, not really. It just slipped out, this weird tension inside of me bursting at the seams and ripping all the way open. Something buried deep inside of me grows its way toward the surface. Something I didn’t know still bothered me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Think what you want. You can even say what you want. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Vin says, cutting me off. He studies my face for a moment. “I get it. You hate people like me because you have to clean up my messes.”
He crosses his arms, and I instinctively mirror him. We’re in an accidental face-off that I didn’t intend to be in, and what a beautiful face his is. As he takes another step forward, I catch a whiff of him. His scent matches his steely exterior, but there’s something sweet beneath the surface. The combination of black tea, dark berries, and eucalyptus temporarily overwhelms me despite its subtlety.
I push away all the bright, shiny performances and interviews of Vin that I’ve watched in passing (fine, studied) in the past month. That man is not the same version of the man in front of me. He’s a blank slate, a new recipe whose ingredients I’ve yet to determine.
There’s a long, tension-filled silence. I’m both irritated and intrigued by Vin, but I don’t know what to name this feeling.
I manage to get a few words out. “I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”
My breath hitches in my throat as I stare down Vin. I force myself to think about my ingredient lists and what the weather might be like tomorrow. I have food to prep and a product line to work on and hearts to heal. These are the things I need to be thinking about.
What should not be on my mind is Vin Chao and whatever it is my body is doing in reaction to him.
“What is this between us?” Vin asks, like he’s just read my thoughts. “Have I done something to you?”
“Other than show up here unannounced asking to break up with me?” I ask, my tone revealing a low-level irritation.
“I know this is a lot,” Vin says. “In hindsight, I really should’ve called. If I bother you this much, then I’ll go.” He starts to back up. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”
“Wait,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. “I think you—”
He shakes his head. “You what? You think you know me? Because whatever made-up image or thought you have of me, I can promise you that’s not who I am.”
I close my eyes for a long second. “I don’t know.” I feel my expression softening. “You make me nervous, I guess.”
I exhale sharply, having suddenly pinpointed the annoyance this man causes me.
“Well, you make me… you make me nervous, too,” Vin says quietly. He’s flustered in the most annoyingly adorable way.
I relax a little at hearing this admission. It’s a strange kind of comfort knowing that we both make each other feel similarly.
Vin catalogs me with his intense eyes. It’s quick, but I notice his glance drop to my lips. Without even trying, all that suddenly remains in focus for me is Vin’s firm mouth. I tear my eyes away too late, and in that split second, he catches me looking at his lips, too.
I resign myself to being caught, not knowing how to get out of this one. Heat swarms in my chest.
I need time. Time to think about this, time to work through every angle of it.
“Come on. Let’s go get tea,” I say, knowing I’ll be throwing a few extra mint leaves in mine.
I really need to cool down.