Chapter 28 Chryssy
Chapter 28
CHRYSSY
One and a half months later
W here are you taking me?” I ask as Vin leads me by the hand.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he commands. “One more step.”
I tap the ground in front of me, trusting Vin as he guides me to who knows where.
“Okay. Open them,” he says.
It takes me a few seconds to process that we’re in an antique shop, filled to the corners with a mishmash of clothing, books, furniture, lamps, and art. I don’t know where to look first.
“You took me antiquing for our first official date?” I ask.
Vin’s been in New York City rehearsing with Leo for all of July while I’ve been working on In Full Bloom and expanding our flower offerings. The chrysanthemums we planted in Auntie Rose’s garden are growing like wild, and they look like they’ll bloom in the next month or so. At this point, every flower counts. To keep up with the steady growth and repeat customers, we’re in talks with flower farms outside of Washington.
Despite the early success, though, my aunties and I can’t say yes to every opportunity if we want to maintain some semblance of balance in our lives. We do what we can with what we have. We are a small family business, after all. And when there’s time between my work at the inn and In Full Bloom, I recipe-test and record my podcast, now as the Heartbreak Herbalist.
Tomorrow, Vin leaves for the first stop on his tour, but until then, we have right now.
“I’m getting a couch,” he says.
I tear my eyes from a shell-shaped pewter soap dish. “You. You’re getting a couch,” I say. “Today?”
He nods. “I’m not leaving this store without one. Is this okay?”
I laugh. “It’s so romantic. In other words, it’s perfect.” In my periphery, a neon-green couch trimmed in pink bullion fringe draws my focus. “Is something like that close to what you had in mind?”
Vin clocks the nearly glowing piece of furniture. “Let’s do a loop before committing to anything right away,” he says quickly.
We round a corner, passing by stacks of baskets and a table with a bicycle base.
“The fact that you have an eighteenth-century cello tells me you appreciate well-loved items with a story. We’re bound to find something like that here,” I say.
“This cowhide chair is calling my name,” Vin says, sitting down in it. “What’s this one’s story?”
I laugh. “It’s faux, so there’s not much of one, but it suits you.”
“Pass. It’s not as comfortable as I’d prefer, and we’d need enough room for you,” he says.
I pull him from the chair, and we continue roaming, picking up small items along the way.
“Do you think this terra-cotta frog would look good at the inn?” I ask. “It feels like a need.” I lift it, turning it over to assess its drainage capabilities. “Let’s circle, and if it’s still here on the second round, we’ll get it.”
We pause in front of a fun house mirror that makes our heads look twice the size.
“I’m proud of you,” I say, lifting my chin to make it extra long in the mirror’s reflection. “First you drop your label. Now you’re buying a couch.”
We move on, passing by an art wall covered in oil paintings.
“I’m glad we called them mid–acupuncture session,” Vin says. “When they offered more money on the spot and promised to think up a new narrative, I was too relaxed to allow the urgency of their tones to sway me. Still, leaving our label of ten years feels a little like being onstage with a cello that has a broken string and being forced to perform.”
The Chao Brothers are free agents, but they’ll undoubtedly land on their feet when they’re ready. After Vin and Leo complete their contract, they’ll get to think about what they want to do next and what they want their lives to look like. There will be time to rest, time to dream. Time to be.
“You’re better at improv than you think,” I say. “And you clearly didn’t need a breakup to sell out a world tour. Maybe the Chaobreakers want to see you happy.”
“It’s a new era. Who knew even heartbreakers can experience love?” Vin says playfully. “I’m happy, Chryssy. For the first time in a long time, I’m excited about what’s to come.”
When the Chao Brothers’ tour wraps, instead of jumping right into their next album or getting started on the sequel to the film they recently scored, Vin and I will be sneaking away for a real vacation to southern Italy where the only cello Vin will be touching is a limoncello.
“We get to watch each other bloom,” I say, beaming at him.
“It’s going to be damn beautiful.” He clears his throat. “Here’s something else I haven’t fully figured out how to say,” Vin starts. “I want this couch to fit its future home properly. Should I be thinking about what couch best fits the style of my place in the city or… somewhere else?”
My pulse picks up speed. “Well, you’ll be on tour, and it would cost way too much to send a couch from Seattle to New York City. I think it only makes sense for the couch to be delivered to the Dandelion,” I say, my cheeks warming. “Then when you’re back, you’ll have somewhere to, you know, sit…”
“Mmm, good call,” he says, nodding. “I do need somewhere to sit.”
“And to practice!” I add. “We don’t want the couch to be lonely at your empty apartment.”
Vin reaches for my hand. “No, we definitely wouldn’t want that.”
I give his hand a squeeze as we stroll, the little extensions of ourselves connected to each other. “And when you’re back, and after finally getting the vacation you’ve earned, we could turn my bedroom into our bedroom.”
“I’d like that,” Vin says. “Especially because I’ve lost my bedroom to your podcast.”
“But only until we find a place of our own?” I ask.
His face brightens. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
A place of our own. I’ve never had one of those until the Dandelion. Until now.
A mustard midcentury piece catches my eye. “What about this beauty?” I ask, sprawling back on it. I hook my elbow on the back of the couch, cross my legs, and pose dramatically.
It takes him hardly a second to say, “It’s perfect.”
My eyes flit to a rose-colored, argyle-patterned love seat. I launch myself toward it as I drop my bag on the ground. I wriggle around on it. “Comfy!”
“Even better,” he says.
I gasp and speed-walk to an armless couch in the shape of purple lips. “I’m sorry, but how can you say no to this?” I run my hand back and forth on the couch’s cupid’s bow, my fingers dipping with the curves.
Vin nods. “You’re right, I can’t. I love it.”
I stop midrub along the lips’ velvet fabric. “Why was this so hard for you before? I anticipated a good amount of pushback.”
He joins me on the couch. “Before, none of the couches had you on them,” he says.
My breath catches in my chest.
He cringes. “Too romantic?”
I place my hand on his cheek. “I think I’m starting to not mind romantic so much,” I whisper.
“And to think, if I hadn’t unplugged you,” Vin mumbles.
“It all started with a little electricity. Or lack thereof,” I say, stroking my thumb across his skin. “Do you still have to leave tomorrow?”
“To kick off our sold-out tour?” he asks, pretending to think. “Nah.”
I laugh. “Good.” I reach into my purse and pull out a freezer bag. “I have something for you.”
Vin takes the bag from me and lets out a low, rough laugh. I soak up every square inch of his lit-up face and commit it to memory.
“Think they’ll let me take bath bombs on the plane?” he asks.
“I know the hotels you’ll be staying in will have bathtubs,” I say.
“No in-room hot tubs, though,” he says, mock-disappointed.
I lean in closer. “A regular bath works just fine for what I have in mind.”
Vin’s eyes darken a shade as he swallows. “What scent?”
“Your favorite,” I say. “Lavender-mint.”
He opens the bag and inhales deeply. “Delightful.”
“Save me one for Paris,” I say. “I can’t wait to see you do your thing onstage. And now in every venue you play in, you’ll know me.”
“Maybe I’ll make up new names and backstories for you at all the shows you come to,” Vin says.
“I’ve always wanted to be Ivy for a day,” I joke. “Short and sweet.”
“You got it,” Vin says. “And the first stop after the show: the Eiffel Tower. Time for you to see the sparkly lights for real.” He lingers in this moment, like he’s holding a music note just to make it last a little longer. “I’m going to miss you.”
We just did a month apart, but now a week away from Vin feels too long. I’ll join him when I can, and he’ll fly back between shows. My aunties will be joining, too, for the historic venues. And on this girls’ trip, Auntie Violet will get to go backstage after the show.
During one of the Chao Brothers’ extended breaks, we’ll also be attending Magnolia’s winter wedding in Scotland. After creating the Hua Family Blend, a couple of family members refused to believe anything we told them, but the others have been remarkably open-minded. Magnolia being one of them. When she reached out to her ex for closure about why he ended things, they both realized their love story wasn’t over.
But honestly? That was the least shocking development. I’m not sure what surprised me more: Mom going to dinner at Dad’s restaurant or Auntie Rose getting Ms. Chan’s phone number, and not for the purposes of understanding the curse.
“I actually have something for you, too,” Vin says. He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. A tune streams out from the speakers. There’s a combination of high and low notes, alternating in pace throughout. It’s an upbeat and passionate sound with a few unexpected notes sprinkled in. It’s catchy, whimsical, unique. It reminds me of the exact moment a flower blossoms.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I want to hear it again,” I say. “It makes me feel… hopeful.”
“It’s for your podcast,” he says. “But if you hate it, I can delete it right now and come up with something new.”
The threat of tears comes immediately. “You wrote me a jingle?”
He smirks. “Honestly, it’s more for me. That royalty-free tune you use really needs to—”
I interrupt him with a kiss. “I love it,” I say. “You captured the exact energy of the podcast. It’s clear you did your homework. Which episode inspired you?”
“All of them,” he says. “But that’s not what I was trying to capture. I got to know the incredible woman behind each episode. That’s what inspired the tune.”
“Thank you,” I say, pressing a hand over my heart. “Want to know something else I’d love?”
Vin eyes me suspiciously.
“Can I see your tongue?”
Vin smirks. “I think you’ve seen it plenty,” he says, sticking the tip of his tongue out quickly and pulling it back even faster.
I laugh as he gazes past my shoulder at a Victorian-style sofa pushed up against the wall. I desert the lip couch—with only slight hesitation—to examine it with Vin. The fabric is teal, the ornate wood framing around it lightly scuffed. The silhouette reminds me of a crown.
I lift the tag around the couch’s foot. “This was hand-carved in the 1800s. Is this your new cello-playing couch?”
He grins. “It’s pretty great, though it’s not a very cozy movie-watching type of couch.”
“No, but it’s an excellent ‘reading in a long dress and looking out onto a field’ couch,” I say. “Try it!”
“Am I even allowed to? I feel like I should be wearing a long button-down coat to sit on this thing.” He lowers himself gently onto the seat.
“It suits you,” I admit, observing it from different angles. “I had a feeling you were a nineteenth-century-furniture guy.”
Vin gives the couch a little shake. Its wood frame is sturdy despite its timeworn edges. “Solid. If this one lasted a few hundred years, I think it can last a few more,” he says, looking up at me.
“Add a few pillows and blankets, and I think it’ll hold up on Yin Nights,” I assess.
After In Full Bloom’s growth spurt and being thrown out of balance, I’ve had to also put metaphorical garden beds around my Yin Nights, which were the first to go when life got busy. Since our night in Vegas, I’ve added more romantic comedies into the rotation.
Nowadays, the happy endings don’t bother me so much.
Vin nods. “Sold.”
“Congrats!”
“Thanks. Yeah. Cool.” Vin exhales. “I’ll just… hang out and rest on this,” he says, sliding the tag off.
“That’s one of the best features of couches. Good hang-out-ability,” I say.
Vin smirks. “And then some, I’m sure.” He pauses. “Think of everything this couch has seen. Everything it’s been through. I want this couch to witness us growing old together. And not just this.” He stands and glances around the store. “I want a dining room set. I want a drawer to put my clothes in. I’ll even take that fun house mirror. We might as well throw in the terra-cotta frog while we’re at it. Chryssy, you make me want the whole damn house.”
I beam at him under the fluorescent lights. “I’ve always thought I lived up to my namesake. Short roots and all. I never imagined I’d find a place to settle down and plant them,” I share. “And then I met you, and I learned that roots can be some where , but they can also be with some one .”
Vin leans his forehead against mine. “I love you, Chryssy,” he says.
I pull back just far enough to see his eyes. “I love you, too, Vin.”
I press my lips against his softly, taking my time with it. Because what’s the rush?
It takes less than two seconds to break a person’s heart.
But it takes even less time than that to fall in love. While the lead-up might be millions of heartbeats, in that moment of falling, all it takes is one.
To say the words “I love you.”
“I want you.”
“I need you.”
“Be mine.”
And then there was Vin, the one who there was supposed to be a breakup with. The one who wasn’t Just Right. The one who said, “Show me the line.”
A single heartbeat.
To which I respond, “Yes.”
And the heart beats on.