To Sir, with Love

by Lauren Layne

You’re in your Cinderella mode.” “I do not have a Cinderella mode.” “You totally do,” Rachel says. “I just watched you feed half your sandwich to the pigeons. Who you named.”

Rachel very slowly shakes her head. “Gracie Madeleine Cooper, you are in love and you didn’t tell me.”

“You have the best hair,” I say, tucking an errant curl into the band and studying my handiwork. “Attempt to distract from the matter at hand rejected,” she says, turning back around.

“So there’s this dating app.”

Okay, fine. So maybe I’m a tiny bit in love with a man I haven’t met.

I hear it now. I take it back and reassure you that in no way do I think of you as my mother.

My name is Gracie Cooper and I’m thirty-three years old, middle child, New Yorker by birth and choice, proud owner of a champagne shop called Bubbles & More, and I love my life.

Not the life I imagined, but it is a good life.

my personal superpower: the ability to accept and embrace things as they are, not as I wish they could be.

How can someone with such beautiful eyes have such an ugly soul? I scratch that one out. Go to hell. I circle that one. It’s my thesis.

“It’s nearly ten o’clock.” “Well, thank God you called to let me know, Ms. Cooper. I’d never have known the time without this call.”

Given the hard-to-define nature of our correspondence, this is perhaps overstepping, but I confess my knee-jerk reaction to your note was to ask for a name and address of the offender. Duels are still a thing, right?

I too have been up at night, though not for something I heard but for something I said. A rash, spontaneous comment I wish I could take back.

she’s informed me that she only ever wears red underwear, which probably explains at least in part why her love life is so much better than mine.

To Sir, in follow-up, Do you ever find that the person who gets you the most is a person you’ve never met? My dear Lady, Yes.

Watch out, Sebastian Andrews. I’m coming for you.

To Sir, with umbrellas, Absolutely, though I confess I’m having one of those glorious days where I am the storm. Lady

He says nothing for a long minute, though I feel him studying me, and the room suddenly becomes… charged? No. He has a girlfriend. I have a… pen pal. We hate each other.

“Protect against big bad businessmen like myself,”

"the big, bad chainstore"

“Avis’s daughter’s name is Kathleen.

His lips twitch with the hint of a reluctant smile. “What is it with you and twenty-dollar bills?”

Perhaps it’s because the cat is so indifferent that you love him so. There’s something irritatingly irresistible about someone who won’t give you the time of day…

“Neither of those are good stories, May.” “Sure they are. Just not happy ones.

“It’s just…” He exhales with a quiet laugh. “Complicated. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” “Maybe because you know I already think you’re the worst, and thus you can tell me anything without my opinion of you sinking any lower?” I say, batting my eyelashes.

And every time, he seems to sense my gaze, because his eyes find mine. The moments of eye contact are brief—a few seconds at most. The butterflies in my stomach last much, much longer.

I put on my headphones, turn on Queen, and lose myself in “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“There’s nobody here but you and me, Ms. Cooper.” As if I need the reminder. Every time I’m with the man, the rest of the world seems to fade away, and the Frank Sinatra songs in my head seem to be getting more and more intimate. On the current playlist: “I’m a Fool to Want You” Indeed, Frank. Indeed.

“Okay, now hold on,” I say, still trying not to laugh. “It doesn’t look pretty, but it tastes good. You always say that it doesn’t matter how food looks, as long as it’s tasty.” “I’m a professional caterer. I have literally never said that,”

what’s your title again? Vice president of city domination?”

The order bothers me. Lemon sorbet is my thing with Sir, and I don’t like thinking about Sebastian Andrews and Sir in the same thought. I like even less that when he notices me shiver and drops his coat over my shoulders, I stop thinking about Sir altogether.

I live a good life—I

Life feels most real when I’m writing to you,

Would you like to meet?

“Um, I believe the thank God should be reserved for the fact that you got rid of that facial hair,” Lily says. He rubs his bare chin. “You think? I’m sort of missing it.” “It looked like a weed,” I say, backing up my sister. “Or pubes.”

Lily nods and looks my way. “You do that. Alec and I started dating when you were nine, and the second time he came over, you showed him a picture you’d colored. Of my wedding dress.”

“He’s proud of you,” she whispers. “Your mama too. They’d want you to choose you.”

I don’t suppose you’re old-fashioned and have a handkerchief tucked into your suit pocket there?” “Normally, yes. But alas, I left it next to my pocket watch and top hat this morning.”

“What if pursuing one path costs you another?” “That, my dear sir, is what you call life.”

“Thanks for sharing your right moment champagne with a guy who put you out of business.”

“This guy of yours, the complicated one,” he says, eyes latching on to mine. “He’s the one?” My breath catches at the question. I want to look away, but his eyes seem to hold me still. “I don’t know,” I admit quietly, to myself for the first time. “I thought so, but now… I’m not so sure.” His eyes gleam with something that looks like satisfaction, and his response knocks everything inside me off balance. “Good.”

He’s close enough that I can see his eyelashes—black and spiky,

“Why in God’s name would you want to piece together your future?” May asks, sounding aghast. “Half the fun’s in not knowing.”

I’m older, I’m wiser, and so I can tell you with complete confidence that there’s no point with regrets. So, moving right along… what shall we do about it?”

I’m an artist. Have I ever told you that?

“May,” Lily says in laughing exasperation as May motions for Caleb, Lily, and me to stand side by side. Again. “What are you going to do with these pictures?” “Take them to Heaven to show your mom and dad,” May says in all seriousness, clearly irked that she even has to explain this.

Me in a pink-and-white dress, him with a single pink rose in his suit pocket.

“Our home? Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you there, Sir?” “My dear Lady, you stole my heart twice. If you think I’m letting another second of my life pass without you in it, I’ll have to kiss you again to set you straight.”