11. Vivian
VIVIAN
“Yes, I understand you’d like it to feel meaningful,” I say into the phone, pressing it a little closer to my ear as I force my voice into its brightest, most accommodating tone. “I just—when you say ‘subtle but also very large,’ can you walk me through what that means for you?”
I close my eyes briefly, as if that helps me to hear her better.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, nodding like she can see me. “No, I hear you. A statement piece that doesn’t feel like a statement piece.”
My gaze drifts to the display case in front of me, to the neat rows of rings that are very clearly either statements…or not.
“Right,” I say. “And you’d like it by Friday.”
Silence stretches just long enough for me to consider pretending the call dropped.
“Of course you would,” I add, smile firmly in place even though there is absolutely no one here to witness it.
I pace behind the counter, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I reach for a notepad.
“Okay. So just to confirm, we’re looking at something delicate, understated, but also eye-catching, with a center stone that isn’t too big, but still feels significant, and—” I pause, pen hovering. “You want it to feel heirloom, but also modern.”
Another beat, then agreement on the other end.
“Perfect,” I say, because what else is there to say at this point? “Yes. That gives me a lot to work with.”
It gives me nothing. It gives me absolutely nothing.
“I’ll sketch a few ideas and send them through by late afternoon,” I continue, already knowing I will, in fact, be spiraling over this for at least an hour. “And we’ll go from there.”
There’s a final round of thank-yous, reassurances, and one last, “I just want it to be special,” before the call ends.
I lower the phone slowly, staring at it for a beat. Then I let my head tip back.
“Subtle but also very large,” I mutter to the ceiling. “Sure. No problem. Why not.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. This is my life. This—gesturing vaguely to the shop, the counter, the cases, the entire concept of being the person who somehow translates “vibes” into jewelry—is my life.
I set the phone down and push away from the counter, moving out into the middle of the store. It’s quiet now. Late morning light filters through the windows, catching on glass and gold and polished stone. Everything looks exactly the way it’s supposed to. Carefully arranged. Finished. Final.
I turn slowly, taking it all in like I don’t see it every single day. My grandmother’s shop. My shop.
Except…is it?
I walk past the main case, trailing my fingers lightly along the edge.
Every piece inside it tells a story. Engagements.
Anniversaries. Promises people believe in enough to put into metal and stone.
Forever, packaged neatly in a velvet box.
For a long time, that’s all I wanted. Commitment.
Certainty. A life that felt chosen and locked in and safe.
And now? Now the idea of something being that final makes my chest tighten just a little. It’s not that I don’t love or appreciate what I have here—I do—but there’s a quiet part of me that keeps wondering if this is it. If the store and my part in it is as big as my life gets.
And maybe that should be enough. Maybe for someone like me, it has to be.
But I still want more.
Not more in a loud, sweeping, storybook way.
But something that feels like it matters.
Like I’ve left a mark somewhere, even if no one really notices it but me.
I think that’s why I jumped at the chance to try team bonding with Emma’s girls.
Yes, we’re a jewelry store, but we’ve always believed in making things an experience for our customers.
And maybe I’m just trying to give myself one, too.
Because if I’m not the kind of person who gets the big, shiny happily ever after, then I’d at least like to be part of something that helps someone else find theirs, or at least get them on their path to one, whatever their version of that may be.
So if that means trying out team bonding in the guise of a workshop helping teenage girls getting along…well. Why not?
My phone dings, signaling a text, so I grab it from my purse and check the screen.
Gran:
Be home late tonight or tomorrow morning. Call me if you need me. Won over 2K so far! Xx
Snickering to myself, I prep for the day, pulling pieces of jewelry to the front of the safe that will be picked up soon, only a certain velvet box catches my eye.
Ignoring it, and its call back to a past memory I hate to dip into, I reach for the velvet tray holding Emma’s ring, then stop myself.
It’s already perfect. It’s been polished and fixed, and it’s now exactly as it should be.
Still, the other box calls to me, like the devious siren she is. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I lift the lid of the small box in the safe…just to look at it again.
No, it’s not Emma’s.
This one is mine.
Well. Not mine, mine…at least not now.
I stare at the diamond for a beat too long before shutting the box again with a quiet click, like that somehow keeps everything contained where it belongs.
I stop near the workbench, glancing at the sketches scattered there. Designs that feel like me in a way the rest of the shop sometimes doesn’t. I love when I’m creating something from nothing. Taking an idea, however wildly contradictory, and turning it into something real.
But the shop?
I look around again. The shop feels like a decision that’s already been made. Like I’m stepping into a life that’s been waiting for me to agree to it. And I don’t know if I have.
“Maybe I’m just…borrowing it,” I murmur under my breath. “For now.”
The words hang there, not quite landing, not quite wrong either as the bell above the door chimes. I straighten automatically, the thought slipping neatly back into whatever mental drawer I’ve been using to avoid looking at it too closely.
“Hi, welcome—”
The rest of the sentence stalls out when I see that the universe has decided that whenever I start questioning my entire life, it’s the perfect time to add a sexy, smoking hot, six-foot-something distraction into the mix. Good thinking.
“Hey,” he says, like he’s not doing anything particularly disruptive by showing up here and standing in my doorway looking all…like that.
“Hey,” I reply, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity.
He steps inside, the bell giving one last chime behind him, and there’s a second where he just looks around. Taking it in. People do that sometimes when they first come through the door, and it shouldn’t make me feel like I’m being assessed.
Today, it absolutely does.
“I’ve got Emma’s ring,” I say quickly, because business is safe and straightforward and does not involve me thinking about anything else. Also, I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s here, so let’s stay on target.
“Good,” he says, stepping up to the counter. “I promised my sister I won’t touch it. I’m under strict instructions to take it to my house immediately after and put it away in a drawer.”
“Smart move,” I agree, already reaching for the box. I set it down between us and flip it open. “Crisis officially averted.”
He leans in slightly, bracing a hand on the counter as he looks down at it. There’s something about the way he focuses—so very quiet, and with intent—that makes my stomach do a small, entirely unhelpful shift.
“This doesn’t look like a man’s wedding ring,” he says, dragging his eyes up to meet mine.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and make a face because I know it’s Emma’s ring. Then, I look down. And—oh.
Oh no.
“That’s…” I reach for it too quickly, fingers fumbling as I snap the box halfway shut. “That’s not—hang on.”
Smooth, Vivian. So smooth.
I flip it open again, then immediately close it like that might somehow reverse the last five seconds of my life.
“Wrong ring,” I say, a little too brightly. Even I can hear the tinge of hysteria in my voice. “That’s not the one I—just give me a second.”
I turn, already reaching for the safe behind the counter like I can outrun the embarrassment if I move fast enough.
“Hey,” he says, not sharp, but enough to stop me.
I freeze, hand hovering midair.
“Let me see that.”
I hesitate. There’s no reason to hesitate. It’s just a ring. It shouldn’t have so much weight, so much meaning. Even as I think it, I want to slap myself because absolutely it does. If it didn’t have all that, we wouldn’t be in business, would we?
I exhale quietly and turn back, setting the box down again and opening it this time without rushing.
“There,” I say, like I’m presenting evidence. “Accidental preview of something that is very much not relevant to your transaction.”
His attention drops to it again, but slower this time. Careful. He doesn’t reach for it right away. After a second, he picks it up between his fingers. It’s ridiculous how aware I am of that.
“That’s beautiful,” he says, his voice low. I can tell in the way he says it, he means it, that he’s not saying it just to fill space, say the right thing.
“It’s…” I shrug lightly, aiming for indifferent and landing somewhere closer to evasive. “Yeah.”
He turns it in his fingers, angling the stone just enough that the light catches. It fractures instantly, scattering across the walls and ceiling in a thousand tiny sparks. For a second, the whole room feels brighter.
From Ty, there’s no joke. No teasing. No “ha ha” about commitment or faking like he’s going to put it on. He just looks at it. Which, for the record, is not helping.
“It’s beautiful. Whoever’s getting that,” he says, glancing up at me for half a second before looking back down, “is a pretty lucky woman, huh?”
The words land soft. Too soft. Can something be so soft it tears you apart on the insides? For a second, I feel it—that echo of something I used to believe without question.
I press my thumb lightly into the edge of the counter, grounding myself.