11. Vivian #2
“Yeah,” I say, reaching out and plucking the ring from his fingers before I can think too hard about it. “Well.” I slip it into the box, closing it with a quiet, final click. “She would’ve been.”
The words hang there for half a second too long before I fake a small laugh, shaking my head like I can reset the moment if I just tilt it sideways.
“Actually,” I add, standing a little bit taller and glancing back up at him, “he would’ve been the lucky one.” I tap the box lightly with my fingertip, a quick, dismissive gesture. “But that’s not really how this story goes.”
I push off the counter slightly, letting my smile fully pull us back into place—this is the part of me that is easier, lighter, practiced. Don’t look at my wound, let’s help you. It’s my own shell game, if you will. It works.
“Well, what is the story, then?” he asks, eyes innocent and wide, and really wanting to know.
“People come in here for happily ever afters,” I say. “They don’t come in here for the truth.”
“What do you mean, the truth?”
I glance up and find Ty watching me, and not in that polite, passing way people do when they’re waiting for you to finish talking, but like he actually wants the answer. Like he needs to know it now. So, I let out a small breath and rest my hands on the counter.
“This place…” I gesture lightly around us. “It was my grandmother’s idea. She always said jewelry isn’t about the thing itself. It’s about the moment it stands in for.”
His gaze flicks briefly around the shop, then back to me. “Makes sense.”
“She wanted people to be able to walk in here and leave with something that marked a piece of their life,” I continue. “Something they could afford, something they could hold on to. A promise. A beginning. A memory.”
I can practically hear her voice as I say that: “We’re not selling jewelry, Vivian. We’re giving people a way to remember who they were when everything felt certain.”
I swallow lightly and keep going. “So it’s always been about the story.
The sweet version of it, anyway. The part where everything lines up and means something and ends the way it’s supposed to.
” My mouth curves faintly. “That’s what people want when they walk in here, to Sullivan’s Fine Jewelry.
They want the moment. The shine. The version where it all works out. ”
I glance down briefly, then back up. “They don’t come in here for the part where it doesn’t.”
“If there’s a story behind that ring,” he says after a second, nodding toward the box still sitting between us, “I’d love to hear it. I’m not really here for the happily-ever-after version.”
His tone stays easy, but there’s something steady underneath it. “I mean,” he adds, one shoulder lifting, “I am, technically, since you’re helping me with my sister’s ring.”
A flicker of a smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “You did break it after being told to not go near it.”
“Shush,” Ty laughs, rolling those gorgeous hazel eyes of his.
They’re filled with gold flecks today, I’ve noticed they appear when he’s laughing.
And that laugh. It’s the most wonderful noise to hear.
It’s deep and infectious, and makes me smile instantly.
“What I need is for you to tell me more about that ring. What happened?”
For a second, I’m not entirely sure what shows on my face.
I drop my gaze, buying myself a moment. Can he tell?
Does he know? Is this one of those things where it’s obvious and I’m the last person to realize it?
I could give him the curated version of the story.
The one that takes four sentences and requires no follow up questions.
“Nothing dramatic,” I say finally, which is both true and not even close. I reach for the box, opening it again, because somehow it’s easier to talk about it if I’m not looking at him.
“The ring was designed by the bride,” I say, my voice settling into something steadier. “Every detail. Every angle. I worked on it for…about eighteen months.”
My thumb brushes lightly along the edge of the ring.
“I went through everything. Stone size, setting, band width. It was to feel like her, but also like…something that would last. Something that wouldn’t go out of style or feel like a phase.
” I let out a quiet breath, the memory, not quite faint, still making me feel emotions in the pit of my stomach I forgot existed.
“Sounds like she knew what she wanted.”
“She was very sure about it,” I add. That part almost catches. I clear my throat lightly, pushing through. Boy, was I ever sure about it. “It was supposed to be ready a few weeks before the wedding. Final fitting, last adjustments, the whole thing.”
“And was it ready?”
“It got finished and yes, it was ready for the wedding,” I say, closing the box gently. “Only, the wedding never happened.”
I keep my eyes on the counter, tracing an invisible line along the wood.
“Turns out forever is a little less…set in stone than people think,” I add, a faint, almost self-aware edge slipping back into my voice. I glance up then, meeting his eyes. “Which, again, is not the story we usually lead with around here.”
“So, I guess it wouldn’t fit the brand, would it?” Ty asks, the corner of his mouth tipping upward.
“No,” I say easily. “Not at all.”
I reach into the safe where Emma’s husband’s wedding band sits and grab a polishing cloth, giving it a small flick before I bring it to the ring. A little extra flourish never hurt anyone. I turn it slowly between my fingers, giving it one last pass until it catches the light just right.
“There,” I say, satisfied. I grab a fresh velvet box, place the ring inside, and slide it across the counter toward him.
He reaches for it, then pauses. “You know what,” he says, pulling his hand back slightly. “I want Emma to see that I’ve got it.”
I glance up.
“Will you take a picture of me with it?” he adds, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “So I can send it to her.”
A laugh slips out of me. “Evidence you did your brother-job?”
“Proof of ring-life, really.” He hands me his phone, stepping back a half pace as he opens the box again.
“Okay, hold on,” I say, lifting the phone and angling it toward him. “You can’t stand there like you’ve been forced into this.”
“But I kinda was,” he says, holding the box up anyway.
“Your face is saying exactly that, but,” I point to my mouth, “why don’t you give me a smile.”
He bares his teeth. That is not a smile. What he has done I would call a situation.
I shake my head. “No. We’re not scaring her away from the photo. I need you to smile.”
“I am smiling.”
“That is not smiling,” I say, lowering the phone slightly so I can look at him properly. “That’s what people do right before they tell you bad news.”
He exhales a laugh, dropping the expression.
“Okay,” I say, lifting the phone again. “Try again. Be normal.”
I catch it then—a reaction I almost miss. It’s subtle, but there’s something there. A flicker. A small storm that rolls through his expression before he reins it back in, like I imagined it.
He clears his throat and points to his mouth. I can’t even see teeth. “I’m smiling now.”
I toss my hands in the air at his tight-lipped attempt. “Your mouth disagrees.”
That does it. A real laugh breaks through, his shoulders loosening, something unguarded slipping into his expression without him trying.
I snap the photo.
“Got it,” I say, lowering the phone and glancing at the screen.
It’s good. Better than good. This man is ridiculously attractive. Like—campaign-level. Put-him-on-the-side-of-a-building-and-sell-something-I-don’t-need attractive. I hold the phone out to him.
“Send that one to Emma. She’ll be happy.”
He takes it, glancing down at the photo, and there’s that same small shift in his expression: it’s quiet, pleased.
“Yeah,” he says. “She will.”
I lean against the counter again, folding the cloth in my hands.
“Look at you,” I add lightly. “Responsible, prepared, documenting proof of ring retrieval. Very impressive.”
“Well, I am the mate of honor, so…”
“Wait,” I manage, doing a double take. “Mate of honor?”
He shrugs, like it’s not at all something I need more information about. “Are there duties? A sash? A speech?”
“Definitely a speech,” he says, more visibly relaxed now that the photo session is over. “Still working on not making it terrible.”
“Strong starting point,” I say. “Aim low, exceed expectations.”
“That’s the plan.” His phone buzzes in his hand. “But, the lead up to her big day has been a lot of me doing favors for Emma.”
“The job of the ‘mate of honor,’” I say, giving him a quick wink like I’m in on a secret. “You know, they do sell books on how to be in a wedding party.”
“Like maid of honor duties for dummies?” Ty asks, that dangerous grin of his returning at the same time his phone buzzes yet again.
“Exactly,” I say, matching his grin as his phone buzzes one more time. I glance down at it, then back up at him, lifting a brow. “I’m guessing someone really wants to get a hold of you.”
He exhales, glancing at the screen. “Yeah. Emma’s got one of the moms from the girls’ team reaching out to me today.”
His thumb hovers over the screen like he’s debating whether to answer it right now.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Something I need to talk to her about regarding her daughter and practice.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Coach life.”
“Something like that.”
The bell above the door chimes, cutting through the moment, and I glance up automatically. An older woman steps inside, hair perfectly styled and posture perfect, already scanning the cases with purpose.
“Hi, welcome,” I call, slipping easily back into shop mode. Sometimes it’s safest to pretend.
When I look over at Ty, he’s already tucking his phone into his pocket.
“I should probably—” he starts.
“Go,” I say. “It was nice talking to you.”
A small smile pulls at his mouth.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”
“You will, and prepare to be pulled in again,” I playfully remind him.
“Right.” He hesitates for half a second—long enough to register, but not long enough to turn into anything more—then nods once and heads for the door.
The bell chimes behind him as he steps outside, disappearing into the crowd milling past on the sidewalk this morning.
Without Ty’s presence, the room feels different. Which is ridiculous. It was a ten-minute conversation. A ring pickup. A photo. That’s it. Yet somehow he’s left it lighter than it was when he arrived.
“But, that wasn’t so bad,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“Excuse me?”
I blink, turning back to the customer like I haven’t just been standing here mentally rewinding the last ten minutes.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, slipping into my usual position behind the counter. “What can I help you with?”
She launches into something about an anniversary, a redesign, a stone she’s not sure about.
I nod in all the right places, reaching for a tray, asking questions I’ve asked a hundred times before.
But my brain. My brain is still somewhere near the front door.
Still stuck on the way he laughed. Still stuck on the moment he looked at my old engagement ring and asked what the story was.
I pick up a pen, jotting down notes I will absolutely have to re-read later.
“—and I just want it to feel like us,” the customer says. “Like love and loyalty, and our happily ever after all rolled up into one.”
“Yes, I hear you,” I reply automatically. “That’s the most important part. We’re here for your happily ever after.”
Because it is. And we are.
That’s what we do here.