21. Vivian
VIVIAN
The last few days have been the kind of busy that leaves you a little tired, but a lot satisfied.
Tourists have been in and out of the store nonstop—summer weddings, last-minute engagement rings, couples standing too close together while I pretend not to notice and quietly steer them toward something they’ll both say yes to.
I’ve also had more meetings than usual. More custom requests. More people wanting something that feels like them. And then there’s the workshops. Word has gotten around now, which still feels a little surreal.
This morning, my grandmother extended her trip—because that is how she rolls. Apparently, she and Larry are having “too good a time to come home early,” which I’m choosing not to unpack too deeply.
I smile just thinking about it, even as I shuffle through the notes spread across the counter in front of me.
Workshop ideas. Pricing. Structure. And somehow, I’ve created an entirely separate page that just says “New name?” at the top. Because a re-brand is beginning to feel like a logical next step.
I’ve been turning it over in my head for days now. The idea that maybe the store doesn’t have to stay what it’s always been. That maybe I don’t have to hold on to something just because it feels like the right thing to do.
That maybe I get to choose something different.
I exhale, tapping the pen lightly against the paper. I’m even putting together a presentation—actual slides—because apparently, I’ve decided this is a conversation I’m going to have with my grandmother when she gets back.
Which feels bold. New. And a little terrifying.
My phone is tucked between my shoulder and ear as I jot down another note. It’s the second call I’ve fielded this morning about the bonding sessions and I’m here for it.
“So you’re saying you’d want something similar?” I ask, scanning the list. “Like a team workshop?”
“Exactly,” the voice on the other end says. “We heard about what you did with the girls—my neighbor’s cousin was there and loved it—and now our group is asking if you’d run something like that for us.”
A small, steady spark catches.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, already seeing it. “Yeah, I think we could do that.”
We wrap a few minutes later, and I hang up, staring at the papers spread across the counter.
Another group. And they were referred. My mouth curves.
Okay. This might actually be something. I reach for my phone again, already half thinking I should text Ty to tell him, because he’d get why this feels like more than just another booking, when the door to the store opens and Lucy sweeps in like she owns the place, sunglasses perched on her head, energy ten steps ahead of the room as always.
She pauses just inside, scanning before her gaze lands on me. Then, without a word, she reaches behind her, flips the sign to CLOSED, and locks the door.
“Lucy?”
She turns back to me, leans against the door like she’s about to deliver life-altering news, and points a finger straight at me.
“You harlot.”
I stare at her. “What?”
She pushes off the door, striding toward the counter with purpose. “Don’t think I don’t know where you were.”
I blink again. “What are you talking about?”
She stops right in front of me, eyes narrowing in dramatic accusation. “How long did you think it would take for word to get around that a certain defenseman for the Dominion snuck his very beautiful woman friend into the arena during offseason the other day?”
I freeze, then I lift my chin. “I didn’t think boys were supposed to kiss and tell.”
Lucy scoffs. “It wasn’t Ty.”
I frown. “Then who?”
“Craig.”
“Who’s Craig?”
She gives me a look like I’ve personally offended her. “The building manager who kicked you two out while you were all over each other.”
My entire body goes still. “Oh my God.”
“Yes,” she says, thoroughly enjoying this. “More like, ‘Oh my Craig.’”
“How do you know him?” I demand.
She gestures vaguely. “He’s been best friends with my dad for years. They went out for a beer that night and he couldn’t wait to tell him about the public display of affection happening out on the ice.”
I drop my head into my hands. “Oh, my life.”
“Yeah,” she continues, completely unhelpful. “And then my dad told me, and I was like, no way, so—”
I look up sharply. “So what?”
She hesitates and then smiles.
“Oh, you’re going to love this.”
“Lucy.”
“I may have gone to security.”
My jaw drops. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t. How do you know someone in security?”
“Not me, Liam, and I absolutely did,” she says, far too pleased with herself. “I had them pull the footage so I could confirm it was you.”
I let out a full, unhinged noise and immediately duck behind the counter, crouching like that might somehow erase me from existence.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I groan, pressing my forehead to the cabinet door. “Between you and my grandmother, what did I ever do to deserve this kind of betrayal?”
Lucy leans over the counter, peering down at me with zero sympathy.
“For the record,” she says brightly, “the chemistry? Off the charts.”
I slap a hand over my face.
“I hate you.”
“You do not.”
“You violated multiple levels of privacy!”
“And yet,” she counters, “I was right.”
I peek up at her, glaring.
She grins.
“I’m quitting,” I mutter, dropping my head back down. “I’m leaving the country. I’m changing my name.”
“Too late,” she says. “Craig already knows your face.”
I groan louder.
From somewhere above me, Lucy adds, almost thoughtfully, “Also…he picked you up.”
Very slowly, I lift my head.
“What?”
Her grin widens.
“Like fully picked you up.” She tosses her head back and cackles like a witch standing by a cauldron. She’d be perfect at a Halloween store right now. “You know I watched, and holy cow!”
I drop back down behind the counter.
“I’m never speaking to anyone again.”
“Oh, you will.”
I blink up at the sudden voice right above me.
Lucy is fully draped over the counter now, elbows planted, chin in her hands, staring down at me like I’m the most entertaining thing she’s seen all week.
“You will absolutely speak to me again,” she continues, eyes sparkling, “and you will give me details.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Lucy…”
“Because I need to live vicariously through what I saw,” she barrels on. “I mean, you two are like a Netflix special. It was ridiculous.”
“Oh my gosh, stop,” I say, but I’m already laughing, the mortification starting to melt into something lighter.
She narrows her eyes at me, like she’s zeroing in. “You’re falling for him.”
I press my lips together, then shrug a shoulder, half hiding my smile. “I don’t know.”
Lucy waits.
I sigh. “Probably.”
Her reaction is instant—pure delight. “I knew it.”
“Don’t make it a thing.”
“It already is a thing,” she says, like that’s obvious.
I shake my head, laughing again, pushing myself up just enough to rest my arms on the counter while she stays perched above me like a very glamorous, very nosy gargoyle.
“Also,” she adds, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “the way he was looking at you?”
“Oh no,” I warn.
“Oh yes. That man is gone.”
I drop my head to the counter, laughing into my arms. “Stop talking.”
“I will not stop talking.”
A phone buzzes.
We both ignore it.
Lucy keeps going.
“I mean, the lift? The commitment to the lift?”
“Oh my God,” I mumble into the wood. “Please never say the word lift to me again.”
The phone buzzes again, and the store phone starts to ring at the same time.
Lucy pauses mid-sentence, her head tilting toward the sound.
“That’s your personal one,” she says, eyebrows lifting. “And the shop phone?”
I groan, but push up onto my elbows, reaching blindly for it. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Or,” she says sweetly, “it’s Ty making sure your lips are okay.”
I snort. “They’re fine.”
“Are they?” she presses. “Because from what I saw—”
“Stop!” I laugh, grabbing the store phone first. I smile automatically as I answer. “Sullivan’s Fine Jewelry…”
“Vivian.”
Larry. The way he says my name. Everything in me comes to a screeching halt.
“What happened?”
There’s background noise. Movement. Beeping and sirens.
“It’s your grandmother,” he says. “She—she had a fall.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“She tripped getting off the shuttle,” he says quickly, almost breathless, the strain in his voice making my stomach tighten instantly.
I press a hand flat to the counter. “Is she okay?”
“She’s going to be,” he says. “They’re putting a brace on her wrist now. We’re at the hospital, Viv…but there’s more.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of the nurses heard her cough when she arrived in the ER, so they did some scans and tests. They think she has pneumonia.”
“Pneumonia?” My eyes rock to Lucy, who is pointing me toward the door. I’m already moving. “I’m coming.”
“I figured,” he says. “I’ll text you which hospital."
I hang up, grabbing my bag, my keys, everything at once, and Lucy steps in front of me and plucks the keys right out of my hand.
“Let me,” she says, turning for the door. “I’ve got this. I’ll lock up.”
“I can’t just—”
She shakes her head, waving her phone in front of my face. “Uber’s on the way. He’ll be outside in a minute. Go.”
I hesitate. Because leaving feels wrong. Because what if I walk out and something happens to the store and I’m not here to hold it together? What if I’m not the one doing the holding?
But, Grandma needs me. I have to get to her because she will want my support right now.
Lucy pauses, softer now, like she knows exactly where my head just went.
“Viv,” she says, steady and sure. “I’ve got the shop. Nothing’s going anywhere.”
Something in my chest pulls tight. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Things do go. People do, too. But if I’m not the one making sure everything stays…who am I?
“Go,” she repeats, gentler this time.
The store blurs as I move—papers, trays, the half-finished display still sitting where I left it.
It feels like I’m leaving something important behind, but I trust that I’m not.
I push out the door, Lucy at the counter, watching me go.
Please be okay.
Please.