The Things We Treasure

Chapter 1

Brierley Mirren lost track of time the moment she touched wire to shell.

Every piece had to feel special. If it didn't, there was no point selling it.

That was her philosophy, the one that kept her awake at night and bent over her workstation in the early hours.

Nice was a word she despised—it meant nothing, carried no weight, left no mark on the soul.

Her jewellery wouldn't be nice. It couldn't be.

The shop was quiet in the early morning, just the faint sound of bird calls drifting through the open window.

She'd decided to work by natural light today; the electricity bill had been higher than expected last month, and every small saving counted.

She sat at her workstation, a small pair of tweezers in one hand, the bracelet she'd started yesterday in the other.

Around her, scattered fragments of paua shell caught the sunlight; iridescent blues and greens that seemed to glow from within, each one waiting to become something worthy.

This piece was meant to tell a story of the ocean, not the postcard version tourists expected, but the real sea.

Deep, complex, alive. She'd chosen shells with flashes of teal and violet, the colours that appeared only in the deepest water, the kind of blue that made you feel small and brave at once.

Each shell would be positioned to catch light differently, so the wearer would discover new colours as they moved, as if they carried the ocean's secrets with them.

The silver wire would be barely visible, letting the shells speak for themselves.

She wanted whoever wore this to feel like they were wearing something wild and untamed.

Hours could pass without her noticing. Only the faint ticking of the wall clock marked time's passage.

Beside her, a small pile of boxes held bespoke pieces, each one a small victory.

On top of the largest sat a pair of teardrop earrings, and below them, a long chain with coveted Abalone Paua shells dangling from it.

The merry jingle of the shop door pulled her from her focus, and she looked up with a wince, her back seizing from hours hunched over her work.

Her arms stretched over her head as she stood up, greeting her co-worker and friend, "Wow, Tori, is it that time already?" The same words left her mouth, with a yawn, every morning at the same strike of the clock.

"Oh, I'm at least three minutes late today," Tori said with a cheerful smile. She approached the messy creative station to see what it was that her boss and best friend had been working on in the smaller hours of the morning.

Before Brierley could protest, Tori swiped up the top box and flicked it open.

Staring up at her was a small pair of teardrop-shaped earrings.

"These are nice," Tori said, snapping the box closed and putting it back on top of the pile so that she could distribute them in the display cabinets around the store.

Nice. Brierley resisted the urge to grimace.

There was no impact behind something being nice, and that was the trouble with her jewellery.

It was simply nice. Brierley sighed as she picked up what she had been working on, dangling it on her fingers.

This necklace was nice too, she supposed.

With a sigh, she put the necklace back down on the creation station where she could attempt to breathe free life into it.

Ohpaua could attract plenty of customers, with its prime position in the high-street complex.

It was getting them to part with their money that was the problem.

As she walked around the store, she took in each and every one of the small, fashionable items on display.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she should just pack it all up and call it a day.

Each month seemed to clear less and less of her looming debts, and the disheartening feeling of failure reared its ugly head with each depressing red letter that came through her door.

She'd noticed two more empty shop windows on the high street just this week, their "To Let" signs gathering dust. How long before hers joined them? But what could she do, if not this?

"Why the sigh, girl?" Tori asked brightly.

"Oh, I was just thinking about what to make next," Brierley said, covering up her looming thoughts of imposter syndrome.

She scurried back behind her desk while Tori fussed with the shop, making sure the collections looked their best. When it came down to it, her friend was an absolute dream come true; she came in on her days off from the bakery, was a marvel with the customers and gave Brierley all the time in the world to work on new stock for the store.

All she ever wanted in return was cups of fruit tea, which she made herself.

Brierley made a mental note to check her bank balance later—she'd been avoiding it all week, dreading what the numbers would tell her.

The welcoming jingle of the door opening again had Brierley looking up. A twist of hope that a customer was making their way inside ended up in disappointment that it was just the postman doing the rounds.

“You look roasting today, Scott,” Brierley chatted with the regular postie, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, you’re all right thanks, Bri, I’d rather get the rounds done and then home,” the swiftly moving man replied, as he handed her a formal-looking letter.

“I’ve got the whole complex to do today, so I’d rather get done,” he repeated as he hurried off back out of the door, vanishing as quickly as he arrived.

Brierley turned the letter over in her hands, taking in the logo and typesetting formally displayed across the front of it.

The only indication of the contents was the grey imprint of a large, capital M in the corner.

The name was embossed, neatly underneath in stark capital letters.

Everything about it radiated sumptuous affluence.

And control. It felt stifling just to hold.

Yet, she was loath to tear it open. It would ruin such a perfectly crafted letter, which had her name and address hand-written in spidery script across the front.

She was as impressed by it as she was intimidated.

"Are you going to open that or stare at it forever?" Tori asked.

"I think I know the name Merloft?" Brierley said vaguely, turning the letter over once again and using her finger to pry open the thick envelope.

The letter that she removed had the same logo sitting in the top corner.

A stylised capital letter made from Roman columns dictated the sender: Merloft Corp.

Her eyes scanned the commanding words, and her heart lifted slightly.

New rental agreement. That sounded... stable.

Structured. Maybe they were just formalizing things, making it official.

She'd been so worried about uncertainty, and here was a corporation—a proper, established corporation—putting things in writing. That had to be good, didn't it?

"What is it?" Tori asked, watching her face.

"I think... I think they're renewing the lease," Brierley said, a tentative smile forming.

"Look—'new rental agreement commencing on the 1st of the month.

' That's just standard, right? They're keeping me on.

They're keeping the shop." Relief began to flood through her, warm and unexpected.

She'd been bracing for the worst, and instead, here was stability. Here was a future.

She turned the letter over, still smiling, ready to show Tori the good news. "It's going to be okay. It's actually going to be—"

Her eyes found the numbers.

The smile froze on her face.

"What?" Tori leaned in. "What does it say?"

Brierley's throat went dry. She read the figure again, certain she'd misread it the first time. She hadn't. The number stared back at her, brutal and unforgiving. Her hands began to shake.

"How much?" she whispered.

Tori gently took the letter from her trembling fingers and scanned it, her own expression shifting from curiosity to concern. "Oh, Bri..."

"That's... that can't be right," Brierley said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew it was.

The hope that had bloomed just moments ago withered and died.

The relief she'd felt transformed into something far worse; the crushing weight of false hope followed by devastation.

She'd let herself believe, just for a second, that things might work out.

That the universe wasn't conspiring against her.

She was wrong.

Tears stung her eyes as she slumped down in the chair behind her desk. She'd been about to mentally close the door on her business, but to have that forced from her control felt unfair. She wasn't truly ready to give up on her dreams quite as easily now that the choice wasn't hers to make.

"Hey, don't cry," Tori soothed, moving around to the back of the desk. Putting her arm around her friend and giving her a reassuring hug.

"I just don't know how to make this work," she confessed between tears. "I've put everything into this place, and it's not making ends meet anymore."

"I know," Tori said. "Look, when was the last time you took a day off? Let's close up for the rest of the day. I'll treat you to some lunch."

Brierley wiped her eyes and reluctantly agreed. They walked down to the promenade, where the summer sun felt warm on her skin. Sitting in a high-backed wicker chair with a glass of crisp white wine and her favourite prawn cocktail sandwich, Brierley felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.

"You know, this was a great idea," she said.

"Anything to make you happy," Tori replied.

Tori leaned forward, her expression serious. "Talk to me. What's really scaring you right now?"

Brierley pulled a prawn from between the slices of bread, turning it over in her fingers. "Ohpaua isn't just a business, Tori. It's... It's the only thing that's ever been entirely mine. My own vision, my own work. If I lose it, I lose the one place where I get to decide what matters."

"You won't lose it," Tori said firmly.

"You don't know that." Brierley's voice cracked.

"What if I can't make the numbers work? What if I'm not good enough?

Then I'm just another person who failed at their dream, and I'll have to go back to working for someone else, making jewellery to their specifications, on their schedule.

I'll lose the freedom to create what I actually want to create. "

Tori reached across the table and took her friend's hand.

"Listen to me. I've watched you work for three years.

I've seen people come into that shop, and their faces light up when they see your pieces.

That's not luck, Bri. That's talent. Real talent.

You have something special—not just in your hands, but in how you see beauty in things other people overlook. That matters."

Brierley felt tears threatening again, but this time they felt different. Tori wasn't just being kind; she was witnessing something true.

"You're going to figure this out," Tori continued. "Not because it's easy, but because you're the kind of person who doesn't give up on things that matter. And Ohpaua matters. You matter."

Brierley pulled a prawn from between the slices of bread and nodded slowly. "You're right. I've got this. I just need to get back to work, get the tourists into the shop, and figure it out from there."

"That's the spirit," Tori grinned, raising her glass.

They clinked glasses, and for a moment, Brierley let herself believe it. The wine was warm and sweet, the afternoon light soft across the promenade. Tori was laughing at something, and Brierley found herself laughing too.

Then she reached for her bag to settle the bill, and the corner of the letter caught her eye. The Merloft Corp letterhead, crisp and official, peeked out from between her purse and her phone. She stared at it for a moment—at the numbers printed in cold black ink. The rent increase. The deadline.

The problem was still there. It had never left.

She tucked the letter back down, out of sight, and smiled at Tori. But the warmth of the afternoon had shifted. The wine tasted less sweet.