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 thatisn’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 bespecial,” 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 orappreciate 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.
