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…likethat.
“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 Iknowit’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. Ifit 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.
