Esmeralda arose early.
After completing her morning routine, she went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast—bread toast and tea. Once finished, she set the table for three and went on to call for her father and grandfather.
Esmeralda sat opposite the two men when they joined her.
"Good morning, Papa, and Grandpapa," she greeted with a warm smile, taking bread into her mouth.
"Morning, dear. How did you sleep?" Papa asked.
"I slept fine. I trust you slept the same," she replied.
"How was your date, dear Ralda?"
Esmeralda nearly choked on the bread, her eyes widening as she reached for her glass of water. She took a long sip, barely resisting the urge to glare across the table. She had not told her grandfather about the outing, and yet here he was, informed. One look at her father—his face all mischievous smiles—confirmed he was the culprit behind the leak.
Esmeralda cleared her throat before responding, "It was fine, Grandpapa. But I do not fancy him."
Papa's earlier smile faltered, and Grandpapa's slowly withered away. She could tell they were not pleased with her declaration, especially given their persistent—if not altogether subtle—nudges toward matrimony.
Grandpapa sighed rather dramatically and set down his teacup with a soft clink. "You young people have very strange standards these days. Not fancying a perfectly decent man after one date?" He raised a brow.
"I am only twenty-three," Esmeralda said, reaching for another slice of toast. "I have a career I'm passionate about. I don't see why I must be in a rush to—"
"To what?" her father interjected, his voice gentler than his expression. "To live your life? To be happy? We aren't asking you to marry a man you despise, Ralda. Only to start thinking more seriously about your future."
"I am thinking about it," she replied, striving not to sound defensive. "It just doesn't look the way you two wish it to at the moment."
Both men were quiet for a time. Then Grandpapa spoke again, this time more softly. "So you don't like the boy?"
"No, Grandpapa," she said with a sigh, then added, "He's not for me."
A thick silence settled among them as the clatter of cutlery and soft rustle of napkins filled the space. Esmeralda's thoughts spiraled, her heartbeat quickening for reasons she did not quite understand.
Perhaps it was the pressure. Perhaps it was her father's unreadable expression. Perhaps it was simply the unrest within her ever since yesterday.
And then—before she could stop herself—her mouth moved.
"I have someone I like already."
Both heads snapped up in unison, twin expressions of disbelief melting into curiosity.
Grandpapa recovered first. His eyes twinkled. "Oh, do you, dear?" His voice warmed instantly, and he chuckled. "Well, that's better news than we expected to hear this morning."
Esmeralda instantly regretted the admission. She had no plan, no tale, no follow-up. It had simply… escaped her lips.
And worse, the moment she said it, her mind betrayed her. A torrent of thoughts came rushing in—of golden eyes, the heat of his hand wrapped around hers, the whisper of his lips upon her skin when he kissed the back of her hand.
Golden.
She nearly groaned aloud. What are you doing, Esmeralda? But it was too late to retract.
Her cheeks flamed with sudden colour.
Grandpapa leaned forward, clearly delighted. "Oh dear, I cannot wait to meet this mysterious young man. The way you're blushing—he must be quite something."
"I'm not blushing," she said swiftly, waving a hand as though to bat away the very notion.
"You are, darling," Papa added, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You haven't blushed like that since you accidentally read that scene in your romance novel aloud to the whole family."
She gave him a horrified look. "Papa!"
"What? It was adorable."
"I was sixteen!"
"All the more reason to find you someone mature now," Grandpapa said with a wink. "So, when do we get to meet this fellow?"
Esmeralda's palms were now damp. "It's… it's not that serious," she muttered. "I only said I liked someone. That does not mean he likes me back or that I wish to rush into marriage."
Grandpapa leaned back, though the pleased expression remained on his face. "Still. You should see your face, Ralda. It's glowing. Whoever this boy is, he must be a fine one."
Esmeralda glanced toward her father for support, but he too was smiling. A softer smile, yet a knowing one.
She gave up and finished her breakfast in silence, attempting not to let her mind drift to golden eyes and a voice that made her heart stutter.
After clearing the dishes, she prepared lunch for the household in advance, needing the distraction. The day's work at the dress shop would at least provide a few hours of normalcy.
Or so she believed.
Three hours into her shift, as she finished fitting the last of the morning customers, the shop bell jingled. She looked up—and instantly regretted it.
Jeanette.
Her best friend wore a smug smile, practically stitched onto her face. She strode in as though she owned the establishment, waving before plopping herself onto the nearest bench.
"Spill."
Esmeralda blinked, feigning innocence. "Spill what?"
Jeanette narrowed her eyes. "Do not play coy with me, Esme. You know precisely what. You went on a date yesterday."
Esmeralda glanced around hastily. "Could you not yell that across the entire shop?"
Jeanette leaned in, grinning like a cat who had cornered a canary. "So? Who was he? Who's the lucky gentleman that finally cracked that frozen heart of yours?"
Esmeralda sighed, turning to straighten a stack of folded fabric. "It was just someone I met at the ball."
She hated deceiving Jeanette—especially Jeanette—but the truth felt… complicated. Too complicated. And she wasn't sure her friend would understand.
Jeanette gasped. "Wait, the one you met in the garden?"
Esmeralda froze. That was Golden, and technically, she had met him yesterday, though he had not been her date. She nodded slowly. "Yes."
A spark lit in Jeanette's eyes. "Oh, the one that made you blush? The mysterious one with the dangerous smile?"
Esmeralda felt the heat return to her cheeks. "He doesn't have a dangerous smile. How would you know he has a dangerous smile?" she asked, shaking her head.
"He does, maybe." She shrugged. "And you're blushing again, so that confirms it." Jeanette leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Tell me his name."
Esmeralda hesitated. The wise choice would be to invent something plain and forgettable. But instead, her lips moved of their own accord.
"Golden."
Jeanette blinked. "Golden?" She said it as though tasting the name. "That's… rare. But lovely. Unusual, though. Is that his first name or…?"
"I don't know," Esmeralda admitted.
Jeanette stared at her. "You don't know his last name?"
Esmeralda fidgeted with a spool of thread. "It's not like that. We just… met briefly. It's not serious."
"But you like him. And you went on a date with him."
"I said I might like him."
Jeanette grinned. "You're falling fast, Esme."
"I'm not falling anywhere."
Jeanette did not press further, but the glint in her eyes said everything. Esmeralda excused herself to the back room under the pretense of organizing the new fabric shipment.
Inside, alone, she leaned against the door and pressed her palms to her burning face.
Golden. She hadn't written to him. She hadn't even tried. But merely thinking of him—his voice, his calm presence, the way he had said she looked stunning—still made her heart trip over itself.
Her life had been simple. Quiet. Predictable.
But now, for the first time in years, something in her world felt alive.
And that something was a man she wasn't sure she was allowed to want.