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“Esme!” Emma rocketed to her feet, her smile already blooming as she hurried around the desk. “I didn’t know you were dropping by. What a pleasant surprise.”
“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see you.” Catching Emma off guard, Esme kissed both of her cheeks. “It’s good to see you again,Chiquita. It has already been much too long.”
Recalling the similar way she’d greeted her son at the party, Emma smiled.
“Do you have a few minutes?” Esme asked.
“For you, of course, I do. I’m nearly finished for the day, anyway. Gwen and I were just discussing—”
“Shopping. Yes, I heard. I can hear that word from miles away. Just ask my husband.”
Gwen looked from Emma to Esme and back to Emma, her slow grin telling Emma all she needed to know. Gwen had just put the pieces together, but that was later’s problem.
Gwen took a step toward the door. “I’ve got a, uh, few things to, uh, file before I call it a day, so I’m gonna, ya know, get.” But as she crossed the threshold, she looked back at Emma and mouthed, “Call me.”
Emma didn’t respond, simply shut the door behind Gwen.
When Emma turned back, Esme held a black box in her hand and offered it to Emma. Emma didn’t need to open it to know jewelry of some sort hid inside.
“This is just a little something to say thank you for making mymamáso happy on her birthday,” Esme said.
Emma didn’t take the gift. “I don’t need anything for that. You’ve given me all the reward I needed by telling me how happy it made her.”
“It would mean a lot to me if you would take this.” Esme’s expression was as warm and inviting as a spring afternoon.
How could Emma say no?
She took the gift and opened it. A delicate white gold chain sat inside. On the chain hung a single charm: a star formed by dozens of diamond slivers that looked as if they’d been smashed together. It was elegant and stunning, just like Esme.
“Esme, this’s gorgeous. Too gorgeous. I can’t—” Emma pressed the box back into Esme’s hands. “It’s too much.”
“Nonsense.” Esme freed the necklace and draped it around Emma’s neck before she could object. When Esme finished, she took a step back and stared at Emma. “Oh,Mija, it’s perfect.”
A singular word had tears stinging the backs of Emma’s eyes:mija.It was a Spanish endearment, a joining of “mi” and “hija,”which translated to “my daughter,” and it simply swamped her.
Esme’s face turned serious. “Mija, you’re crying. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Emma wrapped her arms around Esme and held on. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
