Page 10 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

T he first light of day spilled through the shop windows, casting long shadows across the newly finished floor. Ava moved between the buckets, checking water levels and trimming wilted leaves with practiced efficiency. The routine was automatic now, allowing her mind to wander as her hands worked.

Through the front window, she watched as Mrs. Connelly power-walked past in her bright purple tracksuit, Mason unlocked the café across the street, all while the mail carrier sorted letters on the corner. All so familiar. All so ordinary. All somehow both comforting and confining at once.

She glanced at the mural she and Emerson had finished three days ago. The lavender field stretched across the wall, not quite her mother’s vision but something new. Something theirs. Their initials sat side by side in the corner, a small declaration she still wasn’t sure how to interpret.

The bell above the door chimed, and Ava turned to find Krysta breezing in, a manila envelope tucked under her arm.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Krysta called, setting the envelope on the counter. “Special delivery from Nattie. She asked me to drop these by since I was heading this way.”

“The photos?” Ava wiped her hands on her apron. “I meant to pick those up days ago.”

“That’s what Nattie said.” Krysta’s smile was knowing. “Something about you being distracted lately.”

Ava felt warmth creep into her cheeks as she adjusted a nearby vase, the glass cool against her fingertips. “I’ve been busy with the shop repairs.”

“Mmhmm. And I’m sure Emerson Reed has nothing to do with that flush on your face right now.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ava asked, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

“Actually, yes. Town council meeting in twenty minutes.” Krysta pushed the envelope toward her. “But I wanted to make sure you got these. And maybe get the inside scoop on what’s happening between you two.”

Ava busied herself with a nearby arrangement, tucking a wayward stem back into place. The flower’s velvet petals brushed against her wrist. “We’re friends. He’s helping with the shop.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Krysta laughed. “Seriously, though. I haven’t seen him spend this much time with anyone in years. It’s nice.”

“He’s been a lifesaver with all the repairs,” Ava admitted, the words not quite capturing the whole picture of his presence in her life these past weeks. “I don’t know what I would have done without him after the pipe burst.”

Krysta studied her for a moment, growing more serious. “Just be careful. Emerson doesn’t let people in easily. When he does...” She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

“We’re just—”

“Friends. Yeah, you said that.” Krysta headed for the door, then paused, her hand on the frame. “By the way, did you ever call Seattle back? About that apprenticeship?”

The question landed like a stone in still water. “How did you know about that?”

“Small town, honey. Nothing stays secret for long.” Krysta’s smile was gentle. “Just wondering what your plans are.”

“I’m still figuring that out,” Ava said, more sharply than she intended.

Krysta nodded, understanding. “No rush. Just know that whatever you decide, people here want you to be happy.” She glanced at the envelope. “Even the quiet ones who fix things.”

After Krysta left, Ava stood looking at the sealed envelope for a long moment. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, a steady reminder of time passing. The shop was quiet except for the soft drip of water from a leaky faucet in the back room, something else Emerson had promised to fix.

With careful fingers, she broke the seal and slid out a stack of photographs. The paper was thick, the images rich with color and shadow.

The first one caught her by surprise—her and Emerson standing face to face, his hand on her shoulder, her eyes looking up at him.

There was something in their faces, a connection that seemed impossible for two strangers who had just met.

Her hair fell across her face, and his fingers were caught in the act of tucking it behind her ear, the gesture intimate in a way that made her breath catch.

She flipped through the others slowly. Their backs pressed together, heads turned toward each other.

Their hands clasped, the contrast of his larger fingers enveloping hers.

The final photo showed them looking at each other as if they were falling in love.

It was Nattie’s direction, but what shocked Ava was how genuine it looked. Not like acting at all.

The bell chimed again, and she hurriedly slipped the photos back into the envelope. Emerson stood in the doorway, toolbox in hand, morning light silhouetting his tall frame. Something in her chest tightened at the sight of him.

“Morning,” he said, setting down his tools with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet shop. “Thought I’d finish the trim work before you get too busy.”

“Thanks.” She tucked the envelope under the counter, hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush she could feel warming her face. “Coffee’s fresh.” As usual, she thought with a smile to herself.

He nodded, heading for the back room where a small pot stayed permanently filled these days.

Ava busied herself with the register, trying to quiet the sudden flutter in her stomach.

The photos had unsettled her, making her question everything—her resolve to leave, her growing feelings for Emerson, the unexpected comfort she’d found in his presence.

When he returned, mug in hand, she was arranging a display of fresh tulips near the window. The pale yellow blooms caught the morning light, their centers dark and mysterious.

“Those look nice,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward the flowers.

“Thanks. Special order for Mrs. Connelly’s niece. The baby finally arrived.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl, remember? But she still refuses to go with pink.” Ava smiled, remembering the older woman’s insistence on yellow and white. Her fingers traced the edge of a petal, feeling its silky texture. “She said yellow means welcome and joy in any language.”

Emerson took a sip of his coffee, steam rising around his face. “She’s smart and very stubborn, that one.”

They each worked in silence for a while doing their own thing.

Emerson measuring and cutting trim pieces while Ava prepared for the day’s customers.

The rhythmic scrape of his sandpaper against wood filled the shop with a soothing cadence.

Occasionally their paths would cross—him reaching for a tool, her moving a bucket—and each time, Ava felt more awareness of his presence, as if her body had developed its own radar for his proximity.

“Krysta dropped off the photos,” she said finally, when the quiet had stretched too long. “From Nattie. The stranger session?”

Emerson paused, hammer suspended mid-motion. “Yeah? How’d they turn out?”

“Good. Surprisingly good.” She hesitated, then added, “We looked like we’d known each other forever.”

He returned to his work, but she noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightened on the handle. “Krysta did tell me that Nattie’s good at what she does.”

“It wasn’t just her.” Ava moved closer, watching his hands as they worked, the veins visible beneath his skin, strength contained in each careful movement. “There was something there, even then. Wasn’t there?”

His movements stilled. When he looked up, his eyes were serious, searching her face as if looking for something he was afraid to find. “Yes,” he said simply.

The single word hung between them, honest and unadorned. Ava felt her heart quicken, but before she could respond, the bell chimed again as their first customer of the day entered.

The morning passed in a blur of activity.

A steady stream of customers kept Ava busy at the front while Emerson continued his work in the back.

The scent of fresh flowers mingled with sawdust and paint, creating a fragrance unique to this moment in the shop’s evolution.

By lunchtime, the shop was looking better than it had in months—fresh paint, repaired shelving, new trim around the windows and doors.

Even the mural seemed to glow in the midday light, the colors more vibrant than they had been the day before.

When the last customer left, Ava flipped the sign to “Closed for Lunch” and turned to find Emerson watching her from across the room. He held out a brown paper bag, slightly creased where he’d gripped it. “Thought you might be hungry. I had Mason send these over.”

Inside were two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, still warm from the grill. The scent of toasted bread and melted cheese made her stomach growl. The gesture was so simple, so thoughtful, that Ava felt something catch in her throat. “Thank you.”

They took their lunch to the small bench by the window, sitting side by side in the warm patch of sunlight.

Their shoulders almost touched, but not quite—that small space between them filled with questions.

Ava unwrapped her sandwich—turkey and avocado, her favorite—and took a bite, suddenly realizing how hungry she was.

A drop of sauce clung to the corner of her mouth, and she caught it with her finger, the taste was bright and tangy.

“The shop’s looking good,” Emerson said after a while. “Customers seem happy to be back.”

Ava nodded, looking around at the space they’d rebuilt together. Beams of sunlight caught in the glass vases, sending prisms dancing across the newly painted walls. “It does look good. Better than before, even.”

“Will that be enough?” The question was gentle, without judgment, but Ava felt its weight nonetheless.

She set down her sandwich, suddenly less hungry. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Some days I think it could be. That I could find my place here, continuing what my mom started but making it my own somehow.”

“But?”