Page 12 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

A s closing time approached, Emerson finished the last of the trim work and began packing up his tools.

The metal clinked against metal as he arranged them in his toolbox, each item finding its proper place.

The shop looked transformed—bright, fresh, renewed.

But it was still her mother’s shop, still filled with memories and obligations that sometimes felt too heavy to bear.

“I think that’s it for the repairs,” Emerson said, surveying his work. “Unless there’s something else you need fixed.”

Ava shook her head, suddenly aware that without repairs to make, he had no reason to keep coming by every day. The thought opened up a hollow feeling in her chest. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable in the fading light. “Anytime.”

As he headed for the door, Ava felt panic rise in her throat, sharp and unexpected. “Emerson,” she called, stopping him. “Would you... would you still come around sometimes? Even if there’s nothing that needs fixing?”

He turned back, the late afternoon light catching in his eyes, warming them to amber. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “That’s what I want.”

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features and reaching his eyes. “Then I’ll be here.”

After he left, Ava moved through the shop, closing up for the day.

She watered the flowers, the spray from the nozzle catching the light in tiny rainbows.

She balanced the register, the familiar routine of counting bills and coins calming her.

She swept the floor, gathering the day’s debris—fallen petals, bits of stem, a dusting of pollen that glittered gold in the fading light.

At the back of the shop, she paused before the mural she and Emerson had painted, studying the lavender field with its rolling hills and distant horizon.

The colors seemed deeper in the evening light, more saturated.

Her fingers traced their initials in the corner, looking at them side by side but still separate.

Like the two of them, connected but with space between.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket—a text from the design studio in Seattle asking for a decision by the end of the week.

Ava stared at the message, feeling the weight of choice pressing down on her.

Stay or go. Safe or unknown. Past or future.

And somewhere in the middle of that choice was Emerson.

Quiet, steady Emerson with his careful hands and guarded heart, who had admitted he wanted her to stay but wouldn’t ask it of her.

The shop felt suddenly too small, the walls too close. She needed air, space to think. Grabbing her keys, she headed for the door, locking it behind her with a decisive click.

Outside, the streetlights were just beginning to flicker on.

The air was cool against her flushed cheeks, carrying the scent of someone’s dinner cooking nearby, something with garlic and rosemary.

Ava walked without a clear destination, her footsteps echoing on the sidewalk.

She passed the bookstore, closed now but with a single light burning in the back.

The hardware store where Emerson probably bought his supplies.

The elementary school where children’s artwork decorated the windows, bright splashes of color against institutional brick.

She found herself at the edge of town, where the old mill stood silhouetted against the darkening sky. The place her mother had dreamed of turning into a greenhouse. The place she’d shown Emerson, where he’d said the bones were good.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of wild flowers from the fields beyond.

It caught at her hair, lifting it from her neck for a moment before letting it fall.

Ava wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how much had changed in just a few months.

Her mother was gone. The shop was different.

And she had met a man who looked at her as if she were something precious and irreplaceable.

As the first stars appeared overhead, pinpricks of silver in the deepening blue, Ava made her way back toward town, her steps more certain now.

She still didn’t have all the answers, still didn’t know if staying was right or if leaving was necessary.

But for the first time, she understood that maybe the choice wasn’t between Millfield and Seattle, between her mother’s legacy and her own future.

Maybe the choice was about what she wanted to build, and who she wanted to build it with.

The lights of Main Street back came into view, familiar and comforting. As she passed the café, she saw Mason closing up, wiping down tables with practiced efficiency. The scent of coffee still lingered in the air around the entrance. He waved, and she returned the gesture with a smile.

When she reached the flower shop, she paused, looking at it with new eyes.

The faded blue awning, the window boxes she’d planted with trailing ivy and pansies, the sage green trim that Emerson had helped her choose.

Not just her mother’s creation, but something that was becoming hers, too.

Something she had rebuilt with her own hands, and Emerson’s.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text, this time from Emerson:

Left something for you on the counter. Forgot to give it to you earlier.

Curious, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The shop was dark except for the streetlight filtering through the front windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

On the counter sat a small wooden box, its surface smooth and polished, a simple carving of a lavender sprig on the lid.

The wood was warm to the touch, as if it still held the heat of his hands.

She opened it carefully, the small hinge moving without a sound. Inside lay a folded note, the paper thick and slightly textured beneath her fingers. She moved to the window to catch the light, unfolding it slowly.

Ava,

I’m not good with words, but I wanted you to have something that’s just yours, whether you stay or go. Something to remind you that you’re more than your mother’s daughter or the shop owner. You’re Ava, and that’s enough.

~Emerson

Beneath the note lay a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm—a small lavender bloom crafted from metal, each tiny petal detailed with careful precision.

The silver caught the streetlight, gleaming softly in the darkness of the shop.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she lifted it from the box.

It wasn’t extravagant or showy, but it was thoughtful and personal in a way that spoke directly to her heart.

The metal was cool against her skin as she slipped it onto her wrist, the charm hanging delicately over her pulse point.

Outside, a shadow moved past the window—Emerson, walking slowly back toward his truck, which was parked across the street. He hadn’t left after all. Had been waiting, perhaps, to make sure she found his gift.

Without hesitation, Ava rushed to the door and pulled it open, the bell above it chiming softly in the quiet evening. “Emerson,” she called.

He turned, surprise in being caught evident even from a distance. The streetlight caught the angles of his face, softening them.

She held up her wrist, the bracelet catching the light from the shop windows. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying in the quiet evening air. “It’s perfect.”

He crossed the street toward her, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as if afraid she hated his gift. “You like it?”

“I love it.” She touched the charm with gentle fingers, feeling the intricate details—each petal, the tiny stem, the delicate craftsmanship. “Did you make this?”

He nodded, a hint of color touching his cheeks. “The box, yes. Had the charm custom made by a jeweler in Fairview.” He shifted his stance slightly, an uncharacteristic show of nervousness. “I’ve been working on it for a while. Since before the pipe burst.”

“It’s beautiful.” She looked up at him, wanting him to understand what the gesture meant to her. The street was quiet around them, most shops closed now, the occasional car passing by. “No one’s ever given me something so personal before.”

“I wanted you to have something that was just for you,” he said, echoing the words from his note. His voice was low, meant only for her despite the empty street. “Something that wasn’t tied to your mom or the shop.”

“Why?” she asked, though she thought she might already know the answer.

His eyes briefly met hers. “Because you deserve to be seen for who you are, not just what you represent to other people.”

The words settled around her like a security blanket, filling spaces she hadn’t realized were empty.

Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, slightly faster than normal.

After a moment’s hesitation, his arms came around her, one hand settling at the small of her back, the other cradling her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered against the soft fabric of his shirt. She could smell the sawdust on him from the trim earlier but under that was a musk uniquely him and comforting.

His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair. The touch was so tender and careful, that Ava felt something unravel inside her, a knot of tension she’d been carrying for months. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, his breath warm against her hair.

They stood like that for a long moment, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them. A car passed by, its headlights briefly illuminating them before sweeping on. Somewhere down the street, a door closed. But in their small circle of connection, time seemed suspended.

When she finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and intent on her face. Something passed between them, a link of understanding that needed no words. She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek, feeling his of stubble against her skin.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do,” she admitted. “About Seattle. Not because I want to be away from you, but because it’s a huge opportunity.”

He nodded, his hand coming up to cover hers where it rested against his face. “I know.” He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm, the gesture so tender it made her heart ache. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Whatever you decide, make sure it’s what you want. Not what you think you should want.”

The distinction struck her like a bell, clear and resonant. What she wanted versus what she thought she should want. She had been so caught up in the idea of leaving, of escaping memories and expectations, that she hadn’t stopped to consider if that was truly what her heart desired.

“I promise,” she said softly, the words feeling like a vow.

He smiled, the expression transforming his face and making her breath catch. Then, with gentle deliberation, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, a kiss so light she might have imagined it if not for the warmth that spread through her at his touch.

“Goodnight, Ava,” he murmured against her skin.

“Goodnight, Emerson.”

He stepped back, his hands sliding reluctantly from her shoulders. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something more, might lean in again, this time finding her lips instead of her forehead. Instead, he gave her one last smile before turning and walking to his truck.

Ava watched him go, her fingers touching the spot on her forehead where his lips had been. The bracelet gleamed on her wrist, catching the light from the streetlamp overhead. A gift with no strings attached, no expectations. Just a reminder that she was seen and valued for herself.

As his truck pulled away, she remained on the sidewalk, the air becoming thicker against her skin without his presence to keep her mind off it.

The weight of decision still pressed on her, but now it felt different.

It was less like a burden and more like a privilege.

The freedom to choose, to decide her own path.

Seattle or Millfield. New beginnings or deeper roots.

But now she wondered if perhaps she didn’t have to choose between the two at all. If maybe there was a way to honor both the pull of adventure and the tug of connection. If she really could build something new without leaving everything behind.

Ava touched the lavender charm on her wrist, feeling its delicate metal petals, and she turned to head home with her mind churning.