Page 15 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

T he Harvest Festival transformed the town square into something magical as evening fell.

String lights crisscrossed overhead, creating a canopy of warm golden light.

The scent of kettle corn and apple cider filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of hay bales positioned as seating around the perimeter.

A small stage had been set up at one end where a local band played folk music, the fiddle and guitar notes weaving through the conversations and laughter of the crowd.

Ava straightened the last bouquet on her display, adjusting a sunflower that had tilted sideways during the day's sales.

Her feet ached from standing, but a pleasant kind of exhaustion had settled over her—the satisfaction of work well done.

The booth had been busy all day, her autumn arrangements selling steadily to festival-goers wanting to bring a piece of the celebration home.

Emerson appeared at her side, two paper cups in his hands. "Cider," he said, offering one to her. "You looked like you could use a break."

"My hero," she said with genuine gratitude, taking the warm cup between her palms. The spiced apple scent rose with the steam, cinnamon and cloves and something deeper beneath. "How's the booth looking?"

"Perfect. Like everything you do."

The simple compliment brought heat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cider. She took a sip to cover her reaction, the sweet-tart liquid warming her from the inside. "Hardly perfect. But I'm happy with it."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the festival unfold around them.

Children ran between booths, faces sticky with caramel apple residue.

Couples walked hand in hand, pausing to examine crafts or sample food.

The whole town seemed to be there, dressed in flannel and light sweaters against the October evening.

"Mrs. Connelly's been by three times to check on us," Emerson noted, amusement in his voice. "I think she's matchmaking."

"She's not subtle, is she?" Ava laughed, remembering the older woman's not-so-casual comments about what a nice couple they made, how Emerson was so helpful, how the shop had never looked better.

"About as subtle as a hammer." Emerson's smile was warm in the golden light. "She means well, though."

"She does." Ava watched as the woman in question bustled past their booth again, giving them an exaggerated wink that made both of them chuckle. "The whole town's like that, really. Everyone in everyone else's business, but mostly out of genuine care."

"It's one of the things I like about Millfield," Emerson admitted. "Took me a while to appreciate it, but there's value in being known."

"And drawbacks," Ava added, thinking of the weight of expectations, the way grief became a public experience in a small town.

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "True. But tonight, I'm seeing the good parts."

The band transitioned to a slower song, something with a waltz rhythm that had couples gravitating toward the open space in front of the stage. The string lights reflected in Ava's cider, little points of gold swirling as she took another sip.

"I think it's time for item number four," Emerson said quietly, nodding toward the makeshift dance floor.

Ava felt a flutter of nervousness. "Dancing under the lights?"

"Unless you've changed your mind."

She shook her head, setting down her cup on the booth counter. "No. I want to."

Emerson offered his hand, palm up, an echo of that first day in Nattie's photo session when they'd been strangers pretending at connection.

Now his hand was familiar—the calluses, the small scar across his knuckle, the strength that was always tempered with gentleness.

She placed her hand in his without hesitation.

They walked to the edge of the dance area, finding a space among the other couples.

The music wrapped around them, fiddle notes rising and falling like conversation.

Emerson turned to face her, his free hand settling at her waist with careful certainty.

Ava's hand found his shoulder, the wool of his flannel shirt soft beneath her fingers.

They began to move, a simple box step that required no thinking, just feeling.

Ava found herself relaxing into the rhythm, into the solid presence of Emerson leading with subtle pressure at her waist. Unlike their dance in the shop, this time there was no hesitation in his movements, no careful distance maintained between them.

"You've been practicing," she teased gently, looking up at him.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Video tutorials. Very educational."

"You watched dance tutorials? For this?"

He shrugged, the movement smooth under her hand. "Wanted to do it right."

The admission—the image of Emerson alone in his house, practicing dance steps because he knew it was on her list—created a warmth in her chest that spread outward, making her feel light and grounded all at once.

She stepped closer, eliminating the proper dancing distance between them until she could feel the warmth of his body against hers.

"Thank you," she said softly, her words almost lost in the music. "For today. For all of it."

His hand at her waist drew her imperceptibly closer. "I've enjoyed every minute."

They moved together beneath the canopy of lights, finding their own rhythm within the music.

Ava was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—his hand at her waist, her palm against his shoulder, their joined hands creating a circuit of warmth.

The world beyond their small circle seemed to recede, becoming background to the essential fact of them, here, moving together.

Emerson's thumb traced a small circle against her waist, the gesture so subtle she might have imagined it if not for the trail of warmth it left through her sweater.

She found herself leaning into him, her cheek coming to rest against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, steady but quick, a counterpoint to the music.

The song shifted, sliding into something slower, more intimate.

Around them, couples adjusted their stance, drawing closer.

Without a word, Emerson's arms encircled her waist completely, Ava's coming up to link behind his neck.

They swayed more than danced now, their movements minimal but perfectly synchronized.

Ava closed her eyes, letting herself simply feel the moment—the solid warmth of him against her, the music surrounding them, the perfect autumn night air on her skin.

For the first time in months, maybe years, she felt fully present, not thinking about what came next or what had come before.

Just here, now, in this moment that felt like a gift.

"Ava," Emerson said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath her ear.

She lifted her head to look at him, finding his eyes already on her face. The string lights reflected in them, tiny constellations in the darkness of his pupils. His expression was open, vulnerable in a way she rarely saw—all guards down, all walls momentarily set aside.

"Yes?" she whispered, her heart suddenly racing.

His gaze dropped to her mouth for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes. The hand at her waist tightened slightly, drawing her imperceptibly closer. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

The words hung between them, honest and unadorned. Ava felt her breath catch, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the cider or the dancing. They had stopped moving, standing still in the midst of swaying couples, the only fixed point in a sea of motion.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a rush of emotion flooding through her—joy, fear, uncertainty, longing. The words she wanted to say caught in her throat, tangled with all the complications of her unresolved future. Seattle or Millfield. Staying or going. Her mother's legacy or her own path.

"Emerson, I—" she began, her voice barely audible above the music.

Before she could continue, a crash sounded from nearby, followed by shouts and laughter. They turned to see a booth had partially collapsed, pumpkins rolling across the ground while festival workers rushed to help. The moment fractured, reality rushing back in all at once.

Emerson's arms loosened around her, though he didn't step away completely. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," Ava interrupted, her hand coming up to touch his face, keeping his eyes on hers. "Don't take it back."

His expression softened, relief and something deeper in his eyes. "I won't. But maybe this isn't the right place for this conversation."

She nodded, aware again of the crowd around them, the public nature of where they stood. "Later, then."

They returned to dancing, but something had shifted between them.

Each touch felt more deliberate, each shared glance holding more meaning.

Ava found herself hyper-aware of his proximity, of the way his hand splayed against her lower back, of the slight roughness of his stubble when her cheek brushed his jaw.

Her mind raced, replaying his words over and over.

I think I'm falling in love with you . Simple, direct, honest. Everything Emerson was.

And she hadn't said it back, though the words had risen in her like a tide, pressing against her lips, wanting release.

But something had held her back—not uncertainty about her feelings, but uncertainty about what those feelings meant for her future, for the decisions still hanging in the balance.

As the song ended, Emerson stepped back just enough to look at her properly. "We should probably get back to the booth. Make sure nothing's been stolen while we were distracted."

Ava nodded, though part of her wanted to stay in this moment, this bubble of connection, for as long as possible. "Probably should."