Page 16 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

They walked back hand in hand, weaving through the crowd.

The festival had reached its peak, the square filled with people enjoying the perfect autumn evening.

At the booth, everything was as they'd left it—flowers arranged in tidy displays, sales ledger open on the small table, cash box secure beneath.

"Item number four, complete," Ava said, pulling out her list and making a check mark. Her hand trembled slightly, the pen making a wobbly line.

Emerson watched her, his expression thoughtful. "Just canoeing and the bookshop left."

"And figuring out what I want," she added, tapping the last item on the list. "That's the hardest one."

"Is it?" he asked quietly. "Or do you already know and you're just afraid to admit it?"

The question hit closer to home than she was prepared for. Ava looked up at him, finding his gaze steady but gentle, not pushing but not retreating either. "Maybe a bit of both," she admitted.

He nodded, accepting her answer without pressing. "Wednesday, then. For the rest of the list."

"Wednesday," she confirmed, tucking the list away.

They worked side by side for the remainder of the evening, selling the last of the flowers as the festival began to wind down.

Their movements around the small booth space were synchronized now, anticipating each other's needs without having to ask.

Occasionally their hands would brush as they passed items back and forth, each contact a small reminder of what had been said on the dance floor, what waited to be discussed when they were alone.

As they packed up the last of the supplies, the square emptying around them, Ava felt a strange mix of emotions—anticipation, nervousness, and a deep, settled certainty that something important was taking shape between them.

Something that might influence her decision about Seattle more than she'd been willing to admit.

Emerson loaded the last box into his truck, closing the tailgate with a solid thunk. The festival grounds were nearly empty now, just a few workers dismantling booths and collecting trash. The string lights still glowed overhead, creating pools of warm light in the growing darkness.

"I'll drop these at the shop," he said, gesturing to the boxes. "And then drive you home?"

Ava nodded, suddenly reluctant for the day to end despite her exhaustion. "That would be great."

The drive to the shop was quiet, both of them tired from the long day but also charged with unspoken awareness of what had been said, what still needed to be said. Emerson helped her unload the boxes, carrying them into the shop where they would deal with everything properly in the morning.

When they reached her house, he walked her to the door, maintaining that careful distance that had defined their relationship from the beginning—close but not too close, intimate but with space still preserved between them.

At her door, Ava turned to face him, keys in hand. "Thank you," she said softly. "For today. For the market this morning, for helping at the booth, for the dance."

"Thank you for including me in your list," he replied, his voice equally quiet in the darkness. "It means a lot, being part of what matters to you."

She looked up at him, taking in the way the porch light caught in his hair, the shadows it cast across his face, the warmth in his eyes that made her feel both seen and safe. Without overthinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest.

His arms came around her immediately, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other spread across her back. They stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the quiet night. Ava could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, steady and strong.

The scent of him surrounded her—wood and autumn air and something uniquely his, a warmth she'd come to associate with safety.

His flannel shirt was soft against her cheek, his body solid and real against hers.

She felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the slight tightening of his arms as he held her closer.

When she finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and intent on her face. "Wednesday?" he asked, the single word holding more questions than just their plans.

"Wednesday," she confirmed, her voice steadier than she felt. "For canoeing and book hunting and... talking."

He nodded, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. In the dim porch light, his expression was a study in restraint—desire and patience warring visibly behind his eyes. "Ava, about what I said earlier—"

"I know," she whispered, her hand covering his where it rested against her cheek. "I'm not ready to say it back yet. Not because I don't feel it, but because I need to be sure about everything else first. Is that okay?"

His thumb brushed her cheekbone, a gentle caress that made her skin tingle. "Of course it's okay. I didn't say it expecting anything in return. I said it because it's true."

The simple honesty of his words made her heart ache. "Goodnight, Emerson."

"Goodnight, Ava."

She watched as he walked back to his truck, the gravel crunching beneath his boots.

Only when his taillights had disappeared down the street did she unlock her door and step inside, her mind already counting the days until Wednesday, until the rest of her list could be completed, until they could finish the conversation that had started beneath the festival lights.

Three days. It seemed both too long and not long enough to prepare for what might come next.