Page 26 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

T he next morning brought scaffolding, work trucks, and the rhythm of boots on the roof.

Martin’s crew moved with the efficiency of people who knew their craft, stripping away old shingles to expose the damaged plywood beneath.

The sound of pry bars and hammers created a constant backdrop to the day, punctuated by the occasional shout between workers or the thud of debris landing in the dumpster positioned near the back door.

Ava kept the shop open despite the noise, moving between customers and repair consultations with growing weariness.

The bell above the door chimed continuously as people came in—some to buy flowers, others just curious about the work being done.

By midday, her shoulders ached from tension, a headache brewing behind her eyes.

The bank had approved her loan, smaller than requested with enough to cover the essentials, just no emergency cushion.

Another piece falling into place, another step toward making the shop whole again, whether for her future or someone else’s.

She arranged a bouquet of autumn dahlias and chrysanthemums, their rich oranges and deep reds a reflection of the season outside.

The stems were thick and slightly sticky against her fingers, requiring a sharp cut from her shears.

The scent was subtle but distinct—green and earthy with a hint of spice.

Work she knew by heart, work her hands could do while her mind wandered elsewhere.

Emerson arrived around two, the bell announcing his presence even before she looked up.

He exchanged a few words with Martin, who had come down from the roof for a brief break, his face flushed from exertion, a sheen of sweat despite the cool autumn air.

Emerson’s expression was serious as he listened, nodding occasionally, asking questions she couldn’t quite hear over the continued work overhead.

Eventually he found her in the back room, inventorying stock that had been moved to accommodate the repairs. The space felt smaller with him in it, though he stood only in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that easy grace that seemed so natural to him.

“They’re making good progress,” he said. “Should have the plywood replaced by end of day, felt down tomorrow, shingles the day after.”

Ava nodded, marking something on her clipboard without really looking up. She could feel his eyes on her, patient and observant. Waiting.

“Do you need help with anything else while I’m here?” he asked after a moment.

“No,” she said, then softened her tone. “Thank you, though. I’ve got it under control.”

“I know you do.” There was a smile in his voice that made her look up despite herself. His eyes were warm, a hint of admiration in them that made her chest tighten. “You always do.”

She wanted to say more, to bridge the careful distance that had grown between them.

To ask him what he was thinking, what he wanted, whether the night of the storm had changed things for him as it had for her.

But the words wouldn’t come, blocked by her own uncertainty, her fear of making promises she couldn’t keep.

“I should get back to this,” she said instead, gesturing to the inventory. A box of ribbon spools sat open beside her, each color neatly labeled and counted. “Busy day.”

Emerson nodded, pushing off from the doorframe. “I’ll check in tomorrow then.”

After he left, Ava set down the clipboard and pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stem the headache that pulsed behind them.

The pressure felt good, bringing momentary relief and darkness.

What was she doing? Why was she pushing away the one person who had been nothing but supportive, who had told her he would wait if she went to Seattle, who looked at her like she was something precious?

Because it would be easier to leave if she started pulling away now. The thought came unbidden, uncomfortable in its honesty.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the vibration startling against her hip.

Seattle. A response to her email, suggesting a phone interview tomorrow morning.

She typed a quick confirmation, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and dread, thumbs moving across the screen with more certainty than she felt.

Another step. Another possibility. Another complication.