Page 3 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

They shifted positions, turning away from each other.

Emerson could feel the warmth of Ava's back against his, the gentle pressure of her shoulder blades through his shirt.

She was shorter than him by several inches, her head reaching just below his shoulders.

He resisted the urge to lean into the contact, to let his weight rest against hers.

"Now, slowly turn your heads to look at each other," Nattie instructed.

As they turned, their faces came close—too close. Emerson could smell the faint scent of lavender in Ava's hair, could see the slight tremble in her lips. For a moment, neither breathed. He noticed a tiny scar near her temple, pale against her skin, the kind that comes from childhood adventures.

"Perfect," Nattie whispered, the camera clicking rapidly. "Now, I want you to face each other again, but this time, hold hands."

They turned, and Emerson extended his hands palm up, an offering.

Ava placed her hands in his after a moment's hesitation.

Her hands were smaller than his, but not delicate.

He felt calluses on her palms—working hands, like his.

Flower stems and thorns instead of wood and metal, but hands that knew effort and purpose.

"How long have you had the shop?" he asked, trying to fill the silence that hummed between them. His voice came out lower than he'd intended.

Her eyes clouded, the amber flecks disappearing into darkness. "It was my mother's. I took over recently."

The way she said "recently" told him everything he needed to know. Loss lived in that word, grief wrapped around those three syllables like ivy around a fence post.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, meaning it.

She nodded, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his. "Thank you." The words were simple, but the way she said them—like she'd had to say them too many times lately—made his chest tighten.

"Now," Nattie said, breaking the moment with the enthusiasm only teenagers can muster, "I want you to look at each other like you've known each other for years. Like you have a history."

Emerson wasn't sure what that meant, but when Ava's eyes met his again, something shifted. It wasn't pretense, exactly. More like recognition of shared solitude, of understanding what it means to move through the world carrying something heavy.

"That's it," Nattie murmured, circling them. "Now, Emerson, put your arm around her waist. Ava, lean into him slightly."

His arm felt awkward as it circled her waist, too large, too rough against the delicate fabric of her dress.

But Ava moved with surprising ease, her body fitting against his side as if they'd stood this way before.

Her hair brushed his chin, a whisper of contact that sent an unexpected warmth through him.

He resisted the urge to tilt his head down, to breathe in the scent of her again.

"Perfect," Nattie said, the camera never stopping. "You two look like you've been together forever. This is great!"

Emerson felt Ava's slight intake of breath at those words, but she didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned a fraction closer, as if drawing strength from the solid presence of him.

"Now, one final pose," Nattie said, checking something on her camera before looking up. "I want you to look at each other like you're falling in love. Like you can't believe you've found each other."

Ava stiffened slightly, and Emerson felt his own body tense in response.

The request seemed impossible—how do you manufacture something like that?

But when their eyes met again, something unexpected happened.

The room seemed to recede, the clicking of Nattie's camera fading to background noise, the murmur of other participants becoming distant and irrelevant.

Ava's eyes held a question he couldn't decipher, a vulnerability that made his chest tighten. Without thinking, he reached up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long against her skin. It was warm, soft, real in a way that surprised him.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, a small intake of breath that he felt rather than heard, and for a moment, they stood suspended, both unable to move.

"That's it," Nattie breathed, her camera capturing the moment in rapid succession. "That's exactly what I wanted."

The spell broke. Ava stepped back, tucking her hair behind her ear, her eyes no longer meeting his. The absence of her warmth against him felt sudden, like stepping from sun into shade.

"That was great, you two," Nattie said, reviewing the shots on her camera screen. "I'll have these edited by next week. You can pick them up here or I can email them to you."

"Email is fine," Ava said quickly, gathering her purse from where she'd set it aside. "Thank you for the experience."

"You're welcome," Nattie beamed. "You two had amazing chemistry. Almost like you weren't strangers at all."

Ava's smile tightened, not reaching her eyes. "It was nice meeting you, Emerson." She extended her hand formally, as if they hadn't just spent the last thirty minutes in various states of proximity.

"You too," he said, taking her hand briefly. Her skin was warm against his palm, and he wished he had something else to offer. Something that might explain the odd current still humming beneath his skin, the feeling that they'd stumbled into something neither had expected.

She nodded once, then turned and walked away, her green dress flowing around her knees as she moved through the crowd. He watched her pause to thank someone by the door, her shoulders squared with a determination that seemed practiced.

Emerson stood alone by the backdrop, watching her go. It wasn't until Krysta approached that he realized he'd been holding his breath, his lungs tight in his chest.

"So?" she prompted, eyebrows raised. "How was it?"

"Fine," he said, the word inadequate for the strange hollow feeling expanding beneath his ribs.

"Just fine? You two looked like you were having a moment."

"It was just for the camera." He shrugged, trying to dismiss the lingering sensation of her hair against his chin, her back against his.

Krysta studied him, her eyes narrowing. "If you say so. But that didn't look like acting to me."

Emerson shrugged, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "She runs the flower shop on Main."

"I know who Ava is," Krysta said, her voice gentling. "Her mother died three months ago. Cancer. The whole town turned out for the funeral."

The information settled like a stone in his stomach. That explained the shadows beneath her eyes, the grief he'd sensed but couldn't name. The way she'd said "recently" when talking about taking over the shop.

"She seems nice," he offered lamely, knowing the words were insufficient.

Krysta rolled her eyes. "Eloquent as always. Come on, I promised you pie."

As they walked toward the door, Emerson glanced back, half-hoping to catch another glimpse of Ava. But she was gone, leaving nothing but the faint impression of lavender and the memory of her eyes meeting his in that final, unguarded moment.

Once outside, he followed Krysta to her car, his mind still caught in the echo of a connection that had appeared and vanished too quickly to grasp.

The sky had clouded over while they were inside, the blue replaced by a pearly gray that threatened rain.

Emerson looked toward Main Street, though he couldn't see it from here.

Somewhere down there was a flower shop with a blue awning and impatiens out front.

He wondered if she felt it too—that strange sense of recognition. Or if, like so many things in his life, it had been nothing more than a trick of the light, a moment captured in a photograph but not kept.

Either way, he knew he'd be looking at Bloom & Vine differently the next time he passed it. And maybe, for once, he'd have a reason to step inside.