Page 33 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

When she finished eating, she returned to the desk and the photographs spread across its surface.

She picked up the one of them holding hands, studying the way his larger fingers enveloped hers.

She remembered how his hands felt—strong and calloused from work yet capable of being so gentle.

How they'd fixed broken things in her shop, built new shelves, painted walls.

How they'd moved over her skin as if she were something precious.

How he'd stroked her hair when they lay together, the simple intimacy of that gesture more moving than any passionate embrace.

The folder from the studio sat on the desk beside the photographs, a stark contrast. Inside was the formal offer of the apprenticeship, the opportunity, the path leading away from Millfield and toward a different future.

She opened it, scanning the details again.

Everything was as they had discussed. Terms, conditions, expectations.

A new beginning, a chance to prove herself, to grow beyond the boundaries of her small-town experience.

Ava looked from the offer to the photographs and back again. Two possibilities, two futures, two versions of herself. The ambitious designer, pushing boundaries in a prestigious studio. The small-town florist, rooted in tradition but finding her own way.

She had come to Seattle seeking clarity, hoping that seeing the studio, meeting the team, imagining herself in this environment would make the decision obvious.

Instead, she felt more conflicted than ever.

The apprenticeship was everything she had thought she wanted.

It was challenging, prestigious, a step toward independence and self-discovery.

But something essential was missing, she couldn't quite name it but felt it acutely in its absence.

Moving to the bed, Ava spread the photographs in a fan across the duvet.

She studied them one by one, lingering on details she hadn't noticed before.

The slight crease at the corner of Emerson's eyes when he almost smiled.

The way her own posture softened when he touched her, even then, even as strangers.

The invisible thread that seemed to connect them across the space between their bodies.

She picked up the last photograph again, the one that had stopped her heart in the shop, that had followed her to Seattle. Them looking at each other as if falling in love. Not posed, not pretended, but real. A moment of truth captured before either of them was ready to acknowledge it.

Nattie had seen it. Had directed them into position and watched through her lens, recognizing the potential before they did. You two had amazing chemistry , she had said afterward. Almost like you weren't strangers at all.

Ava sat back against the headboard, the photograph held loosely in her hands.

She had been trying so hard to move on—from her mother's death, from the weight of expectations, from the fear of living someone else's life instead of her own.

But perhaps moving on wasn't what she needed.

Perhaps it was about moving forward, which wasn't really the same thing at all.

Moving on meant leaving behind, starting fresh, cutting ties. Moving forward meant building on foundations, honoring the past while creating something new, carrying what mattered into the future rather than abandoning it.

She thought of the old mill she'd shown Emerson, the one her mother had dreamed of turning into a greenhouse.

The bones are good , he'd said, worth saving .

Maybe that was true of more than just buildings.

Maybe it was true of relationships, of traditions, of homes.

Maybe some foundations were worth keeping, worth building upon, even as the structure above changed.

What if she could honor her mother's legacy while creating her own? What if she could root herself in home while still spreading her wings? What if the shop could evolve, as she was evolving, into something that honored the past while embracing the future?

And what of Emerson? The question that had been hovering beneath all others, the one she had been most reluctant to examine directly.

What of the man who had become so woven into her life, her shop, her heart in such a short time?

The man who had told her he was falling in love with her, who had held her during the storm, who had promised to wait?

Ava looked down at his face in the photograph, at the warmth in his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw, the careful way he held himself.

.. She remembered the feel of his chest against her cheek that night in the storm, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.

The way he'd looked at her across the pond, sunlight catching in his hair.

How he'd watched her face when she found the poetry book in Westdale, understanding without words what it meant to her.

All the small moments of connection that had built between them, creating something neither had expected but both now cherished.

She set the photograph on the nightstand and moved back to the window.

The rain had stopped, leaving the city washed clean, lights reflecting in puddles on the streets below.

People moved along the sidewalks, heading to dinner perhaps, or home from work.

Lives intersecting briefly before continuing on separate paths.

Tomorrow, she would explore Seattle as Dyane had suggested.

Visit the famous market, perhaps, or the art museum.

Get a feel for the city that might become her home.

She would try to imagine herself here, in this urban landscape of glass and steel, creating angular arrangements for corporate lobbies and luxury hotels.

But tonight, she would sleep with Emerson's face the last thing she saw, the stranger photograph propped against the lamp as a reminder. A reminder of beginnings, of connections, of something true captured before either of them knew to look for it.

Ava turned from the window, her reflection ghostly against the city lights behind her.

The choice still loomed, still waited. But for the first time since arriving in Seattle, since receiving the offer, since beginning this journey of decision, she felt something new inside.

A recognition of her own heart's true direction.

She reached for the photograph again. "You saw me," she whispered to the image. "Even then."