Page 4 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

E merson had passed the flower shop three times that week. Slowed each time, letting his gaze drift to the sagging awning and the narrow brick step with a crack running down its center like a quiet threat. The windowsill paint was peeling in long, curling strips, brittle as dry leaves.

But this time he parked.

From the driver’s seat of his truck, he saw her inside arranging something behind the front counter.

Ava’s dark hair was twisted up, a pencil tucked behind one ear.

She moved with the precision of someone used to working alone—each gesture efficient, no wasted effort—but there was also a weariness in the way her shoulders stayed lifted, like she hadn’t remembered to exhale in days.

He crossed the street, his boots thudding softly against the pavement.

Up close, the building told a fuller story. Water stains marked the wood trim. One of the window boxes had gone soft in the corner, the soil clumped and overwatered. He touched the frame beside the door without thinking, fingers tracing the warped grain.

The bell above the door gave a soft chime as he stepped inside. The scent hit him like warmth—crushed stems, damp earth, and something else. Not sweet, not perfumed. More green and alive.

Ava looked up, surprise flickering across her face for a breath before it settled into something calmer. “Emerson,” she said, brushing a leaf from her apron. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He stepped fully in, letting the door ease closed behind him. “Just noticed your awning needed some help.”

She glanced toward the window where the fabric drooped, the metal frame uneven. “It’s on my list.”

“That list getting any shorter?”

Her mouth tugged into something like a smile. “Not really.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I could take a look. No charge for an opinion.”

Before she could reply, the bell chimed again. Mrs. Connelly breezed in, scarf knotted like armor, eyes bright with determination.

“Ava, I’m on the hunt for something cheerful. And not pink. My niece is having a girl, but I refuse to be predictable.”

“Of course.” Ava moved with practiced ease to the fridge, pulling out an arrangement—yellow freesia and white ranunculus with sprigs of eucalyptus. “Had a feeling you’d stop by.”

Mrs. Connelly beamed, then turned to Emerson. “Well, well. Look what the wind blew in.”

“Ma’am,” he greeted with a nod.

“He fixed my porch light. Twice. With the patience of a saint, considering the state of my wiring.” The older woman turned back to Ava with a gleam in her eye. “You should keep him around.”

Ava pressed her lips together, cheeks coloring faintly as she handed over the bouquet.

“Perfect,” Mrs. Connelly pronounced. “Your mother always knew exactly what I wanted. You’ve got that same instinct.”

A beat passed. Ava’s smile stayed in place, but her eyes dropped to the counter. “That’ll be forty-five.”

As Ava rang it up, Mrs. Connelly turned to Emerson again. “You see that ceiling stain? She won’t say it, but the roof’s been leaking for weeks. And don’t get me started on the back room.”

“Mrs. Connelly,” Ava said, voice cool but not sharp. “I think you’re due at the post office.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She gathered the bouquet. “Just saying, this place needs a little care. And so does she.” With a final nod, she swept out, her scarf trailing behind her like punctuation.

Silence fell and Ava exhaled slowly, turning to the counter and brushing stray petals into her palm.

“She means well,” Emerson offered.

“She always does.” Ava’s voice was steady, but the way her fingers lingered on the petals gave her away.

“I could just take a look,” he said again. “No pressure. Just a walk-through.”

Her hands stilled. She didn’t look at him right away. When she did, he could see the hesitation in her as pride wrestling with exhaustion. Finally, she gave a small nod. “Fine. But I’m not promising anything.”

He followed her through the shop. The charm was still everywhere in all the hand-painted signs, vintage pots, shelves crowded with tiny bud vases and dried wreaths.

But beneath the charm, time had crept in.

Water stains bruised one ceiling tile. The plaster near the back wall had fine cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

They passed a small photo taped near the register of a younger Ava and an older woman standing in front of the shop, arms linked. The woman’s hair was silver, wind-tossed, her eyes crinkled with laughter. Emerson lingered on it a second longer than he meant to.

“She painted the mural too,” Ava said, catching his glance.

He nodded toward the lavender field behind the counter. “It’s amazing.”

“I used to think it was too much. Now I’m glad it’s still here.”

She opened the door to the back room and flipped on a light. The bulb flickered once before holding steady. “This used to be the workroom,” she said. “After the pipe burst in May, I had to move everything forward.”

The room smelled faintly of mildew. A wet, tired odor. One wall bore the dark stain of water damage; a row of buckets lined the floor, catching slow, measured drips from a copper pipe above.

Emerson crouched beside it, running a hand along the joint. “Rust’s eaten through. The joint’s done and the floor’s starting to go too.” He glanced toward her feet in their planting boots, worn but clean. She didn’t flinch at the mold or the mess. Just stood with her arms folded, watching him work.

“I know it’s bad,” she said.

“I’ve seen worse.” He straightened. “But it needs fixing. And sooner rather than later.” He stepped toward the fuse box.

One glance was enough. The old wiring, cloth insulation, a history of too many quick fixes were all clear to him.

“Some of this is dangerous,” he said quietly. “You’ve been lucky.”

Ava shifted, her arms tightening around herself. “That’s just great.”

“I can give you a list of what’s urgent, what can wait. You can decide what to tackle.”

Back in the front room, the light had shifted. Soft beams filtered through the smudged windows, casting slow-moving shadows across the floor. A few customers drifted in, and Emerson stepped aside while Ava handled them with calm efficiency, her smile practiced but not forced.

While she wrapped a bouquet of pale tulips and hydrangeas, Emerson’s eyes landed on a small framed card tucked between a vase and a jar of ribbon. It read: “Ranunculus – radiant charm. Gratitude. A love that grows slowly.”

When the shop quieted again, she came to stand beside him. Her hand rested on the edge of the counter, fingers tapping lightly. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s start with the electrical.”

“I’ll get you a quote.”

“And if it’s more than I can afford?” She asked, barely a whisper.

“We’ll figure it out,” he stated with a shrug.

She looked at him then, fully. Her eyes searched his face, like she was trying to find the catch. “Why are you doing this?”

He hesitated, thumb brushing the edge of his tool belt. “Because you need help.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He met her gaze. “Maybe not.”

She decided not to push and just nodded. “Coming back tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here by seven-thirty. That’s when you get in, isn’t it?”

She blinked in surprise. “Yeah. It is.”

As he turned to go, his eyes landed again on the mural behind the counter. Rows of lavender trailed into soft purple hills, the brushstrokes blurred at the edges like memory.

“She really painted that?”

Ava followed his gaze. “Yup. She said lavender reminded her that healing takes time. But it always comes.”

He nodded, letting the words settle in mind, and maybe in his own heart.

Once outside, Emerson noticed the breeze had picked up again, stirring the cracked awning. He made a mental note to add it to the list.

The next morning, Emerson arrived just as the sky shifted from violet to pale gold. Bloom & Vine glowed gently from within. He knocked once, and Ava appeared, her hair tied up, sleeves rolled to her elbows.

“Right on time,” she said, opening the door.

“Always am," He said with a smile.

He set down his tool bag near the electrical panel while she moved through the shop, trimming stems, changing the water in the buckets. The soft hum of classical music filtered from a small speaker near the register.

She reappeared beside him a little while later, a steaming mug in her hand. “Hot lemon water,” she said. “It helps with the early mornings.”

He took it, surprised. “Thanks.”

They worked in quiet rhythm. Emerson tracing circuits, labeling panels.

Ava bundling bouquets, her hands moving swiftly with ribbon and twine.

The silence between them was companionable, broken only by softly spoken comments: “Do you need the stepladder?” “Where do you want this moved?” “You’ve got pollen on your ear. ”

By the third morning, he knew where she kept the extra extension cords. She knew how he took his coffee—black, no sugar, hot enough to burn.

On the fourth day, Ava kept the shop closed as it was Sunday. He came anyway, to finish the wiring in peace.

The bell chimed as he stepped in. She was sweeping near the front windows, barefoot, the cuff of her sweater pushed up past her elbows, hair loose down her back. “I wasn't expecting you today,” she said, leaning on the broom handle.

“I wanted to finish this project before the new week started.”

She nodded toward the back. “Coffee’s fresh.”

The silence had changed again. It wasn't really familiar, but not quite awkward anymore either.

In the back room, he crouched to replace the final outlet. The ceiling was dry now and the buckets removed. He could still smell the mildew, faint at the edges, but it was finally fading.

Ava leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “This room used to be where she did all her best work. I’d sit on the floor and sort petals. She’d hum while she arranged bouquets.”

Emerson glanced up. “You hum sometimes, too.”

She smiled in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

He tightened the last screw. “You said you’re trying to keep the shop going. For her.”

“Yeah. For her. But also... because I don’t know who I am without it.” She glanced down at her hands. “It’s not just a building. It’s everything I know.”

He didn’t say anything. Just moved to the shelf she leaned beside as something else caught his attention. One bracket was cracked. From his belt, he pulled a screw and a new bracket. He’d brought a few brackets, just in case, and replaced it without comment.

Ava quietly watched him work, then said softly, “You fix things like it’s the only way you speak.”

He straightened slowly and shrugged “Maybe it is.”

She didn’t look away. “It’s not a bad language.”

He held her gaze for a second longer than he meant to. The moment hung there, feeling unfulfilled, but then it passed.

Outside, the sun had burned off the clouds. He lingered at the front door, one hand resting on the newly repaired frame.

“I’ll stop by later this week,” he said. “To check for any flickering.”

“I’ll be here,” she said. Then, after a breath, “I always am.”

He nodded and stepped outside. “Wait,” she called gently. He turned back around.

Ava came forward holding a single stem of lavender. “For your trouble.” She hesitated, then added, “And because you fixed the bracket before I even asked. I know it's not much.”

He took it from her, fingers brushing hers. “Thanks. I love it.”

The door clicked shut behind him, but he stood there for a moment longer, the scent of flowers clinging to his shirt, her voice echoing faintly behind him.

He started down the street to his truck, lavender in hand, already making a mental list of what to fix next.

He almost felt like whistling, a strange feeling. ..