Page 40 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

She paused, trying to find the right words for the vision that had been taking shape in her mind.

"I see a space for classes larger than what we can host here.

Room for more experimental designs that need space to breathe.

Maybe even a small garden for growing specialty blooms that are hard to source. "

"Show me," Emerson said, pulling a small sketchbook from his back pocket and offering it to her. The leather cover was worn smooth from handling, the pages slightly warped from use.

Ava took it hesitantly, then began to sketch—quick, rough lines showing the mill's interior transformed.

As she drew, her vision became clearer, more certain.

"Here, a large central work table where a group could gather.

Natural light from these windows. Storage along this wall. Maybe a small office in this corner."

Emerson watched her draw, his eyes intent on the page. "We could start with structural repairs this winter, then interior work in spring. By summer, you could be hosting workshops there."

The casual "we" in his statement warmed her.

There was no question in his mind that they would do this together, that her dream was something he would help build.

It wasn't just words with Emerson—it was actions and certainty, it was the steady presence that had become as necessary to her as breathing.

"I'd need to save up," she said, practical despite her excitement. "The loan for the roof repairs stretched the budget pretty thin."

Emerson nodded, understanding the financial constraints.

"We start small. One section at a time." His finger traced the outline of the mill in her sketch, his touch gentle on the page.

"I have materials we can repurpose, and skills we won't have to hire out.

" His thumb traced small circles on her palm as he spoke, the gesture unconscious but intimate.

"Besides, the journey is half the pleasure.

Building something together, watching it take shape day by day. "

The afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, highlighting strands of gold among the brown.

Ava was struck suddenly by how different he looked from the man she'd met that first day in Nattie's studio—not physically, but in essence.

There was an openness to him now, a quiet joy that hadn't been there before.

Or perhaps it had been, just waiting for the right moment, the right person, to emerge.

Ava squeezed his hand, gratitude and love welling up inside her. "Speaking of journeys," she said, a new thought occurring to her, "have you ever wanted to travel? To see other places? I realized I've never asked you that."

The question seemed to surprise him. He was quiet for a moment, considering. "Never had much reason to," he admitted finally. "Always had work here, responsibilities.”

"But if you could? If there were no constraints?" She watched his face, curious about what dreams he might have kept to himself.

He considered this, his expression thoughtful. "I'd like to see the redwoods in California," he said finally, his voice softening with something like wonder. "Trees that have been growing for thousands of years. Wood so rich and red it looks almost alive."

A small smile touched his lips, growing as he continued.

"And maybe Vermont in fall, for the colors and the woodworking traditions there.

They have these small workshops tucked into the mountains, craftsmen who've been passing down techniques for generations.

" His eyes met hers, suddenly more open, more vulnerable than she was used to seeing.

"What about you? Besides Seattle, where would you go? "

"The lavender fields in Provence," she said without hesitation, the image so clear in her mind she could almost smell it.

"I've seen pictures since I was a child.

Rows of purple stretching to the horizon, the scent so strong you can taste it in the air.

" She paused, a memory surfacing like a bubble rising through water.

"My mother always wanted to go. It was on her 'Someday' list."

"Then we should make it happen," Emerson said, as if it were that simple. His hand tightened around hers in promise. "Not right away, but someday. Our someday."

Our someday. The phrase lodged in Ava's heart, a promise of futures not yet written but already being planned.

Not just the shop or the mill, but their lives intertwined.

She looked at him, his presence that had become her anchor, and felt something settle inside her—a piece falling into place that she hadn't known was missing.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of productivity.

Emerson finished cutting the wood for the sign, the rhythmic sound of his saw creating a backdrop to Ava's work.

She completed the workshop materials and confirmed the special orders for the reopening, each task bringing Saturday closer, making the vision more concrete.

As the light began to fade, they locked up the shop together, the routine now familiar and comfortable.

"Dinner at my place?" Emerson asked as they walked to their cars. "I have that soup you liked last time."

Ava nodded, her hand finding his as they crossed the quiet street. "Perfect. I have dessert. Those cookies from the bakery in Fairview."

The drive to his house was short, the familiar roads now holding new meaning.

What had once been just Emerson's home was becoming theirs in many ways, though she still maintained her own house.

They had been taking things slowly in some respects, building their relationship with the same care they brought to their work.

But more and more of her things had migrated to his place—a toothbrush, a change of clothes, her favorite mug for morning coffee.

His small house welcomed them with the scent of soup simmering on the stove, left in a slow cooker that morning.

The aroma of vegetables and herbs filled the space, homey and inviting.

Ava hung her jacket beside his on the hook by the door, the simple domestic gesture feeling both ordinary and significant.

While Emerson stirred the soup and sliced bread—his hands as precise with a kitchen knife as they were with woodworking tools—Ava set the table with the mismatched dishes she'd come to love.

The blue bowl with the slight chip that was now "hers," the pottery plates he'd made himself years ago in a community class.

She lit a candle in the center of the table, its soft glow warming the simple space.

"I was thinking," Emerson said as they settled at the table, bowls steaming before them, "about the workshop space at the mill."

Ava looked up, surprised he'd been considering it further. "What about it?"

"If we divided the main floor, you could have separate areas for different functions.

" He broke off a piece of bread, the crust crackling slightly beneath his fingers.

"Teaching space with good natural light near the east windows.

Design area with sturdy tables for larger arrangements.

Storage along the back wall." He paused, his expression growing more animated than she usually saw it.

"The upper level could be converted later, maybe as a small apartment or retreat space. "

"You've really been thinking about this," Ava said, warmth spreading through her at his investment in her dream.

He nodded, a slight flush coloring his neck. "I sketched some ideas last night, after you fell asleep. Nothing fancy, just rough concepts."

"I'd love to see them," she said eagerly.

"After dinner." He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "But first, tell me more about these workshops you're planning. The one for the opening is just the beginning, right?"

As they ate, Ava outlined her vision for a series of classes that would bring traditional floristry techniques to modern arrangements.

The soup warmed her from within as she described working with local growers, incorporating sustainable practices, hosting seasonal events that celebrated the natural rhythms of the year.

"I'm thinking about a holiday workshop where people can learn to make their own wreaths," she said, gesturing with her spoon. "Not just the traditional evergreen, but unexpected combinations—dried hydrangeas with fresh pine, or citrus and herbs for something more aromatic."

Emerson listened intently, asking thoughtful questions, offering suggestions that built on her ideas rather than redirecting them. His enthusiasm matched hers, his practical mind finding solutions to logistical challenges she hadn't yet considered.

"You'd be part of it too," she said as she finished describing the holiday workshop.

The candle between them had burned lower, its flame reflecting in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Not just building the space, but maybe teaching.

A session on crafting containers, or how to build a living plant wall. "

He looked surprised, then intrigued by the suggestion. "I hadn't thought of that."

"You should," she said firmly. "Your craftsmanship is part of what makes our vision unique. The combination of your structural work and my floral design—it's what sets us apart."

Our vision. Us. The words slipped out naturally, and neither commented on them, though Emerson's eyes warmed at her inclusion of him in the creative aspect of her plans.

It felt right, this blending of their skills and perspectives.

Not one absorbing or diminishing the other, but a true partnership where both could grow.

After dinner, they settled on the couch with mugs of tea and the cookies from Fairview.

The shortbread was buttery and rich, crumbling slightly as Ava bit into one.

Emerson retrieved a sketchbook from his workshop, opening it to reveal detailed drawings of the mill transformed.

The renderings were precise but not rigid, allowing for organic growth and adaptation.

He'd preserved the character of the old building while reimagining its purpose.

"This is exactly what I've been picturing," Ava said, tracing the lines of a large workbench he'd drawn in the center of the main space. Her fingertip followed the grain of the wood he'd detailed, feeling the indentation of his pencil on the page. "How did you know?"

"I've been watching you work," he said simply. "Seeing how you move, what you need, what frustrates you in the current shop. This design gives you room to expand in all directions."

She leaned against him, her head finding the familiar spot on his shoulder. His warmth seeped through his shirt, comforting. "We make a good team."

His arm came around her, drawing her closer. "The best."

They spent the evening refining the plans, Ava adding notes about lighting needs and water access while Emerson sketched additional details for storage solutions and display areas. The work was absorbing but comfortable, the kind of collaborative effort that energized rather than depleted them.

Later, as they lay together in his bed, Ava found herself thinking about the journey that had brought them here.

From strangers in Nattie's photo session to partners in every sense of the word, building a shared vision for the future.

The sheets were cool beneath her, but Emerson's body was warm against hers.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice low in the darkness, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. The touch raised pleasant shivers along her skin.

"How different things could have been," she admitted, watching the play of shadows on the ceiling. "If I'd gone to Seattle. If you hadn't come to fix the pipe that day. If we'd never met at all."

His arms tightened around her slightly, as if the thought disturbed him too.

His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, the rhythm steady and comforting.

"I've wondered the same thing. But then I remember something my grandfather used to say: Some people are meant to find each other, no matter what path they take . "

Ava smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. "I like that thought. That we would have found each other somehow, even if everything had been different."

"I believe it," he said simply, certain.

They fell asleep tangled together, the plans for the mill spread out on the nightstand beside them, a physical representation of the future they were building—not just for the business, but for themselves.