Page 42 of Hooked on Emerson (Hooked #2)

"Welcome to the first of what I hope will be many workshops at Bloom & Vine," Ava began, looking around at the familiar faces—friends, neighbors, customers who had become something more over the years.

Their faces showed interest and encouragement, a community ready to support her next chapter.

"Today we'll be exploring how traditional techniques can be applied to contemporary designs, creating arrangements that honor the past while looking toward the future. "

Mrs. Connelly nodded approvingly from her position at one end of the table, already sorting through the stems with a critical eye. Mason had slipped in to watch, leaning against the doorframe with an encouraging smile. Krysta stood nearby, phone ready to capture moments for social media promotion.

As she spoke, Ava's hand drifted to her pocket, fingers brushing against the small wooden box containing the key to the mill. To the future. Their future. She caught Emerson's eye across the workshop table, saw the promise of all they would build together in his eyes.

She demonstrated the first technique—a spiral hand-tie that her mother had perfected, but with unexpected materials that gave it a modern twist. The stems were cool and firm in her hands as she worked.

"See how the structure is traditional," she explained, turning the arrangement to show all sides, "but the combination of materials creates something new and surprising.

That's what I'm hoping to explore in our work here—the balance between the older ways and the new. "

The participants began work their own arrangements, the room filling with the soft sounds of stems being cut, wire being bent, quiet exclamations as shapes emerged from the collection of flowers. Ava moved among them, offering guidance, making small adjustments, praising unique interpretations.

Emerson stepped in occasionally to help with the mechanics of a particularly challenging structure, his hands steady as he demonstrated how to create a stable base for an asymmetrical design. His presence beside her felt right, complementary.

"You're a natural teacher," he said quietly as they watched the group work. "They're captivated."

Ava felt a flush of pleasure at his words. "It feels right, sharing this. Not just selling arrangements, but helping people connect with the process."

Outside, more customers gathered, drawn by the buzz of activity and the beautiful displays visible through the windows.

The bell chimed continuously as people came and went, the shop fuller than it had been in months.

Inside, flowers waited to be arranged, ideas waited to be shared, dreams waited to be realized.

But before Ava could continue her demonstration of the next technique, the shop door burst open with a crash that made everyone jump.

A young woman stood in the doorway, her face flushed and desperation etched in her eyes.

Her wedding dress—clearly on her way from a fitting—was partially visible beneath her unzipped jacket.

"I need help," she gasped, clutching the doorframe. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, her mascara already slightly smudged. "It's my wedding. Tomorrow. The florist just canceled—car accident. Nothing serious but she can't—" She broke off, clearly overwhelmed. "I don't know what to do."

The workshop participants turned to stare, murmurs of surprise rippling through the group. Mrs. Connelly was already halfway out of her seat, ready to take charge of the situation. Ava froze for a split second, the carefully planned day suddenly upended by this unexpected crisis.

Her eyes met Emerson's across the room. He gave her a small nod, confidence in his gaze. In that silent exchange was everything they had built together—trust, partnership, the certainty that whatever challenges arose, they would face them together.

The bride took a shaky breath. "I know it's last minute and you're busy. I can pay extra, whatever you need. It's just—" Her voice caught. "It's just that my mother always said flowers make the wedding, and now—"

Ava felt the weight of the key in her pocket, a reminder of new beginnings and possibilities. She stepped forward, her decision already made. "Tell me what you need," she said to the distraught bride, her voice low and calm. "We'll make it happen."

The woman's expression shifted from despair to cautious hope. "Really? You can help?"

"Of course we can," Ava said, already mentally rearranging her afternoon. "That's what we do here. We create beauty, especially in moments that matter."

Behind the bride, Emerson was already moving toward the cooler, taking inventory of what they had on hand. Mrs. Connelly was on her phone, no doubt calling in reinforcements. The workshop participants were exchanging glances, some already setting aside their own projects.

"I can stay late," one woman offered. "I used to help with wedding arrangements at a shop in Portland."

"Me too," another chimed in. "Just tell us what you need."

Ava felt, not just pride, but the sense of community, coming together for a common purpose. This wasn't just her shop or her mother's legacy anymore. It was becoming something more—a place for connections, of shared creations, and of beauty made together.

"Let's move to the back room," she said to the bride, whose tears were now flowing freely. "Tell me about your colors, your vision. We'll figure this out."

As she guided the woman toward the workroom, Ava caught Emerson's eye again. The reopening had just become much more eventful than planned. But somehow, with Emerson beside her and the key to their future in her pocket, Ava knew they would handle whatever came their way.

The bride was already talking rapidly, describing her color scheme and theme, her hands gesturing with nervous energy. "It's a garden wedding—well, garden reception. The ceremony is at the church. I was thinking roses, but not just red, something more unique—"

Ava nodded, already envisioning possibilities. This was what she had been training for her entire life without realizing it—not just arranging flowers, but helping create moments, preserving memories.