Page 15 of Hooked on Emerson
"Oh my…" she whispered, wading in.
The source was obvious—a pipe had burst near the back wall, water gushing from a jagged tear in the copper. The force of it had knocked over buckets and vases, scattering stems and petals across the flooded floor. The lavender mural her mother had painted was already darkening at the bottom edge as water seeped into the plaster.
"Do you know where the main shutoff is?" Mrs. Connelly asked from the doorway.
Ava shook her head, panic rising in her throat. "I don't—I never had to—"
"I'll call Emerson," the older woman said decisively. "He'll know."
Before Ava could protest, Mrs. Connelly was already dialing. She spoke briefly, her voice fading as Ava waded deeper into the shop, trying to salvage what she could. The cooler was still intact, but several arrangements on the lower shelves were submerged. She lifted them, water streaming from the soaked ribbons and paper.
Less than fifteen minutes later, headlights swept across the front windows. Footsteps splashed through the puddle outside, and then Emerson was there, hair rumpled from sleep, wearinga flannel shirt over a white t-shirt and jeans that looked hastily pulled on.
"Where's the shutoff valve?" he asked without preamble.
"I don't know," Ava said, her voice smaller than she intended.
He nodded once, already moving toward the back of the shop. "I'll check the utility room. It's usually near the water heater."
She followed him, grateful for his calm efficiency. The utility room was a small closet near the bathroom, rarely used and perpetually dusty. Emerson found the valve immediately, turning it with a practiced twist. The rushing water slowed to a trickle, then stopped.
In the sudden silence, Ava became aware of her soaked jeans, the cold water seeping into her shoes, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. "Thank you," she said, her voice catching.
Emerson turned, really looking at her for the first time since he'd arrived. His expression softened. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, then shook her head, then gave a watery laugh. "I don't know. The flowers, the floor—"
"Can be fixed. We'll fix it," he said simply. "One thing at a time."
Mrs. Connelly appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. "Water company says they'll be here in thirty minutes. I can stay if you need me."
"We've got it," Emerson said. "Thanks for calling."
After the older woman left, promising to check in the morning, Emerson and Ava stood in the waterlogged shop, surveying the damage. "First thing," he said, "we need to get this water out before it does more damage to the floors.
He went to his truck and returned with a wet-vac, extension cords, and several large push brooms. Together, they worked in silence, pushing water toward the door, the vacuum humming steadily as it sucked up gallons of water.
Ava moved through the shop, gathering damaged items, sorting what could be salvaged from what was ruined. A box of specialty ribbons was soaked through. A stack of order forms had dissolved into pulp. But the cooler was intact, and most of the inventory above the first shelf had escaped damage.
"It's not as bad as it could have been," she said finally, pushing wet hair from her forehead.
Emerson looked up from where he was examining the burst pipe. "No. The wood floors will need some attention, but they should dry out okay. The pipe's another story."
"Can you fix it?"
"Yeah, but we'll need to replace this whole section. It's corroded all the way through." He straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I can get the materials first thing in the morning."
Ava nodded, suddenly overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who had come running in the middle of the night, who was promising to fix what was broken without hesitation.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "For dragging you into this."
Emerson's eyes met hers, steady and warm in the dim light. "You didn't drag me anywhere, Ava. I came because I wanted to help. Well, and Mrs. Connelly."
The simplicity of his statement broke something loose inside her. Before she could think better of it, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest.
For a moment, he stood perfectly still, as if surprised by the contact. Then his arms came around her, one hand settling at the small of her back, the other cradling the nape of her neck. He was warm, solid, smelling of sleep and cedar.
"It's going to be okay," he murmured against her hair.
