Page 19 of Hooked on Emerson
After a moment’s hesitation, he placed his paint-smudged hand in hers. Ava led him to the center of the empty shop floor, the newly laid boards smooth beneath their feet. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the worn cotton of his t-shirt. His hand settled at her waist, light but sure.
They began to move, not really dancing so much as swaying together. Ava could feel the slight stiffness in his frame, the careful way he held himself, as if afraid to press too close. But as the music continued, something in him changed. His hand at her waist became more certain, drawing her a fraction nearer.
The space between them seemed to hum with unspoken words. Each small adjustment—his fingers spreading slightly at her waist, her thumb unconsciously tracing a circle against his shoulder—felt like part of a conversation their bodies were having while their minds caught up.
“See? Not so bad,” she said softly, looking up at him.
His eyes met hers, warm and surprised. “Not bad at all.”
They moved together in the fading light, dust motes swirling around them like slow-motion stars. Ava felt herself leaning into him, her body finding its place against his as naturally as breathing. His thumb moved in a small circle at her waist, the gesture so subtle she might have imagined it if not for the warmth spreading through her at his touch.
As the song reached its bridge, Emerson’s hand tightened slightly at her waist. Almost without thought, Ava stepped closer, until there was barely space between them. Her cheek rested against his chest, and she could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, steady but quick. His chin brushed the top of her head, and she felt rather than heard the small sigh that escaped him.
The song spoke of unshakable love, of certainty in an uncertain world. Ava closed her eyes, letting herself simply feel the solid strength of him against her, the gentle sway of their bodies, the music wrapping around them like a cocoon. For the first time in months, the ache of loss receded, replaced by something new, happier.
She felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, the slight roughness of his stubble against her temple when he dipped his head. His hand at her back drew her incrementally closer, until she could feel the length of him against her. Not demanding, just present. Real.
As the song began to fade, they slowed but didn’t separate. Ava lifted her head to look at him, finding his eyes already on her face. Something unreadable flickered in their depths. Vulnerability, maybe, or longing. His gaze dropped to her mouth for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes.
“Ava,” he said, just her name, but it held a question.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She felt herself sway toward him, drawn in by the moment. His hand at her waist steadied her, thumb brushing against the small strip of skinwhere her shirt had ridden up. The contact sent a shiver through her and goosebumps rose along her arms.
The next song began, but neither moved to resume dancing. They stood in the center of the shop floor, hands still linked, bodies close enough to share warmth. Emerson’s free hand moved from her waist to her face, fingers gentle as they tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
Ava’s breath caught in her throat. She could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, count each eyelash, note the small scar near his eyebrow she’d never noticed before. The world beyond them seemed to recede, leaving only this moment, this man, this unspoken thing growing between them.
“We should probably finish the mural,” Ava whispered, not moving away. “Before we lose the light.”
Emerson nodded, but his eyes remained on her face, as if memorizing its contours. “Probably should.”
Neither moved. The air between them felt thick, like the moment before a storm breaks. Ava’s gaze dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes. She saw the moment he noticed, the slight darkening of his eyes, the almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers against hers.
Then, from outside, the sound of a car door slamming broke the spell. Ava stepped back, their hands falling apart reluctantly. The moment slipped away, not quite grasped but not forgotten.
“I’ll get the lights,” Emerson said, his voice rougher than usual.
Ava nodded, turning back to the mural to hide the flush she could feel spreading across her cheeks. Her heart was still racing, her skin warm where he had touched her. She picked up her brush, trying to focus on the wall before her, but all she could think about was the feeling of being held in his arms, of almost—almost—crossing a line that had been blurring for weeks.
The overhead lights flickered on, casting the shop in a warm glow. Emerson returned to stand beside her, his own brush in hand. They worked in silence for a while, adding final touches to the mural—highlights on the lavender blooms, shadows beneath the stalks, depth to the distant hills.
His shoulder occasionally brushed hers as they worked side by side, each contact a small reminder of what had almost happened. Ava found herself hyperaware of his proximity, of the way his hands moved with confident strokes and the concentration in his profile as he leaned in to add detail to a particular section.
“It needs something,” Ava said finally, stepping back to survey their work.
Emerson tilted his head, considering. “A signature, maybe?”
She looked at him, surprised by the suggestion. “I couldn’t. It was her thing.”
“It’s your shop now,” he said gently. “Your wall. Your painting.”
Ava stared at the mural, at the field they’d created together. Not a copy, but an homage. A continuation. She picked up a fine brush and dipped it in dark purple. With careful strokes, she painted her initials in the lower corner: “A.B.”
Then, without hesitation, she offered the brush to Emerson. “You too. You helped create it.”
He looked startled. “I just followed your lead.”
“No,” she said firmly. “We did this together. It wouldn’t exist without you.”
