Page 28 of Hooked on Emerson
"Not just decorating. The whole feeling of it." He felt suddenly self-conscious, worried he wasn't explaining himself well. "My place is functional but it doesn't say much. Yours tells a story."
"I'd like to see it sometime," she said. "Your place, I mean."
The simple request caught him off guard. "It's nothing special."
"I'd still like to see it. The place where you're most yourself."
The idea of Ava in his space—sitting at his kitchen table, looking through his bookshelves, maybe standing on his back porch where he'd planted lavender—created a warmth in his chest that was both pleasant and uncomfortable in its intensity.
"Anytime," he said, meaning it despite the flutter of nervousness the invitation created.
They finished breakfast and cleaned up together, falling into the same easy rhythm they'd established at the shop. Ava washed while Emerson dried, their conversation flowing naturally between festival preparations and observations about the market.
As Emerson placed the last dried plate in the cabinet, Ava checked the time. "We should probably head to the festival grounds. Setup starts at nine."
"I'll drive you to the shop first, so you can get your flowers."
She nodded, gathering her keys and phone. At the door, she paused, turning to face him. "Thank you for this morning. For getting up before dawn and driving to Fairview and... all of it."
"I enjoyed it," he said simply. "More than I expected to."
"Me too." She hesitated, then stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "First item, officially complete."
The spot where her lips had touched his skin seemed to burn pleasantly as they walked to his truck. Emerson found himself touching it absently as he rounded the hood to the driver's side, as if he could preserve the sensation through contact.
The day stretched ahead of them—festival setup, hours of work, crowds and noise and responsibilities. But underneath it all ran the current of something new and fragile taking shape between them. A shared sunrise, a quiet breakfast, a list of experiences waiting to be checked off.
And tonight, under the festival lights, there would be dancing.
The Harvest Festival transformed the town square into something magical as evening fell. String lights crisscrossed overhead, creating a canopy of warm golden light. The scent of kettle corn and apple cider filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of hay bales positioned as seating around the perimeter. A small stage had been set up at one end where a local band played folk music, the fiddle and guitar notes weaving through the conversations and laughter of the crowd.
Ava straightened the last bouquet on her display, adjusting a sunflower that had tilted sideways during the day's sales. Her feet ached from standing, but a pleasant kind of exhaustion had settled over her—the satisfaction of work well done. The booth had been busy all day, her autumn arrangements selling steadily to festival-goers wanting to bring a piece of the celebration home.
Emerson appeared at her side, two paper cups in his hands. "Cider," he said, offering one to her. "You looked like you could use a break."
"My hero," she said with genuine gratitude, taking the warm cup between her palms. The spiced apple scent rose with the steam, cinnamon and cloves and something deeper beneath. "How's the booth looking?"
"Perfect. Like everything you do."
The simple compliment brought heat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cider. She took a sip to cover her reaction, the sweet-tart liquid warming her from the inside. "Hardly perfect. But I'm happy with it."
They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the festival unfold around them. Children ran between booths, faces sticky with caramel apple residue. Couples walked hand in hand, pausing to examine crafts or sample food. The whole town seemed to be there, dressed in flannel and light sweaters against the October evening.
"Mrs. Connelly's been by three times to check on us," Emerson noted, amusement in his voice. "I think she's matchmaking."
"She's not subtle, is she?" Ava laughed, remembering the older woman's not-so-casual comments about what a nice couple they made, how Emerson was so helpful, how the shop had never looked better.
"About as subtle as a hammer." Emerson's smile was warm in the golden light. "She means well, though."
"She does." Ava watched as the woman in question bustled past their booth again, giving them an exaggerated wink that made both of them chuckle. "The whole town's like that, really. Everyone in everyone else's business, but mostly out of genuine care."
"It's one of the things I like about Millfield," Emerson admitted. "Took me a while to appreciate it, but there's value in being known."
"And drawbacks," Ava added, thinking of the weight of expectations, the way grief became a public experience in a small town.
He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "True. But tonight, I'm seeing the good parts."
The band transitioned to a slower song, something with a waltz rhythm that had couples gravitating toward the open space in front of the stage. The string lights reflected in Ava's cider, little points of gold swirling as she took another sip.
