Page 58 of Hooked on Emerson
"No," she agreed. "Not at all." She took a breath, gathering her courage for what came next. "I'm not staying because I'm afraid to leave, Emerson. I'm staying because I want to live, not just survive. I'm staying because this is where I want to build something. With you."
His eyes widened slightly, the only indication that her words had affected him. He was still holding himself carefully, as if afraid to believe too quickly, to hope too much.
"I saw your letter," she confessed quietly.
Now his visage changed, vulnerability flashing across his features before he could mask it. A muscle in his jaw tightened, then released. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"I know. I'm sorry. I went to your workshop to leave coffee, and it was there, with my name on it." She hesitated, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "I shouldn't have read it. But I saw my name, and then..."
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands. She noticed they were perfectly still, the way they got when he was concentrating on something delicate or difficult. "What did you think?" he asked finally, in a whisper.
"It wrecked me," she admitted. "In the best possible way. It reminded me what real love sounds like. My mom never had that for me to see." She paused, her throat suddenly tight. "No one's ever seen me the way you do, Emerson. Not even my mother. Or even myself."
He looked up at that, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. His careful restraint gave way to vulnerability. "I never expected this," he said, gesturing between them. "You. Us. I've never been good at... letting people in." His voice was rough, as if the words were being pulled from somewhere deep. "But you made it feel possible. Like a language I could learn, besides fixing things."
Ava felt warmth blossoming in her chest. "I think we've been learning it together."
Emerson nodded, a small smile touching his lips. "I meant what I wrote," he said. "About waiting, if that's what you needed. About wanting your happiness more than my comfort."
"I know you did." She reached across the space between them, her fingers finding his hand. His skin was warm against hers, calluses a bit rough, familiar yet somehow new in this context, in his home. "But I don't want you to wait anymore. I'm here because this is where I want to be. Where I choose to be."
His fingers curled around hers, the gentle pressure an affirmation. The touch sent a current of warmth up her arm, settling somewhere beneath her ribs. She glanced down at theirjoined hands, at the contrast between her smaller fingers and his larger ones, at how naturally they fit together.
"And the shop?" he asked. "What will you do with it?"
"Make it mine," she said simply. "Not just my mother's legacy, but my own vision too. Traditional and modern, both together." She smiled. "And maybe something with the mill, eventually. A studio space, perhaps. For workshops, for more experimental designs."
"The bones are good," he said, echoing what he'd told her weeks ago. "Worth building on."
"That's what I realized in Seattle. That some foundations are worth keeping. Worth transforming into something new." Her thumb traced small circles on the back of his hand, feeling the slight roughness of his skin, the strength beneath. "I want to build something, Emerson. Not just maintain what was, but create what could be."
He nodded, understanding. "And I want to help you build it. Whatever shape it takes."
The simple promise in his voice made her heart swell. There was no pressure in his words, no expectation that she would stay exactly as she was or become something she wasn't. Just acceptance of who she was now, who she was becoming, and a desire to be part of that journey.
"I think I've been falling in love with you since that first day," she said softly. "When we were strangers pretending not to be."
His eyes darkened at her words, the caution finally leaving. His free hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, reminding her of that photo session. His touch light against her skin, spreader more warmth in its wake. "I know exactly what you mean."
The moment stretched between them, full of possibilities they could chose. The scent of lavender from the bouquet drifted through the room, mingling with the cedar and coffee notesof his home. Outside, the light had begun to change, the late afternoon sun casting longer shadows across the floor. A clock ticked somewhere in the kitchen, marking seconds that seemed to stretch and compress all at once.
Ava found herself leaning toward him slightly, drawn by the intensity in his eyes, by the pressure of his hand around hers. His gaze dropped to her mouth for a brief moment before returning to her eyes, a question in the look.
Her heart beat faster as she closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like finally finding home. His hand cradled her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone with a gentleness that made her want to melt. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, a relearning of each other after the distance that had grown between them.
But then it was like a dam broke. Emerson's arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer as the kiss transformed from question to answer. Ava's hands found his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him beneath her palms, the slight roughness of his flannel shirt against her skin. He tasted of coffee and something uniquely him, warm and real and present in a way that made her heart race.
When they broke apart, both slightly breathless, his forehead rested against hers for a moment, their breath mingling in the small space between them. His eyes, when they met hers again, were dark with want but also held a certainty.
"I love you," he said simply, the words clear and unadorned. No buffers, no hesitation. Just truth, offered freely.
"I love you too," she whispered back, the words feeling right in her mouth, honest in a way few things had been since her mother's death.
His smile then was like sunrise, transforming his face, reaching his eyes in a way that made her heart skip. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, a gentle caress that sent warmthspreading through her. "Stay," he said softly. "Not just in Millfield. But here. Tonight. With me."
The invitation hung between them, simple but significant. Ava nodded, her hand coming up to cover his where it rested against her face. "Yes," she said. "I'd like that."
His kiss this time was deeper, more sure. His hands moved to her waist, drawing her closer until she was nearly in his lap, the heat of his body warming her through their clothes. She found herself melting into him, her arms winding around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. It was softer than she expected, thick between her fingers as she held him to her.
