Page 60 of Hooked on Emerson
"This is the first time home has felt free," she explained, softly. "Like I'm choosing it, not trapped by it. Like I'm building something, not just maintaining what was left to me."
Emerson nodded. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch light against her skin, letting it traildown her back to feel her shiver. "That's because it's ours now," he said. "Whatever we decide to build. Together."
The simple confidence 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 and the willingness to join her in her journey.
"My workshop is open for new beginnings," he added, a small smile touching his lips. "Whenever you're ready to start on the mill. Or anything else you want to create together."
Ava nodded, warmth spreading through her at the thought of working alongside him, of building something together that would be uniquely theirs. Not just the shop, not just the mill, but a life, a future created day by day, choice by choice.
"I'd like that," she said, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. "But not tomorrow. Tomorrow is just for us."
His smile grew, reaching his eyes, and making her heart skip. "I like the sound of that."
They lay together as the light faded completely, the room growing dim around them. The sound of their breathing, the occasional creak of the old house settling, the distant call of birds heading home for the night were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence.
Ava felt herself drifting toward sleep, warm and safe in Emerson's arms. The events of the day—the decisions made, the bouquets created, the words finally spoken—had left her emotionally and physically spent, but in the best possible way.
Emerson's breathing had slowed, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep beneath her cheek. She looked up at his face, peaceful now in slumber, all guardedness gone. He looked younger somehow, the lines around his eyes smoothed away, his mouth soft and relaxed.
Through the bedroom door, she could still see the bouquet on the dining table, illuminated now only by moonlight filteringthrough the windows. The flowers were just a silhouette, a reminder of choice, of return, of beginning. The lavender would dry beautifully, lasting long after the roses and freesia had faded. Just as some foundations were worth keeping, worth building upon, even as everything else transformed.
Ava closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her, Emerson's arms warm and secure around her. In the last moments before consciousness slipped away completely, a single thought surfaced: this was what it meant to belong somewhere, to someone. Not because you were tethered, but because you had chosen. Not because you were afraid to leave, but because you wanted to stay.
The sound of a hammer echoed through the shop. Emerson knelt beside the half-assembled display table, measuring twice before driving in the final nail. Sawdust gathered around his knees like snow, catching the morning light that streamed through the newly cleaned windows. The scent of fresh-cut wood hung in the air, mingling with the lingering fragrance of lemon polish and the faint perfume of the sample arrangements in the cooler.
Ava stood behind the counter, sorting through a stack of business cards—cream paper with a simple design of lavender sprigs framing the new logo. They read: Bloom & Vine ~where tradition meets innovation. She traced the embossed letters with her fingertip, feeling the slight indentation in the thick paper, the subtle texture grounding her in this moment of creation.
"What do you think?" she asked, holding up the card so Emerson could see.
He set down his hammer and took it, turning it over in his calloused hands. His fingers held the small card with surprising gentleness. "It's perfect," he said, his voice warm with approval. "Elegant but not fussy."
"Like the shop will be," she agreed, taking the card back and adding it to the neat stack beside the register. The lighting caught in the gold embossing, making the lavender design seem almost alive.
Three weeks had passed since she'd returned from Seattle, since she'd chosen this path, this place, this man. Three weeks of planning and painting, of reimagining what her shop could become. The reopening was set for Saturday, just four days away, and the list of tasks remaining seemed to grow rather than shrink with each passing day.
But unlike the frantic preparations after the pipe burst or the roof leak, this work felt purposeful, energizing. They were building something together, not just repairing what had been damaged.
Emerson returned to the display table, fitting the final piece into place. The wood was reclaimed oak from an old barn outside town, each plank carefully sanded and finished to bring out the warm honey tones while preserving the character marks—knots and grain variations that told the story of its previous life. The design was his own, with angled surfaces to showcase arrangements and built-in vases that could be rearranged as needed.
"That's the last one," he said, brushing sawdust from his jeans as he stood. His shirt clung slightly to his shoulders, damp with the effort of the morning's work. "Just needs to dry overnight, and we can move it into position tomorrow."
Ava came around the counter to admire his work, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The cotton of his sleeve was soft beneath her fingertips, warm from his body heat. "It's beautiful," she said softly. "Better than anything I could have bought."
He grinned, warmth and hidden meanings in his eyes. "Built to last."
The words settled between them, layered with meaning beyond the furniture. Everything they'd created in the past weeks had been designed that way—with permanence in mind, with an eye toward the future. Not just temporary fixes or stopgaps, but foundations for what came next.
The shop itself had been transformed. The walls, once a neutral beige, were now painted in soft sage, making the space feel both calmer and more alive. The lavender mural remained, of course, their shared creation too precious to replace, but it was now complemented by new shelving that echoed its organic lines. The floor had been refinished, revealing the warm tones of the original wood beneath years of wear. Even the air felt different—cleaner, fresher, as if the space itself was breathing more easily.
"I should finish the workshop handouts," Ava said, reluctantly pulling her attention back to her task list. She ran her finger down the page, feeling the slight indentation of her pen marks from that morning. "And confirm the flower delivery for Friday."
Emerson nodded, understanding the pressure of the approaching deadline. "I'll clean up here and start on the outdoor sign next."
They worked in companionable silence for the next hour, Emerson gathering his tools and sweeping up sawdust while Ava finalized the materials for the inaugural workshop she would host on opening day. The soft scratch of her pen on paper and the rhythmic swish of his broom created a quiet symphony.
"Seasonal Arrangements: Traditional Techniques with Modern Twists" was already fully booked, with a waiting list that had surprised even her. She paused in her writing, looking down at the guide she'd created. Would the participants connect with her vision? Would they understand what she was trying to create—a bridge between her mother's traditional approach and her own evolving style? The question sent a flutter of nerves through her stomach, but beneath it was a confidence that hadn't been there before.
The shop door opened, letting in a gust of cool autumn air and Mrs. Connelly, her arms laden with fabric samples. The bell chimed merrily, its familiar sound now holding new promise rather than echoing in an empty space.
