Page 62 of Hooked on Emerson
A small smile touched his lips, growing as he continued. "And maybe Vermont in fall, for the colors and the woodworking traditions there. They have these small workshops tucked into the mountains, craftsmen who've been passing down techniques for generations." His eyes met hers, suddenly more open, more vulnerable than she was used to seeing. "What about you? Besides Seattle, where would you go?"
"The lavender fields in Provence," she said without hesitation, the image so clear in her mind she could almost smell it. "I've seen pictures since I was a child. Rows of purple stretching to the horizon, the scent so strong you can taste it in the air." She paused, a memory surfacing like a bubble rising through water. "My mother always wanted to go. It was on her 'Someday' list."
"Then we should make it happen," Emerson said, as if it were that simple. His hand tightened around hers in promise. "Not right away, but someday. Our someday."
Our someday. The phrase lodged in Ava's heart, a promise of futures not yet written but already being planned. Not just the shop or the mill, but their lives intertwined. She looked at him,his presence that had become her anchor, and felt something settle inside her—a piece falling into place that she hadn't known was missing.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of productivity. Emerson finished cutting the wood for the sign, the rhythmic sound of his saw creating a backdrop to Ava's work. She completed the workshop materials and confirmed the special orders for the reopening, each task bringing Saturday closer, making the vision more concrete.
As the light began to fade, they locked up the shop together, the routine now familiar and comfortable.
"Dinner at my place?" Emerson asked as they walked to their cars. "I have that soup you liked last time."
Ava nodded, her hand finding his as they crossed the quiet street. "Perfect. I have dessert. Those cookies from the bakery in Fairview."
The drive to his house was short, the familiar roads now holding new meaning. What had once been just Emerson's home was becoming theirs in many ways, though she still maintained her own house. They had been taking things slowly in some respects, building their relationship with the same care they brought to their work. But more and more of her things had migrated to his place—a toothbrush, a change of clothes, her favorite mug for morning coffee.
His small house welcomed them with the scent of soup simmering on the stove, left in a slow cooker that morning. The aroma of vegetables and herbs filled the space, homey and inviting. Ava hung her jacket beside his on the hook by the door, the simple domestic gesture feeling both ordinary and significant.
While Emerson stirred the soup and sliced bread—his hands as precise with a kitchen knife as they were with woodworking tools—Ava set the table with the mismatched dishes she'd cometo love. The blue bowl with the slight chip that was now "hers," the pottery plates he'd made himself years ago in a community class. She lit a candle in the center of the table, its soft glow warming the simple space.
"I was thinking," Emerson said as they settled at the table, bowls steaming before them, "about the workshop space at the mill."
Ava looked up, surprised he'd been considering it further. "What about it?"
"If we divided the main floor, you could have separate areas for different functions." He broke off a piece of bread, the crust crackling slightly beneath his fingers. "Teaching space with good natural light near the east windows. Design area with sturdy tables for larger arrangements. Storage along the back wall." He paused, his expression growing more animated than she usually saw it. "The upper level could be converted later, maybe as a small apartment or retreat space."
"You've really been thinking about this," Ava said, warmth spreading through her at his investment in her dream.
He nodded, a slight flush coloring his neck. "I sketched some ideas last night, after you fell asleep. Nothing fancy, just rough concepts."
"I'd love to see them," she said eagerly.
"After dinner." He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "But first, tell me more about these workshops you're planning. The one for the opening is just the beginning, right?"
As they ate, Ava outlined her vision for a series of classes that would bring traditional floristry techniques to modern arrangements. The soup warmed her from within as she described working with local growers, incorporating sustainable practices, hosting seasonal events that celebrated the natural rhythms of the year.
"I'm thinking about a holiday workshop where people can learn to make their own wreaths," she said, gesturing with her spoon. "Not just the traditional evergreen, but unexpected combinations—dried hydrangeas with fresh pine, or citrus and herbs for something more aromatic."
Emerson listened intently, asking thoughtful questions, offering suggestions that built on her ideas rather than redirecting them. His enthusiasm matched hers, his practical mind finding solutions to logistical challenges she hadn't yet considered.
"You'd be part of it too," she said as she finished describing the holiday workshop. The candle between them had burned lower, its flame reflecting in his eyes as he looked at her. "Not just building the space, but maybe teaching. A session on crafting containers, or how to build a living plant wall."
He looked surprised, then intrigued by the suggestion. "I hadn't thought of that."
"You should," she said firmly. "Your craftsmanship is part of what makes our vision unique. The combination of your structural work and my floral design—it's what sets us apart."
Our vision. Us. The words slipped out naturally, and neither commented on them, though Emerson's eyes warmed at her inclusion of him in the creative aspect of her plans. It felt right, this blending of their skills and perspectives. Not one absorbing or diminishing the other, but a true partnership where both could grow.
After dinner, they settled on the couch with mugs of tea and the cookies from Fairview. The shortbread was buttery and rich, crumbling slightly as Ava bit into one. Emerson retrieved a sketchbook from his workshop, opening it to reveal detailed drawings of the mill transformed. The renderings were precise but not rigid, allowing for organic growth and adaptation. He'dpreserved the character of the old building while reimagining its purpose.
"This is exactly what I've been picturing," Ava said, tracing the lines of a large workbench he'd drawn in the center of the main space. Her fingertip followed the grain of the wood he'd detailed, feeling the indentation of his pencil on the page. "How did you know?"
"I've been watching you work," he said simply. "Seeing how you move, what you need, what frustrates you in the current shop. This design gives you room to expand in all directions."
She leaned against him, her head finding the familiar spot on his shoulder. His warmth seeped through his shirt, comforting. "We make a good team."
His arm came around her, drawing her closer. "The best."
