Page 63 of Hooked on Emerson
They spent the evening refining the plans, Ava adding notes about lighting needs and water access while Emerson sketched additional details for storage solutions and display areas. The work was absorbing but comfortable, the kind of collaborative effort that energized rather than depleted them.
Later, as they lay together in his bed, Ava found herself thinking about the journey that had brought them here. From strangers in Nattie's photo session to partners in every sense of the word, building a shared vision for the future. The sheets were cool beneath her, but Emerson's body was warm against hers.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice low in the darkness, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. The touch raised pleasant shivers along her skin.
"How different things could have been," she admitted, watching the play of shadows on the ceiling. "If I'd gone to Seattle. If you hadn't come to fix the pipe that day. If we'd never met at all."
His arms tightened around her slightly, as if the thought disturbed him too. His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, therhythm steady and comforting. "I've wondered the same thing. But then I remember something my grandfather used to say:Some people are meant to find each other, no matter what path they take."
Ava smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. "I like that thought. That we would have found each other somehow, even if everything had been different."
"I believe it," he said simply, certain.
They fell asleep tangled together, the plans for the mill spread out on the nightstand beside them, a physical representation of the future they were building—not just for the business, but for themselves.
Saturday morning dawned clear and crisp, perfect weather for the reopening. Ava arrived at the shop before sunrise, her stomach fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nerves. The sky to the east was just beginning to lighten, a pale wash of pink and gold against the deep blue of night. Her breath formed small clouds in the cool air as she unlocked the door.
The new sign hung proudly above, the name burned into the wood in Emerson's precise hand, lavender carved around it as if hugging the letters. The wood gleamed with a finish that would protect it from weather while enhancing the natural grain. Another piece of him, embedded in her world.
Inside, everything was ready. The new display tables gleamed in the early light, arranged to create a natural flow through the space. Fresh flowers filled the cooler, their colors vibrant against the glass—deep burgundy dahlias, golden chrysanthemums,pale pink roses, and sprays of eucalyptus creating a palette that bridged seasons. Workshop materials were stacked neatly on the restored bench, handouts printed on the same cream paper as the business cards, tied with twine and sprigs of dried lavender.
The shop felt alive in a way it hadn't for months, maybe years. Ava moved through the space, making small adjustments—turning a vase slightly to catch the light better, straightening a stack of cards, brushing an invisible speck of dust from a shelf. Not out of anxiety, but from the desire to present this new vision exactly as she'd imagined it.
She paused before the lavender mural, their initials still side by side in the corner. She touched the paint lightly, feeling its subtle texture beneath her fingertips, and smiled.
The bell above the door chimed, and she turned to see Emerson entering, carrying two cups of coffee and a small white box that she knew contained pastries from Mason's café. He looked rested, his hair still damp from a morning shower, his eyes warm as they took in the sight of her standing beneath the mural.
"Morning," he said, his eyes taking in her nervous energy with understanding. "Everything looks perfect."
"Thanks to you," she replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. The warmth of the cup seeped into her hands, calming her. The rich aroma rose with the steam, promising comfort and energy. "I couldn't have done this without you."
He shook his head slightly, setting the pastry box on the counter. "You would have found a way. But I'm glad I could be part of it."
They shared breakfast in the quiet shop, sitting on the bench beneath the lavender mural, their shoulders touching as they ate. The pastries were still warm, flaky and buttery, leaving crumbs on their fingers and the napkins spread between them. Ava felt herself relaxing, the nervous energy transforming intoanticipation. This wasn't just a reopening; it was a statement about who she was and what she wanted to create.
"I have something for you," Emerson said as they finished their coffee. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in simple brown paper, tied with twine in a way that echoed the workshop materials. The paper crinkled softly as he held it out to her.
"What's this?" Ava asked, surprised.
"A reopening gift," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice that she rarely heard. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh, a tell she'd come to recognize. "Just a small thing."
She unwrapped it carefully, the paper crinkling softly beneath her fingers. Inside was a small wooden box, similar to the one she'd found in his workshop that day, but smaller, designed to fit in the palm of her hand. The wood was polished to a warm glow, with a delicate inlay of lavender on the lid, each tiny petal and leaf precisely placed. She could almost feel the hours of work in its smooth surface, the care in each detail.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, running her finger along the inlay, feeling the slight difference in texture where the different woods met.
"Open it," he urged softly, his eyes never leaving her face.
She lifted the lid, the hinges moving silently, crafted with the same precision as everything he made. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark velvet, was a key. Simple, newly cut, gleaming in the light.
"To the mill," Emerson explained, watching her face. His eyes held a both certainty and vulnerability making her heart swell. "I spoke with the owner yesterday. He's willing to sell, and the price is reasonable. Not as a gift," he added quickly, seeing her expression. "As an investment. In us. In what we're building together."
Ava stared at the key, her heart racing with emotion. It wasn't just metal and teeth and grooves. It was the physical manifestation of dreams taking shape. It was Emerson believing in her vision enough to make it tangible, to turn sketches into reality. "Emerson," she whispered, not trusting her voice with more.
"We can take our time," he continued, his hand finding hers. His palm was warm against hers, anchoring her as the significance of the moment washed over her. "Start small, like we discussed. But I wanted you to know it's real. It's happening."
She closed her fingers around the key, feeling its solid weight in her palm. "Thank you," she said finally, looking up at him. "For believing in this. In me."
His eyes focused on her face, full of certainty. "Always."
