Page 66 of Hooked on Emerson
The sound of a key in the back door made her smile. Emerson. He'd been at the mill all day, installing insulation before the next cold snap arrived. The door opened and closed with a soft thud, followed by the familiar cadence of his footsteps solid against the wooden floor.
"In here," she called, though he always knew where to find her.
He appeared in the doorway, cheeks reddened from the cold, a dusting of sawdust clinging to his flannel shirt. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run his hands through it repeatedly while working. The sight of him still made her heart quicken, even after months of waking up beside him, of building a life together day by day.
"Busy day?" he asked, his voice warm in the quiet shop.
"Steady," she replied, moving toward him. Her fingers reached out to brush sawdust from his shoulder, the flannel soft beneath her touch. "Valentine's orders starting to come in. And three signups for next week's workshop."
He caught her hand as she reached him, his fingers curling around hers with familiar ease. His palm was rough from work but warm despite the February chill. "I finished fixing the walls in the main room," he said. "And the electrician can start on Monday."
"Ahead of schedule," Ava noted, pleasure warming her voice. "At this rate we might open by May instead of June."
"That's the plan." He released her hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering against her cheek. The simple touch still sent warmth through her, a reminder of how easily they had learned each other. "Though I'm not sure the floor will be ready by then. The boards I ordered from Fairview are delayed."
Ava leaned into his touch, her body recognizing his in the most basic way. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
His smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way she'd come to cherish. "Yes, we do."
The moment stretched comfortably between them. Outside, the light continued to fade, the shop windows becoming mirrors that reflected their figures standing close together. Emerson's hand moved to her waist, drawing her nearer until she could feel the warmth of him through their layers of clothing.
"I ran into Nattie today," he said, his voice casual though something in his tone caught Ava's attention. "At the hardware store. She's home from college for the weekend."
"How is she?" Ava asked, remembering the young photographer who had brought them together with her stranger session months ago. "Still taking beautiful photos?"
"She is. In fact," he continued, his thumb tracing small circles against her waist, "I asked her if she'd come by tomorrow. To take some photos of the shop for your website and social media. Professional ones, not just the ones Krysta snaps with her phone."
Ava raised an eyebrow, surprised. "That's thoughtful. But I didn't think you liked being photographed."
"I don't, usually." His fingers tapped a light rhythm against her hip, a subtle tell she'd learned to recognize when something was on his mind. "But these are important."
"For the business?"
"For us," he said simply. His eyes held hers, something in their depths she couldn't quite read. Certainty and nervousness? That didn't seem possible from steadfast Emerson. "To mark how far we've come."
Ava studied his face, noting the slight tension around his mouth, the way his eyes didn't quite meet hers. Something was happening beneath the surface of this conversation, but she trusted him enough not to push. "Alright. What time?"
"Noon. When the light's best," he said. His hand found hers again, squeezing gently. "Wear something you love."
The request was unusual enough to pique her curiosity further, but she nodded, understanding this was something he needed to unfold in his own time. "I will."
Later, as they closed up the shop together, Ava found herself watching Emerson from the corner of her eye. He moved with his usual efficiency, checking the locks, adjusting the thermostat, his movements automatic while his mind seemed elsewhere. Twice she caught him staring at the lavender mural, his expression contemplative.
That night, as they prepared dinner together in the small house they now shared—his house that had become theirs gradually, her belongings migrating until it made sense to simply stay—Ava continued to notice small signs of preoccupation. Emerson chopped vegetables with the precise movements that characterized all his work, but his eyes would drift, focusing on something she couldn't see.
"Everything okay?" she asked finally, stirring a pot of soup that filled the kitchen with savory aromas.
He looked up, knife pausing mid-chop. "Of course. Why?"
"You seem preoccupied."
A small smile touched his lips, secretive but warm. "Just thinking about the mill. And tomorrow's photos."
She nodded, accepting the partial truth, knowing the rest would reveal itself in time. That was how things worked between them—a natural unfolding, each revelation coming when it was ready.
The next day dawned clear and cold, sunlight bouncing off the remnants of snow to create a brightness that filled the shop with clean, white light. Ava dressed carefully, choosing a deep green sweater dress that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes and complemented her dark hair. She added her lavender bracelet, the silver charm catching the light as she moved.
The morning passed in a blur of customers and preparations. Mrs. Connelly stopped by, ostensibly to order flowers for her book club but clearly more interested in chatting about the upcoming Valentine's rush.
