Page 67 of Hooked on Emerson
"You should do a special workshop," she suggested, examining a bundle of eucalyptus with critical eyes. "For couples. Teach them to make arrangements together."
"That's actually a wonderful idea," Ava replied, genuinely appreciating the suggestion. "I'll add it to the calendar for next year.”
"Next year," Mrs. Connelly repeated with a knowing smile. "Planning that far ahead now, are we? Good. Shows commitment to the future."
Before Ava could respond to the loaded comment, the bell chimed again, announcing more customers. The morning continued its steady rhythm, each interaction reminding her how deeply the shop had become integrated with the community again. It wasn't just a business but a gathering place.
Emerson arrived around eleven, earlier than usual, wearing the blue shirt she'd once told him matched his eyes. His hair was neatly combed, his usual stubble trimmed closer than he typically kept it. Something about seeing him so carefully presented made Ava's heart beat faster, curiosity and anticipation building inside her.
"You look beautiful," he said when he saw her, his eyes taking in the dress, the way she'd left her hair loose around her shoulders. His gaze was appreciative but held something else, almost like a decision was finalized.
"So do you," she replied, straightening his collar with familiar intimacy. The cotton was smooth beneath her fingers, still carrying the scent of the iron he rarely used. "Very handsome."
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm that sent warmth spreading up her arm and through her chest. Thegesture was tender, and entirely unlike his usual public displays of affection. Something was definitely different today.
Nattie arrived precisely at noon, her camera bag slung over her shoulder, her bright smile unchanged since their first meeting. She'd grown her hair longer, and college had given her an air of confidence that hadn't been there before, but her enthusiasm remained the same.
"Look at you two," she said, glancing between them with obvious satisfaction. "I knew it, you know. That first day at the photo session. I told my professor you had chemistry that couldn't be faked."
Ava felt heat rise in her cheeks, remembering how they'd looked at each other that day, strangers pretending at intimacy that had somehow become real. "You saw something we didn't yet," she admitted.
"Not exactly," Emerson said, quietly. "I knew then. Maybe not what it meant, but I felt it."
The simple admission made her heart swell. Ava reached for his hand without thinking, their fingers twining together in the most natural way. His palm was warm and as familiar as her own skin.
Nattie began setting up her equipment, directing them through a series of poses that showcased the shop while keeping them as the focal point. She had them stand behind the counter, arranging flowers together—Ava's hands guiding Emerson's as he placed a stem, his larger fingers dwarfing the delicate bloom. Sitting on the bench beneath the lavender mural, shoulders touching, heads inclined toward each other in conversation. Examining the architectural plans for the mill, heads bent close in consultation.
"Tell me about this," Nattie said, gesturing toward the drawings as she adjusted her lens. "What's happening here?"
"We're renovating the old mill at the edge of town," Ava explained, her excitement evident in her voice. "It's going to be a studio space for larger workshops, maybe even small events. Emerson's doing most of the structural work."
"Just making sure it's sound," he demurred, though Ava could see the pride in his eyes. "Ava's the one with the vision."
"But we're building it together," Ava added, her hand finding his arm. "Like everything else."
Nattie nodded, snapping a photo of their unconscious connection—Ava's hand on Emerson's arm, his body angled toward hers, both looking at the plans that represented their shared future. "That's what makes the best images," she said. "The moments you don't even realize you're having."
Through it all, Ava was aware of a growing tension in Emerson. His hand would linger on her waist a moment longer than necessary. His eyes would hold hers with increased intensity. Something was building between them, a current that ran beneath the mundane activity of being photographed.
"Perfect," Nattie said after capturing them beside the Valentine's display. "Now, let's try one more by the mural. Where you painted it together."
They moved to stand beneath the lavender field, their creation stretching behind them like a window into another world. Nattie positioned them carefully, Emerson's arm around Ava's waist, her body turned slightly toward his.
"Now look at each other," Nattie instructed, her voice softening. "Like you did that first day."
Ava turned to face Emerson, her eyes meeting his. The shop around them seemed to recede, the sound of Nattie's camera fading to background noise. Emerson's gaze was steady on hers, containing all the months they'd shared, all the small moments that had built this life together. But there was something else there too now—a question, a hope, a future still unwritten.
"Ava," he said, so quietly that perhaps only she heard it. His hand found hers between them. "From strangers to this. I never thought..."
He paused, something vulnerable crossing his face. For the first time since she'd known him, Emerson seemed at a loss for words. His thumb traced circles on her palm, a gesture she'd come to recognize as his way of centering himself when emotions ran strong.
Then, still holding her gaze, he reached into his pocket. Ava's heart stuttered as he withdrew a small wooden box, similar to the ones he'd made before, like the key box, but even smaller, more delicate. The wood was polished to a warm glow, with the now-familiar lavender inlay on the lid.
"Emerson," she whispered, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.
He sank to one knee before her, still holding her other hand in his. The box rested in his palm, small but containing worlds of meaning. Behind them, Nattie's camera clicked rapidly, capturing each moment, though Ava barely registered the sound.
"I'm not good with words," Emerson began, his voice calm despite the emotion visible in his eyes. "I build things. Fix things. That's the language I know best. But with you, I've learned new ways to speak. To listen. To be."
