Page 20 of Hooked on Emerson
After a moment, he took the brush. His hand was steady as he added his own mark beside hers: “E.R.” The letters stood side by side, not quite touching but belonging to the same space.
Ava felt something catch in her throat at the sight—their initials together, permanent on the wall of her shop. It felt significant, a declaration of sorts, though she wasn’t sureexactly what they were declaring. Only that something had been acknowledged, something neither of them had put into words.
“Perfect,” she said softly, reaching out to touch the still-wet paint. A small dot of purple clung to her fingertip, marking her.
The light outside had faded completely now, the shop windows reflecting their own image back at them. Ava could see their silhouettes against the backdrop of the mural—two figures standing close but not touching, surrounded by painted lavender and the warm glow of the shop lights.
“I should probably head out,” Emerson said, though he made no move to leave. “It’s getting late.”
Ava nodded, but found herself reluctant to end the evening. “Thank you. For today. For all of it.”
He met her eyes, his own gaze soft and unguarded. “Thank you for letting me be part of it.”
They cleaned up together, washing brushes, sealing paint cans, returning tools to their proper places. The routine was familiar now, the small dance of sharing space, of working together toward a common goal. When everything was tidy, they stood by the door, both hesitating.
“Will you be at the Harvest Festival next month?” Ava asked suddenly. It was their town’s celebration of summer changing over to fall. “The shop always has a booth. I could use an extra pair of hands.”
Emerson’s smile was slow, transforming his face in a way that made her heart skip. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” She reached out impulsively, squeezing his hand. “Night, Emerson.”
His fingers curled around hers, warm and strong. “Night, Ava.”
After he left, Ava locked the door behind him and returned to stand before the mural. The lavender field seemed to glow in the dim light, the colors deeper now that the paint was drying.She traced their initials with her eyes, feeling the weight of what they’d created together, and not just the painting.
The first light of day spilled through the shop windows, casting long shadows across the newly finished floor. Ava moved between the buckets, checking water levels and trimming wilted leaves with practiced efficiency. The routine was automatic now, allowing her mind to wander as her hands worked.
Through the front window, she watched as Mrs. Connelly power-walked past in her bright purple tracksuit, Mason unlocked the café across the street, all while the mail carrier sorted letters on the corner. All so familiar. All so ordinary. All somehow both comforting and confining at once.
She glanced at the mural she and Emerson had finished three days ago. The lavender field stretched across the wall, not quite her mother’s vision but something new. Something theirs. Theirinitials sat side by side in the corner, a small declaration she still wasn’t sure how to interpret.
The bell above the door chimed, and Ava turned to find Krysta breezing in, a manila envelope tucked under her arm.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Krysta called, setting the envelope on the counter. “Special delivery from Nattie. She asked me to drop these by since I was heading this way.”
“The photos?” Ava wiped her hands on her apron. “I meant to pick those up days ago.”
“That’s what Nattie said.” Krysta’s smile was knowing. “Something about you being distracted lately.”
Ava felt warmth creep into her cheeks as she adjusted a nearby vase, the glass cool against her fingertips. “I’ve been busy with the shop repairs.”
“Mmhmm. And I’m sure Emerson Reed has nothing to do with that flush on your face right now.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ava asked, unable to keep the smile from her voice.
“Actually, yes. Town council meeting in twenty minutes.” Krysta pushed the envelope toward her. “But I wanted to make sure you got these. And maybe get the inside scoop on what’s happening between you two.”
Ava busied herself with a nearby arrangement, tucking a wayward stem back into place. The flower’s velvet petals brushed against her wrist. “We’re friends. He’s helping with the shop.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Krysta laughed. “Seriously, though. I haven’t seen him spend this much time with anyone in years. It’s nice.”
“He’s been a lifesaver with all the repairs,” Ava admitted, the words not quite capturing the whole picture of his presence in her life these past weeks. “I don’t know what I would have done without him after the pipe burst.”
Krysta studied her for a moment, growing more serious. “Just be careful. Emerson doesn’t let people in easily. When he does...” She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
“We’re just—”
“Friends. Yeah, you said that.” Krysta headed for the door, then paused, her hand on the frame. “By the way, did you ever call Seattle back? About that apprenticeship?”
