Page 61 of Hooked on Emerson
"I've narrowed it down to these three options for the window treatments," she announced without preamble, spreading swatches across the counter. The fabrics rustled as they settled, soft shades of cream and sage and a deeper forest green. "The green complements the wall color, but the cream might brighten the space more."
Ava exchanged an amused glance with Emerson. They hadn't actually asked Mrs. Connelly for decorating advice, but somehow she had appointed herself consultant for the reopening, appearing daily with suggestions and opinions. Her enthusiasm, though occasionally overwhelming, had become part of the shop's transformation—a reminder that this space belonged not just to Ava, but to the community that had supported it for so long.
"Thank you," Ava said, genuinely grateful despite the unsolicited help. She ran her fingers over the fabric samples, feeling their different textures. "The cream might work better, especially heading into winter when the light changes."
Mrs. Connelly nodded approvingly, her silver earrings catching the light as she moved. "My thoughts exactly. I'll havemy niece's husband install them tomorrow. He owes me a favor." She paused, her sharp eyes taking in the new display table. "Emerson, that's exquisite work. You've outdone yourself."
He ducked his head slightly, never comfortable with direct praise. A faint flush colored the back of his neck as he busied himself with his tools. "Just wanted it to be right for the shop."
"For Ava, you mean," Mrs. Connelly corrected with a knowing smile. "Don't think I haven't noticed how every piece you've built fits her perfectly with the right height for her reach, the drawer pulls positioned just so."
Ava felt warmth rise in her cheeks as she realized Mrs. Connelly was right. The new workbench behind the counter was indeed the perfect height for her, allowing her to arrange flowers without stooping or stretching. The shelves were spaced to accommodate her most frequently used containers. Even the hook for her apron was positioned exactly where she naturally reached for it.
Emerson's attention to these details hadn't been showy or mentioned. He'd simply observed how she worked and built accordingly, making the space an extension of her movements rather than an environment she had to adapt to.
"Well," Mrs. Connelly said, gathering her remaining samples, the fabric whispering as she folded it. "I'll be back tomorrow with the curtains. And I've spread the word about the reopening. Expect a crowd." She paused at the door, giving Ava a small smile. "Your mother would be proud, Ava. Not because you kept the shop, but because you're making it yours."
The words caught Ava by surprise, a lump forming in her throat. "Thank you," she managed, genuinely touched by the older woman's insight.
After Mrs. Connelly left, silence settled over the shop again, broken only by the soft sounds of Ava shuffling papers and Emerson measuring wood for the new sign outside.
"She's right, you know," Ava said finally, looking up from her workshop notes. "You did build everything to fit me."
Emerson glanced up, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I pay attention," he said simply.
"It's more than that." She came around the counter, moving to stand beside him where he worked on a sawhorse by the window. The wood he was shaping smelled rich and earthy. "You make me feel like I belong here. Like this space was made for me, not the other way around."
His hands stilled on the wood he was measuring. "That's how it should be," he stated. "A shop should fit its owner, not force them into a mold."
Ava's hand found his, her fingers curling around his larger ones. "Like the mill could be," she said softly, the idea that had been growing in her mind for weeks finally taking shape in words. "Not just a mill or a greenhouse like my mother planned, but a studio. A workshop space. Something that fits what I want to create.”
Emerson's eyes lit up. "You've been thinking about it."
"I have." She leaned against the sawhorse, her shoulder brushing his. Outside, a bird landed on the windowsill, its small form silhouetted against the afternoon light before it flew away again. "I've been sketching ideas at night, after you fall asleep. Nothing solid yet, just possibilities."
She paused, trying to find the right words for the vision that had been taking shape in her mind. "I see a space for classes larger than what we can host here. Room for more experimental designs that need space to breathe. Maybe even a small garden for growing specialty blooms that are hard to source."
"Show me," Emerson said, pulling a small sketchbook from his back pocket and offering it to her. The leather cover was worn smooth from handling, the pages slightly warped from use.
Ava took it hesitantly, then began to sketch—quick, rough lines showing the mill's interior transformed. As she drew, her vision became clearer, more certain. "Here, a large central work table where a group could gather. Natural light from these windows. Storage along this wall. Maybe a small office in this corner."
Emerson watched her draw, his eyes intent on the page. "We could start with structural repairs this winter, then interior work in spring. By summer, you could be hosting workshops there."
The casual "we" in his statement warmed her. There was no question in his mind that they would do this together, that her dream was something he would help build. It wasn't just words with Emerson—it was actions and certainty, it was the steady presence that had become as necessary to her as breathing.
"I'd need to save up," she said, practical despite her excitement. "The loan for the roof repairs stretched the budget pretty thin."
Emerson nodded, understanding the financial constraints. "We start small. One section at a time." His finger traced the outline of the mill in her sketch, his touch gentle on the page. "I have materials we can repurpose, and skills we won't have to hire out." His thumb traced small circles on her palm as he spoke, the gesture unconscious but intimate. "Besides, the journey is half the pleasure. Building something together, watching it take shape day by day."
The afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, highlighting strands of gold among the brown. Ava was struck suddenly by how different he looked from the man she'd met that first day in Nattie's studio—not physically, but in essence. There was an openness to him now, a quiet joy that hadn't been there before. Or perhaps it had been, just waiting for the right moment, the right person, to emerge.
Ava squeezed his hand, gratitude and love welling up inside her. "Speaking of journeys," she said, a new thought occurring to her, "have you ever wanted to travel? To see other places? I realized I've never asked you that."
The question seemed to surprise him. He was quiet for a moment, considering. "Never had much reason to," he admitted finally. "Always had work here, responsibilities.”
"But if you could? If there were no constraints?" She watched his face, curious about what dreams he might have kept to himself.
He considered this, his expression thoughtful. "I'd like to see the redwoods in California," he said finally, his voice softening with something like wonder. "Trees that have been growing for thousands of years. Wood so rich and red it looks almost alive."
