#cssv

Forgotten Modernity - Killian is the one who goes to the Wish Realm in 6x10

Tiny Commands - A fluffy moment of Daddy!Killian with Hope

In My Dreams - Emma keeps seeing a certain blue-eyed man in her dreams

To a New Adventure - A Captain Swan proposal with a twist (CSJJ 2017)

What’s Missing? - A fun frenemies, Coffee Shop AU (CSSV 2017)

“Why aren’t you at work?” Emma adds when all Killian does is stare at her with glassy eyes.

“On my way,” he croaks out in a scratchy voice, “but I had to stop by and confirm my suspicions. You, my darling, are clearly not sick.”

Emma huffs, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face, “Please, Killian, like you didn’t call in sick after the World Cup last year because you were hung over. Just call it a mental health day. Believe me, it’s in Regina’s best interest.”

“Well, your mental health day is why I’m having to drag my sick arse to the office. Because we both called in, Regina thinks I’m faking.”

Killian, who is normally infinitely patient where Emma is concerned, sounds thoroughly pissed at her. Emma takes a minute to really look at him. His hair is messier than it normally is, and his blue dress shirt is slightly wrinkled, buttoned up wrong, and only half tucked in. Killian may go for “artfully disheveled,” but he’s never downright messy in his appearance. His eyes are also dulled rather than their normal bright blue, and his cheeks are flushed. When he sways slightly on his feet, Emma becomes truly alarmed. She goes to him immediately, ushering him into her apartment as she slings his left arm over her shoulder. He sags against her.

“That bitch,” she mutters as she maneuvers him onto the couch, “she said, what? Come in today or you’re fired?”

“Pretty much,” Killian answers as he pulls the afghan slung over the back of the couch over himself. He tries to chuckle, but his teeth are chattering too much.

Emma hurries to the bathroom for a thermometer. When she comes back, Killian has discovered the string bikini that she had tossed onto the coffee table when she brought him inside.

“I must say, Swan,” he teases as he dangles it from his fingertips, “I do wish I were faking sick. You were going to don this on your getaway without me there to enjoy it?”

Emma rolls her eyes as she snatches it out of his grip. At least he’s well enough to waggle those eyebrows of his. She silences any further innuendos by shoving the thermometer under his tongue, but even with the instrument in his mouth, he grins at her salaciously. This is their thing. He flirts audaciously, she purposefully ignores him. Sometimes she tosses him a biting retort. And for some reason, it works.

“Killian Jones!” she exclaims after the thermometer beeps its result, sounding far too much like Mary Margaret when she scolds David. “103.9! You should be at the hospital!”

Killian shakes his head as he pulls the blanket to his chin. “N-no w-way,” he stutters against his rattling teeth, “th-that place is a zoo right now.”

Emma frowns and swears some more under her breath as she pulls out her cell phone and dials the office. “I’m giving that woman a piece of my mind,” she mutters, tapping her fingers impatiently against her thigh as Regina’s cell rings. “Does she live under a rock? There’s a flu epidemic for God’s – “ Emma is cut off when Regina answers in her typically half-irritated voice.

“Regina,” she bites out, standing up and pacing with her free hand on her hip, “listen, I don’t know what the crap you’re thinking demanding that Killian come in today. He’s got a fever of almost 104, and he can barely walk. It’s obvious he has the flu.”

“And yet the two of you are together,” Regina snaps back. Emma can almost feel her smug grin through the phone. “Just as I suspected. And you sound rather hearty and healthy to me, Ms. Swan.”

“We ran into each other at the doctor’s office for your information,” Emma seethes. She catches Killian’s eye, and he arches both eyebrows, clearly impressed at her smooth lie.

“Fine, Ms. Swan, but I expect a doctor’s note.” And with that, Regina abruptly hangs up.

“Crap,” Emma mutters as she tosses her cell onto the coffee table in irritation.

“What is it?” Kilian asks, his brow furrowing in concern. He starts to try and sit up, which requires way more energy than it ought to.

“Oh no you don’t,” Emma reprimands him quickly, sitting down next to him and grabbing hold of his knee before he can stand. “She just wants a doctor’s note, that’s all.”

Killian whimpers and frowns like a puppy. “I don’t want to go to the doctor either.”

Emma laughs lightly, “Don’t worry, I’ve got something up my sleeve. Now let’s get you out of this shirt and jeans so you’re more comfortable.”

Killian must be getting worse because the innuendo she was fully aware of walking into never comes. Instead, he silently lets her unbutton his shirt and ease his arms out. Emma goes to her bedroom to retrieve a t-shirt she had swiped from his place, and when she comes back he’s down to his boxer briefs and is easing his legs back under the afghan.

Emma helps him into the soft, cotton shirt, and he sighs as she props an extra pillow under his head. “Thank you,” he half-whispers, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to stay awake.

Emma shakes her head at him as she swipes his hair out of his eyes, “Why didn’t you get the flu shot like a sane person?”

“I meant to . . . just . . . ran out of time . . . “ Killian mumbles, voice trailing off as he drifts off to sleep.

Emma has to wake him up when Ruby gets there. Her friend is standing behind the couch where Killian can’t see her, and Emma shoots daggers at her as she mouths “Oh. My. God.”

“Killian,” Emma tells him as she shakes him gently by the shoulder, “my friend his here. She’s a doctor.”

Killian blinks rapidly, then groans as he sits up too fast, clutching his head as he flashes Ruby what would normally be a charming smile. “Apologies, lass. I don’t like meeting one of Emma’s friends in such poor condition.”

Ruby smiles coyly as she sits next to Killian on the couch. “Oh trust me, it won’t take much to impress me. Most of my patients require a lollypop and a sticker.”

Both of Killian’s eyebrows shoot up as he glances at Emma, who laughs. “Ruby’s a pediatrician.”

“But,” Ruby explains as she slips her thermometer in Killian’s mouth and a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, “I can get you both doctor’s notes for the Evil Queen, no questions asked. And get you a prescription of Tamiflu.”

From her spot on the arm of the loveseat, Emma shrugs at Killian. “And she makes house calls.”

Ruby swabs Killian’s mouth so she can run the flu test. Fifteen minutes later, the test results are positive. She also finds that his blood pressure is low, which means he’s probably dehydrated, and his temperature has gone up to 104.3. It all concerns Emma greatly, even more so when Killian falls asleep before Emma’s even shown Ruby to the door. Not to mention that Ruby is extremely attractive and a major flirt, yet Killian didn’t hit on her once. At the door, Emma’s frowning deeply as Ruby gives her directions on giving him plenty of fluids and warns her that the Tamiflu and his fever might cause him to be a little loopy.

Emma nervously crosses her arms over her chest. “I won’t lie, Ruby I’m worried. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s obviously really sick.”

“I promise you, Emma, he’ll be okay. It’s not the worst I’ve seen, and he caught it early. The medicine will help.” Ruby tilts her head and narrows her eyes as she peruses Emma’s face. Then she leans forward and presses her hand to Emma’s forehead.

Emma leans away from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not sick. Because I can’t understand how a healthy woman could be around a man – a single man – who is that hot on a regular basis and still have him firmly in the friend zone.”

Emma frowns and bats Ruby’s hand away. “Because I don’t make a habit of sleeping with guys I work with.”

Ruby arches one brow at her. “Not talking about just sleeping with him. Now that I’ve actually met him, it’s clear that Mary Margaret is right. You care about him.”

Emma rolls her eyes as she grabs Ruby by the shoulders and steers her through the front door. “Yeah, okay, because I want to make sure he doesn’t die on my couch. I must be madly in love.”

“You sure are protesting an awful lot,” Ruby shoots back.

“Goodbye, Ruby,” Emma tells her, shutting the door on her friend just as she goes to open her mouth again. Emma sags against the door for a moment before shaking off Ruby’s comments. She needs to get fluids in Killian and run to the pharmacy to fill his prescription.

And she also has to make a phone call to the airlines about the trip to Bermuda that she won’t be taking.

              *******************************************************

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. She gets Killian to take his medicine, but getting him to take any fluids proves much more difficult. All he wants to do is sleep. At lunch time, she brings him some chicken broth, but he shakes his head. When he does, she notices that his hair is soaked and plastered to his forehead. When she checks his temperature again, it’s 104.5.

“I’m freaking out here,” she tells Ruby when she calls her friend in a panic. “Are you sure I shouldn’t take him to the hospital?”

“I’m sure. The ER is insane right now anyway. He won’t be priority, and he’ll sit there miserable for hours.”

Emma’s brow creases with worry as she shifts the phone to her other ear. Even though he’s sleeping, Emma turns her body away from Killian and whispers her next words into her cell. “But aren’t people . . .dying of this?”

“That’s mostly the elderly and very young children,” Ruby quickly assures her, “Killian is a strong, healthy man in his thirties.” Despite Ruby’s words, news stories Emma has seen swim before her mind. One about a seemingly healthy fifteen year old and another about a 28 year old mother of two. As if she can read Emma’s mind, Ruby continues, “Or they are people who waited too long to go to the doctor or they refused medication. I promise you, he’s going to be fine.”

Emma lets out a shaky breath. “There isn’t anything more I can do?”

“A cool sponge bath could help with the fever –“

Emma groans as she interrupts her friend. “Ruby! I’m being serious!”

“So am I! Geez, Emma! If you’re so uncomfortable with his masculinity, just bathe his face and neck. Of course there’s nothing I can do to protect you from his pretty face . . .”

“Hanging up now, Rubes!” Emma tells her as she pulls the phone away from her ear. Even then, she can hear her friend’s laughter before she ends the call.

Emma squares her shoulders and goes to wet a washcloth in the bathroom. When she returns to the couch, she reminds herself of all the times Killian has put her to bed when she’s had too much to drink. Of all the times she’s nabbed one of his t-shirts and then curled up next to him on the couch to watch Netflix. All of that was completely platonic.

And so is this, she reminds herself as she settles Killian’s head in her lap. He lets out a long, shuddering breath as she brushes back his sweaty bangs. Then she runs the cool cloth along his forehead, trying not to be alarmed at the heat pulsing from his skin.

“Are we on the beach?” he mutters.

Emma laughs, “No, Killian. We’re in my apartment. And it’s winter.”

“But I thought you were wearing a red bikini.”

She bites her lower lip, “No, Killian.”

“Oh. Must be dreaming then. I have lots of dreams about you.”

Emma shakes her head, smiling at his delirium. She isn’t sure if it’s the medicine or the fever, and she wonders what will come out of his mouth next.

“Because I love you, you know. I dream about you because I love you.”

Emma’s hand freezes where it was running the washcloth along his jaw. She forces a nervous laugh past her lips. “You’re delirious, Jones.”

His eyes flutter open, and even though he’s clearly struggling to focus his gaze on her face, the blue of his eyes holds an intensity that arrests her. “I’m not. It’s true. I love you, Emma. I have since that very first day.”

His voice is strong until the last few words, and then he sags a bit against her, as if speaking has drained him of all his energy. Yet he continues talking, his words slurring and dragging as he fights sleep. “But you had such high walls . . . took . . . my time . . . and now we’re friends . . . don’t want to . . . mess that up . . . “

Emma keeps bathing his face for a moment, staring at the familiar ginger sprinkled amidst his dark scruff, the tiny scar beneath his right eye, the unfairly long lashes fluttering against his skin. Skin that feels a little less heated than it had before, so Emma eases Killian off her lap, and rises on shaking legs. She paces to the window, gazing out at the dreary, gray January day. She rubs at her throat as Killian’s words play on a loop in her mind. “I love you, you know. . . It’s true. I love you, Emma.” And it is true, she knows this. She could see it so clearly in his eyes. Maybe she knew before, if she were honest, but it had been easy to pretend that those feelings weren’t there. That he was just her friend and nothing more. But now the words have been released and there’s no going back.

Emma contemplates continuing on as before, pretending nothing has happened. He probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow, anyway. Emma paces some more, gnawing at her bottom lip. The thing is, she will still know. And what makes it worse is that his declaration, whether he will remember it later or not, has made something else startlingly clear.

She loves him, too.

Everyone has tried to tell her. Mary Margaret. Elsa. Ruby just now. Even their boss, Regina Mills, albeit through snarky, thinly veiled comments. Yet she’s always protested, scoffed, rolled her eyes, insisted they were just friends. But now? Now she has to lie to herself, too. And to him.

Emma lifts shaky hands and rubs them down her face. She stares outside and watches the gray clouds turn to mist. There’s only one thing she can do. It will hurt like hell, but they’ll both eventually move on. It’s the only way. She squares her shoulders as she goes to the laundry room to toss the washcloth in the machine.

Emma purposefully avoids looking at Killian. He looks so vulnerable when he’s asleep, and her heart has to remain steeled.

               *******************************************************

The remainder of that evening is difficult, considering she still has to make sure Killian takes his medicine, drinks his fluids, and keeps his fever down. As that last happens, his delirium lessens and his eyes get back to their lively sparkle. He only says one more thing to her in his stupefied state, mumbling that she’s “so beautiful” as she checks his temperature.

The next morning, he’s still sick, but much better. He insists on taking a cab back to his own apartment, and Emma tries to hide how relieved she is at that decision. Normally, she probably would have protested and joined him on the couch for some TV binge-watching, but she knows she can’t handle that kind of casual intimacy. Not anymore. So she gathers up his medicine, relays Ruby’s instructions, and walks him to the door. He says, “goodbye, see you at work in a few days,” casually, with a backwards wave of his hand. Emma responds in kind and hates herself for it, feeling like it’s a lie.

It’s a week before Killian is fully recovered and able to return to work. Regina was apparently ripped to shreds by corporate for endangering the office by insisting sick employees come to work, so Killian is actually told specifically to stay away for a full seven days to ensure he isn’t contagious. He starts to get stir crazy by day five, and starts texting Emma almost daily. Her responses are half-hearted, and she prays he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t seem to.

Which is probably why he’s so shocked when his first day back at work he finds Emma packing up her cubicle. He looks like a puppy again as he looks at her with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” Emma says with false brightness as she weighs a half dead potted plant in her hand. She debates for a minute, then tosses it into the trash can. “Remember my college roommate, Elsa?”

Killian’s brow furrows as he leans against the partition between his work space and Emma’s. “Aye. The blonde interior designer?”

Emma nods as she sticks her pencil cup into her box of things and reaches for a framed photo of her and Mary Margaret. “Well, she’s been bugging me to partner with her in this new startup of hers, and well . . . I decided, why the hell not?”

Killian frowns for a moment, then puts on a bright smile. She knows him well enough to know that it’s forced. “That’s a great opportunity, Swan. You’ll be bloody brilliant. I have no doubt.”

Emma avoids his gaze as she finishes boxing up her things. She knows it’s cowardly to time her departure this way, on the very day he returns. But his clumsy declaration at her apartment has kept her up at night. She can’t do it, simple as that. It’s too scary. And neither can she try for some casual, physical thing. That ship has sailed; they’re already friends. It would go straight to serious.

And Emma Swan doesn’t do serious relationships.

              ***************************************************

Emma’s already in her pajamas, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face freshly scrubbed when a knock sounds at her door. She knows it could only be two people, and while she really hopes it’s Mary Margaret with a congratulatory bottle of wine to celebrate her new job, she sort of senses deep down that it will be him even before she opens the door.

“Killian,” she says with false brightness. His face is already intense, his jaw clenching and his eyes doing that thing where they gaze right through to her soul.

So it doesn’t surprise her when his words cut right to the heart of the matter. “I know why you’re doing this.”

Emma feigns ignorance, crossing her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes. “Doing what?”

Killian dips his chin and raises both eyebrows in that look he gives her when she’s full of bull shit. “I was delirious, but not that delirious. I remember what I said.”

The color drains from Emma’s face as she processes what he’s saying. Her mouth falls open, but words fail her. Of course, Killian’s always had enough words for both of them anyway.

“And now you’re running,” he continues, “You’re scared, and I get it. But Emma, your friendship means too much to me. If you don’t feel the same, I won’t push it.”

Emma presses her lips together as she shakes her head. “It’s not that, Killian.”

It’s his turn to look confused. “What do you mean?”

Emma has always said that words aren’t her strong suit. And maybe she could claim that lack of words is what spurs her in that moment. But it’s really more that she can’t let it go without some memory to cling to. Or without at least knowing how he kisses.

So she grabs him and hauls him in, lips crashing together and teeth scraping. Killian is a quick study, pulling her close and pressing her flush against him. One hand toys with the hem of her shirt, his fingers barely brushing against bare skin. His other hand tangles in her hair, yanking on the rubber band that holds it up so it goes tumbling down her back. Emma’s fingers are threading through his hair, too, but it’s the familiar feel of that softness that yanks her back to reality. She pulls away, breathless. Killian tries to chase her lips.

“That was –“

“A one-time thing,” she cuts him off.

She doesn’t even give him a chance to respond before turning around and shutting the door. Later, he texts her, but she never answers. It says only one line:

That was goodbye, wasn’t it?

              *************************************************

The next morning, Emma’s trying to concentrate on Elsa’s tour of the office. Trying in vain to stop replaying the kiss from the night before on loop in her brain. Suddenly, they’ve completed the tour, ending up back in Emma’s office, and Elsa’s standing there with an expectant look on her face.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Elsa laughs in that soft way of hers. “I was asking who the flowers were from.”

Emma shakes her head and blinks in surprise at the arrangement of yellow daisies at her desk. She knows before she even opens the card who they’re from. She told Killian once that people ought to give yellow daisies in the winter because they were like little bursts of sunshine. Then she had rolled her eyes at herself for sounding like Mary Margaret.

Sure enough, the card is in his flowery script. “Good luck on your first day, though I doubt you will need it. I also want to let you know that I’m not going anywhere. When you want me, I’ll be here. Love, Killian.”

Emma can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth nor can she resist the urge to press the card to her lips. She forgets Elsa’s even there and startles when her friend speaks again.

“What happened, Emma?”

“What are you talking about?” Emma slips the card into the top drawer of her brand new empty desk, hoping Elsa doesn’t notice that her hands are shaking.

“With Killian,” Elsa clarifies gently as she leans against Emma’s desk.

Emma groans and rubs at her temple as she collapses into her desk chair. “How did you know?”

Elsa gives her a pointed look. “I know you took care of him when he had the flu, cancelling that trip to Bermuda that you had been going on and on about –“

“Postponed,” Emma corrects with a roll of her eyes, “I postponed my trip.”

“Whatever,” Elsa dismisses with a wave of her hand, “and I’ve been begging you to partner with me in my company for how long? Then suddenly, you’re quitting your job in less than a week? Come on, what happened when Killian got the flu?”

Emma slumps further in her chair, swiveling it back and forth with her toe. “Please, can we not talk about this?”

“Okay,” Elsa concedes, pushing away from Emma’s desk. Before walking out the door, she tilts her head towards the flowers. “Those are from him, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are.”

              ********************************************************

The gentle knock on Emma’s front door sounds more like a pounding. She groans and throws the afghan over her head. She gropes for the remote with one hand and turns up the volume on the TV to drown out whoever is at her door. Of course, it can only be two people . . .

“Swan!”

Emma groans again, covering her face with both hands.

“Emma, love, Mary Margaret and Elsa both called me. I know you’re sick. And I’ve never done this before, but I think this constitutes as an emergency, so . . . I’m coming in.”

Emma hears the rattling of keys in the lock and rolls her eyes. She flings the afghan off her head with a huff, her hair going wild with static electricity and clinging to her sweaty forehead. Killian merely raises his eyebrows and pushes back an amused grin when he finds her that way, glaring at him when he walks through the door.

“Why are you here?” she snaps as he stops directly in front of the couch. “And you’re blocking my view of the TV. Lorelei and Luke are bantering over coffee again.”

Killian just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down his nose at her. “A lady calls in need of assistance, and I’m there.”

“I didn’t call you.”

“Your friends did.”

“They shouldn’t have.”

“But they did.”

Emma lets out a long sigh punctuated by an eye roll. “I had the flu shot, Killian. So unlike some people I know, I’m not on death’s door.”

“Mhm,” Killian mutters, practically ignoring her as he heads to the kitchen, “but I know you, Swan. What have you eaten today?”

“I nibbled a pop tart,” Emma replies as she plops back down on her pillow.

“Precisely. Let me make you some decent food. Surely you’ve got a can of soup around here somewhere . . . “

He brings her a mug of chicken noodle just as the episode she’s watching rolls credits. She has to admit the warmth of it in her hands and the steam rising to her nostrils is comforting. Killian leans over and puts the back of his hand to her forehead, and the contact of his skin makes her shiver involuntarily. He frowns.

“You’re running a fever, aren’t you?”

Emma shifts uncomfortably as she sips at her soup. “Yeah, but it’s low. 101.3. Like I said, I’m not dying.”

He pats her leg, and even through the afghan is across her lap, it causes awareness to prickle along her nerve endings. “Well, it’s still nice to be taken care off.”

She smiles at him over the rim of her cup. She’s told him about her childhood, and he’s shared about his. They both get it. So she nods her assent, and he grins. “But what about work?”

His grin broadens. “No more Evil Queen for me. You inspired me, Emma. You are looking at a private CPA who works from home and sets his own hours.”

Emma beams back at him. “That’s awesome, Killian! I’m so happy for you!”

He shrugs and waves off her compliment. “I just got to thinking about it, you know? I was miserable at that job, just the same as you were. And I realized I had all these friends with small businesses. My friend Ariel with that tourist shop of hers, her husband Eric’s fish market, Jasmine’s jewelry boutique. They’ve all struggled keeping their books, so . . . “

“You already have all three of those accounts?”

Killian scratches behind his ear, bashful from her praise, “Those three and four more based on their references.”

Emma reaches for his hand as she tells him how proud she is, and for the first time in two weeks, it doesn’t feel awkward.

The rest of the day is the same way. Killian refills her cup, making sure she drinks enough, and makes her more soup. He checks her temperature and brings her extra pillows.

“Grab my husband pillow from the corner of my room,” she tells him at one point.

“Why do women call these things husband pillows?” he asks as he slides it behind her back.

“You know,” Emma explains, patting the tall back of the pillow and the two arms that extend out at each side, “instead of a husband’s chest and arms, you lean against this pillow.”

Killian waggles his eyebrows at her as he pats at the spot near his heart. “I have a perfectly fine chest if you want it, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, happy to once again be in that sweet place where they can tease and flirt. But just as soon as that happy, comfortable feeling flares within her, something else takes its place. She imagines him in her bed, his arms around her, her cheek against his chest. She bites her lip and glances away from him, cursing the blush that stains her cheeks.

“Um,” he says, awkwardly clearing his throat, “can I get you anything else?”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat, hating that he can sense the tension in her. “Uh, no, I’m fine.”

By that evening, Emma is already feeling better and her fever is completely gone. She tosses aside the afghan and moves to stand up. Before she can, Killian is at her side.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I feel much better, so I’m going to take a shower.”

“No, absolutely not, Swan. I’ll draw you a bath.”

Emma starts to protest, but Killian’s already in the bathroom, and she can hear the water going. She sags against the couch in defeat. She has to admit, the thought of standing up long enough to take a shower sounds exhausting.

When the tub is ready, Emma enters the bathroom to find a towel, a bathrobe, and a fresh pair of pajamas stacked next to the sink. She strips down and lets out a long, deep, contented sigh as she slips into the warm water. It feels heavenly. She runs the soap over her body, washing away the grime from her sweaty fever. Then she sinks down to her chin, just enjoying the feel of the warm water as it eases away the achiness that has consumed her entire body.

But the longer she lays there, the more conscious she is of Killian in the other room. Is he thinking of her as much as she’s thinking of him? Is he thinking of her in the next room, nude? Because her mind is definitely going places that are far from platonic.

Emma rubs her hands down her face in weariness, then eases herself out of the tub. She towels off and changes, once again touched by his thoughtfulness. She exits the bathroom in her bare feet, shivering even though she’s in both flannel pjs and a terry cloth robe.  She sinks onto the couch next to Killian, who’s flipped the TV to a hockey game.

“Emma?” he says with concern as he brushes a finger over her cheek, “Are you okay? You look flushed again.”

Wordlessly, Emma curls herself into a ball and tucks herself into his side. His arm comes around her and pulls her closer against him. They’ve cuddled like this dozens of times as just friends, but now it feels different.

“I think you have a fever again,” he whispers against her hair. She’s pretty sure she does, too, considering the way she’s shaking. Or is it fear?

Killian gets her to take some ibuprofen, then obeys without protest when she asks him to hold her while they watch a movie. She falls asleep against his chest long before it ends, but she wakes up when he stands and scoops her up into his arms. She pretends to sleep so she can nuzzle against his neck as he carries her to her room. She imagines him sharing her bed for the second time in less than eight hours, but not in that way. She imagines falling asleep with him beside her, of waking up to his heartbeat against her cheek. She imagines the rise and fall of his chest against her back as she drifts off.

He tucks the blankets around her, squeezing her hand in his before turning away. Part of her wants to tug him down to her, just like their kiss, all heat and pent up desire. But she knows deep down it isn’t what she wants. So instead, she gently laces her fingers with his. The movement startles him – clearly he thought she was still asleep – and he pauses.

“I ran because I do love you,” she confesses in the dark.

“I know.”

That’s all he says before leaning down to brush a feather-light kiss across her forehead. Most men would take advantage of the situation. Neal certainly would have. But Killian doesn’t. He leaves on soft footfalls, closes her door gently, and lets himself out.

              *******************************************************

Emma calls in sick the next day, too. She doesn’t have a fever or any other symptoms, but she still feels like she just got run over by a truck. And her bed is the only place she wants to spend the day.

But by that afternoon, boredom has set in as her energy slowly returns. She’s mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, trying to find something that appeals to her when there’s a knock at her door. She knows who it is this time. Only Mary Margaret can make a knock sound perky.

“Come in,” Emma calls, voice flat.

Mary Margaret turns her key in the lock and then comes bustling in, all smiles with a plate in her hands covered with aluminum foil. She tells Emma they are fresh baked cookies. She chatters away about her day as she tidies the room. Emma clicks off the TV, finding her friend’s voice more relaxing.

“ . . . and so, while I adore Valentine’s day, I’m positively exhausted. Third graders plus tons of sugar is just chaos.” Mary Margaret ends her enthusiastic speech with a dramatic plop to Emma’s love seat.

Emma frowns in confusion. “Today is Valentine’s Day?”

As if fate wants to confirm it, there’s another knock on her door followed by Marco the doorman’s voice, “Ms. Swan, I have some flowers that were delivered for you.”

Before Emma can even process this, Mary Margaret is jumping from the loveseat as she squeals with joy. She practically bounces to the door, thanks Marco, and returns to place the bouquet on Emma’s coffee table.

“I think I know who these are from,” Mary Margaret teases in a sing-song voice. “Buttercups and forget-me-nots are your favorite, right?”

“They are.” And only three people in the world know that. Sure enough, the card is in Killian’s handwriting.

Since we met, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you. Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Killian

Emma sinks back down into the couch as she traces her thumb over the writing. She’s been purposely pushing the memory of last night far from her mind. Hoping that she dreamed the whole thing. Surely she didn’t actually tell Killian Jones she loved him. Because she wouldn’t do that. Would she?

“What’s going on between you two?”

Emma fiddles with the corner of the tiny square of cardstock. “In a nutshell, he had the flu and confessed his love to me. Then I got the flu and did the same.”

Mary Margaret smiles eagerly as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “That’s great!” but her smile quickly falls to a frown instead when Emma sighs deeply and tosses Killian’s little note on the coffee table. “Wait, it’s not great? How can this not be great?”

“Because,” Emma groans, tilting her head back and covering her face with both hands, “I don’t do relationships, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Mary Margaret deadpans, “which is why I stopped setting you up. Remember?” She pauses for a moment, then leans forward to squeeze Emma’s knee. “But I think this is different, don’t you?”

Emma lets her hands drop to her lap as she glares at Mary Margaret. “Yeah, it’s different. Killian was a great friend, and now I don’t even have that.”

Emma expects Mary Margaret to launch into one of her famous hope speeches, but instead the brunette rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Or you could have something even better.”

“But how can I be sure? How do I know that it won’t result in a broken heart like every other time?” Emma’s gesturing with both hands as her voice rises.

Mary Margaret gets up and sits next to Emma on the couch, grabbing both her hands in hers. “Listen to me right now, okay? We can never know the future, but with Killian there are a few things I do know. Neal abandoned you, I get that. But hasn’t Killian proven that he sticks around?”

Emma’s brow furrows as she thinks over their friendship. Of all the times her prickly attitude and high walls should have sent Killian running in the opposite direction. But instead, all of that had only seemed to draw him closer. She thinks of his actions since she packed up her cubicle. Two bouquets of flowers and taking care of her when she got sick. Emma lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I guess he has.”

“And Walsh,” Mary Margaret continues, “he lied. He pretended to be someone he wasn’t, and you got your heart broken. But has Killian ever lied to you?”

Emma gnaws on the bottom of her lip as she avoids Mary Margaret’s gaze. “No, he hasn’t,” she admits begrudgingly.

“So are you going to let those two jerks from your past keep you from a guy who already makes you so happy? You’re going to let those assholes have that kind of power over you?”

Emma practically flinches at those words. Emma prides herself on making her own way in life, of punching back when people try to tell her who she ought to be. Mary Margaret knows this well. She’s leveled a sucker punch, and Emma can’t ignore the truth of what she’s said. Emma leans forward and fingers the soft petals of one of the forget-me-nots. Then she makes a decision. Maybe the scariest one of her life.

“So it’s Valentine’s Day . . . “ she muses out loud.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Mary Margaret sighs as she sags against the back of the couch, “it’s cheesy and commercial and –“

“Actually,” Emma says with a huge smile, “I was going to say maybe I want to celebrate it for once.”

              *****************************************************

The look on Killian’s face when he opens the door makes Emma second guess this whole thing. Shock is the number one look in his eyes as he blinks three times in rapid succession.

“Swan?” he asks tentatively, as if she might be some sort of hallucination.

“Surprise!” she announces with a shrug. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

The silence stretches on, and the only thing that calms Emma’s nerves is the slight half-smile that hitches up the left corner of his mouth. “Um . . . well, this is a surprise,” he finally says with one arched brow.

Emma clears her throat awkwardly, almost dropping the giant chocolate lips as she juggles the even more gigantic stuffed monkey to her other hand. Killian reaches out and takes the monkey and the candy leaving her standing there holding the string of the red, heart shaped balloon like a kid at the county fair. She shuffles her feet from side to side.

“I shopped last minute, and the selection wasn’t that great, plus I wasn’t sure what you’d like . . . “she trails off when she realizes she’s rambling. “Look, I’m trying to say that I . . . think, anyway . . . that I might possibly . . . want to stop running. From this. I mean us.”

She grimaces at her horrible, stuttering choice of words. She watches Killian’s face closely. Watches as that humorous, half grin morphs into a generous smile that fills his face and lights his eyes. He drops the stupid monkey and the tacky chocolate lips and steps quickly forward, cupping her face in his hands. Just as his lips are about to brush against hers, Emma lifts her fingers to his mouth to stop him.

“I might still be contagious.”

Killian’s eyes darken with desire and his voice drops lower as he brushes a kiss against her cheek and whispers in her ear, “Don’t care.”

Then his lips are on hers, soft and slow. Emma lets go of the balloon string to wrap her arms around his neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She can see the balloon out of the corner of her eye bouncing against the ceiling until it reaches the stairwell where it floats up to the next floor and out of view. Emma kind of feels like that balloon right now. Weightless and soaring, the dizzying heights of Killian’s kisses making her feel free and light for the first time in years.

              *****************************************************

The airline had been understanding when she called about her ticket. She told them her plans had changed due to the flu, though she hadn’t offered any details. Since they clearly didn’t want the flu virus sealed in an airtight cabin with dozens of people, they had been incredibly accommodating. She had ninety days to transfer her ticket to another flight.

So here it was, March, and finally Emma was packing for Bermuda. Luckily, she had been able to get a second ticket as well. She’s folding a yellow sundress when Killian comes up behind her and nuzzles her neck.

“Morning love,” he mutters against her skin, “excited about our trip?”

Emma leans back against him, giggling as he nibbles her ear. “Incredibly,” she teases with a suggestive bat of her eyes.

Killian actually growls low in his throat as he grasps her tighter with one arm. With his other hand, he lifts something in front of Emma. Dangling from his fingers is the same red bikini she had bought months ago.

“Don’t forget this,” he teases, “I’ve been dreaming of seeing you in it for weeks now.”

Emma tosses the bikini into her suitcase then turns in Killian’s arm. He grasps her tighter around the waist as she loops her arms around his neck. Their lips meet in a kiss that starts sweet and slow, but quickly turns passionate. Emma is tempted to shove him backwards onto her bed, but suddenly a thought overwhelms her and she breaks the kiss to gaze long into his eyes.

“What is it, love?” he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m just happy,” she tells him, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t just that Emma didn’t have any ‘gals’. She didn’t have any… anything. She’d grown up alone, bounced around within the foster system until she’d finally aged out of it. She’d tried her hand at romance, but Neal Cassidy had been the wrong person to try it with. He’d done nothing but lie and cheat, but at the very least, her story about him had gotten her onto the paper to begin with.

When he’d left her broken-hearted and just plain broken, Emma had written a detailed account of all of the jobs they’d pulled – every store robbed and every pocket picked – right up until the stolen watches he’d left in some locker on the other side of the state. She’d written it as a form of self-healing, posting it to a blog she’d kept anonymous.

Regina had been intrigued by her writing style and her voice and had emailed the address Emma had created for the blog. She’d asked her to come into the office. Regina promised to keep the blog separate from the conversation, to never bring up Emma’s past that she’d revealed.

It was unconventional, but it was the first time Emma had seen a future for herself. From the moment she’d walked into the Storybrooke Press offices, she’d felt a sense of comfort that she could only assume felt like coming home.

But just because the writing world had welcomed her with open arms, that hadn’t mean her co-workers needed to do the same. Emma knew she came across as a bit prickly and standoffish, but she’d been alone for… ever. She didn’t know how to approach people with anything less than a large amount of distrust and a small dose of fake smiles. The ladies at the paper all knew she was faking, and made no attempt to coerce her into conversation.

Except Mary Margaret.

The lead writer for the Lifestyle section, Mary Margaret Nolan was the kindest, most giving and open person Emma Swan had ever met in her life. There were times – like when she was sick, and Mary Margaret reached into her purse for tissues and cold medicine; or when she’d locked her keys in her car and there was Mary Margaret with a wire coat hanger, shimmying the window down – when Emma really wished that she could have been adopted by the Nolans. They were the same age, of course, but there was something distinctly motherly about Mary Margaret and Emma felt like a kid again whenever she came around with her freshly baked cookies or collecting signatures for someone’s birthday card. Her husband, David, had come to visit once, delivering a full bouquet of flowers to his wife, but also a single flower for everyone else in the office.

It was part charming, part ridiculous. Emma secretly loved it.

Still, even Mary Margaret was no match for the sky-high walls Emma had built around herself. At first, Mary Margaret had tried inviting her to group outings – trivia night, bowling, happy hour, you name it – but Emma declined, and she stopped asking.

Staring at the yet-to-be-written story on her screen, Emma nearly jumped out of her skin when the very subject of her thoughts spoke from behind her.

“Oh, Regina gave you that story? That’s so lovely!” Mary Margaret was nothing if not genuine, despite all the times Emma had tried to see some sarcasm or skepticism in her tone, a darkness behind the light in her eyes. “Have you decided who you’re going to take?”

“Excuse me?” Take where? , Emma thought to herself.

“Well, which girls you’ll be taking out for Galentine’s Day, of course!” Mary Margaret was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Emma breathed out a deep sigh.

“I hadn’t really planned on throwing a Galentine’s Day… thing. I’m not sure who to invite.”

Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, Emma, you should come to mine! We’re going to that restaurant across town with the silly pirate statue out front. They do a really great brunch special to celebrate!”

“I’m sorry, The Jewel of the Realm does a special for Galentine’s Day ?” Emma tried to keep the nasty tone out of her voice, she really did. She snorted, despite herself. “They probably just want all the girls to come in so they can hit on them.” To Emma’s surprise, Mary Margaret giggled.

“Probably! But it’s worth it – all-you-can-eat for two people for twenty dollars!” She bit her lip. “Please come, Emma. I’d love to help you with your story, and some of the girls from the office will be there, and some of my other friends, too.”

“How many… how many people, exactly?” Emma really didn’t relish the idea of sitting at a table with a ton of strange women, watching to them get champagne-drunk on mimosas and listening to them talk about… what did large groups of women talk about? Emma assumed that on a day like “Galentine’s”, they didn’t talk about men.

“Hmm,” Mary Margaret silently counted on her fingers. “I think I’ve got five for sure, including myself. Six, if you agree.” And there she went, bouncing again. Emma resisted the urge to put her head in her hands and instead forced a smile.

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, Emma, that’s fantastic! We’ll be there at ten in the morning, and stay till about noon.” Before Emma knew it, Mary Margaret was hugging her, bending down and wrapping her arms around both Emma and her chair.

The things we do for journalism , Emma thought to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~

At roughly quarter after ten, Emma strolled into the Jewel of the Realm. It was packed, with laughter echoing in every direction. Emma heard champagne glasses clinking and smelled a whole lot of bacon.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Emma! Over here!” Mary Margaret was waving her arms over her head from a round table with one empty seat. Emma made her way over and Mary Margaret jumped right in with introductions. “So you know Ruby and Elsa from the office,” the two brunettes waved and looked at each other, seemingly surprised that Emma had actually shown up for something, “and this is my neighbor Belle and my childhood best friend, Ashley.”

Emma lifted her hand up in a small wave and promptly took her seat, eager to have all of the attention focused on literally anything in the entire world but her .

The conversation picked up quickly, and Emma felt a bit lost. Here were five women who’d clearly known each other forever. They were talking about memories Emma wasn’t a part of, stories she hadn’t been present for. She had nothing to share, nothing to add.

“Emma, what was your favorite birthday party theme when you were a kid?” Mary Margaret asked her suddenly. “Ashley and I had a joint party one year and everyone dressed up as princesses. It sounds so silly, but it was so fun at the time!”

“I um… I never had a themed birthday party.” It would have been easy to lie, to say she’d had a princess theme too, and to simply agree with everything the other girls said, but Emma was never going to get a story out of this ridiculous day if she didn’t participate on some level.

She was a journalist, dammit.

The table went silent for a moment.

“Me neither,” Elsa said. Every head at the table turned her way and Emma instantly felt herself cool off. “My parents passed away when I was very young. My sister and I were raised by our aunt, and she didn’t really believe in large birthday parties. We each got a cupcake or a few brownies, but never a party.” Her eyes met Emma’s from across the table.

“I was raised by my Grandma,” Ruby jumped in. “She’d bake me a cake or something, but I almost always had to work at the diner on my birthday once I was old enough. No bouncy castles for me, either.”

Emma cleared her throat.

“I was raised in the foster system.” Oh God, what have I done? She hoped Elsa and Ruby didn’t think she was trying to out-do their stories, make her own childhood sound worse, as though it were a competition. “I get myself a cupcake on my birthday every year now, though,” she added with a shrug. “We all have our traditions, I guess.”

She looked around, and all the women at the table were smiling at her.

On her second trip to the buffet, she was so focused on the seven different bread options, that she completely missed the man behind the station talking to her.

“Miss?” he said, and he sounded exasperated, as though he’d said it more than once. Emma looked up and instantly felt herself blush.

A man with dark hair and blue eyes, who looked as though he hadn’t shaved in three days, was staring at her. And he was hot .

“Sorry, yes?” Emma blinked a few times. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself for catching her off guard.

“I was asking you if you’d like bacon, ham, or sausage.” He winked. Oh, God . Emma tilted her head.

“This is the bread station,” she replied, instantly feeling absolutely ridiculous. The man laughed good-naturedly.

“Yes, it is. But the meat station is up ahead, and my brother asked me to find out what you’d like, so he can have it ready for you. That okay?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, waiting.

“Oh. Okay.” He was far too good looking to be taking her breakfast order on a day when she wasn’t supposed to be talking about men. Or was she? Was that rule ever actually established? “Bacon, I guess.”

“Excellent.” He walked away and reported her order to the man at the grill. The man handed over the spatula and Emma watched as the dark-haired man started cooking her food himself. It shouldn’t have been hot, but she found herself biting her lip. Focus, girl!

“I thought you said your brother was manning this station,” she said as she reached the grill, plate half covered with a slice of wheat toast alongside an everything bagel.

“I told him this was a special order, so he could take a break.” The man looked up from the grill, his eyes meeting hers. “That okay?”

“You ask that a lot,” Emma mused.

“I try to make sure I’m not offending anyone,” he grinned, passing the sizzling bacon from the grill to her plate.

“You’re not,” she smirked at him. Belatedly, as she sat back down at the table, Emma realized they’d been flirting.

By the time noon came around, Emma was full of mimosa and eggs and toast and bacon… and a little more mimosa.

Spilling her past about the foster system had been tough, but once it was out in the open, Emma found it easier to relax and tell stories – good and bad – about her childhood. She listened to Belle’s stories about her beast of an ex, and shared her own gripes about Neal. Mary Margaret talked about her struggles to get pregnant and Emma found herself tearing up.

“You can adopt me,” she said before she could think better of it. The whole table laughed, and for a moment, Emma was embarrassed.

“Um, me too, please!” Ruby shouted.

“You and David have enough room for three grown adult women to become your adopted children, right?” Elsa was nearly crying with laughter.

And then they all had tears streaming down their faces, and Emma wasn’t sure how much of it was out of sadness for Mary Margaret’s struggles or their own pasts and how much of it was out of pure, unadulterated amusement at the idea of David Nolan being surrounded by four adult women, three of whom were proclaiming to be his children.

She was nearly out the door, check paid and phone numbers exchanged with girls she’d barely even known a few hours ago, when Emma caught the eye of the man who’d made her bacon.

“How was it?” he shouted from his post – he’d moved onto eggs, apparently.

Emma found herself walking back into the restaurant towards him.

“It was decent,” she shrugged. His jaw dropped.

“Just decent?”

She shrugged again.

“Let me cook you something else.”

“I’m pretty full, actually. Mimosas and eggs and toast and all that.” She looked up at him, wondering what his next move would be.

“Tomorrow then.” He was determined, the set of his jaw and the furrow in his brow told her as much.

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” she laughed. He raised an eyebrow.

“Have you got plans?” She couldn’t read his face or his tone anymore.

“Well, no, but—”

“Great. We’re having a Solo Special. If you come in and let me, Killian Jones, co-owner of The Jewel of the Realm, cook you the meal of your choosing, it’s on the house.”

“I’m sorry, you’re offering a free meal tomorrow?” A short gentleman serving himself some eggs interrupted. Killian didn’t turn away from Emma’s stare.

“Only for her,” he said simply. “She said my bacon cooking skills were decent. I’m simply out to prove her wrong.”

Jaw hanging open, Emma was speechless.

“What do you say, then? One-time only offer. Unless you like the food. And me. Then you can probably come again some other time and chances are, I’ll cook you something on the house again.” He winked at her.

Flirting, again.

“Okay,” Emma was surprised to hear herself say. It must have been all of the mimosas. She’d see if she actually felt like showing her face in this restaurant again when she woke up clear-headed.

“What shall I place the reservation under?” he asked her as she turned to leave.

“Emma Swan,” she told him, and she left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

GALENTINES DAY , Emma typed in a brand-new Word document. She hadn’t gotten any further than the title in her original attempt, but starting fresh with a brand new perspective felt like it would be good for the story.

For someone who grew up on the outside looking in, Galentines Day seemed like little more than an excuse for a bunch of women to get drunk on mimosas and complain about their lives. There didn’t seem to be a point to it – don’t ladies get together all the time to talk about menial things? Why a whole day dedicated to it?

But then I realized Galentines Day is about more than just champagne served before noon.

Valentine’s Day is about showing the person you care for romantically that you cherish them. You show them love every day, but on one day every year, you’re allowed to get as cheesy and romantic and heart-eyed as you deem fit. You can get sappy and wax poetic about the first time you met, and how their eyes struck your soul or some other over-used line that would seem out of place on any other day.

Galentines Day is about showing your friends that you cherish them. It’s about sharing your past and your present and your hopes for the future, and about making new friends when you didn’t think you could. It’s about appreciating each other in a way that maybe you don’t go out of your way to do the rest of the year.

And maybe it’s also about drinking champagne before noon.

It turned into a late night and an early morning, Emma writing and editing and writing and editing. She made it strictly factual, then added opinions back in. She shared one of her own experiences from brunch, then erased it for fear of exposing some part of herself she wasn’t ready to share.

She handed in exactly 700 words to Regina exactly nine minutes late, but there were no complaints, and both women seemed to think they’d won, somehow.

“So, are you going back to see that hot guy today?” Ruby asked Emma at lunch. Apparently, making friends also meant that Emma didn’t have to eat her lunch alone at her desk anymore. She was invited to the diner next door, owned by Ruby’s grandmother, with the rest of the girls.

“What hot guy?” Emma, of course, knew exactly what hot guy, but she hadn’t realized that anyone else had even noticed their interactions from the day before.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ruby grinned. “I came out of the bathroom and saw you talking to the guy at the egg station. I thought I heard him offer you a free meal.”

“Wait, the owner of The Jewel of the Realm offered to cook for you?” Elsa’s voice reached a record-high pitch.

Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Emma all turned to her, surprised by her reaction.

“I’ve had a crush on Liam for forever ,” Elsa admitted. “I go there, like, once a week, hoping I can get his attention somehow.”

“Liam? Oh… that must be Killian’s brother,” Emma realized.

“There, now you have to go back!” Ruby grabbed Emma’s hands. “If only to set poor Elsa over here up with Liam.” She gave her best attempt at a puppy dog pout, but only ended up looking like a model posing for a photograph.

By the end of lunch, Emma was pretty sure she was going back to The Jewel of the Realm.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, do you have a reservation?” The hostess smiled at her.

“Um, maybe? If I do, it’s under Emma.” She couldn’t believe she was here. It was Valentine’s Day, and some stranger was cooking her dinner. Was this a date? It seemed like a date. But did dates generally cook you food… in the restaurant you were eating in?

The hostess grinned even wider, somehow.

“Emma Swan?” Emma nodded. “Yes, there’s a reservation here. You can follow me.”

The girl led her to a table off to the side, somehow just a bit quieter than the rest of the restaurant. There were two place settings and a candle in the center of the table.

“Killian will be with you shortly,” the hostess told her, as though Killian were just another server and not the owner of the damn restaurant .

What the hell was Emma doing here?

She sat for a moment and considered getting right back up and walking about, but a man approached her with a wine list and she decided that if nothing else, alcohol would certainly help her feel a bit more at ease. She’d done all of the flirting in the world yesterday with just a bit of champagne in her system after all.

She chose a cheap white from the bottom of the list, but she knew as soon as she tasted her glass that it was top-shelf. Cheap wine didn’t go down that smoothly.

“I hope you didn’t order a low-grade wine because you thought you’d have to pay for it,” Killian said as he sat down, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

Emma blushed.

“I told you this was on the house,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“You said the food was on the house,” she pointed out, unfolding her napkin across her lap, simply for something to do.

He sighed.

“The whole thing is on the house, Swan. You’re lovely and I would have asked you on a proper date for Valentine’s Day, but I own a restaurant, so this is pretty much the best I can do.” He bit his lip, and for the first time, Emma realized that he might be as nervous as she was. “Is this okay?”

“This is nice,” she assured him. “It’s great, actually. I’ve never had anyone cook me a meal before, so you’ve got a low bar set for you.”

“No one’s ever cooked for you?” He looked far more surprised than she’d expected. She shrugged and shook her head. “What’s your favorite food? We’re talking, last meal before the electric chair, guilty pleasure, absolutely cannot live without it meal.” He stood as he spoke.

“Um, I don’t have a very refined palate,” she admitted. She admitted that she’d grown up on lukewarm French fries and day old peanut butter sandwiches, mostly.

He smiled.

“Chicken tenders and onion rings it is.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Wine with a kids meal , Emma thought to herself. The epitome of romance .

Killian came back with a huge pile of onion rings and a basket of chicken tenders. It smelled incredible, and Emma’s mouth began to water.

“I know it’s not exactly a romantic meal, but I find that eating whatever food makes you happy also helps you enjoy the company you’re with.”

“Is that some long-winded cliché you just made up on the spot?”

He grinned.

“Maybe.”

“So, did you make all of this fresh, just for me?” She hadn’t kept track of how long he’d been gone, not wanting his staff to catch her glancing at her phone constantly. They were no doubt all watching her, and she didn’t want them telling her she was an impatient jerk who couldn’t wait for her food to come out.

“I did,” he said. He at her, and she met his eyes. She believed him.

The food was unsurprisingly delicious.

“How are you able to sit and enjoy an entire meal in the restaurant you own on such a busy night?” She asked him as she finished her third glass of wine.

“My brother’s running the floor right now, he’ll come and get me if he needs me.” Killian sipped his water, still working despite the fact that this was very clearly a date.

“Speaking of your brother, I have a friend—”

“That blonde girl from your party yesterday? Oh God, please tell me she’s interested in him.” Killian rolled his eyes. “She’s in here constantly and all Liam does is whine about how pretty she is, but he won’t just go and talk to her.”

Emma laughed, and Killian tilted his head.

“She is,” she said when she caught her breath. “When she heard the owner of this place was cooking me dinner, she almost lost her mind. I had to tell her it was you, not your brother.”

This time, Killian laughed with her, and they must have looked quite the pair, cracking up with a half-empty bottle of wine on the table.

“Bring her with you next time, then.”

“Next time?”

“Yes, if… if you want to come back, that is.” There was that nervous smile again.

Emma nodded.

“I do. This was… nice.”

“Killian!” came a voice from the opposite end of the restaurant. Killian’s eyes closed as his head fell forward.

“I’ll be right back ,” he assured her, reaching over and squeezing her hand before he went.

He was only gone a few moments, but he looked much more disheveled upon his return.

“I’m afraid we’re down a cook, so I’ve got to head into the kitchen and take over. I’m so sorry. I hope—”

“Do you have time to walk me out?” Emma bit her lip, feeling the buzz from the wine bring a flush to her cheeks. She pulled out her phone to order an Uber. “I’ve got… six minutes until my driver arrives.” She looked back up at him.

“Yeah, I can spare that,” he grinned. He helped her into her jacket and offered her his arm. They walked out of the restaurant together, and the hostess erupted into giggles as soon as they passed her.

“This was a really nice night, Killian. Thank you.” Emma told him as soon as they were outside.

“I’m glad. I was a bit nervous you wouldn’t come.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But the girls at work convinced me that it was a good idea.”

“I’ll have to thank them sometime.” He took a step closer to her.

“When should I come back with Elsa?” she asked, feet glued to the spot they were in. Would he come closer still?

“Whenever you like. I’m usually not here Tuesdays and Liam’s not here Thursdays. Other than that, I’m all yours.” He was nearly flush against her now.

She tilted her chin up, wondering if people still kissed on the first date. She thought for a moment about how horrible her onion breath probably was, but before she could consider it too deeply, he was kissing her.

He stopped quickly.

“Was that ok—”

She grabbed his jacket and kissed him again. Her phone buzzed with the arrival of her Uber. She pulled away and sure enough, there was the blue Ford Focus she was supposed to be waiting for.