The front door swung open, bringing with it a chill like few others—one distinctly northeastern. Utterly freezing, that same wind carried with it the salt of the sea. Somehow, years later, Emma wasn't tired of it. This time, she glanced up to see if it was one of her regulars. She was only washing out glasses, as it was still early in the evening, so it was easier to prepare a friendly greeting than usual. Small town or not, the people of Camden, Maine, seemed to love visiting the Bell Curve.
Located on Atlantic Avenue, where the docks stopped and the land turned back around towards the ocean, the bar's name seemed fitting. Out the front windows, at least before the sun went down, she could watch the tilting, rocking motion of the sailboats tied to each pier or drifting out into Penobscot Bay. Her attention didn't snag on those boats today, though. No, something far more interesting made her hands pause, left to soak in the soapy water alongside the wine glass she'd been shining.
Something? More like someone. He was clearly interesting enough to halt her completely in her tracks, but Emma couldn't explain why. He was obscenely attractive, she determined, but by the time she started trying to work out what, exactly, had stopped her—
"Emma?"
The blonde sucked in a surprised breath, dropping the glass against the others in the sink, whipping her head around to look at her best friend. "What?"
Ruby tilted her head, squinting at the other bartender. "It isn't polite to stare. Not even at new strangers, gorgeous though they may be."
Her voice had dropped towards the end of her half-teasing, half-chiding comment. It wasn't until a throat cleared in front of her that Emma understood why. The stranger had sat down directly across the bar from her, and had one eyebrow lifted as he watched her. What was that look about?
"You alright, there, love?"
Oh, God.
That was just unfair. Someone that looked like him did not need the added benefit of a sexy, foreign accent. It almost made her angry, in fact. Her fingers lifted absentmindedly, reaching for the chain around her neck. But then she remembered that they were sudsy and would absolutely soak the front of her shirt. That wouldn't do at all. Instead, she aimed for the towel she had slung over her shoulder before finally offering a smile as she dried them off.
"I'm fine," she assured him, glad to see that eyebrow of his drop down to match the other once more. "I've just been distracted today, I think."
He nodded in understanding, the corner of his mouth lifting. The sudden, desperate need to see a full smile on his face caught her off guard and she glanced down at the sink again, wondering if she could bear to stand there and keep washing them with this Irishman right in front of her. Probably not.
She drained the water.
"Emma!" Leroy called from the other end of the bar, clearly impatient even though he'd yet to ask her for anything.
"Hold on," she told him, frowning slightly. Emma turned her eyes back on the new man, gesturing towards the rows of liquor and wine behind her. "What'll you have?"
"Rum," he answered immediately. "Straight."
She nodded, rather unsurprised. They went through rum like the local restaurants went through soda in the summer. Or, any time of year, really. Perhaps he was another of the ones who came for the harbor and the sailing. Emma picked up a short, squat glass, then picked up the bottle of Spiced Morgan, wiggling it a little until he smiled, actually chuckled a little, and said, "That's perfect."
Once that was poured and placed in front of him, she passed him another smile and walked down to talk to Leroy, pretending that she didn't feel the stranger's eyes on her the entire way down the bar.
By the time night properly fell and the bar had taken on the crowd she so often expected, Emma was starting to feel a bit concerned. Pouring drinks as quickly and efficiently as she could, she did her best to interact with her customers despite being so distracted. Their newcomer had been sat in the same spot for the past several hours, only getting up when he was assured his seat would be held for him by another patron, when he needed the bathroom. But that was a while ago, and although he was clearly doing just fine, she was a bit surprised by how much rum he had taken in over the past few hours.
When she finally came across a lull, she moved to stand across from him once more, wiping off the bar top before leaning her elbows on the teak wood. "You still doing okay?"
"Aye," he confirmed, lifting his half-full glass for her to see.
Emma never really had trouble making small-talk with the people that came in, even when someone was from out of town. But he was just so… God, she didn't know. It was rare for her to even consider whether or not someone was good-looking. She didn't need to worry about that, even with how many made passes at her. Emma knew most of them were in jest, and those that weren't were easy to pass up. But now she just nodded at him, standing up straight again and glancing around for empty glasses she could pick up.
"So. Emma. Have you lived here your whole life?" He lifted his glass to his lips again, observing her over the rim as he did so. "It seems like a small enough town that people might do so."
She shook her head, glad for something easy. Talking about herself wasn't exactly a favorite pastime of hers, but maybe it would open up the floor for her to ask him questions in return. "No, I moved a few years ago. My parents live here now, and I thought I'd like to be near them. But you're right. There's only about five thousand people here, I think. Don't hold me to that, though."
He smiled, but Emma was still sure that it wasn't a completely genuine one. He struck her as someone who hadn't had much cause, at least recently, to really, truly smile. It was like he'd forgotten how to grin. Although, to be fair, she hadn't exactly said or done anything to earn such an expression.
"I'm sure they appreciate having you close," he replied.
"You're from Ireland?" she asked, shooting a glance down the bar to her left in case she'd missed an attempt at her attention. Thankfully, Ruby was at the end nearest to the door, taking care of that.
"Aye, indeed. Galway area, most recently. But I'm really from all over, I suppose. The navy makes it hard to really set down roots."
Emma's eyebrows lifted, though somehow she wasn't as surprised as she perhaps should have been. He was blatantly fit, beyond just that face and the scruff and – God – those eyes. But as he gestured with his right hand, she found herself looking down to try and see what he was pointing at.
"What does that say?"
Confused, she lifted a hand to her neck, only to find the silver linked chain she'd grown so used to. For a moment, there, she'd forgotten she even had it. "Oh," she laughed, taking up the locket in her palm and turning it for him to read. "My, um, my ex gave me this." Engraved into the silver was Neal's name, and the inside was designed to hold a picture, probably of him. In truth, she knew she should have filled it after the last one was ruined when she dropped it in the sink and the picture got wet. But somehow she just couldn't bring herself to do it. "He's… It's been a long time since I've seen him."
"And yet you wear it," he pointed out, clearly curious.
"Yes, well-" Emma blushed deeply, only to be cut off.
The stranger sat up a little straighter. "You love him."
She lifted a shoulder gently, letting her head list to one side. "Something like that."
He didn't seem to like that answer, or maybe he didn't understand it, but Emma didn't have time to explain. A tall man with hair nearly as dark as her new acquaintance's had arrived next to Mr. Navy (as she immediately named him for lack of a better thing to use), and grinned at her cheekily.
"Emma, love. Do us a favor and pour another round for me and the guys?"
She flicked her gaze towards the rest of Robin's cohorts, then passed Locksley an unimpressed look. "You can't be serious. At this rate, we'll just be cleaning up the mess they make when they knock the pints over."
"I'll make it worth your while," he promised, winking at her. Emma pretended not to notice the way the stranger frowned, glancing up at the man beside him. "And besides, if you say no, I can just ask Ruby instead."
He wasn't wrong, as frustrating as that was. Realizing she still had the locket in her hand, Emma dropped it into the front of her shirt after turning away with a huff to take down five more pint glasses and fill them for Robin and his men. Behind her, she heard the men talking.
"I haven't seen you before, have I? Name's Robin."
"Killian," the stranger returned, accent thicker in comparison to Robin's own. After moving to Maine as a young boy, Robin's had started to fade, but it was clear they were both from the U.K. "London?" Killian asked.
"Ironically, Camden. But technically, you're right."
Emma turned around, setting three of the mugs down and passing Robin a confused look.
"It's a borough in London," he explained, curling his fingers around the handles before Emma offered the other two for him to take with his other hand. "Give this bloke a drink on me," Robin added with a laugh, forcing a heavier British accent before walking away.
Emma shook her head but smiled fondly after him. But then she turned back to Killian and found that he was observing her again with those fiercely blue eyes of his. They froze her to the spot, and she blinked at him a couple of times before finally speaking up. "Something wrong?"
Killian shook his head immediately, downing the last of his rum and setting the glass back down. By the time he'd done so, a smirk was curving his lips and if Emma hadn't been so stubbornly determined to wait for Neal, she might have admitted to melting a little bit just by looking at it. "No, I was just going to take Robin up on that drink. Provided it's not a come-on, that is."
Emma laughed outright at that, but was already moving his empty glass out of the way to replace it. "No, no. I mean, it might be," she mused, however sarcastically, "but I don't think his wife would appreciate it much. Regina's not known to share."
"Ah. Shame, considering how he tries so hard to make you blush."
Embarrassingly enough, it was that sentence that finally brought real color to the blonde's cheeks.
Killian leaned forward on the bar, ignoring the drink she set in front of him. "How long has it been since you've seen this Neal bloke? If you're holding onto that so carefully," he waved a hand towards the now-hidden chain around her neck, "then he must have been quite something."
"Why?" she countered immediately, both baffled by his curiosity and also innately designed to guard herself from those who tried to pry. "Jealous?"
Okay, so that wasn't the best retort she could have come up with. She was not trying to flirt with Killian Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was, handsome as sin or otherwise. But the amused grin that finally lit up his face was enough to make her think that maybe it was worth it, Neal or not. A decade was long enough to wait, wasn't it? Who could really blame her for not holding out? It wasn't like this meant anything anyway. Sailors like him came and went in a week or less.
"Very."
Emma's mouth fell open as he downed the shot in one go, dropped the glass back onto the bar, and reached into his wallet to withdraw what he owed. She was still staring openly when he stood, donned his jacket, and turned his sharp chin to look at her.
"Have a good evening, Emma."
And, though she would vehemently deny it despite Ruby catching her doing so, she was still staring by the time the breeze rolled back in and the door shut behind him.
