Hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon.

Long, hot, steam-filled showers.

The mixtapes Henry makes her.

The satisfying click of handcuffs closing around a skip's wrists.

These are all things Emma Swan knows she likes. They're things she knows can bring their own form of peace when her thoughts get away from her, when the day is too long, or when she feels a pang of loneliness in her chest.

Standing at her back window, pressing the rim of her coffee mug to her lips, she's beginning to think she should add the sight of Liam Jones' brother in a pair of yoga pants to that list. It's probably a sign that she needs to get out, scratch an itch, have a drink, anything but continue to low-key stalk the brother of her landlord. Instead, she continues to stand there, not drinking her coffee, as she watches him crouch next to Henry and point at one of the knobs on the camera slung around her kid's neck.

She should probably worry about her son befriending a man she doesn't know, but his t-shirt is creeping up as the band crinkles at his waist, exposing the dimples at the base of his spine. And with them, all rational thought is lost to her need to lick along them, to find out whether he tastes as good as he smells.

Not that she's catalogued how he smells or anything.

Then he's standing again and she's stuck on the drape of the fabric against the curve of his ass and the line of his hips as he makes his way to the back door of Liam's apartment.

She definitely needs to get out.

Emma curses under her breath. She can see him through the small window at the back of the garage, lounging on one of Liam's chairs, wearing a deep blue pair this time. And no shirt.

Fuck.

They're slung low enough that she can see the faint edge of a tattoo at the front of his right hip. There is also the matter of his chest hair and the way it trails and tapers down stomach, dragging her eyes down to where it dips below his pants. She thrums with need, a sharp pulse between her legs, and her fingers curl with want.

She takes a breath, knowing she needs to leave the garage and walk past him to her apartment. She's already been in here long enough to make it awkward and she wishes fervently that Henry was here and not at camp. She grabs a bag she doesn't need from her trunk and steps out into the yard, pulling the door shut behind her as softly as possible.

When she looks up, he's watching her, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Hello, love," he calls.

Emma nods and scurries past him to the stairs, taking them two at a time in an attempt to avoid whatever nonsense might fall from her mouth if she tries to respond with words.

Dinner tonight?

Emma hesitates as she re-reads Liam's message. It isn't the first time he's invited her to have dinner with him. He's fed her and Henry more times than any neighbor should, let alone one who you are renting an apartment from. But this would be without Henry there, and with absurdly handsome brothers, and she's not sure she's ready for that.

Killian's promised to grill up some chicken.

She huffs. She'd missed his name when Liam introduced him. It figures he'd would have a stupidly attractive name to go with his stupidly attractive face.

And I know you are up there probably eating ramen or kraft dinner without Henry to keep you in line.

Emma laughs. He isn't wrong.

She changes clothes three times before settling on a simple sundress. She can see Liam and Killian out back, hovering near the grill. Killian's traded his yoga pants for a pair of tight black jeans and faded grey t-shirt, all of which is somehow worse.

She grabs a beer from her fridge and makes her way down the stairs.

Dinner is laid back and she is charmed, despite herself, at the back-and-forth between the brothers. They make an effort to include her, fill her in on backstory when needed, and she feels a smile settle on her mouth for most of the meal. She learns that Liam was in the Navy before moving the States, and that Killian's been here since he dropped out of university, having followed a woman and marrying her when he was barely twenty. He isn't wearing a ring now and she doesn't press for further details. Emma avoids tales of her own childhood, but does talk about moving near the ocean when Henry was young and his obsession with the water.

The sun sets around them and the first of the stars are blinking into view when Liam makes a thin excuse and ducks inside. Killian hands her another beer and they settle into the lounge chairs. He points to the sky as he spins her a tale of a many-headed dragon, golden apples, and some singing nymphs charged with tending them. It's ordinarily something she'd find ridiculous, but the tenor of his voice has her attention rapt. He turns towards her at some point and inches to the edge of his chair to take her hand, prompting her to extend her arm as he wraps his hand over the back of hers. He uses one of her fingers to sketch out the tail of the constellation above them. She tries to focus, but his skin is warm against her own and his thumb is swiping at the dip where her thumb meets her palm. Once they've traced the full arc Emma drops her arm and rests her hand on her thigh, and Killian follows, keeping her hand in his as he finishes the tale.

When she gets up for another beer he tugs to keep her from letting go. She turns and threads her fingers through his, then falls to him and straddles his lap. He stops her just before they crash together, thumbing at her chin, his lips hovering millimeters from her own. His breath ghosts over her and on the next beat, he's dips in and slides his lips over hers. What starts as a soft, measured exploration quickly devolves into a messy tangle of tongues and teeth. She pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and has him moaning into her mouth while he tightens his grip on her waist, pulling her to him as he rolls his hips against hers.

She lets go with a nip and tilts her head as he slides his lips along her chin and to her neck, then licking down the column of her throat. She slips her hands under his shirt as he does, gripping his sides as her thumbs caress at the hair at his navel. He's nosing at base of her throat and down between her breasts as one of his hands leaves her waist to inch up her thigh and beneath her dress. Emma's tempted to slip her hands down to open his fly, freeing him enough to allow her to sink herself down on him in the yard she shares with his brother. But it's that thought of Liam returning that stops her, has her pulling back to catch her breath.

Killian gives a brief shake of his head before glancing up at her, a blush creeping up his neck as he offers her a wry smile.

"Perhaps not the right place, eh, lass?"

Emma stands but reaches out for his hand, drawing him towards the house. She turns to look at him over her shoulder as he stumbles and offers him a smile of her own.

She is relieved when Killian isn't there when she wakes the next morning. She can hear his and Liam's voices in conversation through her open windows, but makes no move to join them.

Knowing it is a chicken move, she avoids leaving out her back door for the next two days. She parks her car in the street and does her best to be away from the house. She's returning from grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon before she has to pick Henry up from camp, not wanting him to know how badly she ate while he was away. When she reaches the top landing of the stairs, she finds a plain white envelope and a single, orange rose sitting against her door.

Swan,

My timing has always been a bit shit. I had hoped to see you before I had to leave, but I scheduled this gig before I stopped at Liam's and it isn't something I can delay.

I'd very much like to tell you how much I enjoyed the other night. And how very much I'd like to see you again. I don't want to push, but I hope you'll give me a chance to do this properly when I return.

Killian

She tucks the letter into her bedside drawer and places the rose in a small glass on her dresser. Henry gives her a look when he sees it that night but for once in his life he seems too tired to ask any questions.

They continue on like most summers, Henry alternating days of laziness and video games with scheduled days of boy scouts and a soccer camp Liam talked him into. He clomps up the stairs one afternoon and drops an envelope in her lap as she sits hunched over her laptop, scanning the results of her search on her latest trace.

"That came for you," he announces, as if she needed it clarified.

Her brow furrows as she eyes the New Jersey postmark and the lack of return address.

Henry grabs his Xbox controller and flops onto the couch. "Who's it from?" he asks as his game starts up. "And why would they send a letter anyway?"

"Don't know, kid."

When she opens the envelope, there are two photos along with a letter. They look to be shots taken from the deck of a sailboat, the deck and wood railings in the forefront and miles of blue water beyond.

Swan,

I hope this isn't odd. Scratch that. I'm well aware this is odd, but I hope you'll indulge me anyway.

I don't know if Liam's told you, but I spend most of my summers taking people out on my sailboat. Tours up and down the Eastern seaboard. Usually they are short trips, a couple days or a week at most. This year, I managed to book two month-long excursions back to back. What can I say but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Anyway, there is a certain sort of loneliness that descends when you are travelling with people but not really. The views, at least, are stunning, even if the photos can't possibly do them justice.

I'm hoping you won't mind if I write you sometimes. The nights can be long, and it can be nice to share something of what you've seen or thought. I'd also like the chance to get to know you, or at least for you to know me. And I'm hoping I might endear myself enough to you that you will reciprocate when I return.

Killian

PS: I don't think I ever had the chance to tell you how much I liked your dress that night. The blue suited you.

It takes her three days and a shot of whiskey to knock on Liam's door and ask for Killian's email address. Liam leans against his doorframe with a raised eyebrow, but lets her in and jots it down on a scrap of paper for her.

She writes Killian that night, telling him Henry was sorry to see he wasn't there when he returned from camp, that he wanted to show him some of the photos he had taken awhile away. She tells him about a case she's working on and the tv she's been watching

He doesn't email back and she tries to tamp down her disappointment.

A few days later she comes home to Henry and Liam on her couch, engrossed in some video game, and another envelope postmarked from Maryland on the kitchen counter.

The weeks go by and they continue like that. She emails, he writes. Sometimes they send photos, and once in a while he slips in a small trinket from wherever he is docked. One is a green, glass-beaded bracelet that she slips on as soon as she finishes his letter. She sends him a photo of her wrist with it on.

Henry starts pestering her about the letters, wondering who they are from and why they are sending them. "It isn't like it is something that's happened before," he tells her.

Liam doesn't ask about them at all, even though she knows he has seen a few and has to have recognized the handwriting.

It's early September and she hasn't heard from Killian in a week. She feels herself sulking and it worries her that she's become used to him. That she's lonely without his voice in her head.

She's fixing dinner when she hears the key turn in the front door. She's draining the pasta so she doesn't look up right away when she hears Henry enter the kitchen. It's only when he coughs that she turns. He's smirking at her and holding an envelope in his hand along with one orange rose. She's confused a moment until it hits her and then she's practically barreling to Henry to pluck both from his hands.

Emma,

I should first off apologise for my silence this week. I wasn't sure exactly when I would be returning and I didn't want to say anything that would spoil the surprise. I hadn't meant for it to go so long.

I also hope you'll forgive my presumption. As I'm sure Henry is about to tell you, he and Liam have made plans to go see a film this evening, pending your permission of course. As such, I was hoping you might accompany me to dinner. There is a little spot in Cambridge I'm fond of, and I thought you might enjoy it as well.

I'll pick you up at 8.

Yours,
Killian

She glances up to find both Henry and Liam standing in the door to her kitchen, identical grins forming at the corners of their mouths. She tries to frown, but that just makes them laugh.

"So?" Henry asks and she wants to smack him upside the head.

"How long have you known?"

Henry cocks his head. "That it was Killian?" He pauses like he's considering her. "I'm twelve, mom, not dumb."

She wants to fire off an equally sarcastic response but stops herself when she catches sight of the clock. "Fine! Go!"

She stalks over to Liam and pokes a finger into his chest, repeatedly. "Just nothing R rated and don't think we aren't discussing this later."

Liam puts his arms up in submission. "Just go easy on my little brother, lass," he says with a broad grin.