It was raining.
Of course it was raining.
The icing on her time-bomb cake that was set to explode when her sanity was on its last legs – or self-esteem, whichever came first.
At least now, Emma had every right to state that, from her own person experience, that being stranded, pacing on the side of the road, with stilettos, running mascara and the distinct scent of rejection was, officially, the worst thing that could happen to a woman. And that wasn't even when she was exaggerating.
She also knew, from personal experience, that being left with naught but a dollar in her purse was a little crappy, and a lot panicky.
You see, Emma Swan was stranded only a block away from where she had just retreated, almost breaking her heel and possibly some leery wanker's nose in the process. Rain was pouring, cars were flashing by, and she wasn't keen on entering that bar again only to remember that she had no contacts in this godforsaken city and she was stranded on the other side of it.
In stilettos.
She was only five minutes away from going all-out infant style and wailing like a child, stomping her feet and waving her arms and screaming her bloody soul out. Because, frankly, appearing like a cool, calm and collected adult with a half-decent intellectual capacity was becoming more difficult by the second.
So, yeah. Only a dollar. Marvelous. Beautiful. Absolutely fantastic. She couldn't wait until she could burst herself out of this little dilemma.
Oh, for God's sakes.
With a gesturing toss of her hands up in the air, signalling an SOS to some unseen holy being, she clicked her way unsteadily to the side of the road. Her arm, bare and shivering, was shoved out a little harsher than necessary.
And then the waiting game began.
Okay, so maybe she didn't have enough – or any – money for a taxi. So what? She'd winged it for a good portion of her life. Why not wing it now? Probably not the greatest idea, a little voice chimed.
She ignored it. She always did.
With an inward thought, she cocked her hip for comfort and prepared for a long wait.
As if to spite her – the bloody Universe was out for her, she knew it – a bright yellow car slowed to a stop a few meters ahead of herself. She huffed inwardly at the old taxi trick – They'd stop a few meters ahead of you to check if you were drunk, the wankers. She'd learnt it when she'd picked up the job for a long millisecond – and tottered the distance to the cab door. With an aura of misplaced fury, she shoved herself inside and slammed the door shut behind her.
Impatiently snapping a rapid address to the waiting driver, she rested her elbow on the side of the door and lay her cheek on her curled knuckles, barely thinking to look to her right.
Her mistake.
" I do believe this cab was occupied. "
Her body locked, and her eyelids fell closed in a show of self-pity. Really?
Turning her head slowly to face the owner of a delightfully accented voice, she found herself face to face with what she was convinced was Poseidon. Or, at least, some sort of god.
Dark, slick locks fell down over hypnotic azure orbs. A high-collared black coat over a deep blue button-up lit up his whole complexion, his eyes becoming brighter by the second as she took in the stranger's appearance.
A thick swallow and an awkward cough later, she was back to resting her elbow against the window once more, her eyes considerably wider.
He, however, was not to be ignored.
" Killian Jones. Charmed. " Out of the corner of her eye, a hand was outstretched, open and inviting. She turned her head away, further, her eyes tilted upwards in a prayer that her ignoring tactics would be successful.
A soft chuckle came from beside her. " A lesser man would find your silence off-putting. Me – Well, I love a challenge. "
No such luck from this random creep.
Emma frowned, turning to 'Killian Jones'. " Do you mind? "
" Pardon? "
" I… " She continued, then paused, her mouth closing in a show of I-really-don't-care-what-you-think-or-say.
Well, that's what she hoped.
An azure gaze lasered into the side of her head for a few seconds more before, he turned away, and silence ensued for what seemed like years.
That was, until the roadblock.
With a halt of the wheels and a sneaky peek through the front window, Emma concluded that roadwork was up ahead, and it would be about half an hour – at their rate – to reach a turn-off point.
" You've got to be kidding me. " Killian grumbled from beside her, his figure slumping dramatically, and her lips slammed shut to fend off the twitch of her cheeks.
" Tell me about it. " She said, disgruntled, in way of response, and Jones glanced at her momentarily. He seemed to consider for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak.
" In the assumption that you are a regular for this part of the city, if I may be so bold – Do you agree that there is a tremendous amount of unnecessary roadworks? "
" I know! It's like, there's nothing wrong with the road! Stop trying to fix it! "
And, somehow, that's how it happened. For the next good half an hour they talked. She wasn't quite sure how it happened – He didn't charm her, and nothing completely drastic occurred. A roadblock for the cab broke a roadblock in their speech, and soon they were chatting about all a manner. The city, who they knew, their favourite restaurants, the children in their apartment blocks.
She calls it the first time they met.
He calls it their first date.
She thinks he was just trying to hurry to the third date.
He never really denies it.