"So, are we taking bets on whether or not he actually shows this time?"
Her colleague's inquiry roused Emma from her sleep deprived trance, causing her to take another sip of the coffee that was so far failing her this morning.
Peeking over the rim of her mug Emma attempted to engage with Ruby and Elsa, her fellow stylists and estheticians at the Enchanted Salon and Spa, and asked, "Bets on whether or not who shows?"
"K. Jones," Elsa informed her. "He's scheduled and cancelled a body waxing twice. If he shows today it'll be third time's the charm." Her cool demeanor was all Emma needed to know that Elsa had been the one he'd cancelled on. She'd be surprised if Elsa agreed to take his appointment again.
K. Jones. The name didn't seem to familiar to Emma, but she was still pretty new. She had gotten to know most of the regulars and had built herself a respectable clientele in the short time she had been at Enchanted, but she was still low man on the totem pole. Which was why Ruby's next statement didn't come as much of a surprise.
"He's all yours, Em. I've put him down as your four-thirty, that way if he does cancel you'll at least get to leave early."
She supposed that was a bit of a consolation. Best case scenario, the guy showed and she'd get a little extra cash in her pocket and a potential new client. Worst case, she'd get to clock out early and catch up on some sleep. She'd been burning the candle at both ends with her night job bartending at the local watering hole on top of her job at the salon. It was only temporary, though. Once she built up a strong base of repeat and steady salon customers, she wouldn't need the bartending gig any longer.
Besides, hard work and long hours were nothing new to Emma Swan. It was simply the life of a single parent. Besides, her son was worth a little sleep deprivation.
Ruby finished going over the day's schedule with Emma and Elsa before they all went off to their own stations to prepare for the day's clients. Emma was pleased that she had a full line-up, with K. Jones being the only wild card. She'd even had the opportunity to take on two new clients. She was just cleaning up from her next to last customer of the day when she heard Ruby and Elsa speculating by the front windows.
"That has to be him," Elsa stated, as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Poor K. Jones was already on her bad side. Elsa didn't take kindly to cancellations, especially twice over.
"If it is him, then I'm bummed I didn't schedule him for myself," Ruby mused, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and adjusting her barely there dress to perfectly highlight all her assets. Not one to ever miss out on a flirting opportunity, Ruby turned to check her makeup in the nearby mirror as she called out for Emma.
"Ems, get out here and check out your potential four-thirty!"
Emma approached the front windows with a smirk on her lips directed at the two women who had zero chill, only to find herself gaping out the window at the gentleman in question.
He was pacing along the sidewalk across the narrow street out front. Stopping every once in awhile, he gave a tentative glance over to the salon as he scratched nervously behind his ear. He was clearly warring with himself. He was also clearly gorgeous.
As she continued to observe him, Emma felt a war erupting within herself as well. On one hand, she desperately hoped he'd decide to come into the salon. She wanted to take a closer look at the dark, mussed hair and chiseled features. Was that a hint of auburn in his beard? Were those contacts? Those had to be contacts for his eyes to appear so blue even from this distance. She wondered, for the first time, what the K stood for - sincerely hoping he wasn't a Kevin or Kyle. Those names didn't seem to fit the devastatingly attractive man across the road. She couldn't wait to sate her curiosity on all matters regarding K. Jones.
On the other hand…
Oh, my lord. The chest hair. Her perusal had landed her attention to the copious amount of luxurious chest hair on display from his generously unbuttoned button up. Seductively dark, it swept along the planes of his exposed chest and crept up toward the tantalizing hollow of his throat. It shouldn't have been a surprise. His dark thick hair, prominent eyebrows, scruffy jaw and glorious forearms, exposed by his rolled sleeves, should have tipped her off to the wonders that awaited under his shirt.
Please, oh please, tell me he isn't here for a chest waxing! Emma couldn't help but think such an act would be a crime tantamount to deforestation or real fur in fashion. It just wouldn't be right.
She checked the log book again to see what service he requested, and just saw body waxing indicated. Nothing more specific than that.
Okay, okay. Not all hope is lost. Maybe he has a hairy back. No one's perfect, right? She would totally be okay with waxing his back. That would be fine. Not just because she couldn't bear the thought of removing that downy goodness from the front of his body, but also because it would be a much smoother appointment for him, too. Removing that chest hair wouldn't just be a crying shame… it would hurt like a son of bitch.
"Oh! Here he comes!" Ruby's exclamation brought Emma back to the moment. He was indeed making his way across the street, approaching the salon door with a newfound determination.
The women scrambled away from their voyeuristic perch by the front windows, taking their places within the shop, trying to act natural. The chime above the door sounded as Emma finalized preparations in the private waxing room. She could hear Ruby greeting the man they had all just been ogling. A sultry tone accented her voice as she confirmed his appointment and asked him some specifics.
"Can I get your full name? We only have a first initial listed."
"Killian. Killian Jones," he answered in a swoon worthy British accent that had Emma fidgeting in flustered anticipation.
"And what service, specifically, are you here for today, Mr. Jones?" Emma held her breath as she chanted a prayer of, please, not the chest. Please, not the chest over and over again in her mind.
"I'm here to get my chest waxed," he answered firmly, yet with a hint of uncertainty lacing his words.
Damn it! Why? Emma wondered. He didn't seem to really want to have it done, if his cancellations, behavior out on the street, and unsure tone held any indication. Maybe it was for job? Model, maybe? That must be it. He certainly had the looks for it.
Before she could consider what other possible explanations there might be, Ruby appeared at the doorway with Mr. Jones in tow.
"Mr. Jones, this is Emma Swan. She'll be your esthetician today. Emma, this is Mr. Jones. He's here for a chest wax," Ruby attempted the introductions with as much professionalism as she could muster, but Emma didn't miss the slight smirk and mischievous glint in her eye. "You're in good hands, Mr. Jones," she added coyly as she turned to leave them, but not before throwing a Emma a look that screamed, enjoy!
Ignoring her colleague, Emma welcomed a clearly nervous Mr. Jones into the room, closing the door behind him. She had to take a few slow, deep breaths to keep her bearings. If she thought he was stunning before, it was nothing compared to seeing him up close.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones. How are you today?" she began as she indicated that he take a seat.
"Please, lass, call me Killian, and I'm well. Thank you," he answered politely. Emma noticed him fidgeting with the rings on his right hand, and just couldn't stop herself from asking.
"You seem nervous, Mr. Jo-er-Killian. Are you sure you're wanting to get your chest waxed today?" Emma tried to keep a tone of pleading out of the question, but held out hope that he might just change his mind then and there.
Clearing his throat, Killian sat up a bit taller as he gave her a more confident sounding yes.
"Very well, then," Emma responded.
She tried to bury her disappointment as she went through her usual explanations of the appointment before stepping out of the room and giving him some privacy to change out of his shirt and into the provided robe.
I can do this, she kept telling herself as she went to get him a bottle of water before returning to the room. Not wanting to dwell too much on just why this particular appointment was bothering her so much, she kept up the internal pep talk. All the while ignoring Elsa and Ruby's curious glances as they welcomed and worked with their final clients of the day.
Emma knocked and waited for his consent before entering… with one final, fortifying breath.
There he was. Sitting on the edge of the waxing table, wrapped up in the plush, white robe and looking more beautiful than any man had a right to look. Their eyes were locked together for a beat longer than what might be considered proper before she remembered herself and mumbled something about having gotten him a water.
He thanked her as she set it down on the table next to him, and she took the moment to get a hold of herself.
"Okay," she said as she turned back to him, "let's see what we'll be working with today." Indicating that she needed him to remove the robe.
She was not prepared. She thought she had prepared herself. But, no. There was no amount of preparation for the unveiling of such magnificence. The enticing glimpse those three open buttons had teased at earlier with his shirt on was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
Now, completely disrobed from the waist up, his splendor was fully on display. The planes of his chest were every bit as hard and unyielding as she had imagined and every last inch was carpeted with a lushness that she just itched to run her fingertips through. Narrowing down at his navel, the alluring pelt continued to pave a precise path towards the additional wonders that awaited beneath his trousers. Wonders that, the mere thought of, had Emma flushed with desire that was neither professional or expected. (Okay… maybe not totally unexpected).
Clearing her throat, for what had to be the twentieth time since she'd laid eyes on Killian Jones, she assessed him with a more critical and trained eye.
"Hmm. Are you sure you only want your chest done?" she asked resolutely.
The question seemed to both startle him and cause him to wince with unease. "Aye," he answered. "Why? Do you think I should have more areas done?"
NO! Her mind screamed, but she had a job to do.
"It's just that most modeling agencies wouldn't have you do just one area," she explained as she put on her latex gloves and motioned for him to lie back on the table.
"Modeling agency?" he said with a confused chuckle and raised eyebrow as he looked up at her. "You think I'm a model?" His grin at the implication caused a delightful dimple to appear at his cheek. This man is totally unfair.
"Well, it was either that or a competitive swimmer," she laughed. "I just thought you must be here as some sort of job requirement."
He laughed with her at the explanation; a pleasant rumble that reverberated from deep within his chest.
"Afraid not, lass. I am but a humble teacher at the local high school who also coaches the sailing team," he offered, eyeing her as she cut strips of linen next to him. His laughter died out and he reached up to again scratch behind his ear. The nerves had returned.
"So, if not for a job," she pried, "why do this? Are you sure you even want to?"
His swift transition from being on his back to sitting upright caught her off guard, sending a stack of the precut linen strips to the floor.
"You realize that's the third time you've asked me if I'm sure about this," he pointed out, slightly exasperated. "Do I not seem sure to you?" he asked crossing his arms defensively over his chest. His perfectly toned and tufted chest.
Well, that escalated quickly. She hadn't meant to upset him, but since he'd asked she wasn't about to hold back.
"Honestly?" she countered, crossing her arms to mirror him. "No. You don't."
"And what has given you that impression, pray tell?" he invited, tilting his head slightly as he waited for her response.
Emma relaxed her stance and walked forward to sit on the rolling stool situated at the edge of the table just in front of him. Looking him directly in the eye (which did not appear to have contacts in them), she gave him a soft smile.
"Killian," she began politely, "you have set and cancelled this appointment twice. You paced outside the building for a good ten minutes before entering. You've been fidgeting with your rings and scratching behind your ear the entire time you've been in here."
He continued to hold his defensive ground, keeping his arms tight against his chest, as he clipped, "Am I not entitled to be a bit apprehensive? I understand there to be quite a bit of pain involved."
"Of course," she agreed, "but I don't think it's the pain that has you waffling this decision. I think you don't want to get waxed. I think you're generally happy with yourself just as you are."
His expression softened from exasperated to incredulous to curious as she spoke. Giving her an inquisitive smirk he asked, "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but don't you make a living assisting people in making changes to their appearance?"
"Yes," she answered, and before he could interrupt with some satisfied statement of triumph, she added, "but only when those people actually want the change. When that change will bring them happiness, contentment, or help overcome an insecurity."
"Ah, ha!" he declared while wagging his finger at her, "and how do you know I'm not frightfully insecure about my body hair?"
"Because," she stated with utter certainty, "no man who is insecure about his body hair would put it on full display with low buttoned shirts, rolled up sleeves, and a manicured beard." She crossed her arms again to give added emphasis to her point. He was backed into a corner, and they both knew it.
Killian let out a deep sigh as he ran a hand over his face. Tossing his arms up in defeat he admitted, "Fine. You're right. I don't really want to get my chest waxed."
Emma could hardly contain her relief. Thank goodness! She felt like she had just been given a stay of execution.
"Then why are you here, Killian?" Emma asked softly, scooting her rolling stool a little closer to him.
Several moments went by with Killian focusing his gaze on the floor. His hands braced on either side of his hips against the edge of the table, his posture fluctuated between embarrassed tension and relaxed amusement. Emma was beginning to think he might not answer. When he finally looked up at her to speak, she fully expected him to ask for some privacy so he could get dressed and go. She certainly didn't expect the explanation that followed.
"I lost my wife several years ago, and my friends felt it was time for me to get back out there. They became so persistent that two months ago one of them created a profile for me on one of those bloody dating websites." She watched as a blush crept across his chest, up his neck, over his checks, and end at the points of his ears. It was quite possibly the most endearing thing she had ever witnessed.
"At first I was appalled, but on their urging I decided to give it a chance. I got a few matches right away, but as I went through them I noticed a trend under their collective turn-offs. Excessive body hair." His blush seemed to deepen and once again he was reaching to scratch that nervous spot behind his ear.
"When I mentioned it to my mates, they agreed that some manscaping might be in order. So, egged on by the lot of them I made that first appointment. The next day I felt foolish, so I cancelled it. One of my mates found out and rescheduled me. When I got the reminder call for that appointment, I cancelled again." His focus was all over the room. Jumping from the floor, to the door, to the ceiling, his eyes finally came to rest on hers.
Dang, they were blue. Crystal clear and honest in their appeal to be understood. This wasn't easy for him, but she sensed his need to talk about whatever had finally led him here.
"So what made you schedule it a third time?" she encouraged.
"Last week I went out on my first date from the matches I had received from the dating site," he continued. His gaze unwavering, yet vulnerable.
"I met a woman for drinks after work, and we really seemed to hit it off. She was lovely and bright. We laughed and conversed easily. When she excused herself to the ladies room, I took the opportunity to settle in and get more comfortable. I removed my coat, rolled up my shirt sleeves and loosened my tie and shirt collar." He gave a small huff and shook his head at the memory.
"When she came back out, I watched as she took in the change to my appearance. The exposed hair on my arms and chest. She quickly begged off with some excuse of a forgotten engagement." He dropped his head again, focusing his gaze once more at the floor.
Emma liked to think of herself as a consummate professional. She prided herself on her ability to remain calm, cool, and collected in any and all situations, never crossing the line of propriety her job required each and every day. Apparently, today was not one of those days.
"What a freaking moron!" she blurted out in both amusement and irritation.
"Pardon me?" Killian's bemused expression had barely registered as Emma stood before him and placed her hands on his shoulders. His still bare shoulders. That matched his still bare upper body.
"Look, Killian," she barrelled on, "you're a good looking guy. You're charming. You have a great job. You have a lot going for you. Please. Please, don't get waxed because you think it's what some woman, who you don't even know, and may not even end up liking, would want. If a woman can't accept you for who you are, or how you look, then they don't deserve you. Besides, there are plenty of women out there who won't mind your chest hair one bit. They might even find it to be quite a turn on." She could feel a rush of heat creep up her neck at the personal confession that last statement reflected. Releasing his shoulders, she took a step back from him and tucked her hair behind her ear unsure of what to say or do next.
Looking quite stunned, Killian found his voice first. "Quite passionate, Swan." He seemed to be assessing with her fresh eyes, a glimpse of intense interest reflecting in their depths.
"Yes, w-well," she stammered, feeling a bit frazzled by the intensity of his gaze, "if, um, you've decided to not get waxed, then I'll just leave you to get dressed." She turned toward the door, suddenly desperate to get some distance between herself and Killian Jones.
"Let me ask you something, love," he called out before she could open the door. "Why did it mean so much to you that I not go through with this appointment?"
Maybe it was the love endearment, or the soft lilt of his accent that underscored the sincerity in his voice. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't reacted so strongly to any other man like she had to Killian Jones. Maybe it was the realization that this reaction, while unnerving, wasn't unwelcome to her. Whatever it was, something switched in that moment. She no longer wanted to get away from this man. Far from.
"I'm not really sure," she said casually as she turned back toward him with a sly smile. "I guess it just seemed like such a waste to strip away such an attractive display of manliness."
He laughed again and her breath caught at the way his muscles rippled throughout his abdomen and chest as the vibrations of the sound moved their way through his body.
"Must have something to do with your name," he stated.
She gave him a confused look, not understanding what her name had to do with it.
"Swan," he clarified. "It must make you a natural fan of my down." His eyebrows swaggered at the ridiculous joke before he stood to retrieve his shirt.
She giggled at him as she opened the door to leave. "Just meet me out front when you're ready," she called over her shoulder.
A few moments later, he emerged from the room with a sheepish look on his face. "I feel I should apologize, Swan. I'm afraid I've wasted an entire appointment for you."
"Don't worry about it." She waved him off. "Small price to pay to save something so attractive." She smiled cheekily as she walked him towards the door.
"Swan? Are you insinuating that you find me attractive?" he asked, catching his lip between his teeth and raising his eyebrows at her.
"Actually," she corrected, "I believe I insinuated that I find your chest hair attractive." Taking a step forward, she closed the gap between them.
"Well, then," he said with a lick of his lips, "as a thank you for stepping in and stopping its demise, my chest hair would very much like to take you dinner some time."
"Well, that depends," she responded coyly, reaching out to stroke the charms of the necklace nestled against those resplendent locks. "Will the rest of you be joining us?"