The electronic chime signals the opening of the front door of Horizon Bound, and Killian looks up from the inventory order list on his computer screen to greet the person who has just entered his bookstore. Correction: people. The pair to grace his threshold consists of a young adolescent boy with a head of shaggy brown hair and an eager smile and – Killian's lips part involuntarily – a stunning young woman with thick, blonde tresses hanging in gentle waves to the middle of her back, an athletic figure obvious beneath her tank top, and the face of an angel. Wow. His usual call of hello completely forgotten, he stares just long enough to warrant embarrassment before he catches himself and tries, at least, to affect his most debonair smile.
The boy, dressed in shorts and a well-loved Star Wars tee, trots straight up to the counter. "Hi!"
The woman remains a step behind, her hands tucked into the back pockets of dark blue skinny jeans, and Killian dares to meet her gaze. Oh. Her large eyes are grayish green, the color of a forest in the morning mist, and they sparkle in a warm, if slightly anxious silent greeting. It's a Herculean task for Killian to tear his attention away from her and focus on the boy with a friendly nod. "Hello, lad. Welcome."
The boy beams, eagerly leaning forward on the counter on his elbows. "I'm Henry," he announces sunnily. "This is my mom. We're your new neighbors."
Killian blinks. "The new coffee place next door?" he asks, tilting his head toward the wall directly behind him.
Henry's grin widens, and he bobs his head. "Uh-huh."
The street is fairly thriving with businesses, the only recent vacancy being the little former café next door that had finally been leased several months ago to a new establishment called The Blonde Roast. Killian has peeked in the window several times over the course of the renovation, but never caught glimpse of the new owner. Until now. Bloody hell, was it worth the wait. He steals another glance at the woman as he gives Henry an officious handshake. "Killian Jones," he says. "At your service, sir." Henry lets go with a giggle, and Killian now reaches toward her, eyebrows slightly raised in question.
"Emma," she supplies, sliding her palm into his. "Emma Swan."
Her hand is warm, her grip soft but firm, and his pulse noticeably quickens at the contact.
"A pleasure," he croaks. His heart leaps inside his chest when a pretty wash of color rises in her cheeks.
"We're giving out coupons for free coffee to people to say hi," Henry continues cheerfully, sliding a little printed voucher across the counter. "Will you come by to see us? We open next week."
Killian releases Emma's hand at last, reaching down and retrieving the slip. He studies it before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jeans and nods, offering Henry a more self-assured smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
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It's been an enormous labor of love, but moving away from New York to start up her own coffee shop here in Boston has been the best kind of change for Emma. After three years of trying to salvage a poisonous business partnership (and an even more poisonous romantic relationship) with her philandering ex-boyfriend, she's done wasting time, done being made to feel like she's not enough. Here, 200 miles away, she's free to start fresh, free to run her shop and her life on her own terms, free to focus solely on making her customers happy and trying to be the mother her kid deserves.
They meet Killian Jones, the one-handed, American-born, British-raised owner of the fastidiously-run bookstore next door, at the blazing height of summer, a few days after their move. He's so unfairly handsome that she almost trips as she follows Henry into Horizon Bound for the first time, far too distracted by his windswept dark hair and sexy three day-old scruff and knee-weakening smile and probing blue eyes to pay her feet much mind. But he also proves to be intelligent, charming, generous, and disturbingly easy to get along with. After the disaster that was Walsh, she's vowed not to get involved with a man for at least a year, and she honestly means that from the bottom of her battered heart, but Emma has to admit that befriending a nice guy like Killian makes her all the more grateful to have found this particular storefront on this particular street in this particular town.
After his first visit to the coffee shop on opening day (at which time he declares the flat white she makes him and the accompanying croissant to be "Bloody brilliant, Swan" in that alluring accent of his), he makes a stop by The Blonde Roast part of his morning routine. He usually lingers a few minutes to chat with her as much as the busyness of her morning rush will allow, leaning on the far end of the counter out of the way of her other customers while he nurses his coffee and watches her bustle around with admiration in his eye. He seems as reluctant to talk about his upbringing as she is to talk about hers, and they reach an unspoken agreement early on not to push or pry too much, instead talking about menu items she's contemplating, the gems from his newest shipment of books, or Henry's latest escapades. And inevitably, he always finds a way to flirt a little with her before he goes, sneaking little compliments into the conversation or just boldly dropping a double entendre and meeting her blush with that devilish smirk of his that makes her heart stutter.
She tries to ignore the butterflies that come to live in her stomach at his beck and call. Flirting, she learns quickly, is part of his nature. Some people are wiseasses, some people are self-deprecating comedians, and Killian is a charmer. It's simply who he is, she tells herself; there's no pressure because it doesn't mean anything. And she reminds herself frequently that she should be grateful for that, because recovering from years of emotional turmoil and starting a new business in a new town while being a single mother is kind of all she can handle most days.
Henry comes to the coffee shop every day after school to help out or work on his homework at a corner table until closing time, but it's hardly a couple of weeks before he begins to ask to go next door while she works. Killian always seems to have a useful book for Henry's latest assignment or a new sci-fi novel for him to enjoy or a personal tale about his world travels as a former captain in Her Majesty's Royal Navy that draws her son to Horizon Bound like a starving man to a banquet.
In truth, Emma is happy to see Henry so enamored with the bookstore. Her son has always been a dreamer and a romantic, apt to be swept up in stories about heroes and villains and far off lands both real and imagined, and she's glad he's found a safe place in their new home where he can indulge that. It's certainly made the move easier on him, and it's a relief not having to worry that he's languishing bored in the corner of the coffee shop while she's making macchiato. It also doesn't hurt that Killian seems a far better male role model for Henry than Walsh turned out to be.
In short, after all the nastiness that she put up with in New York, the world seems determined now to make it up to her in the form of a nice new city, a great new business, a happy kid, and a pretty perfect platonic relationship with the pretty perfect man next door.
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The front door chimes in the middle of a stormy afternoon in September, and Killian pokes his head out from the Self-Help section, his face lighting up. "Swan."
Emma's hair is pulled back into the graceful ponytail she favors for work, a few windblown strands gracing her cheek, and she's wearing a pretty cream blouse with slightly puffed sleeves and her habitual jeans under her apron. He notes the uncertain bent of her brow and the flush of her skin. "Do you have a minute?" she asks, sounding a little frazzled.
Killian sets the book in his hand back on the shelf and steps toward her. "Of course, love."
"Know anything about awnings?" Her forehead wrinkles fetchingly, and she plants her hands on her hips.
"Ah." He chuckles. "Let me guess. Yours won't close properly?"
She angles her head, one eye squinting. "Yeah. How'd you know?"
He grins and motions for her to wait before he turns and heads for the storage room in the back. "The woman who owned the café that was there before you had the same problem from time to time," he calls over his shoulder. He returns with his toolbox and a stepstool. "I remember the first time it happened to her. Granny's tongue could put an old sailor's to shame," he recalls fondly. "She was glad to be rid of it that awning when she decided to move to a bigger location."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Oh now someone tells me. There's a storm coming, and I've been outside for fifteen minutes trying to get it retracted before the wind picks up."
"Well, as luck would have it, I'm your man," Killian says cheerfully. He calls to his employee, Belle, that he's stepping out for a bit before shouldering the door open and holding it ajar with his body. He gestures for Emma to go first, extending his right arm, toolbox in hand, out to his side with a flourish, and giving her a little bow. She passes through, her eyes laughing at his silliness even as a hint of pink rises in her cheeks, and Killian's grin widens. "No worries, love. I haven't lost a battle with the beast yet."
Ominous clouds can be seen hanging in the gray sky at a distance, and gusts are indeed starting to blow. They toss Emma's ponytail sideways like fluttering ribbons as Killian sets up his stool on one side of the half-extended green-and-white striped awning that shelters the front face of the coffee shop. He braces the hand crank with his left arm, his hand grabs the handle and gives it an experimental turn, and he hums knowingly at the resistance.
"Same problem?" Emma asks anxiously, wrapping her arms around herself to combat the wind chill.
"Aye. Shouldn't take but a few minutes to correct," he assures her. He notes her posture and nods toward the coffee shop. "You can go inside if you like, Swan. It's getting colder. I'll take care of this." Killian reaches down to flip open his toolbox and pulls out a can of spray lubricant and a screwdriver.
She smiles gratefully and beelines for her door. "Come inside for cocoa when you're done," she tells him.
He cranes his head up at her and beams. "If you insist."
It's a simple fix to get the awning working smoothly again and one that he's made many times before. A quick inspection of the retractable arms to make sure they're clear of debris, a few squirts of lubricant in the key places he knows tend to cause trouble, and a little finessing, and Killian has the crank rolling and unrolling the waterproof fabric like a dream in under ten minutes. He catches Emma's eye through the window as he finishes up, and he meets her look of approval with a grin and a wink.
He runs the toolbox and stepstool back to Horizon Bound and does a quick wash-up before popping over to the coffee shop with a spring in his step, snagging the detachable awning crank on his way.
"There you are, love," he says, striding into the shop and handing it over the counter to her as soon as her hands are free. "Good as new."
"Thanks." She offers him a relieved smile that sends a gratified thrill coursing through his chest, and he suddenly itches to find other things to do for her just to keep her looking at him this way. Emma tilts her head toward a large cup capped in whipped cream and a sugar cookie in a wax paper envelope sitting at his favorite spot at the end of the counter. "I figured you'd want to take your cocoa down there," she says, "Unless," her eyebrows pinch upward a little, "You need to get back to the store?"
Killian chuckles. "Not at all. Belle is more than capable of running the ship for a while." He doesn't miss the pleased dimple that appears in her cheek as he walks over to help himself. There's a reddish brown spice dashed over the top of his hot cocoa, and he sniffs. "Cinnamon?"
Emma crosses her arms and gives him an encouraging nod, a smirk curving her lips. "Try it."
His faith in Emma Swan's culinary abilities unwavering, Killian samples her drink and hums appreciatively at the taste that blooms on his tongue. "Mm. Remarkable," he decides, taking a longer draught. "Sweet, with a little heat." His eyes dance over the top of his cup. "Not unlike a certain lass I know."
Her lashes brush the tops of her cheeks as she gives a little laugh and turns to address a large ball of dough that's being worked together in her standing mixer at the little baking station directly behind the counter from where he stands. "Does the awning need tweaking like that often?" she asks.
He shrugs and takes a bite of his cookie. "Every few months perhaps. Come fetch me whenever you have a need, Swan. I'm at your service."
She favors him with a glowing smile over her shoulder. "Thanks." She switches off the mixer and scatters a handful of flour over her work surface before hefting the dough out of the bowl and beginning to knead. "I can see I'm going to owe you a lot of cocoa and cookies."
Killian considers her for a long moment. He's been debating how long to wait before asking Emma out, not wanting to scare her off or risk ruining their friendship, but he's grown increasingly impatient lately, and he supposes this is as good a time as any. "If you tire of paying me with treats, love, you could just let me take you dinner," he says as casually as he can.
Emma pauses and turns her head to fix him with wide eyes. "I…" The surprise fades from her face, and her eyes darken with conflicting emotions before she sighs and her mouth quirks apologetically. "That's really nice, but I kind of can't right now."
His stomach falls heavy with disappointment. Has he read her wrong? The blushes, the sideways glances, the way she rolls her eyes at him when he flirts and laughs at his jokes – he's fairly sure he's not read her wrong. He does his best to keep his shoulders from falling, careful to appear unperturbed as he cocks an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I— I just have a lot going on," she says weakly, wiping her hands and turning to face him. "With Henry and the shop and…" She shakes her head helplessly. "I don't really have time for anything… or anyone else right now. It's not that I don't… you know…" she trails off awkwardly, instead faltering once before hesitantly laying a hand on top of his left forearm and giving him a consoling squeeze.
Killian smiles gently and swallows, his heart in his throat at the sensation of her hand resting so near his stump. Somehow, even when she's rejecting him, the woman finds a way to make him even more enamored of her. Heaven help him, he's buggered. He manages a nod. "I understand, Swan. It's quite alright. Take your time." He takes a chance and lifts her hand off his arm, raising it to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to her skin before letting her go. Her expression softens, and he sees as much regret in her eyes as anxiety. The tiniest bit of hope flickers in his chest. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises.
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Emma glances at the wall clock with a frown painted across her features. It's well after nine on an early October morning, a good hour after Killian generally makes his appearance, and there's been no sign of him today. She reaches for her phone and taps out a text message.
Is everything OK?
Fear begins to take hold as the seconds tick by. At last, after almost ten minutes, just as she's on the verge of calling him, her phone dings in response.
Sorry, love. Home sick today. Missing the pleasure of your company too.
She chooses not to examine how relieved she is to hear back from him, instead rolling her eyes at his attempt to flirt with her even when he's under the weather.
What's wrong?
My stomach has declared mutiny, among other things.
Emma winces.
Do you need anything?
Dinner with you. Once I'm well, of course.
You know what I mean.
Don't worry about me, Swan. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's surviving.
Text me your address. Henry and I will bring something by later.
Why darling, I didn't know you cared.
Idiot. Of course I care.
You should be careful about trying to seduce me with romantic words, love. I'm in no shape to do anything about it at the moment.
She laughs in spite of herself.
Shut up.
He texts her his address, and she tells him they'll be by before dinner. When Henry arrives at the coffee shop after school, Emma sends him down to the corner deli to pick up a couple large containers of chicken soup, a loaf of artisan bread, and some bottles of the grapefruit juice she knows Killian favors. By the time her son returns, she's also put together a small (well, perhaps not-so-small) bag of Killian's favorite scones, muffins, and cookies, and she leaves her employees Elsa and Ana in charge while she and Henry set out to deliver their care package.
Killian, it turns out, lives just a few blocks from the shop in a smart-looking brick and glass apartment building. Emma takes a deep breath, feeling antsy as they wait for him to buzz them in. It's not that she's excited to see him or see where he lives, she tells herself. It's not. She's just nervous that she might be sending the wrong signal. She's not sure why she volunteered so readily to come in the first place, but she glances over at her son, who's proudly bearing the large paper bag from the deli, and her mouth forms a rueful smile. Henry. She's doing this because Killian has been good to her and Henry. He's a friend. And what are friends for, after all?
Her eyes widen when Killian opens the door to his apartment. His hair is mussed in a terrible case of bed-head and sticking up in places in a way that's weirdly cute. He's pale with dark circles beneath his eyes, and instead of his usual crisp button-up, waistcoat, and jeans, he's in a navy blue Henley with plaid flannel pants that hang loose on his hips, bare feet peeking out from below. He looks exhausted. And oddly huggable. And she chastises herself for the latter thought immediately.
Despite his ill appearance, his face brightens when he sees them standing there, and he graciously shuttles them inside. His apartment is modest, as tidy as the bookstore, and, like many bachelor pads, more about function than aesthetics, furnished with comfortable-looking, if uncoordinated, furniture.
"How do you feel?" she asks.
Killian gestures toward his kitchen, wordlessly giving her permission to commandeer it, and he shuffles after her and Henry. "I've had worse days." He takes a seat at his breakfast bar with a groan and a grim chuckle.
She can tell he's making an effort to sound nonchalant. "You look miserable," she observes as she and Henry begin to unpack the bag.
"Yes, well, I've spent the day getting better acquainted with my toilet bowl, and I must say she's not nearly as good a conversationalist as you are, Swan," he replies wryly.
Henry giggles, climbing on to the bar stool next to him.
Emma grins as she goes to stow the juice in the refrigerator, and Killian turns his attention to her son. "How was school today, lad?"
"Good."
"Spelling test go alright?"
"96 percent," Henry announces proudly.
Killian beams. "Excellent work."
Emma listens to their exchange with fascination as she finishes stocking the fridge and then proceeds to locate a clean dishtowel with which to wrap the bread. Outside of his teachers, she's never known anyone other than herself to take an interest in her son's schoolwork. Henry's grades have been better since they moved to Boston, and she'd attributed it to him being happier here and to his new teacher being more effective. Now she steals a glance at Killian and Henry as they continue to chat and wonders if those might not be the only contributing factors.
They leave a short while later, with Emma pointing out that they should let Killian rest. Gentleman as always, he walks them back to the door and thanks them for their thoughtfulness.
"I hope you feel better soon," she says as she follows Henry out into the corridor.
Killian leans on the door and gives her a weak grin. "With you two to look after me, how could I not, Swan?"
Emma hums and flashes him a smile over her shoulder, ignoring the pitter-pat in her chest and feeling silly about having had any misgivings about coming.
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"You really like her, don't you?" Henry asks out of the blue the day after Halloween as he helps Killian scan a new box of Jane Austen classics into inventory. "My mom." He pulls another book from the box and zaps the bar code with the cordless scanner before setting it aside.
Killian freezes momentarily before going back to arranging the scanned books on the shelf. "What makes you say that, lad?"
Henry rolls his eyes in that way that leaves little doubt that Emma Swan is his mother. "Come on. You come to the coffee shop every day."
"Your mother makes wonderful coffee."
"And you talk to her a lot."
Killian shrugs. "Well, that's what friends do."
"And you flirt with her."
"I flirt with all the ladies, lad," he points out, winking. "It's good for business."
"Yeah, but you mean it with her," Henry argues, undeterred. "You actually mean it when you say she's pretty and smart and whatever."
Killian shrugs. "You have eyes, Henry. Your mother is pretty. And very smart."
"And you like her, right?"
Killian sighs resignedly, setting the last of his current armload of books on the shelf with the others. He turns to face the boy, propping his elbow on the bookcase. "What are you trying to get at?"
Henry grins triumphantly. "You should ask her out," he declares.
Killian glances away, thumb rolling along his fingertips absently, before he gets back to work. "And what if I already did?"
Henry's eyes grow big. "You did?"
He nods and resumes stocking shelves. "Aye, lad. Many weeks ago."
Henry's face wrinkles with confusion. "And she said no?"
Killian narrows his eyes at the ceiling. "More like…she hasn't said yes yet."
"I don't get it," Henry says, setting the scanner aside and sitting back on his hands. "She likes you. Like, a lot."
Killian pauses and turns his head, one eyebrow raised. "She does?"
"Well, yeah," Henry chuffs, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "She smiles more around you than she does around anybody. She was pretty bummed that whole week you were out sick, and then she cheered up the day you came back. And ever since you told her you like shortbread, she's been kind of obsessed with finding the perfect shortbread cookie to put on the menu."
A slow smile tugs at Killian's lips, and hope blooms in his chest. "Is that so?"
"I'm her official taste-tester," Henry says matter-of-factly.
Killian laughs, grinning ear-to-ear and feeling a little giddy. He eyes the boy fondly and heaves a wistful sigh. "Well, be that as it may, I think your mum just wants to focus on running the shop right now," he explains carefully. "It's a lot of work to try to make a new business successful."
Henry purses his lips, lolling one foot back and forth. "I guess. You should keep asking though. Mom's stubborn. When I want something, sometimes I have to just keep asking, wear her down," he offers sagely.
Killian chuckles. "I'll take that into consideration."
Henry sits up and begins scanning books again. "She deserves a good boyfriend."
Killian stares at him, his throat tightening both at that sentiment and at the fact that the lad apparently deems him good boyfriend material. He swallows. "Aye."
"Just…" Henry hesitates. "When she does say yes, don't make her cry, okay? Her last boyfriend kind of sucked, and she thinks I don't know, but she cried all the time."
Killian's face softens, and his eyebrows pinch upward. "Is that so?"
"Uh-huh." His face turns a little sad. "I don't want that to happen again."
Filled with new clarity, Killian kneels in front of him, his expression solemn. "Your mum's happiness is my top priority, Henry. So we're going to let her call the shots, okay? She'll go out to dinner with me when she's ready."
Henry considers this and nods. His expression turns cheerful again when Killian holds his hand out and they shake on it decisively. "Okay."