Author's note: This story is AU, just fyi

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT or anything associated with it.

Monday

Damnit, it was cold. Emma Swan wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and hugged her jacket closer, wishing that it was just a little thicker, just a little more effective against the biting wind. A hot drink sounded just about right, so just as she did every morning, Emma pushed open the door to the coffee shop across the street from her apartment.

It wasn't one of her particularly favorite places, as it seemed as though every other person in Boston at that hour always had to have their coffee then, making the lines there insane. But she was a creature of habit. Always had been and always would be. She couldn't help but go to the exact same Starbucks every morning even though it'd inevitably cause her to become irritated and grouchy.

Good morning, man with briefcase and students always studying at the last minute. She thought wryly as she caught a glimpse of several of the other "usual" customers at that coffee shop every morning. The man with the briefcase in the dark suit and tie, clearly heading off to some fancy investment banking job. The three students with heavy looking backpacks that were always quizzing each other. The harried looking woman who was always seen juggling four cups of steaming coffee in one of those cardboard carriers. Emma had deduced that she was most likely the office bitch in whatever unfortunate job she had.

And of course there was her, the bail bonds person. Wearing the exact same leather jacket every morning, buying her preferred drink: a chai tea latte. She fit in along with everybody else at that Starbucks, peacefully coexisting without actually bothering to acknowledge each other's existences.

Her phone vibrated, and she looked down at the screen. There was a notification from the surveillance camera she'd hooked up to her phone so that she could monitor the embezzler of the week. Over several days of careful observation, she had his schedule down to the minute. He left his apartment building every morning promptly at 8:30. And right now it was...8:02. Plenty of time for her to get her drink and hop into her car to stalk him.

Yeah, she lived a wonderful life.

She was so focused on squinting at the grainy video feed on her phone that she barely noticed the person in front of her until she bumped directly into him. Emma muttered an apology without looking up, but then noticed the person's shoes. Instead of the usual shiny leather shoes that the briefcase man wore, this person donned worn black boots.

Emma blinked in surprise. She was not staring at briefcase's man blazer covered black, but instead at a black leather jacket. Who was that and where had he come from? She'd been to this Starbucks every morning (and sometimes afternoon) for as long as she could remember and if she'd seen him before you'd think she'd recognize him.

Well, maybe he's someone new. That's not entirely unheard of. Sometimes people go to different Starbucks. She just shrugged and turned her attention back to her phone. The line moved a little forward, and she relaxed. One more person wouldn't hold her up too much; the baristas knew what they were doing.

One person passed through the line, and then another and another until the stranger was up. Emma watched as he stepped up to the counter to order. Finally, the next person was her and then she'd be on her way out.

But fifteen minutes later, the stranger was still talking to the barista, gesturing wildly with his hands and pointing at the menu. What. The. Hell?!

Emma bounced up and down in place impatiently as she silently she seethed, glaring at the back of the stranger's black leather jacket. Who in the hell did he think he was, just holding up the line? So inconsiderate, considering the long line of people behind her, all tapping their feet and glancing at their watches, clearing their throats in not so subtle attempts to communicate their impatience.

That cup the barista was writing on right now? That should be hers. Instead of whatever name she was writing in that awful handwriting of hers, it should say "Emma", though the barista's handwriting sucked so badly it usually ended up looking more like "Erma".

Because of him, she was going to be late.

"It's just a drink." She muttered to herself. "Don't be so picky and quit blocking the line."

And then she couldn't take it anymore. Before she knew what she was doing, she was marching straight up to him, hand reaching out to yank on his shoulder. "Listen, buddy…"

He turned around. "Yes?"

Blue. That was all she could she see, the deeply intense blue of his eyes that stood out starkly against his pale skin. That, coupled along with the purposely messy head of black hair and the layer of scruff that perfectly highlighted his chiseled jaw was enough to render her speechless. The only word she was capable of saying was: how? As in, how could a human being be so perfect?

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. "How...what?"

Oh God. An accent too. Could he honestly be any more perfect? Was he even real, or just a hallucination produced by her lack of caffeine?

Lack of caffeine. Right. Starbucks. Emma instantly snapped back to reality, anger flooding back. "What I meant to say was...are you through blocking the line yet?"

"Pardon?"

"Oh, don't you pardon me." Emma snapped, mocking his admittedly sexy accent. Pardon. It was like heaven to her ears. She briefly wondered what her name would sound like rolling off his tongue. "You've been holding up the line for the past twenty minutes, and I got one have places to be. I'm pretty sure I can speak for the rest of the line when I say that you are being too damn picky. Just take your coffee and go!"

He just looked at her, that infuriating smile on his face.

"Excuse me." Emma planted her hands on her hips. "Do I amuse?"

"Quite a bit, yes."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Did you say twenty minutes, love? By my count it's only been," he looked down at his watch. "five minutes, at the most."

"What?!" Emma took out her phone. No way. Only five minutes had passed yet it felt like a lot more. She blushed furiously and tucked the iPhone away. "Doesn't matter. You, sir," she poked him squarely in the chest. "are taking way too long. I'm going to be late and it's all your fault."

"Sir? Do I look like someone you would call sir?"

No. Whatever his name was, it was clearly one that would cause any girl to immediately go weak at the knees. But she was not going to give him that satisfaction because that was the answer he was expecting.

"Just hurry up and buy your coffee and move along."

"If it bothers you that much, lass, you can go ahead." He stepped aside (rather chivalrously, too) and brandished an arm out, gesturing to the now free counter. "It's all yours."

Without bothering to say anything Emma brushed curtly by him and pulled out her wallet. "One chai tea latte."

"You know," a voice said to her right. Was he honestly still standing there? "a thanks would be nice."

Emma ignored him.

He continued. "Because I just sacrificed my time for you, and that's a few minutes I will never get back."

Ignore him and maybe he'll go away.

Or maybe not. As Emma waited for the barista to fill the cup, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "What?"

"The least you could do is tell me your name."

Emma taped the counter in front of her, irritation building up in the back of her throat. Would he ever leave her alone? "No thanks."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?" He persisted.

She didn't say anything, instead toyed with a random straw wrapper that had been left behind.

He nudged her shoulder again. "Come on. It's just that simple. Tell me your name."

She threw him an annoyed look. "So that you can continue to hit on me? No thanks."

He leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the counter next to her. "And who says I'm hitting on you?"

No response.

"I see how it is. You're a tough lass. Well, don't worry." Suddenly his lips were dangerously close to her ear, and she could feel his breath on her skin. "I like a challenge."

Emma had to suppress a grin. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

"If you just tell me your name, I'll leave you alone. Promise."

She crossed her arms and stared fiercely at him. She couldn't help it; it was a knee jerk reaction after years of abuse and abandonment. "Really."

"Really. Here, I'll start. Name's Killian Jones."

Killian. Wow. Just the way his name danced off his tongue made her chest ache and her brain turn to mush. Killian. Killian, Killian, Killian. Of course he had that name. Someone that beautiful couldn't be named Bob or Joe.

"Now I believe it's your turn." Killian said. "You are…?"

Just then, the barista slapped a steaming cup in front of her, and Emma scooped it up. "Outta here." She said, shooting him a tight grin as she swept past him. "I'm outta here."

"Hey!" He called after her. "That's cheating."

Sucks to suck. As she made her way into the frigid winter air, she had to fight the urge to look back and stare one last time at the handsome stranger. This would probably be the first and last time she'd run into him, seeing as Boston was a pretty big city.

And she was not late that day.

Author's note: Any thoughts before you go?