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He swears half of his body mass is now, regrettably, hot chocolate.
Granny pushes the large mugs towards him. Swirls of whipped cream settle at their rims while familiar spice shavings dance on top. The aroma of cinnamon wafts upward, causing Killian's nose to twitch in anticipation. This will be his third of the day.
He offers the spectacled woman his trademark smirk. She grunts, flapping one wrinkled hand in the direction of the booths but the seasoned pirate catches the small tugging of her lips. He moves away from her counter when she swallows back a chuckle.
He hasn't met someone yet who could remain immune to his rascally behavior. With the cups safely in his grasp, he makes to go back.
Enthusiastic, throaty laughter stalls him.
It's rich and unsupressed, drifting freely about the eating space. It mixes with the large music box's tune and quiet conversations of other diners.
And his eyes search out the woman responsible.
Warmth pools up in his belly and spreads to his limbs when he finds her.
Emma sits with Henry on one side of the brightly cushioned cubicle. Beanie and coat abandoned, her attention is completely riveted on the lad as he enthusiastically tells of his latest semi-solo operation. With wild hand gestures, much eye rolling and great dramatics, Henry wonderfully captures every humorous step, his mother attentive to each pause.
The boy's look sours for a moment in the telling but the ill concealed grin makes his true feelings known. Killian can tell he's playing up the distasteful portion of his tale for his audience. The 'punch line' comes seconds later.
And Emma laughs.
Hard and long. Rolling up from deep inside. Making her cheeks flush and her eyes shine with happy tears. Her hand winds around her aching ribs and through giggles she manages, "Henry, stop! Ow, it hurts."
Her son's own snicker at her statement and she's sent off again, nearly choking.
All those years he spent sailing alone, easing the overwhelming quiet with flasks of rum...this was what he had needed. He had needed the unwavering love of a strong woman, the challenge of her spirit...the warmth in her laughter.
A slight tremor starts in his palm, making a shift in his cargo necessary to avoid spilling. A not so uncommon mist clouds his vision for a moment as well.
"Gonna bring those our way pirate?"
Killian drifts back from sensation to meet her gaze.
"Aye love."
Without asking, Henry bounds up, his daylong legs making it to the pirate's side easily, and takes one of the mugs. He eagerly sips at the foam and gives a lengthy moan of satisfaction. His tongue whips out to capture the residue above his lip. "Thanks Dad."
The lump at Killian's throat can't be dislodged by swallowing and for a few moments he focuses all his energy on bringing over the remaining two cups. Swan smiles at him knowingly.
"You're welcome lad."
And when her fingers twine with his, his eyes flood with fresh moisture.
He's home.