September
It was a beautiful end to a miserable month. Boston is a gorgeous, happy place in September. On seemingly every block a couple kissed beneath a tree as the first of its red and orange leaves began to fall. Or a girl would be adjusting her boyfriend's scarf as they exited Starbucks. Emma thought the romance of late September afternoons was the worst. It brought her a unique sense of loneliness, like she was part of a story where she didn't belong.
Emma was comfortable on her balcony, observing the goings-on below. She enjoyed the light breeze, her oversize sweater, and the steaming cup of hot chocolate between her hands. There was a new tenant in the apartment across the street. Emma hadn't seen him, but cardboard boxes lined the walls full of promise. A room so open and light it could function as anything he wanted. In a way, that's all September is: filled with promise. A month-long good-bye to summer before embracing the autumnal changing of the guard.
The man in the apartment made the room an office. He sat at a dark wooden desk, so well-kept it probably still smelled of mahogany. A nice accompaniment to the leather-bound volumes he kept on the bookshelf against the far wall. His wardrobe, as far as Emma could tell, was varying shades of gloom. For a room with two glass walls, he made the whole office very dim. It was almost sad. When the leaves and the people of Boston were at their brightest, he managed to be very dark.
Did that make him a villain? Or just another sad, unromanced background character in the story of Boston? Emma believed it to be the latter.
Welcome to the club.
October
October is a month of deception. The wind hides until those days the sun carpets the sidewalks with its glow and the warmth rises from its own ashes to spare Boston from the perennial winter chill. On October 22nd, Emma Swan walked through her door after dropping Ryan-the-bail-skipping-cheater off at the police station. All in a day's work.
Many of those couples filled with happiness in September lost the lovin' feeling in October. It is a month of dissatisfaction, and Emma Swan was no exception. Her form-fitting pink dress was stained with white wine; she kicked off her too-high black heels and cracked her toes, practically groaning at the release. She sat the bag of Chinese takeout on the counter and pulled a vanilla cupcake out of a box. She lit a blue star candle and smiled wistfully.
"Another banner year."
Emma blew out the candle and made a wish. I just don't want to be alone on my birthday. She pulled some orange juice from the fridge. Drinking from the bottle is a privilege only received by not having someone to share it with. Emma indulged. Nestled in her living room chair with her noodles, she looked out at the Boston skyline. Just to her right, the sad stranger was in the corner of his office, staring down at the streets below.
He looked up. Emma realized she'd been caught. He smiled at her, a mischievous glow in his eyes visible even at their distance. She raised her chopsticks in solute.
Welcome to the neighborhood.
November
People make resolutions in January, but change, real change happens in November. The last of the leaves that clung to quivering branches fell at the arrival of the first snow. The cold comes gradually in Boston. One week people are wearing scarves, the next they're wearing mittens, and eventually beanies and wool coats follow suit.
Once, Emma caught the stranger across the way leave his building on her way home. She didn't say anything, but he looked out of place. Like the cold didn't affect him, he wore no beanie and no gloves. His dark gray scarf was tucked under his collar and lapels for aesthetics, not warmth. Strange.
The day before Thanksgiving, Emma ran into an acquaintance. A schoolteacher named Mary Margaret. She didn't have any place to spend Thanksgiving, so Emma asked,
"Can you cook?" That's how Emma Swan made her first friend in Boston. Thanksgiving Day came and Mary Margaret cooked up the perfect turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce to die for. When Mary Margaret spotted the man across the street, Emma explained what she knew. "Not that I stare, or anything," She said. Mary Margaret gave her a nonbelieving look before taking a pie out of the oven.
Emma did risk a glance over and saw the stranger was there drinking beer with a friend—maybe a client. Going over plans for something, probably, as they both hovered over a laptop. "Must be lonely. I mean, who works on Thanksgiving?" Mary Margaret asked. Emma shrugged, glad she wasn't working on Thanksgiving for the first time in ten years. The smell of pumpkin pie roused her from her reverie.
Welcome home.
December
December is a month of giving. For such a cold month, it plays out with unseasonable warmth. Emma didn't decide how to spend the holiday until Christmas Day as she sat in her chair, "not staring" at her workaholic neighbor. Christmas Day and he was at his computer without a candy cane in sight.
No one should be alone on Christmas. Making gifts from scratch is tricky, and perfecting a present for someone Emma didn't know was an even bigger task. While they mostly used her as a meal ticket, one of her foster mothers returned the favour by teaching her the perfect hot chocolate mix.
After careful preparation, Emma screwed the lid onto a mason jar filled with her hot chocolate recipe. She wrapped it with a candy cane-striped ribbon and pulled on her coat before she could convince herself this was a truly terrible idea.
As a bail bondsperson, sneaking around could be found on Emma's resume under "special skills." "Oh, my boyfriend lives on the 12th floor and I'm here to surprise him with a gift. I'm supposed to be in New York but it's Christmas, you know." She brandished the hot chocolate, "such a sweet gesture" before getting the desk lady to use her fob on the elevator and pressing 12.
Emma started shaking at floor number seven. When the elevator doors opened to reveal floor number twelve, she oriented herself using the window at the end of the hallway. Down the hall, make a left, and it's got to be the last one because he's on the corner.
Apartment 1221 was indistinguishable from the twenty apartments Emma had seen before it. The same gray door and silver handle. Emma raised her fist and knocked on the door before she had a chance to think. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal her stranger. He was a few inches taller than Emma, slender, and gorgeous. Bright blue eyes and a beard he obviously hadn't shaved for a couple days.
"You?" Emma hadn't anticipated the English accent and responded with the very articulate, "Yeah." "The girl next door," He confirmed. Emma said, "Across the street," She held out her hand. "Emma Swan." He took it. "Killian Jones." She presented the hot chocolate, "Merry Christmas." He smiled,
"Well, come in."
January
The first month of the year is terrible in Boston. It's halfway through the season of snowstorms, with just as many ahead as have passed. January is a hallucinogen of possibility. January is a mirage. January is a stillness.
Neither Killian Jones nor Emma Swan were much for talking. They did little of it in December and none of it in January. Sometimes, Emma would get caught staring at him late at night. Other times, she'd catch him standing with his hands in his pockets, looking out at her. His expression read, Where do we go from here?
Emma thought meeting him would dampen the need to see him. It wasn't a casual thing anymore. She would settle onto her chair, cross-legged with a mug of hot chocolate between her hands, and stare while he worked. Killian was so diligent about it. He was a lawyer and a loner. His place barely appeared lived in. Emma did catch a glimpse of a well-stocked liquor cabinet while digging around for cinnamon. Then there was the awkward, "Mr. Jones," "Killian, please" conversation.
All-in-all, January was the same as November, except the air hovering over the street between their apartments was thick with tension.
Do I go to you, or will you come to me?
February
Emma thought February was the best time to die in Boston. Sometimes she'd pull on two sweaters and a beanie and venture onto her balcony with her daily cup of cocoa. All she could hear was a city screaming: a car braking too quickly, ambulances in the distance, and (occasionally) actual screaming. That's all there is to hear when death envelops the city. Icicles so heavy branches fall off the trees and anything green seems more unwelcome than hopeful.
Her lease was up at the end of the month. She could sign on for another six months, or pack up and run like she usually did. She had her eye on a quaint little town in Maine, but something, something Emma couldn't quite put a name to made her consider staying. Mary Margaret said, "I call it Killian."
On February 26th, Killian caught her staring again. Emma's face went red, and he turned back to his desk. Suddenly, he turned around again and pressed a piece of paper to the glass. Coffee? Emma nodded, wondering if this was a date. It sounded like a date. He turned and wrote some more. March 3rd? Emma nodded again. 10 AM? A final nod. Killian smiled and the room got a little bit brighter.
On February 27th, Emma Swan extended her lease an additional six months.
Welcome back.
March
Spring begins in March. The gloves come off and wool coats turn to pea coats. It's a month of changes and opportunity, which Emma Swan accepted in the form of coffee. Every day, she met Killian for coffee. They'd pick a random Starbucks or coffee shop around the city and talk.
Saturdays were reserved for a small outside-the-city café, 3 Little Figs. Emma loved it because their greek yogurt was "amazing" and Killian could get his toast and jam which he insisted was almost as good as back home. Mary Margaret thought these coffee dates were "the cutest thing." She had a new boyfriend who worked at a pet shelter. Emma would put money on them being engaged by the end of the year.
At first, Emma and Killian talked about little things. What do you do? Why Boston? As the days became weeks, the topics strayed from what they wanted each other to know to things to build a friendship around. Killian's entire family was dead. His mother died, his father left, and his brother died in a tragic accident on duty with the Royal Navy. Emma's parents abandoned her, she bounced from foster home to foster home, until she wound up in jail. She omitted a few key details from that story.
Killian was never boring. Somehow, he had a story for everything. Any time Emma didn't feel like talking, he'd sit with her in silence because it's what she needed. If she had to cancel to catch a perp, he'd wish her luck (and insist she didn't need it). Saturdays in March were so cozy and routine the coffeehouse barista greeted them with,
"Welcome back."
April
Boston is a big deal in April. The city is in full bloom as flowers spring up from previously dead earth. Pea coats are exchanged for raincoats and umbrellas. People swarm in from across the world, ready to prove how capable they are.
The Boston Marathon is about two things: perseverance and support. The runners persevere and display the fire of human tenacity. Everyone else supports and cheers for success. There isn't much of anyone in between.
In the middle of April, somehow Emma began to consider Killian a friend. Somehow, when she was sitting on his couch she told him about her kid. The one she had with the guy who framed her. The baby she had in jail. Emma didn't cry, but felt immense relief at sharing the burden. Telling him the truth and trusting him to not run away.
"I just wanted to give him his best chance," Emma said. Killian leaned over and kissed her cheek. "That just makes you a good mother, Swan. Knowing your own limitations isn't a bad thing. Thank you for telling me, for being so strong." Emma looked at him then, their lips inches apart, the air between them crackling with a new—electric tension.
Do I go to you, or will you come to me?
May
May is the most beautiful month of the year. It's everything spring promises to be. There are flowers everywhere and rain comes in light sheets, unlike the howling storms soon to come in summer. Boston is just so filled with life and colour, it's difficult to think any coming moment will not be a happy one.
On their first "non-coffee" date, Killian took Emma to a café with a view of the harbor. He said, "I find the water very calming." That's when Emma learned he likes to sail. Killian told her stories of his brother and his time in the Royal Navy. At some points she could't rein in the smile on her face. Emma could feel her eyes crinkling and watering from trying so hard not to laugh. Because this is what it should be like.
When Killian goes to kiss her good-bye at her front door, Emma turns to the side. Her heart broke at the way his face fell, but he backed away and started muttering, "Oh, so sorry, I just—" Then Emma invited him to come upstairs. His eyes widened, then took on that mischievous look she'd seen in October. Upon arrival at her front door, Emma unlocked it and smiled seductively,
"Well, come in."
June
The month of June is warm as the sun casts everything in a light golden glow, and the trees are in full bloom. Sometimes there's more green in the sky than blue. Every sunset is a unique meld of blue, orange, and pink. Summer has officially arrived and makes its presence known as raincoats make way for tank tops and shorts. Umbrellas are replaced with sunglasses.
Killian took Emma on a double-date with a friend named David and his girlfriend, Mary Margaret. They shared a good laugh at the insanity of fate; they dined at a very posh, romantic spot. At one point, Killian whispers to Emma he thinks their guests will be engaged by the end of the year.
Killian and Emma had their first major fight a week later. Killian was offered a job at a firm in Chicago. Emma knew he would leave because they always leave. He showed up at her apartment later that night, a dozen roses in hand. "I won't accept the offer, love. I wanted to talk it over with you, consider options, but you're too important to leave behind. I see a future with you, Swan, if you want one with me."
Emma rolled over the next morning, to see Killian sleeping soundly at her side. In her bed. She pressed a light kiss to his cheek and whispered,
"Welcome home."
July
Known for its fourth day, and only its fourth day, July is practically indistinguishable from June. Except in its discomfort. The heat rises to "unbearable," thunder reaches unheard-of decibels, and even the flowers seem like they're trying too hard to be bright.
It's then Emma confessed to Killian she wanted to find her son. There was lots of money involved, which Killian insisted on paying because, "You're doing enough, Emma." There were calls to the hospital, to the adoption agency, and finally, to the adoptive mother.
Emma Swan had never been more uncomfortable in her life than when she was on the phone with Mayor Regina Mills. Her baby's name was Henry. It took some finagling, but Henry had been wanting to meet his birth mother for some time and Regina conceded.
Meeting the kid wasn't nearly as awkward as she had expected it to be. Killian was there, but in the background. Emma hugged Henry and told him, "I just wanted to give you your best chance." When he said, "I know," Emma did cry. Just a little—she didn't want Henry seeing her tears and taking them the wrong way. But he was a great kid. Bookish, well on his way to becoming an author. More than anything, Emma was proud. As she and Killian left for Boston, Mayor Mills said,
"Welcome to the neighborhood."
August
Around the eleventh of August in any given year, small children run every store out of school supplies. Good luck trying to find a ruler in Boston. While the heat, the storms, and the flowers have lessened in their intensity, August is no less than July. Quite the opposite: August is comfortable.
"My lease is up this month," Emma said, lying on Killian's couch as he cooked breakfast. Bacon was most certainly involved. Killian responded, "As is mine." He presented pancakes, bacon, and eggs to Emma. Passed the syrup before she could ask, and they ate next to each other on the couch, with feet propped up on the coffee table.
"You remember when we were in Storybrooke and passed by that house? The blue one with the white trim, wraparound porch …" Emma nodded, unable to answer through a mouthful of pancakes. "It's for sale." Emma cocked an eyebrow. "If you'd um … I mean, uh … Damn, this is harder than I expected," Killian scrambled for words. Finally, he looked at Emma and said, "If you'd like to be closer to your son, I want to buy this house. I want you to live there with me. Would that be good?"
At first Emma just stared. "Oh, it's worse than I thought. You can't even see a future with me," Killian groaned. Emma shook her head and found her voice, "No, just the opposite. I do want a future with you, Killian. That's what scares me." He laughed, kissed her, and said,
"Welcome to the club."