Is there an airport nearby, or is that just my heart taking off?
Emma doesn't even notice the message on the side of her cup until she's already at her desk in the sheriff's station. But there it is, in neat writing along the sleeve that's there to keep her from burning her hands on the cup. And it's such a line but she's sort of wishing her eyes had been able to stay open when she got her coffee this morning. It's a small town, so surely she knows the barista that left the message, but she'll be damned if she can actually remember which ones were working this morning.
Of course, if Killian was working, it's probably just another one of his attempts to make her laugh, so she doesn't put too much stock into the situation and continues on with her day. More than once, though, she looks at the words scribbled on her cup and finds herself smiling. She's not even aware David has arrived at work until he's speaking just above her shoulder.
"Got a secret admirer or something, Emma?" He's teasing her, because if anyone knows how little of a love life Emma has, it's her fellow sheriff. Still, she hides her grin by grabbing the cup off her desk and taking the last sip before chucking it into the bin next to her.
"Or Killian is being a jackass. Hard to tell, really." She turns to look at him then, and catches the tail end of some kind of expression. It's something, but she doesn't know what. Before she has a chance to ask, the phone rings and she's shifting her attention to her duties. Their town Storybrooke is small, but there's enough drama and petty fights to keep the two of them on their toes. They're out the door before the hour is up and Emma has no other chances to think about her mystery message for the rest of her day.
You wanna know what's beautiful? Read the first word again.
This time, Emma at least spots the message before she's out the door. It's so cheesy that she can't help the little snort of laughter that escapes as she's walking out the door. It's been a week since her last mystery message, and she'd nearly forgotten about the first one until now. She glances over her shoulder as the door swings shut to see Killian at work, carefully constructing some beverage for the next person in line.
Maybe, she thinks. But maybe not. The airport line was much more his style. And she's pretty sure there are two other potential suspects in the building.
Her stops at the little coffee shop down the street from the station are not an everyday occurrence, but she's there often enough that the staff knows her and her order. She barely has to walk through the doors before someone is calling out a good morning and adding that her drink will be ready in a minute.
Most mornings, it's Tink that helps her out. The blonde is always unnervingly cheerful for 7am, but she's become a familiar and friendly face. Other combinations include any number of disgustingly bright morning people and David's wife, who besides being one of the most hopeful people Emma has ever met, she also makes one hell of a chocolate chip scone and bear claws to die for.
And then there's Killian, who flirts as if the very world will end if he doesn't, whose smile in all its variations kicks Emma's pulse into overdrive, whose blue eyes look at her like she's an open book and he's doing his best to squint at the handwritten notes in the margin. Yeah, she's had a thing for him since he started working there, but it's more of a "never gonna happen" kind of thing instead of an "I'm going to do whatever it takes to get that" thing. She's not quite sure why she's categorized it as such, but it probably has to do with her lack of people skills, and relationships are pretty heavily reliant on those.
No matter who the message is from, it makes her smile, and gets her through the day. And on most days, that's all that really matters.
I can cut back on my coffee because your smile is all the kick start I need to a day.
She still doesn't go in every morning, but she finds that days she goes in and gets a message on her coffee cup turn out better than the days she doesn't.
I can feel something brewing between us.
Every morning that Emma comes into the coffee shop, there's a system put in place to alert Killian. If he's already standing up front, nothing happens. He takes the cup, writes on it while she pays for her usual, and then it's passed off to whoever is making the beverage while Killian slides away, usually into the back for some conveniently timed cleaning. If he's in the back when she walks in, there are three taps against the small window on the swinging door, and Killian will grab a to-go cup from the shelf above him, write the line, and pass it through the door.
Apparently, when you express to a walking Disney Princess like Mary Margaret that you may have developed a tiny crush on her husband's coworker, an entire coffee shop will work together to make whatever silly scheme you've concocted come to life. And so was born the concept of writing pick-up lines on her morning coffee cups.
So far, ten cups have gone out with messages from Killian. While there's still a message on the cup this morning, the difference is that he's the one standing there holding it out to her. For the last week, he's been hiding the messages in new places, so even though she's on the phone and he gets nothing more than a hurried smile when she takes the cup from him, he gets to watch through the windows that line the front of the shop as she turns the cup one way, then the other. She comes to a full stop, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she circles the cup in her hand, shifts the sleeve, is damn near about to pry the lid off (he'll have to remember that spot for another day if she's willing to go so far to look for it) when she suddenly lifts the whole thing up and tilts her head back to peer at the bottom.
It's worth it to see her smile slowly curl her lips, her cheeks dimpling as her hair spills down her back. She turns and peers through the window, catching him staring at her. But she just lifts the cup in salutation and heads off towards the station.
People call me Killian. But you can call me tonight.
She goes in the very next day, because when she looked in the window and saw him staring at her the day before, she knew that—corny pickup line or no—there was something there. And while she wants to throw up every obstacle she can think of to protect her heart from whatever this may be, there's another part of her (probably with a voice like Mary Margaret's) that keeps telling her that maybe it's time to let someone in. Maybe it's time to stop building her walls so high to keep everyone and everything out.
So she goes in later than normal, knowing that the morning rush will have died down, knowing that Killian will be in there, and knowing that it'll throw him off guard.
She's not disappointed. The way his eyes widen is almost comical and she has a moment of doubt that it's really him that's been leaving the messages. Because the man in front of her is so flustered that she's not sure how he's managed to write so many cheesy things with a straight face when he kind of looks like a lost puppy.
With a little shake of his head, he recovers, though. And he grabs a to-go cup from the stack and pulls a marker from the pocket of his apron. With a few swift strokes, he recaps the pen and goes about making her drink. He hands it over with a wink and she can't help but roll her eyes at the whole thing, but she's smiling when she does it.
She doesn't look at the message right away. She makes sure it sits in the space between her thumb and forefinger the entire time she makes the trek to the station. It isn't until she's situated at her desk that she finally turns the cup and sees what's written there, along with the numbers that make up his phone number.
Yup, definitely him, she thinks as she programs the number into her phone with one hand and takes a sip from her drink with the other.
You look so familiar. Did we take a class together? I could've sworn we had chemistry.
Because Emma doesn't take the immediate bait and text or call him right away, she also avoids the coffee house for a few days. Despite her assurances that this is definitely something, she's been burned enough times in her life that she backs away to look at the pros and cons of what this could become.
The split is almost equal.
For one, she doesn't know much about Killian. Just little bits and pieces that she's picked up from David and Mary Margaret, not to mention the entirety of the conversations they've had which would amount to less than twenty-four hours if measured first to last.
On the other hand, there have been days of significance in her life, anniversaries of memories that do nothing to soothe her soul, that she's walked in to get her coffee and seen understanding in his eyes. There's something about Killian that he's never spoken of, but that she can just tell that he knows what she's been through, and that he's been through it, too. On those days, she could swear the coffee or hot chocolate or whatever she walked out of the shop with tastes even better.
Maybe there's something to be said for warm beverages made not with love or sympathy, but with empathy.
When she finally returns to the coffee shop, he doesn't shy away from her. He doesn't look hurt or angry. Killian is patiently waiting with a drink in hand and when she shimmies the sleeve off to see the message, she doesn't hide the smile that it causes, but she makes no further comment on it.
Sitting at her desk, she takes a picture of the cup and sends it to him, a simple message of "thanks for the cinnamon" the only thing she sends along.
A picture message appears later from Killian, a number of artfully scattered sugar packets thrown on the counter, with five strategically arranged to ask "Dinner tonight at 7?"
How could she refuse?
Your eyes are like limpid pools of primordial ooze, and I am the protozoa that wish to swim in their depths.
In the blink of an eye, they've been dating for six weeks.
He's not even working. He's actually still 100% asleep in her bed, undisturbed when she rolled out of it to get ready for work today. But there's the most absurd pick up line she's ever read in her entire life. Tink hands the cup over with a bright smile and a shrug.
That's the day she finds out about the stack of "Emma Cups" that Killian has left for the very rare days she goes in when he isn't working. That's also the day she realizes she definitely loves him, but holds tight to that piece of information for later use.
How was the weather in heaven when you left it?
It's a special delivery at the station on the morning of their two month anniversary. Not that she's keeping track. Nope. Not at all. But there he is with a coffee cup and a smile, standing in front of her desk. He spoils her. Absolutely, completely, and lovingly spoils her every chance he gets. This is just one example of that fact, and she's definitely not going to complain.
The day is quiet, so she moves around the desk to sit in one of the two chairs that face it, inviting him to do the same.
If David walks in to see them making out like teenagers, well, it's his own fault for not knocking before walking into her office.
If the stars fell at every minute I thought of you, the sky would soon be empty.
Killian tells Emma he loves her first. Neither of them are remotely surprised by his admission, because it's been five months and they've both been pretty sure of their feelings for each other for quite some time. He's just the first one to voice said feelings.
After the hardships they've each endured in relationships, it's more than nice to know that he's thinking of her so much, and that he loves her with as much fervor as he says he does. At this point, each excruciating detail of their pasts has been laid out on the table, and it's no wonder that the words he writes on her cups are less ridiculous and more passionate.
What's new is the little folder of pictures she keeps on her phone of each individual message he gives her. She's not a sentimental person, she swears. But looking back at each of the messages he's given her makes her heart a little fonder for him every time.
Let's commit the perfect crime. You steal my heart and I'll steal yours.
It appears after she says "I love you" back to him.
Emma thinks his corny lines must be rubbing off on her because the line is absolutely right. The asshole stole her heart, one cheesy pick-up line at a time.
I love you, Swan
It appears often, mixed between the original corny lines and the more honest lines he's started writing on the cups since they started dating. It shows up on regular days, where she walks into the coffee shop to see his smile lighting up the whole damn room. It's there after bad days, where they've fought like couples are likely to do, where he still smiles as if to say "I'm still upset, but I still love you."
And still, every single one gets photographed, saved for rainy days.
You're like a dictionary. You add meaning to my life.
David shows up one morning with her coffee and sets the cup down on her desk before retreating to his own office. She would question the odd behavior, but he admitted a week ago that he and Mary Margaret are trying for a baby and he's been a little weird ever since. When she lifts the cup though, it's too light. In fact, the damn thing might be empty. She pries off the lid and the writing under it immediately catches her eye. If she were anyone else, she would probably cry.
But she's not. She's Emma Swan. She doesn't do teary love things. She just has something in her eye.
The rest of the cup is filled with confetti, and when she shifts the cup to watch the way it glitters in the fluorescent lights, she feels something else shift. Something with some weight to it. Somewhere at the bottom. She feels her heart shift the same way.
Digging through the confetti is a challenge, but her fingers close over something circular and no, really she just has dust or something in her eyes. That's all. Honestly, she may have been disappointed if he didn't do something like this because their entire relationship has revolved around coffee cups, so why should this moment be any different? As she frees the ring from its sparkly prison, she hears Killian clear his throat at her doorway. She looks up to find him leaning against the door jamb like it's any other day, but she can spot the little signs in his body language that scream of nerves, and it calms her racing pulse just a touch.
He reaches up to scratch behind his ear before he pushes away from the door and enters her office properly. And then he's kneeling in front of her as his hand closes around the one that's still clutching the ring so tight that she's sure the band is leaving permanent indents in her fingertips.
"From the first time you walked through the doors of the coffee shop two years ago, my life has been brighter. And somehow," he pauses, the smile blooming on his lips one of shared contentment. "Somehow, we've ended up here. And I want to feel this way for the rest of my life. Will you marry me, Swan?"
She's pretty sure she at least manages to squeeze out a yes before she kisses him, wrapping her arms around his neck and laughing into the kiss because he's right. Somehow this all worked out.
I will stop loving you when an apple grows from a mango tree on the 30th of February.
The morning after they're married, there's a take-out cup sitting on the nightstand in their bedroom. She's surprised the alarm never went off, as they still had packing to do for the honeymoon and she'd made a list the night before of what she wanted to get done around the house before they left.
When she sits up and grabs the cup, she reads the words that he whispered in her ear during their first dance and smiles widely. After taking a sip, she notices the completely packed suitcases in the corner and she's curious to see what else her clever husband has accomplished while allowing her to sleep in.
Coffee cup in hand, she wanders out of the bedroom and down the hall of their small house to where she can hear him humming in the kitchen. One peek in each room tells her that the cleaning she wanted to do before they left is also accomplished, and she can smell breakfast.
He's in front of the sink, washing the last of the pans he used to make the various standards spread across their breakfast bar. She places her cup next to one of the empty plates and wraps her arms around him from behind. He's shirtless and shower-fresh and she has to wonder how long he's been awake to make this all happened, and feels her heart beat double-time again that someone is capable of loving her this much, and that she loves him just as much.
"Is there an airport nearby," she murmurs against his shoulder, "or is that just my heart taking off?"