Never let it be said that Killian Jones was a man who did not do his research.
First port of call had, of course, been her son.
He'd felt a little uncomfortable when he carefully slipped in questions about the boy's home life into their conversations, but Henry was open and happy to share.
So far he had discovered that her first name was Emma, she was single and had been 'for as long as I can remember'. He got the strong impression that in Philadelphia she had been married to her job, which made it a pleasant surprise when Henry revealed that she had joined the PTA.
"How interesting," Killian mused after school that day.
He needed an in. Most women he 'dated' were the kind who hung out in bars or at singles nights. To think of it, he had only ever slept with one woman who had kids - and their father had primary custody. So, as much as it would have been easier to engineer a meeting at The Rabbit Hole, he had to get creative.
And that's how he found himself signing up for the homecoming dance committee of the PTA.
"Really?" the administration assistant has asks when he had arrived at the office the next Monday morning.
"Really," he insists, scowling a little at her chuckle as she gathers up the paper work.
Noting down his name, staff ID number and contact number, he hands back the clipboard to the amused woman.
"What?" he asks, a little exasperated.
"Nothing," she smiles, shaking her head and tutting as she turns away.
/
It's six pm the next day and he's walking into the school's auditorium, coffee in hand, ready for the meeting.
Miss Blanchard, the English teacher who chaired the PTA waves when she sees him. They didn't know each other that well but she seemed like a nice woman.
"Killian," she smiles, "I was so surprised when I saw you had signed up!"
Taking a sip of coffee, he then pulls a face, "Good surprised, or…"
She playfully slaps his arm, "Good of course! We need fresh blood this year."
Nodding, he takes a seat next to her.
The room is filling and he feels a twinge of disappointment when he can't yet see the pretty blonde (and the reason he came here in the first place). He fixes a smile as he nurses his coffee, mentally making an escape plan should this prove to be as boring and painful as he expects.
The PTA is made up of around a dozen parents and almost as many staff; mostly the older ones nearing retirement. Mrs. Dauber, the home economics teacher, sits through the meeting knitting what looks like a tiny sweater. Mr. King, the aging French teacher, asks Miss Blanchard to repeat herself on three occasions, clearly unable to hear properly. Killian grits his teeth.
He looks at the large clock on the opposite wall. How had only twenty minutes passed? In his mind, he starts rehearsing an excuse. Tonight is Ladies Night at The Rabbit Hole and right now he should really be getting ready…
Just then, there is a clatter of heels on the wooden flooring. To his left, Miss Blanchard pauses mid speech as in waltzes Emma Swan, hair a fluster from the wind, cheeks rosy and cherry red scarf around her neck.
"Sorry I'm late," she pants, "I got stuck at work."
"Oh my goodness, please don't fret-" Miss Blanchard is up and walking towards Emma before Killian has even processed her arrival and is guiding her back in his direction, "Here, sit, relax. There are no formalities at the PTA, we know we all have busy lives… Miss Swan, right?"
Emma nods as she unravels her scarf. She sits in the seat on the other side of Miss Blanchard, only a few feet away. He looks and she gives him a brief smile.
And that's it. It hits him.
She is beautiful. Stunning, even.
At their first meeting he had been too distracted by thoughts of his previous night's activities and his raging headache to really notice more than the fact she was attractive and petite, his general type. (He wasn't overly fussy).
But now she was not much more than an arm's length away, he realizes just how short his original assessment had fallen.
Casting her secretive glances as the meeting resumes, he finds himself admiring her high cheekbones and soft red lips. She didn't appear to be wearing much make up. It was refreshing. Instead of powder, he could see her fine creamy complexion. Fresh and appealing, he imagined how it would taste under his tongue.
His eyes scan her body; though covered in a short leather coat and black dress slacks, he notices the lean muscle underneath that runs into the curve of her waist and breasts. She is very fit, he could tell- and strong too, he assumes.
She shifts and crosses her legs. The muscles in her thighs flex and his gut contracts as his mind spins with thoughts of what he could do with those legs. She catches him looking. He smiles and he swears she blushes. Then she is tugging off her jacket and revealing the sheer silk blouse underneath. The gauzy material reveals a hint of bra. He swallows and feels a wave of want pass over him.
Yes, she was very attractive.
That would make things even easier.
The meeting droned on and Killian paid little attention, his thoughts fixed on Emma Swan and how he could wrangle a bit of her time-
"Killian, would you be up for that?"
Shit.
He looks at Miss Blanchard, her open, expectant expression telling him he had missed something.
"Er…"
"I could help."
It was her, Emma Swan. Blinking a few times, his mind clears and he smiles, "Of course, I'd love to."
"Great," Miss Blanchard grins, raising her pen to write their names in the grid on the clipboard on her lap, "Emma and Killian will be handling refreshments."
The rest of the meeting was as much of a blur as previously. Other groups were formed, budgets assigned and then the committee was disbanded, a meeting arranged for one week's time to check on progress. The dance was in just over three weeks so time was of the essence.
After, he lingers, chatting with a few other faculty members as he watches Emma in conversation with Miss Blanchard, the two talking animatedly.
Finally, she's slipping on that leather jacket again and he makes his move.
"Miss Swan," he says smoothly, holding out his hand.
"Emma," she replies, taking his and shaking it firmly as she flips her hair out from under her coat with the other. "So I guess we are going to be working together."
"So it seems," he beams, before correcting his smile into something a little more sedate. She picks up her scarf and purse.
"So how does this work? I mean, do we just go shopping or…"
He wanted to reply that he had no bloody clue himself, but he bit his tongue and thought on his feet. What he needed was time alone with her. One trip together to Costco was not going to win him this bet.
"Well," he begins, stepping just that little bit closer (and now he can smell her perfume and it is - as expected - delicious), "I'd say a little planning goes a long way. How about we get together and crunch some numbers, make a list and all that."
The little smiles she gives is more than enough answer. "Okay, sure. May as well do this right - huh?"
He gives a brief nod.
They quickly exchange numbers ('I need to get back to my son' she explains) and he watches as she dashes from the auditorium as quickly as she arrived.
/
"You're late," Robin quips.
"You're here," Killian replies as he slides onto the stool next to his friend. "Regina?"
"Not answering her phone."
Robin slides him a beer and the two tap bottle necks before turning in their seats to survey the bar. "So what was the hold up?"
"I was at a PTA meeting." He chases his words with a sip.
"What?"
"With Emma Swan."
"Ohh," Robin sighs, lying back a little so he is resting against the bar. "And?"
"We are now both on the refreshments committee for homecoming."
Laughing, Robin tries to take a drink but instead ends up spluttering and coughing until Killian hits him sharply on the back. "Thanks mate," Robin wheezes.
The bar is getting busier now as it's past eight. Two attractive brunettes saunter by them. Robin winks and the one closest turns her head and winks back in reply.
"So what's your plan with this woman then? I mean, I'm assuming you have one, aside from doling out cups of punch at a middle school dance…"
Killian pushes his tongue into his cheek and rolls his eyes. Robin seemed to take no greater pleasure than in winding him up.
"More of a plan than you have for fixing things with your lass, I'd say." Robin's scowl was enough reward. He signals the barman for another round. "She's not my usual type, so I have to take things a bit more slowly. Gain her trust. Romance her a little. This dance thing is just an in - a perfect excuse to spend some time alone."
Robin raises his brows in disbelief.
"In fact, I already have her number," he lifts his phone and taps into his phone book.
"I'm impressed. Mildly, I mean."
Killian smirks. "And we will be meeting one night this week to work on our assignment."
"Study date?" Robin teases, taking the two beers the bartender offers and handing over a ten dollar bill.
"Laugh as much as you want, mate, but I hope you're saving those pennies for my bar tab. I think next month I plan on being a frequent visitor to this place."
"We'll see about that," Robin replies, before nudging Killian in the ribs. "Speaking of women-"
Across the room the two women from earlier are dancing to the music pounding from the speakers dotted around. They both toss glances at the men, being pretty blatant about wanting their company.
"Come on then, Locksley," Killian sighs, standing and straightening his shirt, "It seems like we are wanted."
/
It's late when her phone buzzes. She's not quite asleep yet, but not quite awake, either.
Henry had eaten by the time she made it back. He'd disappeared soon after to his room, homework in hand, leaving her to continue the unpacking process, which currently seemed never ending.
After a shower, she'd slipped into bed. New sheets and an unfamiliar mattress adding to the general unsettled feeling in her stomach. Not a bad sensation, really. Just a strange one.
Her mind was filled with words and thoughts and feelings. About work. About Henry. And, other things…
She reminded herself (again) that her priority was Henry. He needed to be happy and settled and then, well, everything else would fall into place. But denying her crush (cos that's what it felt like - when you're a teenager and someone makes butterflies appear in your stomach and ties your tongue) on his teacher was pointless, well, at least to herself. He was cute, about her age and seemed like a nice enough guy.
Crushing on him was no harm, really.
God, not that it would go any further than an innocent flirtation. That had nothing to do with why she had offered to help him, nor why she had let Miss Blanchard sit them so closely at the meeting…
Her phone buzzes again, demanding attention.
It's a text. Swiping her thumb across the screen, she squints as he eyes adjust to the bright light it's emitting.
Emma - how about Friday for our meeting?
It takes her a second or two to realize who it is from. She blinks a few times and shuffles up a little higher in bed. She looks at the time - after midnight.
Why is he texting her so late?
She sees the line of dots that tells her he is typing more.
Damn, sorry, just saw the time, I guess you are asleep
She rubs her eyes and swallows quickly before typing
No, I'm awake.
(Half a lie)
Friday sounds good. Where do you suggest we meet?
Her heart is thudding while she waits for his reply. God, why does she feel like a little kid again? A guy hasn't given her this giddy feeling in years. And she barely knows him.
Yours? I mean, I presume you need to stay in for Henry.
Yes. Of course. Her son.
Yes, she taps, that would work. Maybe after dinner. Eight-ish?
It seems to take him an age to enter his reply. She's fidgeting. Curling her toes into her sheets and fighting with her overstuffed pillow. Then her phone buzzes.
Perfect. See you then.
She smiles, the giddy smile of someone involved in a little harmless flirtation who had just secured a minor success.
A night with a handsome teacher wouldn't be so bad, she thinks.
She's then hit with a sudden thought.
I just realized I don't know your first name.
It's Killian.
That's a nice name, she thinks sleepily.
Goodnight Emma.
The last message catches her a little off guard, she quickly whips back a reply.
Goodnight Killian x
She re-reads what she has written.
Shit shit shit.
Why did she add the kiss? Hell, what will he think? She groans as she remonstrates her uncooperative thumb for adding the automatic x that she puts on her texts to Henry. She waits to see if there is any further reply. There isn't. She's halfway between sad and relieved.
Tired, she tosses the phone aside and tries to get comfortable.
Damn, she thinks as she drifts off, must be more careful…
/
He's amused by the little x at the end of her message.
He tries not to read too much into is as he strolls back to his apartment, with two new numbers in his phone. Options for a date this weekend, he thinks.
It was probably automatic. Most women added those little kisses onto texts. He'd had enough of them to know that.
Still he couldn't help but imagine that she meant it. That maybe, she had a thing for him.
Stuffing the phone in his pocket, he pushes his key in the lock of his building and goes inside.
Well, she had to at least find him attractive. In order for this stupid bet to work, at least.
Though there was a little smile on his lips as he checked his messages once more, imagining that maybe there was a little more to it than that.
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