Whatever this was, it'd been going on for months.

She didn't expect it to last. In fact, she would have bet money on it not lasting–on him losing interest in the cooking classes and her and fading away until they didn't remember each other anymore. Yet here he was, sitting across from her at a little table inside the lobby of the community center, waiting for their cooking class to start and making her laugh with his dry, British humor and expressive eyes.

She'd nearly cancelled that night–after all, she didn't need the classes. Work was a disaster and she'd had to stay late, and then by the time she finally got home, she was in a bad mood. Henry refused to eat, complaining of a stomach ache, which she quickly realized was an excuse to make her think he needed to stay home from school the next day to get out of a science test he didn't want to take. That had led to an argument and she was tired enough to actually engage, and by the end of it, Henry was stomping up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door–and all she wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and get into a pair of pajamas. She'd actually been in the middle of sending a text to Killian when Ruby let herself into the house, and when she tried to back out, Ruby wouldn't let her, reasoning that a sitter was there to watch Henry and she could use a little time away to cool off and relax.

Robin brightened immediately when he spotted her, grinning and waving her over to the little table where he was sitting, drinking soda and eating a sad little turkey and cheese wrap from the cafeteria. She'd smiled back and joined him, and though it didn't look very good, she'd accepted half of the wrap and let him buy her a soda from the vending machine. It wasn't until then that she realized how hungry she was–and Robin didn't hesitate to offer to share the bag of chips that came with his wrap.

He was easy to be around, and she found that she looked forward to the cooking classes more than she used to. She liked having a partner at her cooking station who asked her questions about her day and asked for advice about whatever phase his son was going through–and really, she found that she liked having a friend.

They didn't see each other outside of the cooking classes, but every now and then, she found herself thinking of him. When she was at the grocery store and saw that the Jackfruit was on sale, she'd giggle softly and remember the time they'd had to cut one up for a recipe, and he'd looked down at it, absolutely perplexed as a barely audible what the fuck is that slipped out of him. She thought of him whenever Henry out grew something that he'd barely worn, wondering if his son might get some use out of it. She thought of him when she caught a glimpse of the Rangers score and whenever she spotted an advertisement featuring a man in leather pants or wearing eyeliner or just looking provocatively toward the camera–and she thought of him whenever she felt lonely, standing in her own kitchen.

As she picked apart her part of the wrap and drank the soda, she found herself unloading about her day–and she found him listening and nodding along, not trying to make excuses for anyone or tell her what she should do or feel. He just listened and let her have her moment.

"Sorry," she murmurs, blushing a bit as her finger rubs at the label of the soda bottle. "I'm sure you don't want to hear all about my–"

"Quite the contrary," he cuts in. "I'm glad to listen. I… know what it feels like to have something you want to get out and only a child to tell it to."

She nods and chuckles softly. "I just don't want to scare you away," she says. "Who else would open jars of capers for me during cooking class?"

"That's… incredibly unlikely," he tells her. "Partially because I need you to tell me what capers are and why I should put them in my food."

A little laugh bubbles out of her and her eyes shift down to the wrap in front of her. "I can't believe I'm hungry enough to eat this thing. The tortilla is wet."

"It's not that bad–a little moist, but–" His voice trails off and he shrugs when her nose scrunches. "Maybe one day you can show me how to make a wrap better than this one."

For a moment, she just looks back at him, then she feels herself nod as he shoves the rest of the wrap into his mouth. "Yeah. Maybe."

"We should go."

"Oh," she murmurs, looking to the watch on her wrist. "It's been an hour? I went on about my shitty day for an entire hour?"

"Yes, and if we sit here any longer, we'll be late." He chuckles softly to himself, and a grin pulls onto his lips. "And I've just remembered that Granny won't be teaching today. Killian's subbing in for her and if I walk in late, I feel like he's going to stare at my ass as I walk past him."

Giggling, she downs the last of her soda. "He'll do that either way, you know."

"I know," Robin sighs. "But at least if we're early, there won't be an audience."

Smirking up at him, she nods, plucking up the last chip and popping it into her mouth. By the time she's done and gathered up her garbage, Robin is standing, and when he offers her his hand, she doesn't hesitate to take it, allowing him to help her up from the table. They toss their garbage and walk down the short hallway toward the cooking room, and a bit awkwardly, he reaches around her, holding open the door– then, almost immediately, they notice Killian's gaze and playful grin as they enter.

Robin sighs and shakes his head as she struggles to keep in her laugh. They make their way to the back pantry to collect their ingredients, and as they turn toward their workstation, Robin reaches for her basket, taking it and carrying it for her, offering a quick wink as he does so–and as they walk slowly toward the front of the classroom, she finds herself feeling incredibly grateful for their friendship.