The soft hum of local radio filled the back room of 'Frozen Blooms'. Being a Wednesday, things were pretty quiet so Killian was taking the time to catch up on the arrangement he was crafting for his final college exams, safe in the knowledge that the bell above the door would alert him to any customers as Elsa took her lunch break. He hummed softly along to the sound of easy listening as he worked, sorting and mixing varieties, searching for that special something that would give them the 'wow' factor. Realistically, he had already passed on credits alone. But he had always been the competitive type and he planned to get the highest grade possible. It was in his blood. And he knew he could do it.
Even thinking about that made him grin to himself. He'd been as surprised as anyone when he had discovered an aptitude for floristry. It had only take a few weeks of kicking about in Liam and Elsa's ramshackle house out by the woods for him to become restless. A vacancy at the florist shop and a teasing comment from Liam that 'you'd be rubbish at that' had stoked a fire in him, and before he knew it he was whipping up bouquets like no one's business. And he was actually talented. Good enough to work for a real certification at Storybrooke Community College. Good enough for Elsa even to make hints about him entering something into the town's Summer Craft Fair in a couple of months. Whatever may come from this newfound skill, he had learned that working with flowers and plants was one of the few things that helped him forget the numbness in his fingers and the lack of flexibility in those digits didn't seem to impinge at all on his abilities. In fact, floristry seemed to bring upon him an utter sense of calm that he hadn't felt since he had had to cut his career short.
It was almost one pm, and time for Elsa to return, when the sound of the bell above the door ringing was quickly followed by the clatter of said door being slammed shut. Eyebrow quirked, he quickly wiped his hands on the rag he kept for such things and headed through the curtain into the store.
He was barely past the threshold when he registered just who had slammed the door, his breath catching.
It was… her. Same fiery green eyes and golden hair. Minus the red dress - instead, she was clad in a blood red leather jacket and skin tight dark jeans. An altogether less revealing but somehow even more alluring prospect. Surprised, it took a moment for him to collect himself. And notice the scowl she wore on her lovely features.
"May I help you?" he asked, pulling back his shoulders and arranging his face in the best interpretation of nonchalance he could muster.
Miss Swan-Emma, he remembered- rolled her eyes and a second later an abused bouquet of white roses slammed on the countertop between them. Petals scattered. Her scowl deepened.
Killian cocked his jaw and placed his hands on his hips.
"I said no more flowers," she replied, with barely suppressed rage seeping from every pore.
His brows pinched together, not quite expecting that as an opening line from the woman who had captured his imagination only a few days earlier.
"Aye, I remember," he said, uncertain just where she was going to take this fresh tirade.
Haughtily, she folded her arms and gave him an incredulous look. "And?"
Killian let out a soft snort of laughter and shook his head as he examined the unfortunate blooms. "Well, first, if one doesn't want to receive flowers it's customary to inform the sender."
She opened her mouth to reply but he held up a finger to silence her.
"And, in case you are not aware, I am not the sole employee of Frozen Blooms. My employer must have arranged this yesterday - my day off - therefore I can assume no responsibility for said arrangement."
She glared at him for a moment and her expression showed a flicker of hesitancy. Finally she shifted, folding her arms and taking a deep breath . "You could have warned your co-workers," she hissed, though the tone of her voice did not match the uncertain way her lips began to thin.
With a confident smile, Killian lifted up the hatch on the counter that allowed access to where she stood. His hands slid into his pockets - ever conscious of the stiffness of his lame hand and how easily it was often noticed - and he gave her a haughty glance. "Sadly your romantic woes are not on the top of my agenda list."
She was silent, pursing her lips even further. He'd hit a nerve.
"And if I may presume to give you some advice?"
The blonde watched him, her eyes skittering across his face.
"Your rage seems somewhat misdirected." His voice softening, he stepped a little closer to she was within touching distance. The strange intimacy of the shadowed shop, empty of all but him and her, made him bold enough to speak his mind. "He's not worth it."
There was a pause, enough for a heartbeat.
"And what would you know?"
Indeed, what would Killian Jones know of romantic woes? The man who had shunned all romantic entanglements for so long that women - beyond merely the physical - were seemingly as much a mystery to him as particle physics. But one thing he was aware of was that she deserved better.
"Whatever he did - to make you… hate him so much - he couldn't have cared for you." He took a second to gauge her guarded reaction. "More fool him."
As the two took the measure of each other, to the sound of the ticking clock behind them, the front door opened again, Elsa flauncing in with her arms laden with bags from the town's best baby boutique.
"Perfect timing," he smiled, an idea forming. "How about you buy me to a coffee to apologise."
"For what?"
"For shouting at me. As much as I enjoy being the subject of your misdirected rage."
For a moment he thought he had pushed too far, that their verbal sparring had not, in fact, been a sign that she was in some way interested in him.
Finally, she sighed. "Well I was about to head to Granny's-"
"Perfect," he nodded. "Elsa, I'm just heading out on my break."
And before either woman could say further on the subject he was pulling off his apron and reaching for his coat.
/
Granny's was the only place for lunch in town. Which was a good thing as it served the best coffee Killian had ever tasted and had a retro-kitsch interior that just screamed Americana (and he had been reliably informed had not changed in at least a few decades).
They sat at the counter on vinyl topped stools that sagged with age and soundlessly spun, placed their orders with the busy waitress and waited for their coffees and grilled sandwiches to arrive. He'd made sure to sit on her left, his less flexible hand resting on his thigh. With his other hand, Killian toyed with the napkin the waitress had placed before him. "So have you always hated flowers or is this a recent affliction…?"
Emma gave him a sideways glance. "It's recent."
Two steaming mugs of coffee were slid in front of them and the pair busied themselves adding creamers and sugars. Surreptitiously, he watched her through his lashes as he stirred. She really was incredibly beautiful, his first impression had been correct. Even an underestimation. Yet there was a tenseness in her expression, a reservation which seemed at odds with the woman who had destroyed not one - but two bouquets of innocent blooms. She seemed almost skittish, guarded, and he wasn't arrogant enough to take all the credit for that. He decided to try and get her to open up.
"So, the furniture guy. Doesn't seem your type."
He expected some rebuke. Perhaps a comment on him overstepping a line. Instead she sipped her coffee and eyed him quietly.
"That was on purpose," she replied after a few moments. "People have been telling me for years that I have bad taste - that I've gone for the wrong type of guy. And I accept that I've made some… questionable choices in the past."
He raised a brow. "I hear you there."
She digested his comment, running her tongue along her bottom lip in a manner that caught his breath, distracting him until he noticed that their waitress had placed their lunches in front of them.
Emma picked up her sandwich and took a bite. Killian did the same, waiting for her to continue her story.
"So, anyway, when I moved here, I decided to make a new start. Date the kind of man they say is safe. You know, clean cut, has a decent job, holds open the car door for you, that kind of thing."
Killian began to internally speculate just what kind of men she was previously involved with to have such low expectations. He'd always had a strong sense of honour, even before joining the armed forces. Treating women with the utmost respect and chivalry, no matter how temporary their acquaintance. An idea formed that some of the armour she wore, must indeed at least in part be a consequence of some man. Though he loathed to call the fool (or fools) who had hurt this woman by that term.
"Walsh asked me out when I was picking some furniture for my new place. He seemed to fit that description… Well, turns out while we had decided we were exclusive after a few dates, that wasn't stopping him sleeping with someone else."
Killian took in a quick intake of breath. He watched her face for signs of pain, but only saw a deepening frown as she occupied herself with working on her sandwich. It was then that it dawned on him how much she was revealing to a practical stranger. Which then forced more questions… did she have someone? A friend? Family? He had Elsa and Liam; whenever things had gotten difficult for him -especially after his accident - they had been there to shore him up. Without them he wasn't sure how he would have coped.
In lieu of any smart comment, he replied with a simple. "I'm sorry."
She raised a hand. "It's fine. It's not like I… well, just lets say I'm more angry than anything. At him and myself."
Her sandwich all but gone, she had wrapped her hands around the mug emblazoned with Granny's logo and pulled it closer to her. Like she was hiding herself behind that coffee, using it as some kind of shield to conceal just how big an impact the betrayal had had. Not that she thought she had loved him. He couldn't see a woman like her falling for a man like Walsh. The little contact he had had with the other man had shown him to be a bit of a cold fish. Restrained and calculated.
"Don't beat yourself up love. It's not worth it." With that. He crumpled up his napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate. Their efficient waitress was there seconds later clearing away.
"That smacks of personal experience," she replied, a hint of challenge in her tone and even, perhaps, the barest sign of a smile emerging at the edges of her luscious lips.
Lips that caught his attention once more, bringing him away for a moment, sinking the image into his subconscious, for another time. Finally he composed himself with a sip of coffee, dragging his gaze to her green eyes.
"That would involve actually having a love life of my own."
"Wait, what. You can't tell me that you-" she let out a small laugh that was almost magical to his ears, "Come on. Good looking guy like you…"
"You think I'm good looking?"
He grinned. Flirtatious banter her could do. This was familiar territory.
She seemed to feel the shift too, the tension in her face further lifting, rolling her eyes dramatically.
"I've been here just shy of a year and romance has not been at the top of my priority list. And before that I was more asea than ashore," he explained.
"You're a sailor?"
"Ex her majesty's navy," he nodded, enjoying the appreciative look she gave him, watching her take him in, almost like she was reassessing him with this new information at hand, her eyes quickly tracking over his form, her head tilting to one side as questions passed over her face.
"An ex-sailor who is now a florist."
"Indeed," he nodded, with a smile. "Lieutenant Killian Jones. At your service."
He held out his hand, more out of habit than anything else. It also occurred to him that is was the first time he had told her his name.
"Lieutenant," she echoed, taking the hand her offered, grasping it tightly. Her had was warm, smaller than his but not delicate. He felt a strength there within those soft digits. Warm, tingly sparks travelled up his arm from where their skin met in the most innocent of ways. He tried not to show how the simple contact was affecting him. How for a second he was breathless. How his initial interest in her was slowly becoming fascination, tempered by something even basic. An elemental attraction that he wasn't sure he could understand, but certainly wanted to explore.
Slowly, she slid her palm from his. Her hair slid like a curtain between them as she finished her coffee. He wasn't able to see if she had been affected by the contact, but then he'd scoffed at that thought. It was just a handshake. Wasn't it.
"Look, I am actually sorry for shouting at you like that. It's a bit out of character."
"Don't apologise. I like the fiery side of you." He took a second to drain his coffee cup. Their reasons for being in each other's company were coming to a close. And then would he see her again? Perhaps not. And that would not do. "Maybe we could… do this again. You look like you could do with a friend."
She gave him a wry smile as she pulled a few bills from her jeans pocket. "I'm not in the market for a date right now."
He stood and did the same, leaving a healthy tip for the overworked wait staff. He waited as she straightened her hair over her jacket and then met her eye.
"I didn't ask you out. Not everyone who is nice is hitting on you."
And as much as he was attracted to her - he couldn't deny that - he was speaking the truth. She was an enigma to him, more layers becoming uncovered as he got to see the little of herself she revealed. He wanted to know more. He yearned to learn her secrets and all the things that had formed Emma Swan into the complicated woman before him. He wanted to know her. What happened next, was all up to the hands of fate. He tried to ignore the niggling part of his mind that reminded him that it had been years since any woman had come close to intriguing him in this way. Not since the woman who had almost crushed his heart.
She looked at her watch and then back at him. "I have to be somewhere right now."
He deflated a little as he expected her to make her excuses and leave, only to see his spirits rise as she took a pen from her jacket pocket and made a few scribbles on her untouched napkin.
Unceremoniously, she handed it to him with a curt nod.
"Thanks for lunch," he replied, but she was already leaving.
And then he remembered, he'd actually paid for his own damn sandwich.
/
The bus from Storybrooke Elementary was as punctual as ever, stopping at the corner of Fifth and Elm at 2:05 precisely. A gaggle of excited children emerged, ensconced within them a brown haired boy with eyes that reminded her far too much of his father.
Emma pushed away thoughts of him - and all men - as she greeted Henry, pulling her arms around him and revelling in the fact that they had found each other while he was still young enough to let her indulge in such public displays of affection. She held him tight for a moment as he babbled with tales of his day and all little stories of his friends and teachers. When she pulled back she smiled.
"So it was a good day."
"It was a great day," he affirmed, taking her hand as they strolled towards the park. This was part of their routine. Wednesdays, she met him after school, took him to the park and then they went back to her apartment for dinner. That, in addition to every other weekend spent together, was the agreement she had came to with his adopted mother after some rather tense negotiations and the intervention of a county court judge who had agreed that such an arrangement was in Henry's best interests.
"What about you? Catch any bad guys?"
"Not today," she smiled, amused by his innocent view of her line of work.
"So did you do anything exciting then?" he pressed as they waited at the sidewalk to cross into the park.
Her mind flickered to her impromptu lunch with Killian Jones. The mysterious florist with eyes she could just drown in. On first meeting, she had been too irrate to really appreciate just how handsome he was, but now she was under no illusion. He was dangerously attractive. Just the kind of man she had promised herself to now avoid. And then he'd gone and shown himself to be charming and well, nice- She caught that thought. He was almost a stranger. All she really knew was that he liked Monterey Jack in his grilled cheese and knew how to sail a boat. Or ship. Whatever.
And she'd given him her damn phone number.
She noticed Henry was watching her so fixed him with a bright smile.
"It was a pretty boring day," she lied. A few paces later they were in sight of the swing set. "Hey kid, how about we see how high we can get you?"
Like that he was racing away, leaving his mother to hide her heated cheeks and leave all thoughts of Killian Jones to another time, more appropriate, time.