A/N: You guys! You totally blew me away with your response to that first chapter! 18 follows and 9 favorites in twelve hours?! What a lovely surprise to wake up to! You're my big damn heroes. Every single one of you! And five reviews in the first twenty-four hours made me so happy I couldn't wait another second to post the next chapter!
As for the questions regarding age and backstory - they're coming. As you might have seen before (and will definitely see now) - these two are a little gun shy for various reasons. The backstory will be revealed incrementally. But don't worry. I'm crazy into character development and backstory. Just using them as a plot device here. Thanks for reading! :)
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Emma laughed as she listened to the man tell stories of his first winter in Minnesota. He'd grown up in Ireland and moved here with his son Liam a while back. He had also chosen the location for work and how different it was from the place he'd grown up.
She gathered he had also come here to escape. He hadn't told her so and she hadn't pushed him. But one runner with a dark past can always spot another.
Conversation came easily enough, both of them gushing about their boys. Young Liam was three - just a year older than Henry. They watched as the two boys made fast friends, playing dinosaurs and piano and dinosaur piano which had both parents laughing out loud as Liam tried to make his T-Rex pick out the tune of "The Alphabet Song" with his useless little dinosaur arms and Henry just laughed and laughed, banging his plastic stegosaurus on the keys.
"They make quite a pair," the handsome Irishman observed jovially.
"They certainly do," Emma replied, eyes sparkling.
They gazed at each other in pleasant silence for a moment, each just drinking the other one in.
This is heaven, Emma thought, a gentle smile on her lips as she found herself admiring his handsome face for at least the thousandth time that day. She had been so lonely. Longing for a friend to talk to about anything, really.
Never in a million years had she expected to find someone who could understand the difficulties of her present situation so well. Both transplants to the area, both single parents (or at least she guessed so from the lack of wedding ring and the way he was shamelessly flirting with her), both trying to balance a career and parenting, both dealing with the joys and hardships and utter madness of life with a toddler.
He had a coolness and confidence about him that drove her mad, but he'd been quick to connect with her - to share his own struggle to adjust to this particular life in this particular place and to offer the kind of empathy she hadn't realised she'd been longing for.
In just thirty minutes of talking over coffee, he'd warmed her with his kind words and charming smiles like nothing else in this icy city could.
The enchantment was broken with the tug of a hand on his shirt and the sound of a little voice with the same sweet cadence as his father's.
"I'm hungry, Da," said Liam, looking up at his father expectantly, "When are we going home?"
The handsome man looked at his watch.
"Cor! Is that the time?" He exclaimed, sliding out of his seat swiftly. "Sorry, lad! We're going to be late. Hurry up and get your boots on." He ran a hand through his hair as if to fix it, but it only mussed it further. Emma couldn't help the way her mind wandered. "Apologies, lass. I hate to cut and run," He said, extending his hand to her.
"Nonsense," She said dismissively as she accepted the hand he'd offered. He gave it a meaningful squeeze. "It was a pleasure. Perhaps we'll see each other again," She said, smiling hopefully.
"I hope so," He said, smiling back at her. He seemed reluctant to let go.
"Da! I'm ready!" Liam called from the entrance to the playroom. Boots clearly on the wrong feet, but otherwise sufficiently bundled.
"So you are, my boy!" He replied, giving Emma's hand a final squeeze before heading over to join his son. He waved at her and said goodbye to Henry as he quickly donned his boots, scarf, and coat and the two of them swept out the door.
Emma sighed and watched as they walked past the big glass window of the playroom. Liam had said something to make him throw his head back and laugh. Emma pouted slightly, wishing she could have heard the lovely sound once more.
"Mommy, where did Wiam go?" The sound of her own son's tiny voice brought her out of her daydream.
"I don't know, sweetie. Liam and his Daddy had somewhere else they needed to be," She answered, pushing the mess of brown hair off his face.
"Will we see them again?" Henry asked, looking up at her expectantly with big brown eyes.
"I hope so," She answered, smiling sweetly.
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As it happened, a trip to Ashley's was exactly what little Henry needed. He was so tired on the way home that Emma had to keep singing "The Wheels On The Bus" at the top of her lungs and changing the words to the silliest things she could think of just to keep him awake for the seven minute drive home. Just as he would start to fall asleep, she would sing about how the wipers on the bus said "Quack, Quack, Quack!" or something equally ridiculous. And Henry would laugh at her and say "Noooooo, Mama!"
She laid him down for a rest in his pack-and-play. He was really too old and far too big to be sleeping in it, but it was all that would fit in her little Volkswagen and she'd only just come up with the money for his new toddler bed and mattress and hadn't yet found the time to put it together.
She made her way quietly out to the living room, shutting the hallway door so Henry could take a nice, long nap, undisturbed by the sounds of her cleaning or catching up on her favorite TV show - a British period drama that her best friend Ruby had forced upon her. The girl was right. It certainly was addictive. Although that particular addiction made her feel more like a thirteen year old fan girl than a twenty-eight year old single mom.
Everybody's got their guilty pleasures, She thought as she considered using her free time to catch up on the episode she'd missed over the weekend.
The temptation was real, but lessened as she surveyed the quiet apartment. There were still boxes to be unpacked and always more than a few dishes in the sink, not to mention Henry's new toddler bed still boxed up in the corner. She eyed the thing warily, knowing all too well her love/hate relationship with IKEA furniture. Great price, horrible assembly process.
She sighed and decided the dishes wouldn't do themselves and she'd better start there. At least the hot water would warm her up.
Emma let her mind wander as she filled the sink and added some soap that smelled like the beach in the summer time. She let it wander to thoughts of...
Damn. I didn't get his name.
She cursed herself for being so stupid. How had she failed to ask the simplest question?!
Come to think of it, he hadn't asked for hers either. She sighed as she took the frying pan from the stove and dunked it in the water, letting it soak as she started work on the silverware.
Somehow, it didn't seem to matter.
She found she could still enjoy the thought of him without it. The handsome stranger who'd bought her coffee and flirted shamelessly while listening to her talk about her energetic son and how they were having trouble adjusting to life in the midwest. For a moment, she felt a twinge of regret for letting herself complain so much. But then she remembered how he'd smiled sympathetically and comforted her with stories of his own failure to adjust over the last few years.
He made her feel things. Nice things. Things she hadn't felt in a long time. All while his adorable little boy and hers played happily together for a full thirty minutes. The day had been full of little miracles.
The dishes were done soon enough. She glanced at the video monitor sitting on the kitchen counter. Henry was still sleeping soundly in his too-small bed, all huddled up in the corner. She looked at the clock and then, rather reluctantly, at the large white IKEA box propped up against the wall in the corner of the living room. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, resolving to accept the challenge before her.
No handsome stranger was going to rescue her from this beast. She would have to fight it on her own.
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Killian Jones smiled as he watched his boy happily munching on french fries in the backseat of the car. He wasn't usually one for fast food, counting it the very worst kind of American cuisine, but sometimes it was a necessary evil.
He couldn't deny how much he'd enjoyed his time with the lovely blonde woman at the coffee shop. He'd been so fascinated with her gorgeous green eyes and stunning smile that he'd completely lost all track of time. Up until that point, most of the American women Killian had met seemed either too scared to get to know him or too eager to get him in bed. His only friend Robin, another one from across the pond, had told him it was the accent coupled with his good looks.
"Either way, mate, they think you're a lady killer. It'll send half of them running for their lives and the other half begging you to take their clothes off." Killian had brushed him off at the time. But then the same things kept happening over and over and over again.
But this woman, this..
Damn. Didn't ask her name. How did I not ask her name?!
He sighed. She was different. She was the first woman to show him genuine kindness, to take a real interest in him and his son and what he had to say. Sure, she was flirting, but then so was he. He hoped he'd have the chance to do it again.
Next time, I won't let her get away so easily, He thought, smirking to himself as he gripped the steering wheel and imagined at least a dozen ways of convincing her to see him again. Some less sensual than others.
He cursed under his breath as his eyes flickered to the clock and the highway traffic before him.
He was going to be late for his meeting with the Golds. And the Golds were the very last sort of people you ever wanted to be late for. Or so he'd been told by a few of his colleagues.
Mrs. Gold had been the one to contact him initially - looking for a contractor for the house they were building in Minnetonka - a very wealthy neighborhood on a lake. They'd somehow managed to secure a lake front property - these were multi-million dollar homes that were typically inherited rather than sold. They were also usually meticulously maintained and Mrs. Gold had said the house would need a lot of work, so it was a particularly rare opportunity.
They'd asked for him specifically, having heard of his penchant for restoring these hundred year-old craftsman homes that were fairly common throughout the inner-city and a few select suburbs of Minneapolis.
Killian had been eager to land the job - knowing that restoring one of these gigantic old homes could set him up for the next year with a steady flow of work. The job was even more attractive because money was clearly not an object for this couple and they would likely pay top dollar for the best of everything and wouldn't try to break contract with late payments or refusals to cover the cost of materials.
He didn't mind if they were a little particular or difficult to work with, as some of his fellow contractors had hinted. Killian Jones was a very patient man. As long as the payments were made on time, he could keep his crew happy. And as long as his crew was happy, he was happy.
Or at least he would have been if his babysitter hadn't skipped out on him again.
He liked Astrid well enough - she seemed friendly and Liam enjoyed her company. But the girl was just as flighty as a feather. It was the third time she'd sent him a text at the last minute to cancel.
Little did she know, it was the last time he would ask for her services. He'd just have to find someone else. He needed someone reliable. He couldn't afford to skip meetings with clients like the Golds because he lacked childcare. And he hated to look unprofessional, which he most certainly did, when his three-and-a-half year old was tagging along on site walks.
Sadly, Liam was used to it. Fortunately for Killian, he was generally pretty well behaved.
"Where are we going, Da?" Liam said from the backseat, interrupting his train of thought. He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face.
"I'm afraid I'm going to a meeting and you're going to have to sit quietly and wait, son."
Liam groaned in reply, stuffing another chicken nugget in his mouth.
"I know, Liam. I'm sorry. I did call Astrid and she was supposed to watch you but it didn't work out. Again." He added with a sigh.
Liam pouted, glaring at him in the rear view mirror.
Kilian smiled, unable to help himself. The boy had inherited the trademark good looks and charisma of the Jones family men, even with his currently sullen expression.
"In exchange for good behavior, I can promise a sword fight of epic proportions when we get home."
Liam raised a single eyebrow in response.
"With the big swords?"
"Aye," Killian replied with a solemn nod.
"All over the house?" Liam pressed, a tiny smirk growing in the corner of his mouth.
"Of course," The man answered, trying to conceal his own smile.
"With Braveheart music?" Liam pleaded, his little eyes alight and big grin no longer able to be concealed.
Killian laughed out loud at that. One time - ONE TIME - he had played the soundtrack from some epic battle scene in a movie in the background while they'd been play fighting with swords in the living room. Liam had thought it was the most amazing enhancement to his very favorite game and had since then spent many an evening begging his father to do it again.
"With Braveheart music," Killian conceded, hanging his head in mock-shame. Liam let out a triumphant cheer in the backseat and popped another chicken nugget in his mouth as he beamed at his father.
"Deal," Liam said with a satisfied smirk.
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A/N: Please no comments about Braveheart being Scottish and not Irish. I know. It's intentional. I'm going to work it into the next chapter. Be patient, lovelies! All these follows and reviews are working me into a writing frenzy today! xoxo
