I'm going to apologise in advance for this chapter and just say - remember the payoff! It was not fun to write but, ya know, plot and character development. Many thanks to always-been-a-pirate for reading over this and helping me with the more difficult bits!

As always, enjoy, and reviews feed the muse!


Chapter 7: Revelations


Emma awoke to a dull pounding in her head and a lurching stomach, feeling very much like she had taken a spin in someone's washer after drinking a ton of water. She wasn't quite sure what day it was or even what year she was in but the sheets around her told her she was at least not passed out in a ditch somewhere. How much had she had to drink the night before? Rolling over and immediately regretting it when her stomach flipped, she groaned as bright sunlight streamed into the room from the right side. Wait, that couldn't be right. Her bedroom window was on the left side of her room… Forcing her eyes open, she had to wait for her blurred vision to clear to realise she was, in fact, not in her own bedroom. She recognised Tink's guest room almost immediately - what with the pictures of fairies and that horrible shade of green on the wall - but why would she be at Tink's…

She closed her eyes and groaned again as the memories slowly came back to her. They had picked Elsa up at the airport and decided to celebrate the final member of their little group's homecoming with a girl's night. She could vaguely remember there being wine - lots and lots of wine - and conversation but it was all hazy, like she was viewing it through a fog. God she was never drinking that much again, ever. She didn't care if one of them got engaged, two glasses was her limit from now on. She was too old to wake up feeling like this, her body astutely reminding her that she was no longer seventeen.

She continued to lay there for a few minutes, praying her stomach and the pounding in her head would ease off enough for her to actually get out of bed as she tried to remember the events from the previous day. They had picked Elsa up, had lunch but then… she had to go to the church before coming here. Something about the schedule and her phone not cooperating and - oh. Despite the aching of her body she felt desire shoot through her as she recalled walking in on Killian shirtless and the way he had crowded her against the door. Well that explained why she had been drinking so much last night. But there was something else, something that was lurking on the edge of her hazy memories that had happened, something about her phone…

Emma's eyes flew open and she shot up in bed as the memory of her texting Killian came back in blaring color. Before she could even begin to process her thoughts her stomach churned viciously and she scrambled from the bed, barely making it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of her stomach. When she had thrown up what felt like everything she had ate over the past week she stumbled back into the bedroom, eyes instantly landing on her iPhone that lay beside the pillow. Stomach dropping and not from her hangover, she slowly picked up the phone and unlocked it.

Maybe it had been a dream, just like all her other erotic dreams of late starring the good Father….

But there it was, in black and white. The texting app was still open to their conversation and Emma's heart pounded at the realisation that it hadn't been a dream - she had really drunk texted a priest. Not only that, but she could remember the wine pushing her to be forward, to actively flirt with him and - God, she had sent him a sexy pic, hadn't she? Sinking to the bed Emma put her face in her hands, groaning at not only the pounding in her temples but her actions the night before. Everything had been fine before. They never spoke about their little flirtatious exchanges, carefully toeing the line between innocent and outright committing a sin and she had imploded their budding commardire with a few drunk texts.

Way to go, Emma.

Knowing she needed to get a grasp on exactly what had transpired so she could properly apologise to him, she steeled herself and scrolled to the start of their conversation. She cringed more than once at her obvious attempts to flirt but the longer she read one thing became apparent: Father Jones had flirted back - heavily. He never once asked her to stop or try to steer the conversation to more neutral ground, meeting her drunken flirts with his own and had even been the one to steer the conversation to sex first with his quip that she could handle the issue of her soaked underwear. Her shock at having texted him was slowly giving way to intrigue as she read his words while sober. They certainly weren't the words of a priest by any means, more the man behind the white clerical collar she had only glimpsed on occasion with their innocent flirting.

And then she got to his last text.

It was after she had sent the picture, unseen by her until that moment because she had been lulled to sleep by the wine before he had sent it. There, beneath the caption where she had asked him was he sure he could handle it, was his response.

Father Jones: I'd love nothing more than to handle it, love… if you're offering. ;p

Emma's eyes widened as she read the priest's words over and over again, slowly letting them sink in. Again, he hadn't chastised her for sending a semi-provocative picture to him but had instead responded with his own flirty remark, even going so far as to admit that he wanted to handle her. She was more than a little stunned at the priest's forwardness and yet, she also found herself strangely relieved to read his words. She had felt an undeniable pull toward him from the moment she had met him, one she had been fighting because he was an untouchable man but this… Could her feelings not be one-sided?

Emma scoffed at the thought, wincing when it only made the pounding in her head worse. There was no way Killian could want her like that - he was a priest for crying out loud, sexual desire was the ultimate no-no in their line of work. But then why send that text? Why spend their entire conversation last night openly flirting with her? And it wasn't like it was the first time something like this had happened between them. They had come close to kissing twice now and each time she had written off the desire she had seen in his eyes as her own imagination, believing it was only her hormones pushing her toward him… but maybe it wasn't. Sighing in frustration, Emma exited out of the texting app and locked her phone.

Coffee - she needed coffee and the world's greasiest breakfast before she could even begin to sort through her jumbled thoughts and emotions concerning the good Father.


Killian sat in his normal booth at Granny's waiting for his sister to arrive for their scheduled Sunday lunch and nursing one of the worst hangovers of his life, as well as berating himself for his actions the previous night. He felt off for having not gone on his morning run but he had known it would be useless with the way his head had been pounding. Instead he had spent an abhorrent amount of time under the spray of a hot shower, so much so that by the time he got out and dressed it was time for morning Mass. He didn't know how he had gotten through it but everyone seemed none the wiser to the fact their priest was hungover. He suppose he had his younger Naval days to thank for that - more than once in his youth he had drunk the night away and still been up at dawn to attend to his duties.

However there was nothing that could rationalise his actions from the night before.

Killian groaned, rubbing at his still throbbing temples. The exchange with Emma was fuzzy, the rum dulling his memory but he recalled enough for it to cause the knot of guilt in his stomach to twist violently. He hadn't told her what they were discussing was wrong or asked her to stop - no, in fact, he had encouraged it from what he could remember and his face burned with embarrassment at the memory of how he had responded to the knowledge that his little stunt yesterday in his office had made her wet. God above, he had suggested she masturbate! What priest said such things to a woman?

Clearly one who wants to test the limits, little brother.

Closing his eyes against the thought, Killian sighed heavily. And that was the core of the problem. Even if he hadn't been drunk he still would have flirted with her, their exchanges over the past week was evidence of that but the rum had made him bolder, taking him right to the edge of that imaginary line they had been toeing since they met. He had been so careful not to cross it before now, to keep the temptation at arms length and in one night with a bottle of rum he had put his foot over it. He was ashamed and embarrassed by what he had done but there was a part of him, the part that had ignored the warning bells when he had hired her that wasn't, and that only churned the guilt even more. Because he had liked it. He liked the rush of flirting with her on a more intimate level, of hearing just how affected she was by his actions and how she hadn't backed down from any of his challenges. He shouldn't, but he did.

And that brought up an issue that until now he had been sweeping under the rug. How could he be a priest if he liked what happened between them? True, he had never been a devout Catholic growing up - there were a lot of views the church held he had never agreed with and still didn't - but there were many he did believe in, like the core belief in salvation. It was why he had chosen the Catholic religion to atone for his part in Liam's death, to strengthen his faith and devote the rest of his life to spreading the church's message. Yet here he was, flirting with temptation and allowing it to flirt back when he knew it was wrong and it could only lead to the damnation of sin.

Digging his phone out of his pants pocket, he stole a quick glance around to make sure no one was close at hand. He had been too consumed with guilt that morning to look at their conversation, not wanting to see the physical evidence of him failing to be a true priest yet again but that would only lead to him falling further down the rabbit hole. His conversation with Emma was still up on his phone and he tapped the picture she had sent to enlarge it, his jaw clenching in aggravation. Why in the bloody hell had she sent him this? He was a priest, the very last person she should be sending a slightly provocative image to. As if his faith wasn't already on shaky ground, she was damn near trying to cause it to completely crumble beneath him.

Rationally he knew it wasn't her fault - after all, he had flirted back without hesitation and had instigated the entire debacle with the way he had rose to her challenge but Killian had never been a rational thinker when he was emotional. Never in his eight years of being a priest had he questioned his decision to follow this path and suddenly she had walked into his life, turning everything upside down until he didn't know what way he was going anymore.

"Killian?"

Visibly startling at the sound of his name, he looked up to see Belle standing next to the booth, a concerned look on her face.

"Hello, little sister," he greeted, making sure to tilt his phone toward him so she couldn't see what was on his screen.

"Is everything okay?" she inquired as she sat down on the other side of the booth. The fact she hadn't corrected him to 'younger sister' told him just how concerned she was.

"Everything is fine, love." Belle gave him a look he had seen a thousand times on their mother's face growing up that said she didn't believe him. "Why do you ask?"

"Generally you don't look at your phone like you want to throw it against the nearest wall unless something has happened."

He had forgotten over the past few years while trying to keep her safe just how well she could read him. "It's nothing," he commented with a shrug, "An app on it was just being difficult."

Belle raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Granny appeared to take Belle's order and Killian's eyes fell back to his carefully hidden phone screen. Whatever this was couldn't continue between them, last night proved that. He was a priest, someone who should hold himself up to a higher standard and he had failed at doing that so far. Backing out of the picture and conversation, he clicked the edit button in the text app and selected the conversation, his thumb hovering over the 'delete' button. He had told himself he could handle the temptation but perhaps the temptation with her was too great, one he couldn't possibly overcome and the best thing he could do for both of them was to distance himself from her until he could think straight.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

Glancing up, he saw Belle looking at him with concern once again and he was reminded why he had to do this, why he couldn't let himself be tempted away from his vows. He didn't want to lose the tentative friendship with Emma that had been forming but he knew they couldn't continue on the path they were on. Hitting the delete button, he locked his phone and set it to the side, giving his sister a sincere smile.

"Absolutely. How have things been at the library?"


Setting her pencil down Emma leaned back in her chair, sighing as her oscillating desk fan blew somewhat cool air on her. She still wasn't fully recovered from her monster of a hangover but three cups of coffee and Granny's signature hangover remedy of hash browns, bacon, and waffles had her feeling somewhat human again, at least enough to brave her afternoon shift at the church. She hadn't been fully prepared to face Father Jones after what happened the night before, not allowing herself to dwell on the questions his last text message had raised as she ate breakfast with the girls. She wanted to see him first, to gauge his reaction to what had happened before confronting her own swirling emotions - the only problem was Killian hadn't been there when she arrived.

It wasn't odd. She knew he had a standing lunch appointment every Sunday after Mass with his sister and in a way she had been grateful for the opportunity to settle into work before they talked - because there was no question that they needed to talk about what had been said the night before. She had been at the church a little over an hour when she heard him in the chapel talking to someone and her stomach had immediately knotted with nerves. Fidgeting with everything on her desk five times in a row she had waited for him to walk into the office… but he never appeared. Figuring he had a lot of early confessions or was possibly dealing with getting the air condition unit installed, she had went back to work - or, attempted to. Her eyes had flickered to the closed door often and the poor parents of an out-of-town bride had to repeat themselves multiple times as her ears seemed to be trained for any little sound coming from the rest of the church.

She could have sought him out but Emma's instinct to stay guarded and have the other person slightly off kilter when they interacted, a throwback to her years as a bail bonds person, kept her firmly in her desk chair. At one point she had been on a call with a local band mom arguing about a date that was no longer available, paying attention for perhaps the first time that afternoon when the office door swung open unexpectedly. Her heart had practically beat out of her chest and she almost dropped the phone in her haste to seem casual but just as quickly as the nerves resettled in her stomach, they left when Ashley had walked in instead of Killian. The choir member had smiled and waved at her, paying no attention to the hawk-like way Emma watched her go to Killian's desk, pick up his laptop, and leave.

She knew he always started on the next sermon on Sunday afternoons and preferred to type the first draft rather than write it, so the disappearance of said writing mechanism suggested he was working on the next sermon, just not in the usual spot at his desk. The fact that he had sent someone to retrieve it rather than getting it himself was a glaring neon sign that the good Father was actively avoiding her at that point. She ignored the flash of hurt that shot through her at the revelation, reminding herself that she had no reason to feel like an ignored girlfriend. He was probably embarrassed by what had happened between them and just needed some time before seeing her, something that Emma could relate to. So, she would give him time.

She had tried to throw herself into work but two hours later after rereading the same eight emails and erasing an event only to add it to the same day multiple times, she had given up on the pretext of working. Clearly her mind was refusing to concentrate until her and Killian worked out whatever the hell was going on between them and he obviously wasn't going to make the first move to discuss their conversation. Glancing at her computer clock and realising it was dinner time, she figured there was no better way to clear the air than over a cooked meal.

That was what her mother always said, at least.

Heading to the kitchen, she mulled over the situation. Clearly what had transpired between them had been a mistake. She had been drunk and he… well, she wasn't sure why he had been overtly flirtatious with her but avoiding her all day was a clear sign that he hadn't meant for it to happen and that he regretted it. And that was fine. It wasn't like anything could come of their flirting anyway, she was his employee and he was a priest - you couldn't get more taboo than that. She pushed the niggling voice at the back of her mind that whispered he never would have sent that last text if there wasn't a base of truth to it away as she opened the kitchen door, needing to figure out exactly where he was mentally before pursuing that dangerous line of thought.

He was sat in his usual spot at the kitchen island, dressed in his blue basketball shorts and a white A-shirt indicating that at some point after confessions he had spent time in his garden. He was hunched over eating a burger and despite the severity of the conversation they were about to have, she couldn't help but admire his profile view - the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, the strong set of his jaw and those adorable Elf-like ears. It was because she was looking at him that she saw him tense, shoulders becoming rigid and his eyes staying firmly on the plate in front of him. That above anything else about the scene in front of her sent a prickle of unease through her. From the moment she had met him two weeks ago he had always looked at her when she entered a room, those sea blue eyes unerringly finding her even when there were multiple people in the room. The air in the kitchen thickened the longer she stood there and she could practically feel waves of agitation rolling off him. Pushing her unease to the side she made her way toward him, intent on joining him for perhaps the most awkward dinner of her entire life but stopped as she reached the island. There wasn't a second plate for her where she would normally sit which sent another alarm bell ringing in her head. He always had dinner ready for them at this time, the food already on the plate waiting for her sometimes. A quick glance at the stove and sink told her he hadn't cooked tonight, not a dirty pan in sight and her eyes darted to the trashcan next to the cabinets to see the unmistakable logo of Granny's Diner on the bag lying on top of it.

Oh, so he had went out to get them dinner instead.

Moving so she was directly across from him, she tried to lighten the tense atmosphere around them. "Did the fertilizer you use in your garden make your forget I was working today?"

"No."

His short and clipped response gave her pause, and the fact he still hadn't looked at her didn't escape her.

"Is mine in the fridge? You remembered to get onion rings instead of-"

"I didn't pick anything up for you," he interrupted before taking another bite of his burger.

"Oh."

Oh, indeed. Every night since her first shift at the church he had made or brought dinner for her. She had told him in the beginning he didn't have to but he had insisted upon it, telling her it was nice to share a meal with someone other than his sister and Robin on a weekly bases. And yet here they were, him having dinner and seemingly not caring about her own. She knew he was embarrassed by how far over the line they had went last night but this didn't seem like the man she had come to know over the past few weeks. She had never known him to be short and standoffish with anyone, certainly not her. Watching his throat move as he drank from his glass and his eyes still avoiding her, she decided to barrel on through to the obvious elephant in the room.

"Look, I know last night was-"

The sound of his empty glass hitting the kitchen island hard enough to break it startled her. Her eyes, which had been on her hands lying on the countertop as she spoke, jerked up at the sound to find Killian finally looking at her, the hardness of his blue eyes causing her breath to hitch.

"I'd prefer if we didn't discuss that," he stated, almost growling and causing Emma to unconsciously take a step back at his dark tone. What was wrong with him?

"I think we have to," she responded almost defiantly, apprehension settling low in her gut as his gaze hardened before flickering down to his food. He stood quickly then, throwing the rest of his uneaten burger and fries along with the paper plate into the trash.

Moving to the sink with his glass he muttered, "We don't, Miss Nolan."

The sound of her last name felt like a slap to the face and she stared at his back as he began to wash out his glass. He hadn't called her that since they had agreed to use each other's names in this very room a week ago, and he had never said it with such venom. It was almost as if… Emma blinked in surprise, her eyes widening as realisation dawned.

"Are you angry at me?"

Sitting the glass down hard in the sink Killian turned, yanking a dish towel from the oven's door handle to dry his hands. "Yes, I am," he admitted, blue eyes as hard as sapphires as they looked at her.

Emma's jaw dropped. "You have got to be joking."

"On the contrary, I'm not," he responded, tossing the dish towel carelessly onto the countertop. Crossing his arms he continued, "Your actions were appalling, to say the least. What in the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Anger flashed sharply within her but Emma pushed it away, remembering her father's age old advice that two people losing their tempers never solved anything. "I was drunk-"

"That's no excuse, Miss Nolan," Killian cut her off sharply, uncrossing his arms and moving forward to plant them firmly on the kitchen island. "I'm a priest. Sending me suggestive texts and pictures like that is inappropriate, something I'm sure you're aware of."

Screw her father's advice she thought, advancing toward the other side of the kitchen island. "If memory serves you responded to those texts and never once told me stop, Father Jones," she shot back, a little angrier than she had intended to. There was a split second where she saw him wince at her use of his official title but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Aye, I didn't, and I'll pay my penance for my actions but that doesn't change things. You should know better."

Emma scoffed, her temper well above rising. "It's just harmless flirting."

"Is it?" He quickly challenged, letting the question hang heavily in the air between them before continuing. "That's how sin always starts, Miss Nolan. It's harmless, like the snake simply sunbathing in the Garden of Eden and then one day it changes, the harmless nature of it morphing into a temptation no man can resist. Priests don't flirt, we don't engage in the temptation because we have to hold ourselves above it."

Emma raised a blonde eyebrow. "You've clearly been failing at that, Father."

She watched with a slight thrill of victory as his jaw muscle ticked before he turned back toward the sink. "Be that as it may, things can not continue the way they have been. No more personal dinners and I will ask that you conduct yourself around me in a manner that is appropriate for both of our positions."

Emma's hands fisted at her sides until she was sure there would be crescent shaped marks in her palms. If that's the way he wanted it… "Fine," she bit out, moving to leave. Wrenching the door open so hard she heard the hinges protest she paused, turning to look at the priest over her shoulder. He was still stood at the sink, hands gripping the ledge tightly as he stared down, jaw muscle ticking every few seconds.

"Oh, and Father?"

She purposefully waited until he turned his head to acknowledge her before giving him her most sarcastic smile.

"You should really look in the mirror before you start throwing words like 'inappropriate behavior' around. Last time I checked, it was inappropriate for a priest to trap a woman against a door and whisper seductively in her ear while half dressed - or did I miss that day of Sunday school?"

Not waiting for a response, Emma turned and slammed the kitchen door behind her.


As the kitchen door slammed shut Killian felt his stomach drop.

What had he just done? That was not how he wanted their conversation to go. He had wanted to talk to her civilly, to explain why he had to distance himself in a way that would preserve the tentative friendship they had struck. But then she had walked in and he had caught sight of her curves in that simple t-shirt and jeans, the familiar scent of flowers hitting him and his body had instantly reacted, cock stirring as the picture she had sent him the night before flashed through his mind. He had gotten angry that he couldn't even control himself with her simply walking in the room and as she moved towards him all he could think about was how he had failed at everything - how he hadn't been able to stop the disease that ravaged his mother, how he had been unable to protect Belle until it was too late, and how Liam had died because of his failure to properly assess their surroundings. And there he was, failing at being a priest - again.

So he had turned that anger around on her.

His stomach knotted as he remembered his harsh words to her and he felt like punching himself in the face for being such an ass. Seeing her so vehemently defend herself and the anger color her cheeks had made his body react even more, fueling his misguided rage. So he had lashed out with words, throwing how he felt about himself at her until she had no choice but to leave.

This wasn't how he wanted it to happen. He had wanted to gently push her away and in the span of a few minutes he had not only shoved her back over the line, but permanently closed the door to any friendship they may have had. And that churned the guilt within him more than their text conversation ever had. In the process of not wanting to feel like a failure as a priest, he had spectacularly failed at being a human being and friend. Growling in frustration, he kicked at the cabinet doors beneath the sink, ignoring the pain in his right foot and the dent in the door.

He had royally screwed up this time.


Emma sat on her back porch, a cup of hot cocoa cradled in her hands as she looked out over the freshly cut yard.

Although the backyard was only the size of about half a football field, the entire property consisted of about three acres of land, most of it the forest that surrounded the old plantation style house. The house and property had been in her mother's family for generations, passed from one Blanchard to another with each new generation adding something to it. Her Grandma Eva had been the one to build the sunroom before her death and Grandpa Leo had the kitchen completely modernised when her mother was a teenager. Her own parents had continued the tradition, adding the pool area as well as her father's garage which her and mother affectionately nicknamed the Bermuda Triangle due to the fact that whatever went in there was very rarely ever seen again. But Emma's favorite part of the house was right here - the wraparound back porch. It was where she had come as a child to play, even on the hottest of summer days, and to think as a teenager. There had always been something calming about the view of the gentle sloping yard and the trees that marked its end. A few oak trees dotted the yard in an almost zig zag pattern, planted generations ago by the first Nolans to live in the house and the furthest tree in the yard held the tree house her father had built for her and the girls the summer they turned eight.

She sat in the porch swing her parent's had refurbished twenty years ago, her left leg curled under her and her right one dangling over the side, occasionally pushing the swing to softly sway. Many a night as a teenager she had come to this very spot to read a book or giggle with the girls as they talked about boys. It was still obscenely warm despite the setting sun and she was glad she had opted for a pair of pajama shorts and a short sleeved shirt that hung off one shoulder when she awoken from her nap earlier. She hadn't been outside long before she had to braid her hair to keep it off her neck but she refused to go into the air conditioned house - not with Killian there.

It had been three days since her argument with him and the anger at his words still simmered beneath the surface. She had left the church that night, not bothering to finish the last few hours of her shift and went straight home to down a glass of wine and stew in her bedroom. She had expected him to be embarrassed, maybe a little shy at seeing her after their text conversation but never angry. The man had actually had the nerve to scold her as if she were the only one who had done something wrong! His text messages had been just as suggestive as her own - she had reread them countless times over the last few days to ensure she hadn't dreamed the entire situation - hell, his last text message hadn't even been suggestive, openly telling her he wanted her if she was offering. And yet he had stood there, insinuating she should have known better when the fault lay squarely at his feet just as much as it did her own.

She accepted her part in the situation. She knew she shouldn't have texted him like that or sent the picture but the truth was, she was glad she did. In the days after their fight she had spent a lot of time looking inward at her actions, questioning why she had done it and it had forced her to finally admit the truth to herself. What had that French Enlightenment philosopher Jean-Jaques Rousseau that Elsa was always quoting say? "A drunk mind speaks a sober heart." Yes, it had been because he challenged her and Emma Nolan never turned away from one but at their core, her actions had been because she desired him. As forbidden as he was with the white collar at his throat she wanted him, she couldn't deny that anymore. She wanted to peel the clothes from his body that she now knew lay beneath them, toss the collar of his office away and let him bend her over his desk and fuck her. She wasn't proud of it. She had never went in knowing she was going to desire a priest but here she was, thinking the ultimate sinful thoughts about a man of God.

Not that finally admitting that stopped her from being pissed at him for being a complete ass.

She had went into her Monday morning shift at the church still furious with him but with the resolve to not let what had happened between them get in the way of her doing her job. He had been in the office when she arrived, typing away on his computer and she had went straight to her desk after a curt greeting with his official title, pretending he wasn't there as she started to work. She hadn't felt the same tension from him as she had the previous night and if anything he seemed ashamed, glancing at her when he thought she couldn't see with remorseful blue eyes. But it still didn't change how angry she was at him. Their conversations were civil and she kept them to the bare minimum, only talking to him when it was necessary to convey something about the schedule. There was an obvious tension between them, one that for the first time since their meeting was anything but sexual.

Her Tuesday shift at the church had been the same with the difference that he had appeared after confessions, his fingers scratching behind his right ear adorably as he quietly asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him. She had politely declined, citing the inappropriateness of doing so as she walked past him to meet Elsa at Granny's. It was after all what he had wanted - no personal dinners and for them to only act professionally around each other.

Because she had limited their conversation to only work related matters she still had no idea why he hadn't stopped their texting that night. Before their argument she would have told herself he didn't because he possibly desired her, especially after his last text message. Their flirting alone was proof enough of that. From the moment she had run into him at Granny's there had been an underlying sexual tension, one she had fought against vehemently and that had only grown the longer they spent together. But clearly it had all been coming from her. She had mistaken the desire she had seen in his eyes and the instances they almost kissed - he had just been too close as they stood by the fireplace in her living room and in his office, that the little moments she thought had hinted at something more beneath the robes of his office were nothing.

All she knew was that his anger over it was a clear indication that he didn't feel the same way she did….

"Emma?"

Emma turned her head to see her mother walking toward her with a glass of tea in her hand, the school teacher wearing her favorite white apron that had Storybrooke's Best Cook embroidered on it, a gift Emma's father had given her years ago.

"Everything okay, mom?"

Mary Margaret nodded as she sat next to Emma on the porch swing, taking a sip of her tea. "Just wondering why you are out here instead of inside with your dad and Father Jones."

Emma tensed slightly at the mention of Killian but her mother seemed to not notice. She had been in the sunroom reading before her overnight shift at the station when she heard Killian arrive, apparently at the behest of her father to discuss a program the sheriff and priest wanted to jointly implement for the younger hellions of Storybrooke to get them on the straight and narrow. She had waited until they were seated in the living room and talking to quietly sneak out the back door. The last thing she wanted to do was play nice with the good Father while still mad at him - but that wasn't exactly something she could tell her mother.

"Wanted some fresh air before being stuck in the station most of the night," she answered, taking a long sip of her hot cocoa.

"I don't blame you," her mother commented. "The heat is still oppressing but the view is breathtaking."

Emma nodded in agreement, her eyes sweeping over the large yard in front of them. The sun was setting behind the trees, painting the sky in hues of red and gold and reminding Emma of a painting she had once seen in a museum when she was in New York, the colors blending so seamlessly together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. It was the kind of view she had missed while living in the city, her own apartment window opening to reveal the building next to hers.

"You don't get that view in the city, that's for sure," she murmured. Her mother didn't respond and Emma took another sip of her drink, eyeing the older woman next to her out of the corner of her eye. They had never done small talk, the two women too different to converse at length about any subject and if she knew her mother at all, there was another reason the school teacher had sought her out despite her obvious disappearance from the house….

"Have you given any thought to dating?"

… And there it was.

Emma winced at her mother's horrible attempt to bring up her failed love life, wishing at that moment for any kind of divine intervention to keep her from having this conversation. Bending to place her almost empty mug on the porch she said, "Mom, I just broke up with Walsh two weeks ago."

She heard her mother scoff quietly. "Emma, you checked out of that relationship years ago. Besides, it wasn't like you were in love with the monkey."

Emma smirked at her mother's nickname for Walsh as she leaned back on the porch swing, gently rocking it with the toes of her dangling foot. "Perhaps, but I'd rather not jump right into another relationship, not while I'm still trying to get my feet under me financially."

"Oh, hogwash," her mother admonished, "You can date while living here. If anything it'll save your father gas from having to drive to your place to intimidate someone. There's nothing stopping you from finding love but you, Emma."

Emma bit the inside of cheek at her mother's words. This was the fundamental difference between her and her mother, the thing that kept them from truly understanding each other. Her mother and father had met in high school, the raven haired woman stealing her father's lucky necklace with the sword charm on a dare while he was at football practice one day. Her father, ever the resourceful man, had sussed out who had done it and in an attempt to get it back, had climbed the trellis that lead up to her mother's bedroom - now Emma's - and snuck in through the window. What he hadn't counted on was her mother thinking there was an intruder and knocking him in the face with her ornate jewelry box, leaving behind a scar that the sheriff still had almost thirty years later. It had been love at first sight though - once the bleeding and her father's cursing had stopped - and they had been a couple ever since, the epitome of Southern sweethearts who met young and stayed together.

Emma's love life on the other hand had been the polar opposite. She had thought she had found what her parent's had once with Neal, their story so similar to the fabled David and Mary Margaret Nolan true love one. At fifteen Tink had a major crush on Arthur Pendragon, the school's star quarterback, and Ruby had dared Emma to steal Arthur's car as a way to get their shy friend an in with the handsome teenager who had been nicknamed the King of Storybrooke for his performance on the field. To this day she didn't know why Ruby had dared her or even why she had accepted it - but she had, using the lock picking skills her father had taught her as a means of escape to aide her getting into the sleek white Camaro.

Except she hadn't been the only one with plans to steal Arthur's car that day.

Once inside, she had been scared half to death by someone rising from the backseat - it was Neal Cassidy, the class loner, who had apparently been dared to steal the same car by his best friend, August Booth, as a prank. There had been a slight squabble of who technically had stolen it first but in the end it didn't matter. Arthur had come strolling out and found both of them in his car and the only reason he hadn't called her father was because Emma had batted her eyelashes and dropped Tink's name - Tink and Arthur had hit it off and Emma and Neal had started dating shortly afterward. But that was where any similarities between their story and her parent's love story ended because two short years later she had been left alone, confused and betrayed as she stood in Gold's shop awaiting her father's arrival with the pawn shop owner looking at her in pity.

There was no happily ever after like her parent's had and she knew it baffled her mother as to why her daughter had yet to settle down and find love. She never understood Emma's need for one night stands, to keep her heart guarded from the possibility of love because Mary Margaret Nolan had never known heartbreak. Emma's father was the only man she had ever been with. She didn't want love and was pretty sure she wasn't capable of it after Neal's betrayal. She supposed it was a good sign that even her mother had been able to see she wasn't in love with Walsh but apparently moving back home came with more than the attending Mass stipulation.

Emma sighed. "Mom, do we really have to talk about this… again?"

"We've never properly discussed your dating preferences, Emma."

She turned to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at her mother. "You've made it well known you never approved of my one night stands and casual sex."

She watched her mother blush at the mention of casual sex, ever the devout Catholic who didn't believe in sex before marriage.

"You know how I feel about that, Emma. But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean relationships and love. I worry that you haven't found that, sweetie."

Wishing she was having this conversation drunk rather than sober, Emma looked back out over the yard. "Maybe it's not something I want," she said truthfully, "Or something I think is in the cards for me."

She felt her mother's hand on her leg, halting her movement of pushing the porch swing. "Love is something everyone aspires to have, Emma. It's at the core of who we are as humans and you can find it if you only open yourself up to the possibility of it."

And there was the eternal optimist whose own love story made her believe everyone should have that same kind of love. Emma sighed internally. Nothing was going to stop her mother from prodding at her love life so perhaps it was best to throw the former archery champion a bone and hopefully change the subject for now.

"I'm not saying never, but I don't even know anyone who-"

"I know someone."

Emma slowly turned, her eyes narrowing at the sparkle she saw in her mother's emerald eyes. "Oh really?"

The school teacher nodded, trying and failing to suppress a grin. "I do and it's someone you know."

Oh this isn't going to end well. Emma groaned, closing her eyes as she rubbed at her temple. "Mom, there can't possibly be anyone I know who is available other than Jefferson and August and there is no way-"

"Don't be silly, Emma. While both striking men, August is a known scoundrel among the women of Storybrooke and Jefferson hasn't mentally been there since his wife died. I'm talking about Graham!"

Emma's eyes snapped open, her jaw dropping as she stared at her mother incredulously. "Graham?!"

Mary Margaret nodded, clearly enthusiastic at her suggestion. "Yes!"

"Graham," she repeated, "As in Graham Humbert, the Irishman who works at the station and lives in the cabin in the middle of the woods?"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "You know exactly what Graham I'm talking about."

Emma continued to stare at her mother, wondering briefly if the raven haired woman had hit her head. "Mom, I can't date him!"

"Why not?"

Because I kind of want to fuck the priest, not the sheriff's deputy. "For a variety of reasons!" she exclaimed instead. "To begin with he's older than me, he works for my father, is my co-worker and isn't interested!"

"First of all," her mother began, immediately falling into teacher lecture mode, "He's not that much older than you, only seven years so. I've talked to your father-"

"You talked to dad about this?!"

"-And he's fine with it," Mary Margaret continued, unfazed by her daughter's interruption. "There will of course be the obligatory threatening talk but he likes Graham. Furthermore, he is interested."

Emma gaped at her mother, stunned speechless. Of all the people she could have thought her mother would suggest she date Graham had not been on the list. She had known the man since she was thirteen when she was all scrawny hair and braces, and she now considered him a friend. She couldn't possibly…

Emma blinked as her mother's words registered. "He's interested?"

Mary Margaret smiled brightly. "He is."

"How- How do you know that?"

"Because he told me," her mother answered simply. "He mentioned it last Tuesday when he stopped by to help your father in the Bermuda Triangle. He said that you had grown into a very beautiful woman and if you wanted, he would love to take you out sometime."

"Well, that's-" Emma shook her head against her turbulent thoughts. She knew they had grown closer since she started working with him but this was kind of out of the blue…. Or was it? She thought back to her first day at the station when she had asked him if he was seeing anyone and the look that had come into his eyes as he stared at her. He had said no but had started to say something else when they had been interrupted by the call from Granny, but it couldn't be… The more she thought about it the more she saw the signs - the way she would catch him looking at her while she was filing paperwork, the touches she hadn't thought twice about but were now glaring in light of this new information… Well, shit. Graham Humbert was interested in her.

A delighted giggle brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see her mother absolutely beaming.

"What?" she asked, wearily.

Mary Margaret shrugged. "You haven't shot the idea down is all."

Well of course she hadn't, she had been too shocked to do so. "While appealing, there are a number of reasons why I can't-"

"Emma," her mother interrupted, leaning forward to grasp one of her hands. "The only reasons you can't are the ones you put in your way."

"That's not true, there's dad."

"Who I already told you I talked to. Your father is never going to think anyone is good enough for his little girl but Graham… he knows Graham, knows the kind of man he is and trusts him. Of all the people in Storybrooke, he's probably the only one your father would be truly okay with you seeing."

"There's still the fact that we work together."

"Your father said that can easily be fixed by one of your switching to work with Leroy," her mother replied. Giving her a soft smile she added, "Again, there's nothing stopping you but yourself. You can't tell me that he's not an attractive man."

Emma conceded that point to her mother. Graham was attractive in that ruggedly handsome, outdoorsman way and God knew her teenage crush on him had been huge. If her mother had suggested this back then, the obvious illegal aspect of their age difference aside, she would have jumped at the chance but now… Now when she thought of an attractive man her mind immediately pictured Killian, all blue eyes and dark hair, handsome in that dangerous way that spoke of passionate nights and intrigue. Graham was appealing but Killian was what she desired, even if she couldn't have him.

She sighed deeply. "Mom-"

"Before you say no, just think about it," her mother implored. "He's a good man, Emma, one that will treat you right if you only let him."

Emma bit her lip in thought. Maybe her mother was right, maybe she should give Graham a chance. It wasn't like Killian was available and besides, he had made it clear that was something he didn't want. She did deserve a man who wanted her and who knew, maybe sleeping with Graham once they reached that point would get her mind off Father Jones. Looking back at her mother she nodded.

"I'll think about it."

Mary Margaret grinned widely. "That's wonderful, Emma!"

"That's not a yes but I… I'll give it serious thought, mom."

"No, of course! I'm just happy you're even considering- oh!" Her mother stood suddenly, almost sending the porch swing into the side of the house in her haste. "I've got to check on the casserole!"

Emma chuckled as her mother turned to leave. God forbid if Mary Margaret Nolan burned dinner. Well, she had definitely given Emma something to think about other than the priest she couldn't have...

"Oh, hello Father Jones."

Emma's head snapped up at her mother's greeting, her eyes instantly landing on the man in question. He was stood by the back door, hands in the pockets of his black dress pants as he leaned against the door frame. He was in one of his purple dress shirts with the white collar of his office firmly in place, dark hair swept to the side and a few strands falling onto his forehead. She felt the anger that had been simmering for days flood back at the sight of him but she also couldn't ignore the tug of desire low in her belly - she may be pissed at him but damn he was good looking.

"Hello, Mrs. Nolan," he greeted cordially, smiling at her mother. "Your husband had to answer a call from the station so I stepped outside for some fresh air. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all!" her mother replied cheerily. "I'm just going in to check on dinner. Are you staying to eat?"

Killian nodded, his blue eyes flickering to Emma. "I am, yes. I'll go back inside with you…"

"Nonsense! Stay out here and keep Emma company until David is off the phone. Leroy can get a bit long winded when he thinks there is a crisis."

As soon as her mother disappeared into the house Emma turned her attention back to the sweeping view of the backyard, not in any mood to hold a civil conversation with the priest. She heard his dress shoes lightly thump on the old wood as he walked towards her but she kept her eyes firmly ahead, focusing on the old tree house. She could still see him at the edge of her vision though, a dark shape that leaned against one of the support beams for the porch railing as silence stretched between them. It was just after seven and she could hear the crickets already starting to sing, the occasional lightning bug flickering to life across the yard.

It was a peaceful moment, or would have been if not for the clear tension that sparked between them. She didn't have to look at him to know he was looking at her. She could feel that blue gaze on her and she cursed inwardly at the heat that bloomed between her thighs at it, hating how even a simple look from him could spark her desire so strongly. It was like the universe was taunting her, placing a man in front of her that she wanted but wasn't able to touch, like a priceless artifact sat on display. She thought he was just going to stand there and accept the silence that stretched between them but then he spoke, his accent thick and voice slightly tight.

"So, you're going to date Graham."

She turned her head to look at him then, the hand that rested on the leg tucked beneath her fisting at his words. He was indeed looking right at her, arms crossed as he leaned against the railing with his mouth in a thin line and face hard. Honestly, what was with this guy? First he berated her for the same actions he had done, telling her there had to be a line of professionalism with them and now all of a sudden he was interested in her love life?

"I don't think that's any of your business, Father Jones," she said quietly through gritted teeth, not wanting her parents to hear their obviously strained conversation. She didn't miss his flinch at the sound of his title again or the way his blue eyes flashed brightly.

"No, it's none of my business, Miss Nolan. Just making conversation."

"Well don't," she muttered, looking away from him again. Really, the universe was just piling it on today.

"You didn't seem too keen on the idea when your mother suggested it."

Sweet Mary and Joseph the man would just not take a hint, would he? Without looking at him she replied, "I have my reservations about it but my mother made some good points. Graham is a good man, knows what he wants, and is attractive."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye and if she wasn't mistaken, his one visible hand tightened on his arm.

"All true. From what I know of him the deputy is a nice man, well respected within the community. He'd be a good match if the wooded huntsman is your thing."

"Perhaps it is," she shot back without thinking. She was really in no mood to converse with him when he had yet to apologise for his actions Sunday night, not that he would.

"And that's what you want? A relationship with a man who spends his free time trolloping through the forest with a bow and arrow looking to kill Bambi?"

"At least he's not hypocritical," she muttered angrily, standing from the porch swing and walking to the corner of the porch. She could just make out the rose bushes that her mother had planted years ago to give the pool area privacy, their red blooms bright against the green background they grew in. She didn't know why Killian was so hell bent on putting Graham down. Yes, it was true, she hadn't and wasn't keen on the idea of dating Graham but there was something about his remarks that made her want to defend her friend, no matter what action she decided to take about a relationship with him.

"Well, best of luck to you in that, Miss Nolan," he replied as the silence continued to stretch between them, "I'm sure it'll be a whirlwind relationship that everyone will regal as the greatest love story ever to grace Storybrooke."

She turned then to see him push off the railing, face dark. "Who said anything about love?"

He paused in his movement to leave, head snapping around toward her. "I beg your pardon?"

She had no idea what had made her say it but she barrelled on, an innocent smile on her face.

"I've never been good at the whole relationship thing, you see. More of a… casual sex kind of girl." She saw him tense but she continued, "I mean, if a relationship happens great. God knows my mother will be happy but for me? Perfectly fine with simply letting him fuck me to relieve the itch." She gasped in mock horror, "Sorry, was that inappropriate?"

He didn't flinch at her crass language or even tell her not to use it, simply stood there with his mouth hanging open slightly. He recovered quickly though, the shock morphing into an emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on as he stared at her, blue eyes widening like he had just realised something….

"Father Jones?"

Her mother's voice broke their eye contact and Emma looked to see her mother coming out the back door, apron still on and her phone now in her hand.

"David just hung up with Leroy if you wanted to finish your conversation before dinner."

Emma watched Killian nod and smile, expertly hiding whatever he had just been feeling from her mother as he made his way into the house. But Emma had been a bail bonds person for years, had taught herself how to read even the smallest facial change in a person and she saw it still lingering there in the tight corners of his mouth and hard set of his jaw. Before she could even begin to contemplate what it was her mother was sitting down on the porch swing again, eyes firmly fixed on her phone. Emma joined her, needing to calm the adrenaline that had started to course through her as she talked to the priest. She was still angry at him - both for his words to her and about Graham - but that last look on his face wouldn't leave her alone. She had seen it before on him but she couldn't place it….

"Men."

Emma whipped her head toward her mother so fast her braided hair moved from hanging over her right shoulder to her left.

"What?"

"Hm?"

"What made you say that?"

Mary Margaret looked up from her phone, confusion pulling at her brow before she realised what her daughter was talking about. "Oh, just angry at your father."

Emma's eyebrows shot up - her mother never got angry with her father. "What happened?"

Mary Margaret sighed. "Just your father being a big butt head is all." When Emma continued to stare at her she continued, "Your father and I were texting this morning about your Uncle James and both said the same thing. Couple hours later I come home and your father is angry about what I said."

Emma frowned. "Why would dad be angry if it's something you both said?"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Because he's a man. He's irritated and feeling guilty that he let himself say it - you know how your father feels about your uncle - and is really angry at himself but he's projecting it onto me and being short and snappy. In conclusion, he's being a butt head but he'll come to his senses by tomorrow."

A light bulb went off in Emma's head and she was glad her mother had looked down at her phone again and didn't see her eyes widen comically. That was it. That was the reason why Killian had been so irrationally angry at her Sunday night - he was irritated and feeling guilty at himself but had directed it at her instead. It made sense. She had told herself that his flirting and last text message had been because he got caught up in the moment and it didn't mean anything, that all the things she thought she had seen were her own projections and his anger proved that but now…

Her heart hammered against her chest as her mind raced. But it didn't prove that. If anything it proved the thoughts she had Sunday morning when she first read the text were on the right path. Why continue an obviously inappropriate conversation and admit he wanted her if it wasn't what he wanted? He could have stopped their conversation from the beginning if what he said in the kitchen Sunday night was true - but it wasn't, because he hadn't stopped it. He had even encouraged it at times. But that would mean… That he wanted her. Every encounter with him since they met flew through her mind - every flirty remark, the way she caught him looking at her with that more in his eyes, the almost kisses - he wanted her. She had been so wrapped up in denying her own desires for the priest that she had written the obvious signs from him off as her own hormones.

Father Jones desired her and he was angry at himself for it, not her.

His face when she had talked about letting Graham fuck her appeared again and she grinned at the realisation of what it had been - jealousy, pure and simple jealousy. That was why he had been so negative about Graham and questioned her so hard on the subject of dating him. Because deep down, he didn't want her to because he wanted her.

Emma bit her lip in thought. A few weeks ago she had thought the mere sexual thought of the good Father was a sin and that he was unattainable but it was clear now that he wanted her just as much she wanted him. So why not give in to that desire? She waited for the guilt to kick in, to feel morally repulsed by the idea of pursuing and hopefully having sex with a priest but it never came. She had been drawn to him from the very beginning and if he wanted her why not scratch the itch together? Yes it was wrong on so many levels but if the Father was willing, why shouldn't they give in to it?

"Who else do you want to invite to the BBQ on Saturday besides the girls?"

Her mother's question brought her out of her thoughts and an idea immediately began to form. Although she had made the decision to pursue him she wasn't going to let him off the hook for his actions Sunday night so easily, and she knew just the way to let him know about her new found intentions and to get him back for projecting his anger onto her. Smiling innocently she turned to her mother.

"How about Father Jones?"

Mary Margaret returned her smile, unaware of her daughter's ulterior motives. "Oh yes, we must invite him! I can't believe I didn't think to before. I'll go inside and tell him now."

As her mother went back into the house, Emma reached for her phone that had been setting beside her and quickly pulled up her group chat with the girls, grinning as she typed.

Emma: Anyone up for some swim suit shopping?


I promise the next chapter will be more fun! We've got a 4th of July BBQ and Emma in a string bikini - there's going to be fireworks. ;p