A/N: Thanks so much to Chaya for requesting this piece! I had so much fun writing it.

Just a note - some people have been complaining about these recent stories being too short, so I just wanted to make everyone aware that because I'm working on commission at the moment, it's very unlikely that people will be able to request my usual 100k+ works.

The people I've worked with so far have been incredibly generous supporting me and my writing, so I'd appreciate it if comments like that could be kept to yourself in future! x

Chapter one

Whenever her boss arrived in the office, all Emma could think about was the first time they'd met.

It had been Emma's first day on the job. She hadn't felt as nervous as in previous jobs, having been a temp for more than two years by that point, but there was still that faint tickle of anxiety at the sides of the stomach that she always tried to pretend wasn't there. Years of living in foster homes and having to pretend to be a nice, normal child whenever a new set of parents showed up for a tour had stuck with her, apparently, and so whenever she wandered into a new office with a box containing her favourite notebook and coffee mug clamped under one arm, part of her wondered whether she should comb her hair and plaster on an extra big smile just to impress them.

On that particular first day, she'd gone for a more neutral approach: she'd walked out of the elevator with a takeaway Starbucks cup in one hand and a hopeful smile on her face, and had walked straight into the company's CEO.

She didn't know the woman's name at that point. It hadn't come up in her very brief interview. All Emma knew was that, as her coffee spilled right down the front of a visibly expensive black dress, all traces of friendliness or pleasure had disappeared from the woman's face. Her dark brown eyes smouldered down to coal. Her plump, red lips had thinned and turned down at the corners, and she had looked at her newest employee with an expression so ferocious that Emma nearly slipped out the fire escape and never came back again.

From then on, any time Regina Mills walked through the office, Emma slumped down in her chair and prayed she wouldn't glance her way. Her placement at that particular marketing firm would only last six weeks, right up until the office closed for the holidays, and all she could do was hope that if she stayed as quiet as possible, she might survive to see that day.

Not that anyone else in the vast, open-plan office was as terrifying or unfriendly as their CEO was – in fact, Emma had a sneaking suspicion that when she left again in six weeks, she might even miss some of them.

"Look at this," Elsa, the web designer who sat beside Emma as she filed endless invoices and tried to organise the company's content schedule, said one Friday afternoon. "It actually recognises my face."

Emma glanced over at her. She was staring into her new iPhone like it had just repeated her darkest innermost secrets back to her.

"When was the last time you got a new phone?" Emma asked slowly.

"I don't know. Three or four years ago?"

"Okay. And were you also impressed by touch screens then?"

Elsa glared at her. "I was just about to give you my new number," she said, already scribbling it down. "But now I don't think I'll bother."

"No. Please. Don't say that," Emma replied flatly. Elsa rolled her eyes and handed over the scrap of paper.

"Use it wisely. No dirty photos unless I ask for them."

Emma grinned and pulled out her own phone, beginning to tap in the number. She was pretty friendly with everyone in that office already, but this was the first time anyone had given her any indication that they might actually want to socialise outside of work. As temp jobs went, she was feeling pretty positive.

And then the door at the back of the room opened and her boss walked out. Regina was wearing a black dress that was painfully similar to the one Emma had ruined a week earlier, and a scowl that suggested she didn't want anyone getting in her way this time.

Emma's thumb slipped as she typed Elsa's number in, but with her eyes on Regina, she didn't notice.

"You," Regina snapped. Emma automatically jumped, then wilted with relief when she realised she was talking to the teenage intern. "Did you finish that spreadsheet I asked for?"

As the poor child trembled and nodded, Emma momentarily considered how strange it was that she'd never seen this woman refer to anyone by their actual name. Come to think of it, she wasn't entirely certain Regina knew who any of them were, or what they were doing there – she just snapped her fingers and, eventually, the right person jumped.

As if she'd heard her think that, Regina turned her head and locked eyes with Emma. They looked at each other for a moment, Emma's cheeks burning instantly, before Regina glanced away again with an impatient sigh.

As Emma gathered up her things that evening, Elsa called out to her again. "Em, are you watching the Great British Baking Show?"

Emma shoved her orange-stained Tupperware into her backpack and nodded. "Of course. I'm going to catch up tonight."

"Text me," Elsa said. "I want your thoughts."

And so Emma settled down on her threadbare couch that night with Netflix open on her laptop, waiting for the new episode to start. Within 10 minutes, someone's choux pastry hadn't risen, and she grabbed her phone gladly.

I seriously wonder why these people don't practice choux at home when they know they're going to be on TV, she typed out. After the message had sent, she added, It's Emma, by the way.

She didn't get a text back right away, so she settled back and continued watching the show on her tiny screen. She did have a TV, but a few months earlier it had stopped connecting to any channel besides ones that tempted her to buy cheap jewellery and omelette-makers at 3am, so it usually stayed off.

Emma sipped at her beer and glanced out the window, where it was long since dark. As the city crawled closer to Christmas, the clouds above it had spent days hovering fat with snow, but hadn't quite broken out yet. She sighed wistfully and hoped that, if she stared for long enough, it would finally happen.

Then her phone buzzed against her leg and she looked down at it.

I think you have the wrong number.

Her stomach dropped slightly. After a moment rooting around in the back pocket of her jeans, she found the scrap of paper Elsa had handed her. She compared the number to the one on her screen and realised that she'd been so distracted by Regina slamming her office door open, she'd typed in at least four of the digits in the wrong order.

Rolling her eyes, she replied, Sorry! before returning to the show. When the baker's second batch of choux turned into pancake batter in the oven, she hesitated before grabbing her phone again. But if you're watching, you have to admit it'spretty chaotic.

She couldn't say why she'd written that. She wasn't sure she was even expecting a reply. But her apartment felt particularly cold that night and her thoughts – even if they were only about badly constructed pastries – were clattering around inside her head like a tornado destroying a barn. For whatever reason, she just really wanted someone to distract her.

The second she'd sent the message, she switched screens and typed in Elsa's actual number. She hadn't even finished repeating her earlier message when her phone buzzed with something else.

I actually already watched the new episode a few days ago. And yes – it was shambolic.

Emma blinked. A few days ago? How did you make that happen?

I used a VPN. I love that show and won't allow it to get spoiled by social media.

Weirdly, Emma felt slightly impressed. It took a very specific level of dedication to hack into the UK's streaming services just so you could watch a baking show a couple of days early.

She went to reply with something along those lines, but then Elsa texted her back. Emma smiled and settled in, clutching her phone with two hands as she tried to stave off some of her loneliness for the night.

Emma knocked lightly on the door to her boss's office and waited for that terrifying, slightly seductive voice to tell her to enter. When it did, she slipped into the room and tried to ignore the overwhelming smell of expensive perfume and cinnamon lattes.

"Hi," she said. Regina was sitting at her desk and hadn't looked up upon her arrival. She was wearing her reading glasses – thick-framed ones that made her face look even more angular and intimidating – and was scribbling something down in a notebook. It took a full minute for her to stop writing and finally lift her gaze.

Her dark eyes landed on Emma, rested there, and didn't blink. "What can I do for you?"

"Archie said you wanted to see these numbers," Emma replied, stepping forward with the papers she'd just printed out. Her hand was shaking slightly when she passed them across the desk.

Regina took them, sniffed, and said, "Why didn't he bring them in?"

"I don't know. I guess he's busy."

"Or too scared to show me himself how badly his campaign is doing," Regina replied briskly. She scanned over the papers once more, then looked up at Emma with raised eyebrows. "Did you want something else?"

Emma jumped. "Err. No."

"Then why are you still here?"

Burning with embarrassment, Emma turned on her heel and hurried out of the office. She couldn't help but shoot Archie a look of hatred as she passed by his desk.

At the end of the week, she settled down with Netflix once again. She and Elsa had been texting fairly regularly all week, but she was excited to have an actual topic of conversation to discuss with her. In the lead-up to Christmas, with work being busier and more stressful than she'd been expecting when she'd signed on, she particularly enjoyed her cosy Friday nights in watching people making needlessly elaborate desserts while Elsa chirped on her phone about how badly she wanted to stick her face in the icing. When someone's cake collapsed entirely, Emma's phone buzzed yet again.

She glanced down at it and frowned. It wasn't from Elsa.

You'd think that, by now, they'd know that opening the oven door a hundred times will end in a sunken sponge.

It was from the number Emma had mistakenly saved as her co-worker's. Hearing from that person again was genuinely surprising, and at first she wasn't sure if they'd texted her by mistake.

She slowly replied. You didn't use your VPN trick this week?

Work's been too busy – this is the first night I've had off since last weekend.

Barely paying attention to what was happening on TV anymore, Emma crossed her legs and typed out another response. That sucks. And yet for some reason, during your very first moment of free time, you decided to text me?

You're the only person I know who cares about this show.

Right, except you don't know me either.

She was worried maybe that would stop this other person from replying, but she instantly saw the typing bubble at the bottom of the screen.

Fine. Remind me what your name is?

Emma.

Well then, Emma – now that we're acquaintances, tell me: is it just me who would like to pour that entire bowl of chocolate ganache directly into my mouth?

Emma grinned and replied once more. Definitely not just you. I'll race you to it.

On the other side of the city, sitting in an apartment with a working TV and two empty bedrooms, Regina was smirking down at her phone in exactly the same manner. The slightly-too-generous glass of red wine she'd poured herself was sitting neglected on the coffee table in front of her.

She couldn't for the life of her say why she'd decided to text this woman again. It wasn't like she'd felt a sudden bond or lifelong connection during their first 30-second interaction. Rather, she hated to admit, it was more likely that it had been the first time her personal cell had buzzed with a message that wasn't from her network provider in about three weeks. When she'd seen an actual human being texting her, she'd frozen with shock. It didn't matter that it had been an accident – it was a novelty, and Regina didn't get to experience many of those nowadays.

Her apartment was huge and expensive and empty, which made the buzzing of her phone even more jarring. She looked down at it once more.

And what's your name?

The suspicion that her mother had drilled into her from an early age immediately reappeared. "Remember, Regina," Cora had said coldly more than once. "You don't have much to offer people except your looks and your money. Make sure you protect them as well as you can."

So Regina picked up her phone and replied to the only person in the world who wanted to speak to her with an answer that wasn't quite true, but also wasn't quite a lie. Gina. It's nice to meet you.

It's nice to meet you too, Emma replied. Regina smiled – she liked the woman's name. She was also immensely relieved to learn that this person was a woman at all. As sad as this whole interaction was, the only thing that would make it worse was if the stranger on the other end was a predatory man watching people bake while surrounded by his wife and five kids. The fact that she'd found herself talking to someone who might actually be slightly similar to her was, in the strangest possible way, the most comfortable thing she'd experienced in a while.