Once Upon a Coffee Shop
CS Genre: Coffee Shop/Secret Admirer AU
Killian Jones would never in his life forget the moment he first laid eyes on his soulmate.
He'd heard it said that when you met your soulmate, the other half of your very self, you knew it in an instant; you felt it deep within the core of your being. He'd always scoffed at the notion, never so much of a romantic that he could believe in something as fanciful as love at first sight.
That is, until he met her.
Her hair was as golden as the summer sun, her eyes green as the sea he loved so dearly. Green as a storm at sea on this particular morning, as luck would have it. The blonde angel stormed into his coffee shop, the Jolly Roger, the scowl on her face fierce enough to scare off a mob boss.
"Difficult morning, love?" he asked from his perch behind the counter.
The angel sat at the bar before him and turned furious eyes in his direction. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Anything I can get you?"
She studied the menu board for a moment and then threw up her hands in exasperation. "I can never understand coffee shop menus. What even are all those drinks? Just give me the strongest thing you have. How about an espresso?"
"Are you certain you want an overdose of caffeine? As tense as you are, it'll only make matters worse."
She shot him a glare that could curdle milk. "What are you, my mother? Are you going to sell me the damn drink or not?"
He raised both hands in surrender, trying and failing to keep the delighted smirk from his face. She was bloody glorious. "Just looking out for you, darling."
She took a deep breath, obviously preparing to give him a tongue lashing the likes of which he'd never had, and then abruptly she let the breath out on a long sigh. "Fine. What do you suggest?"
Rather than answer, he went to work, knowing deep within him what would sooth his troubled lass. Two minutes later, he slid a large mug of his famous hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream, and…his special ingredient…cinnamon as garnish.
The woman of his dreams took a sip, and then her eyes darted toward his, surprise and pleasure evident on her face. "This is really good, but…how did you know?"
"How did I know what?"
"The cinnamon," she said, her eyes wide. "It's how I always drink my cocoa, but I've yet to find anyone else who likes it like that."
Killian shrugged. "Perhaps I've just good taste, love."
The woman growled deep in her throat and set her mug on the bar. Hard. "Look, buddy; I'm not your 'love'."
He grinned. "I wouldn't be reduced to using the endearment if I had a name with which to call you, love."
For a moment he thought she would haul off and punch him for his blatant and deliberate use of the word, then she finally sighed again. "Emma Swan," she said simply.
Killian extended a hand. "Killian Jones at your service. Owner, proprietor and barista of the most extraordinary little coffee shop you will ever have the pleasure to patronize."
Emma rolled her eyes, but Killian could see the smile she was desperately trying to hide.
Killian allowed her to drink her chocolate in silence for several moments, but eventually the sadness in her eyes, the hopelessness got the better of him.
"What seems to be troubling you this morning, Swan?" he asked gently, resting his forearms against the bar, leaning toward her. "I realize we've only just met, but my ears are at your disposal if you'd like to unburden yourself."
She looked up at him suspiciously for long moments and then nodded decisively. "Pretty much your standard sob story. I just realized my boyfriend is the scum of the earth and I kicked him to the curb."
"I'm sorry, Swan." Was he really? He was sorry for her pain, of course, but selfish git that he was, his heart leapt at the knowledge that she was now single and unattached.
"Yeah, well," she said with a shrug. "I realized that he, like everyone else, wasn't who he said he was and I got my heart broken. Eight months of my life down the toilet."
They talked for hours, one hot chocolate turning into two and then three. He learned she was a bail bonds person, a loner, an orphan with no known family, and, what she wasn't saying but what was written all over her face, a lonely woman who was aching for someone, anyone to choose her, to love her, to treat her the way she so desperately deserved.
~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~
Emma was back the next day. Killian's heart leapt as he saw her yellow bug pull up to the curb, saw her step out, watched as she pulled the door open and shot him a smile that spoke of affection and friendship. She ordered a black coffee this time; told him stories of some of her more remarkable exploits hunting down malefactors. He told her of his brother, still living in England, of his own struggles to make it in a new land, of his odd obsession with all things "pirate".
The next day it was a latte she ordered, followed on the following day by a mocha.
After a week, he'd come to realize she chose her drinks based on her mood. Hot chocolate was her comfort drink, turned to only in times of sadness and distress. She drank her coffee black on ordinary, unremarkable days. Mochas were for days where she was happy, content with herself and her life. An order of espresso told him she'd spent a long, sleepless night on a stakeout and needed the caffeine to make it through the day. She chose the peppermint mocha when she was particularly jubilant—after she'd finally tracked down and captured a particularly elusive perp. Caramel mochas were for days when she felt carefree and flirtatious.
Caramel mocha days were his favorite.
Within two weeks he found that he could read her moods well enough to know what she'd order before she even made it to the counter. She gave him a shocked look the first day he placed a hot chocolate (with extra cinnamon) before her just as she was opening her mouth to request just that.
"How did you know what I wanted?" she asked, eyes wide.
He'd shrugged. "You're an open book, darling."
She came in every day, always around 10:00 a.m., after his morning rush but before the lunch crowd began arriving. He'd come to anticipate her visits as the highlight of every day.
And every day he fell a little bit more in love with her.
~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~
Eventually Killian realized their daily meetings were not enough for him. He wanted more; he wanted everything with her—relationship, marriage, babies, large house with a turret, picket fence, everything.
He'd tried to ask her out once, but the moment his teasing, carefree flirting had turned into something more, something serious, she'd completely and utterly shut down.
Though he'd tried to brush it off, return to their easy banter, it had wounded him to the core. How was he to handle the fact that the woman he loved had no desire for a romantic relationship with him?
As time went on, he realized it was far more complicated than that. All her life she'd been tossed aside, abandoned, treated as though she didn't matter, at best. Treated as an object to be used, at worst. Her heart had been bruised and broken so many times she'd built a wall a mile high around it to protect herself.
But she wasn't unaffected by him. He caught the stolen glances she shot his way when she thought he wasn't looking. Saw the way her eyes lingered on his lips, his pulse racing in reaction, his hands aching to pull her into the shelter of his arms.
But she wasn't ready for that. Not yet, so he continued the friendship, biding his time.
How was he to show her his feelings, show her he was in this for the long haul, without frightening her away?
~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~
Somewhere within the third week since meeting her, inspiration struck. Perhaps she wasn't ready to hear words of admiration, affection and love from his lips, but that didn't mean he couldn't tell her in another way.
Fishing a piece of paper from his desk, he began writing. Just a simple little note to tell her what a bloody marvel she was. He signed it with nothing but a small sketch of a swan. When Henry, the neighborhood lad who he'd hired a week past, came in to work that morning, Killian set him a new task, a new task that the cheerful boy readily agreed to.
Henry waited until Emma was in place, drink (black coffee this time) in hand, talking animatedly to Killian about the day ahead, and then he quietly slipped out the back door, placed the note under her windshield wiper, and crept back into the coffee shop.
The next morning, Emma surged into the shop, near to bursting with curiosity.
"Something on your mind, Swan?" Killian asked as he slid her caramel mocha her way.
"Killian," she said, after taking a quick sip, "the weirdest thing happened yesterday."
"Aye? Care to elaborate, love?"
"So, I came in here yesterday, like always, but when I got back to my car, I found this on my windshield." She placed his note on the bar.
Killian perused the missive, carefully schooling his features to show nothing but curiosity. After rereading the words he himself had penned, he folded the note and handed it back to her. "It would seem you've got an admirer, Swan."
"Yeah, I guess," Emma said, sitting back in her chair. "I don't get it though. Who is he? And…why would he say such nice things about me?"
Killian's heart clenched. Unable to stop himself, he reached over, cupped her cheek for a moment, and then gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't you understand, Emma? You deserve every one of those words and much, much more. You're bloody brilliant, amazing. It's long beyond time someone tell you so."
~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~
Each and every day Killian left a new note on Emma's car. Some days his notes were short, simple statements of his admiration for her. Some days they were long, sprawling missives attempting to help her through difficulties she was experiencing. Some days, when he couldn't stop himself, he spoke of his love.
Emma, for her part, seemed in equal parts suspicious, curious, mystified and touched by her secret admirer.
"Why won't he just tell me who he is?" she asked one day, over her hot cocoa. "Why not reveal who he is? How does he expect to ever, I don't know, move beyond the whole 'leaving anonymous notes on my window' stage of things?"
"Perhaps, love," Killian said, fingering a stray curl that had fallen over her shoulder, "he wishes to give you time to…consider the idea, first. Perhaps he sees the wounds you carry and he wishes to move slowly so as to avoid scaring you off. Perhaps he wishes to show you his dedication before he moves forward."
She'd looked at him suspiciously then, and Killian feared he'd said too much. One day he'd have to confess the truth to her, of course. With every passing day it was getting more and more difficult to hold his feelings for her inside; more and more difficult to pretend to be naught but the caring friend, when he wished to give her the world.
Aye, one day he'd tell her the truth; one day he'd give her his heart. But that day was not today.
~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~
As it happened, the day of truth came quite by accident.
Killian finished his daily note of admiration for his lady love, signed it with his characteristic swan and sent Henry away on his daily task just as Emma stepped through the door.
She looked exhausted. An espresso day, then.
"You better make it to go this time, Killian," she said, wearily dragging a hand through her hair. "I wish I could stay and talk like normal, but the son of a bitch I'm tailing is really giving me the run-around. I've gotta stay on his trail before it goes cold."
Killian nodded and went to work on her beverage, ruthlessly tamping down the disappointment bubbling up within. He poured the strong, black liquid into a paper cup, topped it with a lid, and wrote her name along the edge.
"Understood, Swan," he said, extending his hand to her. "I've no doubt you'll catch him in the end, but take care of yourself in the meantime."
She nodded, thanked him, and turned to leave. Abruptly she stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned back toward him. "Killian?" she asked softly, "what is that?"
"What is wh-?" his words died in his throat as he saw what precisely she was pointing at.
He hadn't merely written her name. In his inattention he'd added the secret admirer's swan as well. Feeling the heat creep up his neck, he ducked his head and began to scratch behind his right ear. "Well Swan," he stuttered "It's…a small doodle."
"This is the same swan my admirer uses to sign his notes," she said, returning to the bar, returning to him.
"Aye," he said slowly, "I'd wager it is."
"Why would you draw…" abruptly understanding dawned in her lovely eyes. "You're him, aren't you? You're the man who's been leaving me notes?"
There was nothing for it now. The jig, as they say, was up. Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes head on and then nodded. "Aye, Swan. That I am."
She cupped his cheek in one of her soft hands, thumb gently caressing. "Why, Killian?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you hide behind notes?"
Killian placed his hand over hers, holding it in place. "I've known, Emma," he said, his voice cracking, "almost from the moment you first stepped into my establishment, I've known that I'd never met a woman like you, and I'd never meet another again. I felt an instant connection; an instant spark, and I knew I was destined to tumble deeply, passionately and irrevocably in love with you. But love, you were so afraid, so hesitant to trust again. I…I merely wished to reassure you that you deserve the world…and that you are very rapidly becoming everything to me. But I thought…if you didn't feel as I do, I didn't want to lose your friendship. Perhaps pouring my heart into anonymous slips of paper was foolish, but once I'd begun, I scarcely knew how to stop."
He had looked down at the bar during his speech, fearing to look at her, fearing to see the pity, the rejection in her eyes.
"Killian, look at me."
He obeyed, slowly raising his eyes until his met hers, taking in the tears pooling in her eyes, the awe, the wonder. Slowly, she moved forward until her lips met his. It was a slow, gentle kiss, one of acceptance, love, overwhelming emotion. For Killian, it was nothing short of coming home after a lifetime of wandering in the cold.
When they finally pulled apart, Emma rested her forehead against his, gentle smile on her face. "Idiot," she whispered, chuckling softly to herself. "Did you know that I don't even like coffee?"
He pulled away far enough to look into her eyes. "You don't?"
She shook her head gently from side to side, her golden curls dancing with the movement. "No. Can't stand the stuff."
"If that's the case, why patronize my shop day after day?"
She caressed his face once again. "Don't you know, Killian? It's you. You had me from the first. If there even is such a thing as a happy ending in this screwed up world we live in, you're mine."
He kissed her again, heart soaring, mind racing. Aye, they were right, those romantics. When you met your soulmate nothing would ever be the same again.
Notes:
-Happy Friday! It's felt like a particularly long week this week, so I'm particularly happy to see the weekend come around.
-This week I went with a coffee shop au (obviously). I wanted to kind of showcase the fact that Emma is an open book to Killian; he can read her better than anyone else ever could. Also, who doesn't like a secret admirer?
-Up next: Another canon divergence. A look at what might have happened after the Neverland kiss if Neal had never ended up in Neverland (and thus never needed to be saved). I also plan to give Mary Margaret a do-over on that whole "I kissed him; I kissed Hook!" conversation on the way to the Echo Cave.