Happily Ever After—ch. 4
CS Genre: Rival bakers/enemies to lovers/online dating au
The Storybrooke Fall Festival was a tradition that went back to the town's founding several decades before. It was small town Americana at its best. Killian looked forward to the festival every year, but never before had he looked forward to it with more anticipation than he did today.
Today was the day he put himself out there and let Emma know exactly where he stood. He could only pray she reacted favorably when she learned of his feelings for her; when she learned that he was her mystery online correspondent.
He figured his odds were about fifty fifty either way. He knew she felt something for him, and that something wasn't absolute revulsion like she seemed to want to make him believe. At the same time…the wounds of her past still festered. He didn't need to know their details to know they existed. She had the look of one who'd been left alone too much and who was afraid to put herself out there again.
If she'd let him, he'd love her for eternity.
The strength and conviction of the sentiment shocked him. After Milah, he'd been so sure he'd never love again, and certainly never so deeply, but Emma…Emma was special. He'd never experienced emotions like these before, like she was his world, and if anything happened to her, he couldn't go on.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Emma asked concern-laced annoyance dripping from her voice.
He startled, unaware he'd been staring. "Pardon?" he asked, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, "Like what, Swan?"
"If you look at me any harder, you're going to drill a hole in my head," she said, brow furrowing.
"I…I apologize," he said, feeling his face warm.
They'd begun the day as a foursome, Dave, Mary Margaret, Emma and himself. After a delectable lunch—Dave's wife was a marvel in the kitchen—they'd walked the two blocks to the Storybrooke town square where the festivities were to kick off. They'd visited various booths where Storybrooke residents were pedaling their fall themed wares, and then they'd taken a hayride to Peter's Pumpkin farm, where David and Mary Margaret had purchased two large pumpkins and an assortment of gourds and decorative corn cobs that they hoped to use to make their residence festive for the season.
But after the hayride, they'd naturally separated off into couples. Mary Margaret, exhausted due to her far advanced pregnancy had stated her need to rest, and David had opted to stay with his wife. As Emma wasn't ready to be sidelined yet, she'd stated her plan to continue wandering through the festival. Reveling in the prospect of some time alone with his lady love, Killian had offered to accompany her.
She'd heaved a long suffering sigh, but she hadn't objected, and Killian rather counted that as a win.
"An apology? You know, you're really starting to freak me out, Killian," Emma said, shooting him a skeptical look. "You're being…a gentleman. You sure you're feeling okay?"
Killian smirked. "I'm always a gentleman, darling, and yes. I'm quite well."
They walked past a booth manned by Zelena Mills, the mayor's eccentric sister. She'd insisted on dressing as the Wicked Witch of the West, complete with green face and body paint. Her "booth" was a haunted house that she'd insisted contain nothing but evil flying monkeys.
"I mean," Emma continued, side-eyeing him, "you haven't used a single innuendo all day. No outrageous one liners, no hitting on me, no leers, none of that, that…indecent thing you do with your tongue. What gives?"
Killian grinned. "Why Swan, I had no idea you paid so much attention to my tongue."
She heaved another sigh, though a smile covered her lips. "There he is," she said on a laugh. "There's the man I know and l…er…tolerate."
Killian's heart stuttered and then raced at her slip of the tongue. Emma, clearly realizing what she'd almost said, turned away quickly and headed toward Granny Lucas's booth. "Um…I think I'm going to get myself a hot cocoa before we have to head over to the baking contest. He contemplated following her, taking advantage of the slight softening she was evidently starting to feel toward him, but in the end, he chose to stay where he was, waiting for her to return with her beverage.
As he watched her walk away, a nearly forgotten song his mother used to sing came to mind, and he softly sung as he watched her graceful movements toward Granny's booth.
She stepped away from me
And she moved through the Fair
And fondly I watched her
Move here and move there
And she went her way homeward
With one star awake
As the swans in the evening
Move over the lake
He watched her talk and laugh with neighbors and friends, and a yearning so strong, so complete it was nearly a physical ache came over him. She was so beautiful, so vibrant, so full of life. She was a strong woman who he had no doubt could do absolutely anything she put her mind to. What if today's venture was a failure? What if she rejected him?
His painful thoughts were interrupted by the woman herself as she returned to him carrying not one but two covered paper cups. She refused to look at him as she reached the park bench where he'd settled. Thrusting out her left hand, she handed him one of the cups.
"Here," she said, eyes shifting to the side. "Don't make a big deal of this, okay? It's just that you look cold. I thought you could use some cocoa too. Hope you don't mind; I had Granny put cinnamon on both of them."
Killian jumped to his feet, took the proffered cup, and then gestured for her to take a seat on the bench before he resumed his own seat. "My thanks, Swan," he said, awe in his voice, "I've no doubt the cocoa will be lovely with the addition of cinnamon."
"It really is, though, and I've never found anyone but Mary Margaret who uses it," Emma said before taking a sip of the fragrant liquid.
They drank their cocoa largely in silence, watching as town residents walked by. Storybrooke had its fair share of eccentric characters—from Cruella Feinburg with her five dalmations on leashes in one dramatically manicured hand, to Marco who'd fashioned himself a puppet and insisted it was a real boy, to the woman residents referred to merely as the blind witch—who had such a sweet tooth, she'd once insisted on building herself a life-sized gingerbread house.
It was pleasant simply sitting and enjoying the day with Swan. Their silence was comfortable, friendly.
But time inevitably marches on. Far sooner than Killian would have liked, Emma drained the last of her cocoa, tossed the cup in the trash bin next to the bench, and then reminded him that the main event of the day was about to begin: the Apple Baking Contest.
"Well," Emma said with a teasing grin, "guess it's about time I wipe the floor with you at this baking contest."
He returned her grin, getting to his feet and walking in step with her toward the gazebo where the judging was to take place. "You are certainly welcome to try, darling, but I'm afraid you have no chance of defeating me and my apple cake."
She laughed. "I guess we'll just see about that."
"Shall we place a friendly wager it?" he suggested, inspiration suddenly striking.
"What are the stakes?" Emma asked, looking at him warily as they arrived at the gazebo and took their places—next to each other—behind their entries.
He looked up dramatically as though deep in thought. "If I win," he lowered his head, looked up at her through hooded eyes and tapped his lips, "a kiss."
Her cheeks flared and she shook her head, the beginnings of a grin on her lips. "Please. You couldn't handle it."
He swaggered into her space. "Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it." He deliberately emphasized the "t" on the end.
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright, Romeo. Say I agree to this bet; what do I get when I win?"
"Quite confident, aren't we?"
She shrugged. "I make a mean Dutch apple pie."
Killian grinned, enjoying the banter. Flirting with a receptive Emma Swan was fun. "I shall allow you to set whatever terms you like in the infinitesimally small chance that I lose to you. I'll abide by the forfeit you set me."
"Whatever terms I want?" Emma asked? "Oh this could be fun."
He winked at her, an action, he noted, that made the delightful blush across her cheeks deepen further. "I've no doubt it could be very fun indeed."
She laughed, shoving him playfully. "You are ridiculous."
"That I am. So do we have an accord?"
"We do. It is so on," she said, offering her hand for a handshake to seal the deal. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips. He couldn't have hoped for a better reaction on her part than her quick intake of breath.
Their eyes met, and it was as though a bolt of electricity went through them. It would be so easy to pull her closer by the hand he still held, lower his head and gently mold his lips to hers. He began leaning down and she tilted her head up, no hint of reluctance in her demeanor. They moved yet closer…
"Good afternoon everyone!" Came the booming voice of Leroy Little, one of the judges and the MC for the baking contest. "The first annual apple baking contest is about to begin!"
Emma jumped, turning away from him so swiftly she only narrowly avoided knocking her pie off the red and white checked table cloth and onto the gazebo floor.
Though not normally a violent person, in that moment, Killian could have throttled the resident town curmudgeon.
This year there were five contestants vying for the coveted blue ribbon that proclaimed them the town apple baking champion—Emma with her Dutch apple pie, Killian with his harvest apple cake, Regina with her apple turnovers, Zelena with her green apple crisp, and the town pharmacist, Tom Clark with his caramel apple tarte. The items were to be judged by the aforementioned Leroy Little, Granny Lucas, owner of the town's one diner, and Dr. Archie Hopper, town psychologist.
Killian waited in nervous anticipation as the judges went down the row taking a bite of each of the entries, chewing thoughtfully, making notations on their clipboards. After sampling each of the desserts, the judges retired to their own table on the far side of the gazebo and put their heads together in whispered conversation.
It seemed like it took an inordinately long amount of time for their verdict to be reached, but in due course, Killian saw Leroy nod decisively, get to his feet, and make his way to the microphone near the steps of the gazebo.
This was it.
"I have to say, this was not an easy decision to make," he said, "but in the end no contest is complete without a winner, so without further ado….The winner of the first annual Storybrooke Fall Festival Apple Baking Contest is…"
Notes:
-Sorry? Hehe, I couldn't resist a little non-angsty cliff hanger. *runs away and hides* So what's your guess? Who's going to come out the winner of the contest?
-Don't worry, I won't make you wait too long to learn the results. Chapter 5 will be up next Friday, then the conclusion of the story will come the following Friday.
-Up next: The winner of the baking contest is announced, and then it's time for the big masquerade ball. We'll get to see Emma's reactions to the events of the day, and maybe even more significant, we'll get to see her reaction when she meets The Captain for the "first" time!