If someone had told Killian that he'd be spending a boring-arse afternoon in a wedding dress store today, he'd have called them stupid drunks, idiots, the usual names. Yet here he was, reading the same columns on the same page of the same newspaper.
He was bored out of his bloody mind. Shopping irritated him, but shopping for clothes made it worse. Glancing around at all the white garments, he pushed his reading glasses on harder and hid behind the only privacy screen he had at the moment.
"Hold on – I'll just be a minute," came Emma's cheerful voice. She knew exactly what she was doing and loving how annoyed he was, no doubt.
"You said that 15 minutes ago, lass. Are you going to get a bloody move on?" He snapped the pages of the newspaper as loudly as he could. "Bloody hell, how long does it take to put on a dress?"
"Men. They never understand, then show up and look like complete slobs. Women take their time, and we dress to impress."
"Oi, this gentleman has every intention of always looking the part. And I never, ever dress like a slob."
"Must depend on the audience."
"Ha! Maybe, Swan, I would try a little harder if you hurried up. Are you done yet?" he whined. He hated how he sounded – like a sulky brat, not a professional journalist – but his back was starting to hurt and his eyes were beginning to water. How long had they been in this goddamn shop? Two hours? Three?
Huffing, he eyed the same classified ad again.
"Okay… I think I'm ready."
He scoffed. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"Maybe if you'd lower your newspaper?"
Slowly, carefully, he put it down and took off his glasses to get a better look. His jaw almost dropped to the floor.
Emma was in the most stunning gown he'd ever seen. For the first time since he'd met her, she seemed genuinely happy. She was smiling from ear to ear, turning from side to side. He chuckled when she twirled in circles.
"So? What do you think?"
Her eyes shone like stars, and her smile was dazzling. As if for him.
What? Nonsense! She hated him. She was engaged to that bloody Graham fellow. All of a sudden, his heart was hammering like a drum. Was it this hot in here when they came, or just now? Why were his palms sweaty? Why was his mouth so dry? Why the hell was his mind filled with so many questions?
He swallowed hard. It would be best if he remembered that he hated her, too. "You look…fine," he finally declared, keeping his tone flat and uninterested.
"Hmm." She was still staring at him. He lifted up the newspaper again so she wouldn't see his reddening cheeks. "Did you know your newspaper is upside down?"
It was. He could play it off, though. "Is it, then? How clumsy of me." He turned it right side up. "Will there be anything else, lass?"
"Oh, come on. You can't be that mad at me. Come on, admire me!" She danced around the pedestal. "Picture me, all dolled up – with my hair up, everything. And then I'll walk down that aisle, sauntering. Can your writer's imagination see it?"
"Ah, well," he sighed. "My imagination, sorry to say…hasn't been around the past 10 or so years."
"Did your ex take it with her during your divorce?"
He shot up in his seat. "How on earth–"
"Please. You look and act divorced."
"That easy to tell, eh?" He shook his head. "And she got the editor-in-chief position, to boot. Take that for going down in the world instead of up."
"Your ex is in charge of The Times?" She smirked. "So she fired you."
"Aye, that she did. And she married my rival. She's a wonderful woman."
"I can't tell if you mean that or not."
"Oh, I mean it. She is a fabulous writer and a great person."
"What went wrong, then?"
Her prodding stirred something inside – something best left alone. "Honestly, I don't know."
"Have you ever asked her?"
"No."
"See, that's your problem. Instead of trying to figure it out, you should ask. You might be surprised at what you find out."
"That I'm a screw-up? I know that already."
"We all know that, Jones." He scowled at her. "It's true. You wouldn't be here right now if it weren't."
He couldn't argue with that.
"You should pay more attention to others around you. Imitate them. Take Graham, for example." Of course, she'd mention that bloody git. "He's kind, gentle, caring."
"Let me guess. When he proposed – unlike all your other boring ex-fiancés – you cried."
"Hey, he had hundreds of candles set up on the soccer field that said 'Marry me.' It was so romantic! Hands down, one of the best moments of my life."
"No wonder."
"Oh, you did better for your ex? What did you say when you proposed, genius?"
"Nothing much." He shrugged. "We agreed life would be better if we got married."
She snorted and rolled her eyes at him.
"I've never been a fan of fancy proposals. It seems superficial. If you need to do such grand gestures, it doesn't ring true. You need to speak from your heart."
"Wow, you sound like a Hallmark card."
"Darling, I know what I'm talking about. I loved my wife. We were best friends – at the time. And the most you can say to the person you love is… We may not be meant for each other, and this may not be happily ever after. Hell, we may even become sick of each other and want to run away from it all. But I know, in this moment, that my heart is yours. And if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. For better or for worse, I know you're the only one for me."
He realized that he had just made up a marriage proposal. In front of a bride-to-be. In a bridal shop. In front of Emma Swan, of all people.
She was right in front of him, hanging on his every word.
"And that, ahem, is how you should propose," he finished gruffly. He took the hem of his shirt and tried to clean his glasses. Anything to avoid looking at her.
She stepped down. An onslaught of sweet perfume reached his nose and made him cough. "That's pretty good, Jones. Maybe you should try it on the next girl."
"Not a chance in bloody hell." He sighed. "Relationships are not my cup of tea. I don't have the patience or the temperament."
"More of a one-night stand guy?" She crooked an eyebrow. "Have to admit, it sounds like you."
He glared at her. "A no-stand guy, more like it. I don't date, I don't do anything with the fairer sex. Those times are over. Now I just…"
"Want to grow old in peace?"
"Aye, grow old and read my bloody newspaper in peace." Something in her eyes and that teasing smile sparked a feeling he couldn't shake.
He laughed. A real laugh that filled his chest. It had been a long time since he had laughed like that.
Emma seemed to find him equally hilarious, breaking into peals of laughter herself.
Killian didn't know which he found more ridiculous – that he was sitting in a wedding shop with his most hated enemy, or that said enemy was sharing a good laugh with him over his own idiocy.
How bizarre this past month has been.
"You should have gone into comedy. It would have been better than that crappy column of yours."
Unfortunately, she was right. The column was a bloody catastrophe and not exactly a job he ever wanted. Still, when in Rome…
"That's the past. Vindication is all that matters now."
"And after that?"
A blank page. That was his future. Nothing and no one in it but him. "No bloody idea," he mumbled.
Thankfully, one of the ladies working at this establishment entered at that very moment, sparing him any more questions.
"Darling! Wow, you look scrumptious. Having fun with dress-up? This gown just came in last week, and it is a dream come true."
"Ah, Zelena." Emma stepped closer to her and whispered, "Is my other dress still on hold?"
"Yes, darling – it's the back. I'll go and get it!"
"Actually, I wanted to do something different." Zelena stopped in her tracks. "I've decided…that I'm going to buy this dress instead."
The woman honestly looked shocked. Killian narrowed his eyes.
"Emma, darling," she said slowly. Carefully. "Your dress is beautiful. And it's already been fitted. It's ready for you. Are you sure that you want to go to all this trouble for a new dress?"
Her tone sounded condescending. It seemed that Emma heard it, too.
"But I've changed my mind. I want this one."
"I mean, this one is lovely, but it's not worth it. And look at that price tag! It's a thousand dollars."
He peeked at Emma's face. Her eyes were bright, and her lips were set in a thin line. The hurricane was coming.
To her credit, she still tried to stay calm and work this out reasonably. "Uh, is this one for sale? Because I have the money – in cash – to pay for it. Right now."
Zelena pursed her lips. "Darling, wedding dresses last a lifetime. And with all the new fitting and time we'll have to spend on this one, it just seems like too much work. I mean, you only wear yours for about 10 minutes or so. Why not do yourself a favor and skip the drama?"
He had lived in New York City for over a decade, and even for him, this was ridiculous. She had the money to buy what they were selling. They were paid to do their stupid jobs. What was the bloody problem?
Naturally, he imagined Emma would erupt in anger – yell, shout, do anything desperate. The sight of her – so fiery and opinionated – on the verge of tears, swallowing them down and quietly agreeing that it really wasn't worth it, that the other dress was nice…
For the first time since he had come to this damn town, he lost his temper.
Calm. That is what he must be. He must be calm. He must be diplomatic.
Putting on (what he hoped was) a charming smile, he stood up, stuck his newspaper under his arm, and walked over to Zelena. "Excuse me, love? I take it, ravishing as you are, that you work at this fine establishment?"
She preened and purred. American women and their fascination with British accents. "Why, yes, I do. You must be Killian Jones, right?"
Word gets around fast in small towns. "Aye, that's right. And you're Zelena?"
"Indeed I am." She fluttered his bloody eyelashes at him.
Behind her, Emma rolled her eyes. For once, her disgust pleased him immensely. It meant she wasn't feeling as sorry for herself.
"And this is a bridal shop, correct? You're here to sell wedding gowns?"
"I've been here for eight years. I promised myself that when it's my turn to buy one, I'll quit." She licked her lips.
He smoldered back at her. "Perfect. Because Miss Swan here," he gestured at Emma, "would like to buy one. But she does not want an ordinary dress. She wants this one."
Zelena's face fell. She tried to recover, muttering, "But it's a thousand dollars!"
He didn't know which was more infuriating: that she didn't want to sell a dress for sale or that she would even argue with him, of all people, that Emma's reputation alone was the reason.
He laughed lightly under his breath. "Listen, love – I'm a writer, not a speaker, so words don't always come easily to me. Perhaps you misheard, or you did not understand my point. Let us try a physical demonstration, shall we?"
He went over to Emma and grabbed her by the waist. She glanced at him, but he was too angry to question his own boldness in touching her. Her hip nudged his. He nudged her back. A glimmer of a smile crossed her lips.
"This beautiful woman is here to shop for a wedding dress. She has chosen this one, as well as anything else her heart desires, and we're ready to pay for it. Now are you going to take us to the register to make the purchase, or will I need to talk to your manager and make a complaint?"
A/N: This story was first posted in 2014, pulled down (voluntarily) in 2015, and now I've brought it back. I'm determined to finish it. This chapter was fun to write and has much more dialogue than the previous chapters. I've also decided to extend this fic to at least 7 or 8 chapters so that not so much is crammed into each chapter.
I removed all my work from this website years ago, and I've decided to slowly bring it back. I have 14 other Captain Swan fics I'd like to share, and while I may not have the energy to post them all up, I will do my best. Reviews are always appreciated. I'm also on AO3 under the same username, and I'm on Tumblr as 4getfulimaginator2022. I hope you enjoyed this story - see you around!