Stepping outside, Regina looks up to see fluffy snowflakes swirling down from the clouds.
Henry loved the snow.
She smiles wistfully as she remembers him twirling in it, his arms outstretched and his little face turned up toward the white sky. He smiled and laughed as he spun around, begging her to twirl with him—and as always when it came to Henry, she couldn't resist.
He'd love a day like today.
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she refuses to let a happy memory turn sad. So instead of lingering on it and letting herself remember, she pushes it back and heads to the lot behind the school where her car is parked.
Tucking her chin down, she burrows into her coat and she trudges along, only stopping and looking up to fish her keys from her pocket.
And that's when she notices Roland Locksley sitting on one of the swings. His little feet dangle above the ground and his little mitten-encased hands hold onto the ropes as he watches it snow. Despite being all alone, he doesn't look particularly worried or perplexed, and for a moment, she hesitates, reminding herself that it's not her place to pry.
But as she holds her keys and the wind picks up, a million different scenarios swirl around in her head—from why he's sitting on the swing all alone to what might happen if he stays there—and before she can second guess her decision to make this her business, she walks toward him, calling out his name.
Roland looks up—there's no recognition in his eyes, but he also doesn't look afraid.
"What are you doing out here all by yourself?" Roland swallows, looking down at his feet and then back up at her, likely wondering if she's someone he can trust. "I, um—I know we haven't met, but I work at the school sometimes, and I know your dad. My name—"
"Did my papa send you?" Roland asks in a burst, his eyes wide as he looks up at her. "He didn't come for me."
"Oh, no… no, he didn't send me to get you."
Roland's face falls. "Oh."
"So, he's… he's running late?"
"I think so," Roland says, his gloved hands rubbing at the chains holding up the swing. "Usually when he can't he sends my Uncle John."
"But he didn't come either, huh?"
Roland shakes his head, biting down on his lip as he looks back to her, and it's clear that he's worried. "This has never happened," he adds quietly. "Someone always comes for me. He never forgets."
At that, her stomach tightens. What Robin does for work is dangerous and illegal; and while it's a well-kept and open secret, she has no doubt that the clientele he's accumulated over the years would readily turn their backs on him should he ever be caught, or even to deflect consequences for themselves if they were ever caught. Leopold wouldn't hesitate, and neither would any of his friends.
"Would you mind if I stay with you for a bit?"
Roland grins and she takes that as her response.
He doesn't say anything as she sits down on the swing beside him, crossing her ankles as he she steadies herself and tries to think of something comforting to say.
"You know, I have a son—"
"Is he my age?"
"No, he's a little older than—"
"Does he go here?" Roland asks. "Sometimes I get to play kickball with the bigger kids at recess," he tells her. "It's because I'm such a fast runner. I can bunt the ball and still make it to first base without sliding."
She grins at Roland's enthusiasm. "My son goes to school in London."
"England!?"
"Yes—"
"My papa comes from there," he says. "But I've never gotten to go." He frowns a little. "Papa says it's too far."
"It is far," Regina admits. "And I don't get to go as much as I'd like to."
"So, you don't get to see your son much?"
She shakes her head, her stomach tightening a bit as she considers that. "Not nearly as much as I'd like."
"I'd miss my papa if I had to go to school far away."
Taking a breath, she musters as smile. "We write letters and I send him things. Sometimes we talk on the phone—"
"What kinds of things?"
"Books that he likes. Toys, sometimes." She considers it, thinking of her last care package. "I bought a canister of hot chocolate to send the last time—"
"I love hot chocolate!"
She can't help but laugh at Roland's emphatic declaration. His whole face lights up as he smiles, his dimples sinking sweetly into his cheeks as he sits up a little straighter on the swing. "My son likes his with whipped cream and cinnamon."
"I've never tried that. Papa usually puts marshmallows in mine."
Hesitantly, she looks away from Roland, staring down the desolate road that leads up the school and then turning her eyes up to the gray sky. At some point, she was going to have to make a decision about what to do if Robin didn't arrive soon—after all, they couldn't sit on these swings waiting for very much longer. It was going to get darker and colder, and if Robin didn't come for him, that likely meant...
She takes a breath.
She won't let herself continue with that thought.
"You know," she begins, decidedly pushing away her worry. "I haven't sent the package yet." Roland blinks, not quite following her lead. "I bought two canisters of the hot chocolate. I was going to save the second one and send it later in the winter, so… if you'd like to try it…"
Again, Roland lights up, and she can't help but laugh. "Really?"
"Yeah. We can heat up the water in the school."
Roland looks to the schoolhouse, then back to her. "But no one's there. How will we get in?"
A grin twists onto her lips as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out her keyring. "I told you. I work at the school sometimes, and that means I have a key."
Roland hops off of his swing and takes her hand, letting her take the lead. First, they go to her car and open up the box she had prepared to send to Henry. He waits, doing his best to be patient—squirming with anticipation as he sits on the seat beside her—and when she finally unwraps it, he smiles brightly and takes her by the hand, barely giving her time to shut the car door as he tugs her toward the school.
As he leads her around the building, she finds her chest tightening as she thinks of Henry at Roland's age—so happy, eager, and wonderfully exhausting. As she fidgets with the key in the lock, she thinks of her son, remembering how something as simple as a mug of hot chocolate on a snowy day would have delighted him —and she wonders if it still would.
She's lost in thought as she feels the key catch in the lock, and at the same time, she feels Roland let go of her hand—and by the time she looks over, he's already a few feet away, running toward the parking lot as Robin hops down from his truck.
"Papa!"
She smiles a bit wistfully as Robin drops to his knees, letting Roland crash into him before wrapping his arms around the boy as he lifts him off the ground, hugging him tightly as he kisses his messy hair.
Awkwardly, she stands there, watching as Roland pulls back and watching as Robin listens to him talk—and then, she offers a little wave as Robin looks past his son, looking directly to her. He smiles as he looks back to Roland, then, after shifting Roland onto his hip, he starts toward her.
"I'm so glad you arrived safely," she says as he approaches, not sure what else to say. "We were waiting—"
"Thank god you were here, and thank you for staying with him."
Her cheeks flush—and she's glad for the cold that hides it. "Oh, it was no—"
"Please don't say that it was nothing," he interjects. "I was out of my mind with worry, and I—" He stops and shakes his head. "What started off as the minor annoyance of a flat tire turned into a nearly three hour ordeal all the way across town. I had visions of him walking alone and someone snatching him up and—"
"Things happen. He's safe and you're here now. That's what matters."
Robin nods. His lips part, but no words come. She realizes that she should excuse herself and let them go, but she can't quite find the right words for that. So, she stands there, waiting for him to supply them.
"Uh, Roland said something about hot chocolate—"
"Oh!" She laughs and holds out the canister of Cadbury Cocoa. "He was awfully excited about trying this. You should take it. Make him a big cup of it when you get home."
Robin's eyes fall away from hers to look at the bright yellow can. "Oh, I was… sort of hoping that…"
"I told him that you make it special for your son," Roland says, interrupting in a burst.
"Yes," she murmurs, looking between them. "With whipped cream and cinnamon."
He nods, and then a bit sheepishly, he looks to her. "I thought maybe I could cash in that rain check." Her brows arch up as his eyes press closed. "Actually, no. I take that back. I'm sure you have better things to do, and you've already spent enough time—"
"I'll have you know that the twenty minutes I spent with your son was the highlight of my day." She grins as his eyes open. "I don't have any plans this evening, and something tells me you could use a few minutes to decompress, anyway." At that, he laughs and nods as he hugs Roland a little closer. "Come on, let's go in," she says as she turns back to the school house and pulls open the door. "And, you know, cinnamon isn't the only thing I can add to the hot chocolate," she adds.
Her stomach flutters as she leads them inside of the school, grinning as Robin sets Roland down—and immediately, Roland takes him by the hand, showing him an art project of his that's displayed in a little showcase in the hallway as they make their way back to the cafeteria.
"Truly," Robin begins as she unlocks the kitchen door, "I don't know how I can repay you for—"
"There's nothing to repay," she tells him. "I'm glad to have stayed with him. Things happen. Don't beat yourself up over a flat tire, besides—"
"Papa! I sit over there!" Roland interrupts, pointing to a table by the window. "That's my seat for lunchtime!" She watches as Robin looks, grinning gently. "My friends sit at the table, too."
"You're lucky to have a window seat," Robin says—ignoring the little chuckle that escapes her—likely not knowing how else to respond. "Why don't you go and wait over there while Regina and I heat up the hot chocolate."
"Do you know where the spoons and napkins are?" Regina asks, looking to Roland, who nods proudly in response. "Can you get us some? I tend to make a mess of myself whenever I have hot chocolate."
"Me, too," Roland admits as he blushes—and then, he takes off, running toward the cabinet where the napkins and cutlery are kept.
Robin follows her into the kitchen and leans against the counter, watching as she fills a kettle and takes out three mugs—and when she pulls a flask from her purse, he laughs out.
"Don't tell," she whispers. "But this flask is often what gets me through the day."
"I wouldn't dream of it." She grins as she pours a little whiskey into two of the mugs, then returns the flask to her purse. "Regina, I, um… I'm glad we've got a minute to ourselves," he begins. "I just wanted to apologize—"
"I told you, there's nothing to apologize—"
"Not because of today."
She blinks as she looks up from the kettle. "Oh?"
"About the other night?"
Her eyes widen and her cheeks warm, remembering their awkward little exchange in the cellar. "You know, that drink I offered you wouldn't have been my first, or fifth of the night. I was—"
"I worried about you after I left."
Her heart beats a little faster as she looks back to the kettle, pretending to adjust the flame on the stove. "Why's that?"
"You and I both know that I overheard at least some of that fight you had with Leopold—"
"Fights between Leo and I are commonplace. You shouldn't—"
"You were upset and I just left."
"You had to get back to your son. He's always a valid reason for—"
"Roland said that you called me your friend."
She blinks, not realizing that the conversation had shifted. "Oh. Yes, I did. I just didn't know how else to describe our relationship. Calling you the man that my husband gets his illegal booze from seemed… inappropriate, given Roland's age. It seemed easier to simplify, even if I overstated—"
He grins and she catches a glimpse of his dimples. "You didn't overstate anything."
Her brow arches as she looks back to him. "You think of me as a friend?"
He hesitates, but nods. She takes a shaky breath as he holds her gaze, looking at her with such kindness and sincerity. "Yes, and friends don't just leave one another when they're upset, so for that I am sorry."
"It's… probably for the best," she says, shrugging as she remembers the sharp cut of rejection. "I wasn't in a good mindset. I'd have been miserable company and tend to make terrible decisions when alcohol is involved. You likely did me a favor." Turning away from him, she goes to the refrigerator to find the milk—and she can feel his eyes still on her. "But if you insist on making it up to me," she says, turning back to face him. "You can get that powdered sugar off the shelf." She points to it and sighs. "It'll save me the embarrassment of inevitably falling off the counter. Even in heeled shoes, I'm too short to reach it."
He laughs softly and reaches for it, handing her the canister so that she can start making the whipped cream. The kettle whistles as she's still mixing, and without needing to be asked, he turns off the burner and pours the water into the mugs. She brings the bowl of whipped cream to where he stands and he offers her a spoon, letting her stir in the cocoa mix while he adds a hefty dollop of whipped cream to the top of each mug. She grins softly to herself as she reaches for the cinnamon—and when she looks up, she finds that Robin's watching her with a curious look in his eye.
Her cheeks flush. "What?"
"I was just thinking about the first time that I met you."
Her eyes widen. "When I bit your head off?"
"No, when you rightly put me in my place." He grins and reaches for a tray. "I was wrong to make assumptions about you."
He doesn't say any more. Instead, he loads the mugs of hot chocolate onto the tray and carries them off into the cafeteria where Roland sits, waiting by the window and watching as the snow piles up on the window sill.
For awhile, the three of them sit there, talking and sipping the hot chocolate. Roland does most of the talking, telling her everything there is to know about the kindergarten program. He tells her stories about his teacher and his friends, stories about the things he's learning and the games he plays at recess, and she finds herself hanging on his every word.
Every now and then, she catches a glimpse of Robin, sitting back and listening, watching her and Roland talk with a look of amusement on his face, and it's not until they leave when the ache settles into her chest as her thoughts drift back to Henry and all of the moments like this one she'll never have with him.