Emma's only been living in Storybrooke a few weeks, but it seems like she learns something new about the odd little seaside town every other day. Her first week it had been the town's suspicious lack of children over the age of eleven (she'd only noticed because Henry had pointed it out), and last Tuesday it had been Mary Margaret's nonexistent en-suite washer/dryer (which was more annoying than it was odd, truth be told, but that wasn't really the point).
Her roommate had pointed her in the direction of the town's only laundromat shortly thereafter, a small little hole-in-the-wall with four machines, a surly cashier that did little more than grunt when you greeted him (not that she was complaining), and severely outdated reading material with which to pass the time.
So here she was on her day off from the station, sitting by the front window in one of the most uncomfortable chairs literally ever as she waits for her whites to finish. She blows a curl out of her face, as she gazes thoughtfully out the window, her ears perked for the telltale buzzing of the timer on the dryer. Her eyes follow a brown and beige-striped truck as it passes by and comes to a halt in front of the store across the way. She watches as a man emerges from the cab, a gray scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, a broody expression set on his face. She's just beginning to wonder what it is the shop even sells when the man pulls a crate of flowers (orchids, she thinks) from the truck's bed.
The timer on the dryer goes off then and by the time her things have been folded and packed away, the man and his truck are gone.
She sees him again about a week and a half later; same beat up truck, same broody expression (no scarf this time, however). The wind ruffles his dark hair just as he exits the four-person cab and makes his way to the bed to fetch yet another crate of flowers (orchids again). While the weather outside isn't exactly frightful just yet, the chilly winds of fall are beginning to blow, making Emma question his choice of a thin, short-sleeved t-shirt and no jacket.
She wonders briefly whether or not he's cold as she watches him lift the first of three crates from his truck. Her eyes widen a little, the flex and ripple of his arm muscles causing her to wonder if the rest of him is as visually pleasing.
"Washer's free," a gruff voice says suddenly.
Emma starts slightly, dragging her eyes away from the handsome flower guy and over to the owner of the voice.
"Great, thanks," she tells him, rising from the chair that she's come to view as hers and grabbing her laundry bag.
She flicks one more glance out the window as Handsome Flower Guy enters the shop (which is ridiculously named 'The Wizard of Vase'). Sighing almost wistfully (and then promptly giving herself a mental slap because what the hell, Emma?), she drags her eyes away and walks off to start her first load.
It's five o'clock on a Thursday when she sees him next. Her eyes are immediately drawn to his truck as she exits the laundromat, a bulging bag of clean clothes in tow. She shivers and steps off to the side, setting her bag at her feet as she zips up her red leather jacket and pulls a black beanie over her blonde mane.
He pulls his car to a stop just outside 'the Vase' and exits the cab, broody as ever (and he's wearing a plaid button down with the sleeves rolled up that may or may not be doing things to her).
She only realizes she's been staring when his eyes meet hers.
Flushing slightly, she averts her gaze, busying herself by picking up the laundry bag at her feet. She chances one final glance in his direction as she starts off down the sidewalk to where her Bug is parked and feels her heart flutter at the small smile on his lips.
It's almost a month before she sees again, the light snow of early winter coating the streets and buildings and making the small town look a lot more magical than it's actually been the last week or so.
She absently fingers the shoelace tied around her wrist as she watches her clothes through the window of the machine as they tumble dry. Sighing wearily, she turns her eyes to the world outside, tiredly wondering what Regina is going to try and pull on her next.
The dryer buzzes, dragging her out of her reverie just as he pulls up across the street.
She ignores the second buzz of the machine across from her in favor of watching him exit his truck; he's got that scarf around his neck again, this time wrapped tighter, the ends stuffed into the top of his heavy jacket. The low winter sun moves briefly from behind the clouds and hits him right in the face, the light highlighting the red in his beard. She watches as he squints and raises a hand against the assault, quickly making his way to the bed of his truck as he tugs on a pair of gloves.
He pulls back the blue tarp covering today's shipment and lifts a crate. Emma rises to her feet as he makes his way into the shop; she briefly wonders how he manages to grow anything in weather like this, let alone something as delicate as flowers. She's stuffing her folded clothing into the bag sitting on her chair when he returns for the next crate, his eyes somehow finding hers once more even with a pane of glass between them.
He flashes her a shy smile and scratches endearingly behind his ear after a moment, averting his gaze and refocusing on his task. Emma smiles softly to herself and tightens the drawstring on her bag. She should probably put a stop to this, should probably let him know that it's not going to happen, but this is the lightest she's felt since Graham's sudden death and she just can't bring herself to let the feeling go.
Stealing glances and swapping smiles quickly becomes "their thing."
She wonders if it's a coincidence that he seems to make a flower delivery every time she visits the laundromat, wonders if their wordless exchanges are one of the highlights of his week too (which, judging by his shy glances and warm smiles, is a definite possibility).
Maybe it's silly, but Henry has been one of the only good things in her life as of late and it's nice to have something else, something that's just hers.
Seeing him at least once a week, even just for a few moments, becomes the norm after a few months.
They've even added waving to their repertoire.
So when he doesn't make a delivery for two weeks, she notices (and she'll swear up and down later that she was so not worried about him, because that would be ridiculous). She unconsciously starts keeping an eye out for his truck as she patrols, only realizing it when seeing another vehicle with a similar color scheme makes her heart practically skip a beat (when in the hell did she become such a damn sap?).
On the third week, she gives into her curiosity and decides to pay 'The Wizard of Vase' a little visit.
The bell above the door jingles merrily as she enters the cozy little shop, the smell of lavender and jasmine invading her senses and immediately putting her at ease.
"Welcome," a voice calls from the back of the store.
She casually makes her way over, stopping every now and then to admire some particularly lovely arrangements (that may or may not include the orchids she's been admiring from afar). Rounding one of the shelving units reveals a squat, blond man standing behind a long table tweaking an arrangement of lilacs and lilies of the valley.
"You the 'wizard'?" Emma jokes, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
The man chuckles in a manner that suggests that this isn't the first time someone has made that joke. "I am. What can I 'conjure' up for you today?"
She huffs a laugh and licks her lips, suddenly feeling nervous. "I actually just had a quick question, if you have a second."
The man stops messing with the arrangement and focuses his attention on her. "Fire away, Sheriff."
She pauses, the use of her title throwing her for a moment even though it's been official for weeks now. Emma clears her throat and opens her mouth to reply just as the bell over the door jingles once more.
"Welcome," he calls again before turning his attention back toward her.
"Asher, mate, where are you?" a lilting, male voice calls from the front of the store.
Emma huffs in annoyance as his attention is pulled away from her yet again. "Hey, Dylan, it's been a while," he shouts back, a surprised smile stretching across his face.
"Excuse me, Sheriff, I'll be right back," he says to her, wiping his hands on his apron as he makes his way around the table and up to where this 'Dylan' is.
She crosses her arms petulantly and continues to stand there for a moment, feeling even more foolish the longer she waits. After a few minutes, she comes to the conclusion that this 'quest' of hers is stupid and that Handsome Flower Guy is most likely just fine and if he had wanted to talk to her, he would've made a move ages ago.
Sighing, she turns back toward the front of the shop and casually makes her way to the exit. Not wanting to draw attention to herself by fleeing the scene, she pretends to admire a few arrangements on the way, stopping every now and then, adopting a 'mildly interested' facial expression. She can hear Dylan and Asher chatting as she moves toward the shelf closest to the door. A laugh from one of them draws her attention and her eyes widen comically at the scene before her.
There her new buddy Asher stands with none other than her sole reason for entering this place: Handsome Flower Guy (who apparently goes by 'Dylan').
She turns away quickly, unsure how to proceed; yes, she'd been looking for info about the guy but the last thing she'd expected was for him to show up today of all days (did he have some kind of crystal ball or something? It's like he knew she'd be in here asking about him).
Emma maneuvers herself so that she's standing at the end of one of the tall shelving units. As she pretends to be very interested in this particular arrangement of carnations, she sneaks glances at the pair as they continue to chat, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.
She quickly learns that the reason he's been M.I.A. is due to a particularly nasty bout of the flu. He apparently has a cabin somewhere out in the woods (which is probably the reason she's only ever seen him here) and he just didn't feel well enough to make the trip into town until now. Asher assures him that it's 'just fine' as the bell over the door jingles yet again, signaling the entrance of the brusque, older woman that runs the diner a few blocks over.
"I'll go start unloading," Dylan announces, smiling pleasantly at the older woman as he passes her.
Emma follows him with her eyes, studying him as he exits the shop, his hair immediately ruffled by a cool breeze; he's even more handsome up close and she kind of hates him for it. He's sporting a bit more scruff than usual today, probably due to the fact that he's been ill, but she thinks it's definitely working in his favor.
As he pulls the first crate from his truck, Emma is struck with how absurd this entire situation is and mentally curses herself for thinking this was a good idea.
He's going to know you came here to see him, talk about desperate, her traitorous brain mocks as she ducks behind the shelf just in time for him to push his way back through the door.
In the back of her mind, she knows she's being ridiculous, recognizes that this is not her usual M.O., that she's the damn Sheriff, so why the hell is she behaving like such a coward (and over a man, of all things)?
Presently, however, sneaking out and pretending like this never happened definitely seems like the most favorable option. So when he exits the shop again to retrieve the second crate, she quickly maps out her escape route, muttering a curse under her breath when she realizes there's only one way out.
He pushes through the door again, his breathing slightly labored from his haul. Emma covertly watches as he passes her hiding place and slips out from behind the shelf. She casually makes her way toward the door, careful not to look back or draw attention to herself in any way.
"Thanks for stopping by, Sheriff," Asher calls suddenly, briefly halting his conversation with the older woman.
Emma jumps slightly in surprise and turns in the man's direction, sending him a forced smile and a quick wave as she continues moving forward. She spins back around as her leg connects with a large cardboard display about some sale they're having and sends it clattering loudly to the floor.
Flushing hotly (so much for being stealthy), she cringes and turns back toward the owner. "Sorry," she mumbles, crouching to retrieve the hunk of cardboard.
As luck would have it, Handsome Flower Guy chooses that exact moment to return to his truck and halts in surprise when he sees her fiddling with the display.
A smile spreads slowly across his lips as their eyes meet, recognition and surprised delight shining in his blue eyes. They stare at each other wordlessly for what feels like ages, Emma frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, her brain screaming at her to run.
After another moment, she regains the tiniest sliver of her composure and quickly makes up something about getting an urgent call from the station before practically running out the door. As it closes behind her, she fights the urge to cradle her head in her hands in shame because what the actual hell was that?
She manages to make it back to her car without further incident (though she swears she hears the door to the shop open again behind her), fleeing the scene of the crime, as it were. She spends the rest of the day at her desk mentally kicking herself and ignoring the mild disappointment she feels every time the front door to the station opens and it's not him.
Weeks pass and the many dramatic events in town prevent Emma from continuing to worry about her brief, albeit embarrassing, encounter with Handsome Flower Guy (a.k.a. Dylan); first there was the scandal with her roommate, Mary Margaret, followed by the disappearance of David's wife Kathryn. Then there was that whole kidnapping situation with the mysterious (and slightly unhinged) Jefferson. Then came Mary Margaret's murder trial, which was thankfully halted due to the reappearance of David's wife Kathryn…and so on and so forth.
Needless to say, Handsome Flower Guy was all but wiped from her mind by the time August showed up talking about breaking some curse and riling Henry up to the point that he'd purposefully put himself into what turned out to basically be a magical coma.
(Yes, magical. Turns out there was a curse. Who'd have thought?)
And if all of that wasn't enough, she'd found her parents. Turns out they hadn't abandoned her like she'd spent most of her life believing (Sure, it's a little weird that they're basically the same age as her because of the curse they've been under, but what about this situation isn't weird?). Breaking the curse did more than just give her family back to her, however, it also gave her a town full of angry people seeking revenge on Regina.
Fantastic. Yet another problem she has to deal with.
Before she can even begin to tackle this new set of problems though, she (quite literally) runs into someone. As she reaches out to steady herself, and the person she ran into, she suddenly freezes.
It's Him.
(Because of course.)
A myriad of emotions race through her at the sight of him (most of which she refuses to acknowledge for reasons), but the only thing she's conscious of in that moment is the slight jolt in her chest when she meets his eyes. She thinks that he's just as surprised to see her as she is to see him, but that could just be the fact that he's just regained all of his memories.
They stand there wordlessly for a moment, continuing to stare at one another, before an impish grin spreads slowly across his lips. Emma's surprise morphs into mild confusion at this, and she shoots him a questioning look. Before their silent conversation can continue any further, however, her mother and father appear suddenly beside her again to remind her that they 'still need to talk.' Emma grimaces at the interruption, briefly looking back and forth between them and pretending not to notice the suspicious looks her parents are sending Handsome Flower Guy (She should probably learn his real name, but now is really just not the time).
Momentarily ignoring her parents, Emma sends an apologetic glance in his direction, noting the now amused grin on his face, before returning her attention to her parents and gesturing for them to follow her somewhere more private.
She feels the heat of his gaze on her back as she walks away and resists the urge to turn back.
Emma sighs, absently staring at the clothes in the dryer through the window in the door. She'd spent the last few days putting out metaphorical (and even a few literal) fires all over town. The people of Storybrooke have agreed to stop trying to kill Regina, at least for the moment, on the condition that she remains in a holding cell until they can agree on what to do with her. Regina reluctantly agrees to their terms, pretty much solely to appease Henry.
Emma and her parents finally had their talk as well and, while she hasn't exactly forgiven them for leaving her alone for all those years, she really is trying to give them a chance. Currently, they're all living together in Mary Mar–uh, Snow's apartment.
(So weird.)
Handsome Flower Guy was (again) missing in action and had been since that day they'd run into each other after the curse broke. She'd looked around seemingly everywhere, had even asked a few of the townspeople, including the old owner of the flower shop, if they'd known where (or who) he was. For the first time in a long time, she was at a loss at how to track someone down.
After everything, she really needs a break. Henry is visiting with Regina down at the sheriff's office (David is supervising), and she'd somehow managed to convince her mother to give her a little time to herself. So here she is, doing her laundry. The laundromat is completely empty, not even that gruff cashier is there (though, she supposes he wasn't actually a cashier anymore…or ever, really). She smiles slightly, basking in the stillness that's been all but nonexistent the last few days.
As she waits for her clothes to dry, she glances out the window out of habit, her gaze wandering idly down the street observing the few townspeople enjoying the late morning sunshine, before halting at the colorful sign hanging over the door to the flower shop. The notice in the window says that they're closed, as if the darkness within wasn't enough of an indication of this. She sighs again, doing her damnedest to think about anything (and anyone) other than Handsome Flower Guy.
(She is failing. Miserably.)
She continues to let her eyes wander, lazily tracing the angles of the building, before it catches on a tuft of dark, wind-tousled hair.
Emma swallows thickly, her heart suddenly in her throat as she moves her eyes down to where a face should be.
But it isn't him.
She scoffs in mild frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to stave off the headache she can feel building behind her eyes. The timer on the dryer buzzes, jolting Emma from her thoughts. She huffs a tired laugh at herself, shaking her head as she rises from the bench she's been occupying. Grabbing her laundry bag from where it hangs on a hook by the machines, she begins mindlessly unloading her things from the dryer. Just as she's forcing in the last of her shirts, she hears the door to the laundromat open, the bell over it tinkling merrily.
"Need a hand?" she hears someone ask as she struggles to cinch the bag closed.
Emma shakes her head absently, letting out a soft sound of triumph when she finally manages to get the bag closed. "I'm good, thanks," she replies, turning to face the good Samaritan, laundry bag in hand but freezes when their eyes meet.
It's him. Shit, it's actually him.
"It's you," she states obviously, staring at him for a moment before gathering her wits and shaking off some of her surprise. He's smiling at her with something in his eyes she would almost call fondness, if she didn't know any better.
"Is it?" he responds, making a show of looking down at himself before returning his gaze to hers. "I'm still not quite sure myself."
She gives him a once-over then, comparing him to her memory of the last time she'd seen him. He looks pretty much the same, save for the playful smirk on his lips and the fact that he's now wearing a leather jacket.
"Killian Jones, by the way," he adds, holding out a hand to her and bowing, of all things. "Don't think we were ever properly introduced."
Emma huffs a laugh at the ridiculousness that is her life these days and cautiously returns his smile.
"Killian, huh?" she replies mildly, her gaze briefly straying to his outstretched hand. "You actually a florist?"
His smile widens, a playful glint in his eyes. "I've been known to dabble here and there."
She nods, pressing her lips together in an effort to stop the smile threatening to take over her entire face, before setting her laundry bag aside and stepping forward to lightly grasp his hand.
"Emma Swan," she says simply, ignoring how impossibly warm and soft his hand is.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Emma Swan," he says softly after a beat, the playfulness in his blue eyes melting away into something so sincere it almost terrifies her.
Emma swallows thickly, momentarily averting her eyes. "Likewise," she replies, forcing a small smile on her lips.
He holds her gaze for a second longer, his expression knowing, before stepping back and letting go of her hand. "Sure I can't help you with that?" he asks, gesturing to her bag of laundry.
"What? Oh," she blurts, her attention returning to her former task as she walks over and grabs the bag. "No, I've got it. Thanks though."
He nods solemnly before walking over to the door, opening it, and standing there waiting.
"After you," he insists, gesturing for her to go out the door.
Emma mutters her thanks and slips out the open door, awkwardly clutching her bulky laundry bag with both hands (ugh, she really needs to do laundry more often).
The cold breeze tousles her blond curls, making her shiver as she walks to her car. She opens the trunk and deposits the bag inside before closing it with a dull thud.
"That's quite the vessel you captain there, Swan," he comments, sauntering toward her and gesturing to her Bug.
"Thanks," she responds in amusement, returning her attention to him as she shoves her frozen hands into her jacket pockets. "You need a ride?"
"Well," he responds with a nonchalant shrug, "That all depends on where you're heading."
Emma snorts at this. Is this guy for real? She rarely encourages this behavior with men, especially these days, but something tells her this one is different somehow.
His smile morphs into something that could be considered almost shy then, a glimpse of that guy she'd traded glances with for months peeking through.
Biting her lip, she considers him for a moment before replying simply, "Granny's."
He nods slowly at this, pretending to consider the destination, "You know, I could use a coffee. Perhaps I'll take you up on your offer after all."
"Well, actually, I just offered you a ride, not a coffee," she teases, raising a brow at him as she opens the driver's side door of the car.
"I can pay for my own coffee, Swan. It might've escaped your notice, but I am gainfully employed," he quips, opening the passenger's side door. "I could even get one for you, if you'd like."
She chuckles as she slides into the car, closing the door to the cold outside. "Cocoa. I can't stand coffee."
Humming, Killian slides in on the other side of the car and closes the passenger door as Emma starts the ignition. "As you wish," he says softly, his cheeks red from the cold outside.
(God, he really was handsome. So unfair.)
Shifting the Bug into drive, Emma pulls away from the curb outside the laundromat and begins the short trek to the diner, ignoring the warmth in her chest.