After stopping in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat, Killian headed upstairs to the balcony outside of the master bedroom with the intention of getting some work done. Unfortunately, the moment he had the sliding door shut behind himself, his brain decided there was a much more pressing issue that it needed to work on. Did Emma mean 'it's a date,' in that casual 'we've made plans and therefore it's a date' kind of date, or did she mean 'it's a date,' as in a romantic kind of date? A small part of his brain was busy telling him that it really didn't matter. He'd get an answer to his question later that evening when they sat down to eat, but a much larger part was busy screaming that this was vital information to help him prepare for the night. After all, how was he supposed to know how to dress? Was this a nice sweater and jeans kind of dinner or a shirt and slacks kind of meal? What if he opted for one and found that Emma had gone for the other, and therefore, either thought that he was making more of their 'date' than she was or worse – that he didn't think enough of it? This was exactly why Killian hated dating. There were just far too many unknowns involved for his liking.
Abandoning his laptop, he headed back inside and made his way over to the small closet in his bedroom to begin thumbing through the different offerings it contained. He hadn't exactly planned for any date nights so his options were rather limited, but eventually, he settled on a nice black sweater his mother had bought him for his birthday a few years ago, a simple white shirt, and his favorite pair of jeans. The combination felt dressy enough to be suitable for a date-date, yet, not too dressy for a friendly meal with a member of the opposite sex.
"God, I hate dating," he mumbled to himself, as he set out everything on his bed and then made his way around the room to head back out onto the balcony. When he had his laptop open, and his password typed in, Killian resolved not to give his 'date' any more thought until it was time to start getting ready for it.
Of course, that didn't stop him from casting critical looks over at the clothes set out on his bed as he typed up the next chapter of his memoirs.
At half-past six, Killian saved his work and closed down his laptop before making his way through to the bathroom to take a shower. When he was clean and standing in front of the mirror hanging over the sink, he found himself toying with his razor as he debated shaving off the few days' worth of stubble he'd allowed to grow. Normally, he was required to remain clean-shaven for work. When he'd first made his way up the ranks, he'd been told that people tended to find clean-shaven men more trustworthy than those who kept their five o'clock shadow. However, while he was on vacation, he usually allowed his beard to grow out as it pleased. As he stood, virtually naked, in the bathroom staring at his reflection, Killian debated what the correct shaving etiquette should be for a date. Would Emma expect him to be clean-shaven, or would she assume he always wore facial hair, given that she'd never seen him without it before? His mother always said he looked younger when he shaved. Was that something Emma would find attractive, or would it be a complete turn-off?
"God, I hate dating," he repeated bitterly into the mirror, before he threw the razor down harshly onto the counter and reached for his toothbrush.
Killian brushed his teeth a little too forcefully and then made his way back into the bedroom to begin dressing. After pulling on a clean pair of socks and underwear, he gave his jeans a long hard look before he ignored them in favor of a pair of black slacks he'd packed, just in case they were needed. He finished dressing in his shirt and sweater and then dropped down into a seat to pull on a pair of decent black shoes. As he was lacing them up, Killian cast a critical look around the room.
If this was a date-date, Emma might be expecting him to invite her back to his place after dinner for some drinks. Was she assuming the evening would end in some sort of sexual encounter? Did people still hook up after their first date? Or was this technically classed as a third date, given how much time they'd already spent together? Killian wasn't entirely sure, but after checking the time, he decided to quickly tidy up the house just in case she wanted to come back to his place later that evening. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away because she thought he was messy or, God forbid, lazy.
After his impromptu cleaning session, Killian ran a harsh hand through his hair and then checked the time once more. It was already quarter-to-eight, which meant he needed to leave soon or risk turning up late for their dinner. While Killian didn't know much about what was expected of him that evening, he did know that showing up late wouldn't reflect well on him at all. So after checking his pockets for his wallet and phone, he quickly grabbed a jacket and then headed out into the balmy night.
The early evening air was a calming salve for his nerves, and with every step he took, Killian found himself relaxing a little more. While he didn't know Emma well or what she was expecting from him, he was sure that no matter how he'd interpreted their evening, they'd have fun together.
When he arrived at the small café that had become a regular fixture of his stay, he was shown over to his usual table by the same server that had been greeting him all week.
"Hi," he said, and his conversation with Emma earlier that day suddenly sprang to mind. "It's Carlos, right?"
"Yes, Sir," Carlos replied, nodding his head for emphasis.
"I'm Killian," he offered, because if the guy was going to be serving his meals to him three times a day, it felt like they really should be on a first-name basis.
"It's nice to meet you, Killian," Carlos offered, before he quickly added, "I'll go and fetch you a Coca-Cola while you browse the menu."
"Oh, uh – I uh… I'm waiting for someone," Killian blurted out, because he couldn't for the life of him remember if waiting to order drinks was considered good manners on a date or if that was something he should go ahead and do.
Thankfully, he didn't have to agonize over the decision for too long as a familiar voice called out from just behind him, "He's waiting for me, Carlos. I'll have my usual too, please."
Carlos offered Emma a wide smile and a small bow, which left a bitter taste in the back of Killian's throat, before he hurried away to fetch their drinks. Killian didn't even bother to watch him go. Instead, he turned his attention towards his 'date' for the night, hoping to pick up some clues on what sort of evening he was in store for, and then froze in place.
Emma had followed through on her promise and had dressed in something cute for the occasion. At first glance, Killian thought she was wearing a mini dress, but as she made her way around the table, he realized that what she was actually wearing was some sort of teal blue short/dress hybrid creation which, he was sure, had a much better name than one he was mentally giving it. Whatever it was, it was covered in peach and pink flowers that made Emma look a lot softer than he'd ever seen her look before. The long sleeves of the garment fell to the ends of her arms and, in the dull glow of the candles and twinkling fairy lights, Killian spotted the nude polish covering her fingernails. He hadn't noticed it while they'd been on their hike earlier in the day, but he couldn't remember ever paying her fingers much attention before, so he couldn't tell if she'd painted them for the night or if she'd always worn the polish. Her feet were now encased in a pair of nude wedges that tied around her delicate ankles. The shoes were a far cry from the sneakers she'd been wearing every other time he'd seen her, but Killian had enough female friends to know that wearing a pair of nice shoes was not something they deemed exclusively appropriate for dates. And while the V-neck of her dress-thingy was slightly more revealing than anything she'd worn before, it wasn't deep enough to suggest that she was looking for something more from their dinner than just good food and some conversation. Which meant that Killian was still no closer to working out if their date was actually a date than he had been that afternoon.
Shaking his head a little to try and clear it, he stood from his seat as Emma pulled out her own, but she hesitated before taking it. Instead, her eyes seemed to rove carefully down his form and then painfully slowly back up it again until she finally met and held his gaze.
"It looks like I'm not the only one who dressed my arse up for the night," she teased, and then gracefully slid into her seat.
Killian's brain was so busy trying to work out what her comment meant about their night that he was still standing when Carlos returned with their drinks. The server cast a concerned look between the two of them and then quickly hurried off again when it became clear that neither of them was ready to order any food.
While Emma reached out to take a sip from her glass of Cola, Killian seated himself back at the table and hid his blush behind the menu as he perused the evening's offerings. After finally settling on a couple of dishes that sounded good, he closed his menu to find Emma studying him intently once more.
"So… uh, how was your afternoon?" he asked, in an attempt to change her focus.
"It was good, thanks. I got a lot done," she told him, keeping her eyes trained on his face. "How about you? Did you get much writing done?"
"A little," he said, and then cringed at the defensive tone his voice had taken on. After all, it wasn't her fault that he'd been so distracted all day. (Okay, maybe it was a little bit her fault, but he was an adult goddamnit; he should have been able to push aside his concerns to work. Wasn't that essentially what adulthood boiled down to?)
"I uh… it's harder than it sounds," he offered instead, with a small, bitter chuckle.
"I get that," she said, and although she didn't elaborate, Killian could tell that she really did understand his struggle.
"So, um… are you ever gonna tell me what it is that you do?" he asked, but before Emma could reply, Carlos had returned, ready to take their orders.
It was only when their server had hurried off again with their menus tucked under his arm; and their meal requests scribbled down that Killian turned critical eyes upon his 'date' once more, expecting to see her squirm in place. But she wasn't. If anything, she looked perfectly relaxed.
"Before I answer your question," she said, leaning forward a little in her seat as if she were about to impart some big secret upon him, "Can I ask you one of my own?"
Killian gulped down a mouthful of his Cola as he braced himself for what she might say, then nodded his head slowly.
"How old are you?" she asked, and he didn't know whether to laugh at the surprising turn their conversation had taken or be a little concerned by it.
"I'm forty-one," he told her honestly, and Emma sank back into her seat with a bemused smile upon her face. "You weren't expecting that?"
"No," she chuckled. "I mean, I knew you were older than me. I just didn't think you were quite as old as that."
Killian opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut again when she quickly added, "For what it's worth, you don't look forty-one. Actually, you look damn good for your age."
"Tha… thank you," he stuttered out, because that certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting.
Emma chuckled at him over the rim of her glass before she took a small sip from her drink and then set it back down on the table. "I have one small follow-up question, and then I'll answer yours," she said, raising her eyes to meet his gaze once more. "Are you gonna freak out when you realize that I'm probably not as old as you think I am?"
Killian's brow creased into a frown for a moment as his mind began racing a mile a minute to decipher the true meaning of her words. He knew that she was certainly younger than he was, but she couldn't be that young, right?
"No," he said, and the look on Emma's face told him that they both knew he was lying.
She chuckled a little bitterly and fidgeted with her fork for a few seconds. Just when Killian was sure she wouldn't say anything else, Emma raised her head once more and told him, "I'm a student. I'm studying history and politics at Cambridge University."
"Stu… student," he stuttered out.
Killian knew that the British education system was far different from their own in America, but he was certain that if Emma was a student, that could only mean one thing –
"You're less than half my age."
Emma's romper and shoes can been seen on my tumblr page (kymbersmith-90) and were found at the high street stores Silk Fred and ASOS, for those who may be curious.
Thanks for reading and reviewing.