Notes: Merry Christmas everything-person! I was your Santa's helper!
By the time Emma pulled up in front of her best friend, Mary Margaret's cabin two days before Christmas, it was snowing so hard she could barely see three feet in front of her. The weatherman had predicted a Christmas blizzard, and for once he'd been right.
She parked, grabbed her bag and made her way through the howling wind and pelting snow to the front door. As Mary Margaret had promised, it was unlocked, and Emma entered to an absolute haven of Christmasy comfort. A fire was roaring in the hearth, colorful lights twinkled from the Christmas tree, garlands and holly hung from every available surface, and in the corner of the room, the very comfortable looking queen-sized bed was draped with a very festive red and green duvet.
It kind of looked like Christmas had thrown up in here, but it was cozy, and after the ridiculously frozen drive here, cozy sounded pretty damn good.
Normally Emma loved Christmastime, but a big part of that love was due to the excitement her ten-year-old son Henry felt surrounding the holiday. This year, Henry was spending the holiday with his dad, and Emma had only half-heartedly done the whole Christmas thing. (What was the point when you'd be spending the holiday alone?)
When a stakeout went wrong a couple days ago, Emma decided it was the last straw. She needed to get away. She needed a break from…well…everything. Luckily Mary Margaret had offered Emma the use of the cabin she owned with her new husband, David. (Well, technically, she'd offered to have Emma stay with her and David over Christmas, but it was their first Christmas together, and Emma didn't want to intrude.)
Emma set her bag on the bed, and had only just stepped into the bathroom when she heard it. The door opened again, and she distinctly heard the stomping of boots.
She was not alone.
Killian Jones had a problem. He was the best selling author of the immensely popular novel Neverland, which was a rather dark and gritty reimagining of the Peter Pan and Captain Hook story.
The problem? His editor was breathing down his neck for a new book. Regina Mills was a good editor (she was not the slightest bit shy about criticism), but she was quite short on patience. If Killian didn't produce something to show her soon, she might just show up on his doorstep and start throwing fireballs.
Unfortunately his muse had gone completely silent, and he had no idea where he wanted to go with his sequel. He'd ended his first book with the rather psychotic Peter Pan finally allowing Captain Hook to leave his island, and Hook leaving to once again pursue his revenge. What more was there to be told about Neverland?
His readers enjoyed his unique take on the classic story, but they wanted more. There seemed to be near universal agreement that Hook should transition from morally gray anti-hero to full on hero, and more than a few had suggested the pirate needed a love interest, but Killian had no idea where he might go with either of those suggestions.
At any rate, he had to do something. He simply had to have at least a few chapters to give to Regina by the new year.
Christmas was always a hard time for Killian. Had been ever since he'd lost Liam and then Milah nearly a decade ago. Christmas had been by far his favorite time of year when he'd had a family and loved ones to share it with, but now that he'd lost them, Christmas only reminded him of what he no longer had.
And so when his mate David Nolan had offered the use of his cabin over Christmas, Killian had jumped at the opportunity. Perhaps alone in the idyllic setting, he could not only weather the heartache of a lonely Christmas, but also get a good start on his newest novel.
The final mile or two to the cabin had been rather treacherous as the snow fell so fast his windshield wipers could barely keep up with it, but fortunately he made it in one piece. He stepped into the cabin, stomped the snow from his boots…
And promptly found himself face to face with a very formidable blonde woman holding a thick, cast iron pan, poised to pummel him with it.
"I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing here, but I suggest you turn your ass around and walk out of my cabin. Now." Emma growled at the man standing in her friend's cabin.
The man eyed her weapon of choice (the only one she could find in the moment), and then grinned at her, unbuttoning his parka and brushing snow from his hair. "I think you're mistaken, love," he said in a delicious accent. "This happens to be my cabin for the weekend."
"Are you kidding me?" Emma asked. "Listen, bud, I've taken down guys a lot bigger and stronger than you, so unless you want me to bash in what few brains you have with this pan, I suggest you change your tune."
"What tune would you like, Darling?" he asked with a quirk of his brow as he pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door. "I've been told I've a rather appealing voice, and I'm at your disposal for whatever Christmas song you might desire."
Emma growled, raising the pain higher, and the man seemed to finally decide caution was the better part of valor. He raised his hands in surrender, and took a step away. "Look," he said, "apparently there's been some misunderstanding."
"Yeah, there has," Emma said. "You came to my cabin and refuse to leave."
The man rolled his eyes. "This cabin belongs to my mate, David, and he's offered me use of it for the next week."
David? This guy got permission from David?
"Yeah, well," Emma said, "Mary Margaret gave me the use of this cabin for the next week."
A quick phone call cleared up the situation.
"Emma, I'm so sorry!" Mary Margaret said as soon as Emma explained the situation. "Turns out David and I both offered the cabin without talking to each other. Why don't you and Killian just share the cabin? He's a good guy, and I bet the two of you will hit it off."
Emma groaned as she finished the call and turned back to the man who remained patiently waiting by the door. "Yeah, so apparently the Nolans double booked the cabin. Obviously one of us is going to have to leave."
The man–Killian, apparently–glanced out the window, and then back at her before shaking his head. "Love, I don't think either one of us is going anywhere tonight, and probably not for a few days by the look of this storm."
Emma crossed her arms and glared at him. "So what exactly do you propose we do? I'm not just going to share a cabin–and its only bed–with some guy I don't even know."
Killian offered his hand. "Killian Jones, at your service. You'll no doubt know me from my world-class novel, Neverland."
"Emma Swan," she said, shaking his hand briefly, "bail bonds person, and sorry. Haven't heard of you or your book."
"Pleasure to meet you Emma Swan," Killian said, bringing her hand to his lips and briefly kissing it before letting it go.
The touch of his lips to her skin started butterflies dancing in her stomach. He really was far, far too hot for her own good. Her reaction annoyed her, and she stepped back, crossing her arms again. "Look, how about we just…divide the cabin in half. You get that half over there, and I get this half. We each stay to our own side of the cabin, and then maybe we can both get through this week without bloodshed."
"If that's what you wish," he said with a grin, "although I'd be careful if I were you. I'm rather charming, and I've a feeling I'll win you over by the end of our stay."
She snorted. "Don't plan on it."
It was an hour before Emma realized the flaw in her rather ingenious solution. She had the bed and the kitchen on her side of the cabin…but he had the one and only bathroom on his. She'd downed a large hot cocoa on her way to the cabin, and her bladder was beginning to protest.
She glanced over at Killian and noticed he was engrossed in whatever he was doing on his laptop. Perhaps she could simply slip into the bathroom without him being any the wiser.
She'd no sooner taken a step across the unofficial dividing line between their respective halves of the cabin, when Killian looked up at her and grinned. "Breaking our accord already, are you love?" he drawled. "That's quite bad form."
She rolled her eyes. "Bad form? Who are you, Captain Hook?"
A delighted look came into his eyes. "You have read my book!"
"Yeah well," she said, "maybe I have. Must not have been memorable enough for me to remember earlier."
He laughed. "Well, if you read my book and you believe I've patterned the protagonist after myself, you know I'm rather a stickler for good form. You insisted on the dividing of our land, so to speak, and you appear about to break our deal."
She rolled her eyes. "Look, maybe I didn't think this thing all the way through. I have to go to the bathroom, okay?"
"Absolutely," he said with a grin. "I believe I spotted an outhouse just behind the cabin. I'm sure it will suffice for your purposes."
"Are you kidding me right now?"
He shrugged. "I'm perfectly willing to dissolve our deal, love," he said grinning down at her. "After all, spending time in the company of a beautiful woman is no chore. You're the one who insisted on boundaries, and as a gentleman I'm bound to respect your wishes. The question is…are you?"
Emma growled. "Fine!" she said turning toward the cabin door. "I'll, use the stupid outhouse, but if I freeze to death out there, I'm coming back to haunt you."
He stopped her before she could reach the door. "I'm not such a cad as to make a lady use an outhouse in the middle of a blizzard. Of course you can use the indoor facilities."
"How generous of you," Emma said dryly. "But just because I'm breaking our 'accord' as you so ridiculously call it, don't think that means I'm open to flirting."
"Why Swan," he said, mock innocence plastered all over his admittedly handsome face, "I wouldn't dream of it. And as I recall, you're the only one of us who's mentioned flirtation. Could it be the lady doth protest too much?"
Emma was rather proud of herself that she managed to not punch him in the face.
After the bathroom incident Swan had finally acknowledged the ridiculousness of her insistence upon dividing the cabin. They'd agreed to dissolve their accord-although Swan was quite insistent they continue keeping to themselves.
Killian turned over yet again, still searching in vain for a comfortable position on this torture device Dave called a sofa. As Killian promised, he'd been a perfect gentleman last night, and as a gentleman, he'd of course offered to take the sofa so she could have the bed.
In the somewhat dull light of day, his neck was rather regretting that decision. Could his mate have possibly purchased a more uncomfortable piece of furniture than this couch?
Killian sat up and stretched, groaning at the crick in his neck. This vacation was turning out to be far more painful than he'd anticipated. Wandering over to the kitchen area, he found that Dave and Mary Margaret had stocked it quite well. Whatever else was in store for Emma and him over the next few days, they certainly didn't need to worry about starving to death.
Killian set about brewing coffee, frying bacon and scrambling eggs. He'd only just popped some bread in the toaster, when he heard the other inhabitant of the cabin stir, and start moving in his general direction.
"Something smells amazing," she said, stepping beside him and eying the coffeepot with undisguised longing. "I'm not exactly the best in the kitchen."
Killian poured a steaming mug of coffee and handed it to her. "I've made far more than I can eat. You're welcome to share my morning meal with me."
She looked conflicted for a moment, and then nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. "Wouldn't want the food to go to waste."
"No we wouldn't want that," he said with a grin.
Breakfast, as it happened, was a surprisingly enjoyable meal. Killian found he rather liked Emma Swan when she wasn't yelling at him. She was positively pleasant after she'd been fed. Perhaps the holiday spirit–it was Christmas Eve morning after all–had infected her.
Killian was far more intrigued with the woman than he'd like to admit. This was the first time he'd felt any real pull toward another woman since Milah's death, and a portion of him felt disloyal to her memory.
But a bigger part of him was so captivated with the woman sitting across from him at the cabin's only table that he didn't care.
"So, tell me a little more about yourself," he said as he reached for another piece of bacon. "Who exactly are you, Swan?"
She grinned rather teasingly up at him, and the look actually made his heart stutter before it began racing. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked.
"Perhaps I would."
As breakfast progressed, Killian learned quite a bit about Emma Swan–more, he'd wager, than she'd intended to tell him. She was the single mother of a sweet, precocious ten year old named Henry. Things had ended badly, to say the least, with her ex-Neal, who'd not only left her while she was pregnant but set her up to take the fall for his own crime.
The longer she spoke about the son of a bitch, the more Killian wanted to hunt him down and pummel him. One could not find much worse form than that, nor more stupidity. What absolute imbecile would leave a woman like Emma Swan?
Neal, as it happened, was the reason for her rather bad mood this year. A year after the relationship had ended, Neal had shown back up, and though Emma had no intention of ever rekindling the relationship, she did want Henry to have the opportunity to get to know his father. They'd fallen into a reasonably cordial situation as co-parents. This year it was Neal's turn to have Henry for Christmas.
Christmas without her lad simply didn't feel like Christmas at all.
"I don't grudge him the chance to spend time with his dad," Emma said as they worked together to clean up the kitchen. "It's just. I miss him, you know?"
He smiled gently down at her. "Aye," he said simply, "and you're perfectly within your rights to miss him. I regret that I'm not the guy you wished to spend the holidays with, but I'll attempt to at least not make your week worse."
She glanced over at him. "Yeah, well feeding me goes a long way toward that goal. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
After breakfast they lapsed into silence, each retreating to their own chair before the festively decorated tree. Emma lost herself in a book, while Killian booted up his laptop and tried to begin his novel.
The cursor glared back at him in the midst of a sea of blank, empty Word document.
"So how's it going?" Emma asked an hour later. "Want to give me a preview of what Captain Hook is going to do next?"
"I'd love to," he said with a wry grin, "if I had even the first bloody clue. I'm afraid my muse has definitively deserted me. I haven't any idea what is next for the good captain."
She glanced off into the distance for a moment before turning back to him. "You know," she said, "it seems to me one of Hook's biggest regrets in the first book was giving up Baelfire to Pan. Maybe you could revisit that theme again. Maybe, I don't know, Bae grew up after he left Neverland and had a kid of his own. What if that kid got taken by Pan too? What if Hook decided to go back to Neverland to save him?"
The ember of an idea lit within him as soon as Swan made her suggestion. "It has merit," he said, fanning the flame that had taken hold. "Perhaps he assists the child's mother in rescuing her son from the bloody demon."
"Exactly!" Emma said. "He could complete his hero transformation, make amends for past mistakes and find love again all at once!"
In his minds eye, Killian saw the dark jungles of Neverland, a rag-tag group of heroes on a rescue mission, Captain Hook slowly and inexorably falling in love with a strong woman with long blonde hair and flashing green eyes.
His fingers danced over the keys as the story began pouring out of him. It would seem his muse wasn't gone after all; she'd merely needed Emma Swan to coax her out of hiding.
He must make a note to thank David for the scheduling mistake. This was shaping up to be one of the best Christmases he'd ever had.
Christmas morning dawned bright and clear the next day, sun streaming through the cabin's windows, snow glittering on the panes like tiny diamonds.
Emma was warm and comfortable and oh so cozy.
Suddenly she realized just why she was so cozy. An arm was draped over her middle and a warm, solid man held her to him.
How had she and Killian ended up so tangled together?
Last night as bedtime approached, Emma had noticed Killian eying the sofa with clear regret. That thing couldn't have been comfortable the night before, and Emma felt no small amount of guilt that she'd been the cause of that discomfort.
It was the guilt that inspired her next suggestion. That was it. Guilt and nothing more. It wasn't that she found herself genuinely enjoying Killian's company. It certainly wasn't that a big part of her wondered what it would be like to share a bed with him–even in the most innocent sense of the word.
Nope. That couldn't be it at all.
"Look, the bed's plenty big," she said a bit awkwardly. "'If you want to, you know, share it with me tonight, I wouldn't have a problem with it."
He glanced up at her in surprise before a teasing glint entered his eyes. "Why Swan, are you propositioning me?"
Her heart raced far too quickly at the thoughts those words elicited. There was a distinct possibility she was in significant trouble here.
"Boundaries, Jones," she said. "We're both adults. I think we can manage to share a bed and keep our hands to ourselves."
"Shame," he said with a rather adorable little pout.
She laughed.
They'd fallen asleep last night with a good two feet of space between them.
Clearly sometime in the middle of the night they'd sought out each other's warmth. Emma waited for the fear to seep in at the closeness, but it never came. She was just so damn cozy.
Oh gods, she'd somehow wandered into a Hallmark movie.
Her stirring must have woken Killian, and a moment later he opened his eyes, and nearly jumped away from her, his cheeks staining bright red.
"My apologies, love," he said in a soft voice, gravelly from sleep (a voice that did things to her. Serious things.) "I didn't mean to take advantage; wasn't aware I had."
She smiled, charmed at how flustered he'd become.
"Don't apologize," she said. "You're warm….and it's really cold out there today."
He grinned, and she saw the mischief in his eyes. "If you're cold, I've no doubt I can think of ways to remedy that. I'm endlessly resourceful."
The way his voice lowered to a very suggestive growl on the last phrase made her shiver. She wasn't even going to pretend it was due to the cold this time. "Think I'll have to take a rain check on that," she said, far more breathlessly than she'd like, "but it's still early. More sleep sounds good. If you wanted to, you know, go back to the way we were, I wouldn't object."
He looked surprised at her suggestion. She was surprised at her suggestion. It wasn't like it meant anything; it wasn't like they'd ever actually see each other again after they were finally able to leave the cabin. What would it hurt to take a little innocent comfort in each other while they were here.
What happened in the cabin stayed in the cabin.
"As you wish," he said, scooting closer to her and once again wrapping his arm around her middle. It felt so good; so right. Maybe when she was back to reality it would hit her what a bad idea this was, but for now, she would just enjoy her warm human blanket. Smiling at the comfort, she drifted back to sleep.
An hour later she woke again, feeling Killian's even breathing against her back. Carefully she maneuvered out of the bed, leaving him peacefully sleeping.
Donning her fluffy, warm slippers and an equally fluffy black robe, she padded over to the kitchen area. If she knew Mary Margaret, she'd have stocked the kitchen with everything a vacationer could want. Opening the first cabinet she smiled. Boxed pancake mix. Bingo.
As previously acknowledged, culinary skills Emma did not have, but anyone could manage a "just add water" mix, and in no time she'd poured her first pancakes into the skillet.
Emma heard rustling, and a moment later, she felt Killian step up behind her. "Something smells delicious," he growled.
She shuddered, the sound of his low voice making her stomach swoop. "It's just from a box," she said, her voice far from steady.
He stepped even closer, until she could feel his warmth against her back. "I wasn't talking about the pancakes."
Emma nearly groaned, and no small part of her wanted to just turn around, say "to hell with the pancakes" and kiss him senseless, but fortunately she hadn't lost her mind completely. Yet.
"Behave yourself," she said again, grinning at his antics in spite of herself. "Go make yourself useful and start the coffee," she said, waving her spatula in the general direction of the device in question.
He let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to do as she asked.
Dramatic idiot.
Breakfast turned out quite well if she did say so herself. The pancakes were warm and fluffy, and slathered in butter and syrup, were everything she could have wished for.
"I must say, Swan," Killian said, sometime later, setting down his fork and dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, "for someone who claims to be hopeless in the kitchen, you provided a rather delectable breakfast.
Emma felt her heart squeeze, and she glanced aside. "Yeah, well, it's always been our tradition that I make Henry anything he wants for Christmas morning. Nine times out of ten, that's pancakes. Making them now…well it just makes it feel a little more like he's with me."
A moment later, she felt his hand cover hers. She turned to meet warm, sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry you can't be with your lad for Christmas morning. I know how hard that must be."
She shrugged. "Neal may be a bastard, but it's clear he loves our kid and he's doing everything he can to be a good dad. I'd be a pretty crap mom to complain about my kid getting a chance to have a real relationship with his father."
"Perhaps," Killian said, "but it's only human to miss him on such a special day."
She didn't respond to that. What, after all, was there to say? It was what it was.
"We've had breakfast," Killian said a moment later. "Were you with your boy, what else might Christmas Day entail?"
"Well, presents, obviously," Emma said, "and then assuming we had snow, we'd probably go out and make a snowman. Maybe come in for some cocoa and Christmas movies."
Killian got to his feet, gathering up both his plate and hers. "Very well," he said, "As you so generously prepared the meal, I'll clean up. In the meantime, go on and get ready."
"Get ready for what?"
Killian gestured to the window. "By my calculation, we got a good foot of snow yesterday. More than enough to make a most impressive snowman."
Emma laughed. "Are you serious?"
"Why not?" he shrugged, before turning serious. "Swan, you deserve a happy Christmas, even if it can't be with your lad."
"Impressive," Emma said, taking a step back to survey their masterpiece. "Looks good, doesn't it?"
Killian looked over at her, noticed the way the joy sparkled in her eyes and the cold made her cheeks rosy. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. "Magnificent", he breathed.
She turned toward him, and if possible, the color on her cheeks deepened at his admiration. Quickly, she turned back toward the large snowman they'd spent the balance of the morning constructing. "He needs something though. He looks cold, doesn't he?"
Killian grinned. "Cold is rather a requirement of a creature made of snow."
She rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. He needs a hat or a scarf or something."
Killian unwound the simple black scarf from around his neck and drew in a deep breath at the chill suddenly surrounding him. "Better?" he asked after he'd properly clothed the snowman.
"Better for Frosty," she said, giving Killian an assessing look, "but you've got to be freezing."
"Offering to warm me up, darling?" he asked with an exaggerated wag of his brows.
Emma laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. "You really need some new material. You've used the same innuendo on me like three times this weekend."
"Why Swan," he said with a feigned look of innocence, "What a dirty mind you've got. I simply meant to inquire after the hot cocoa you promised would follow our morning in the snow."
Killian thought he could listen to the delightful sound of her laughter for the rest of his life.
As they trudged back into the inviting warmth of the cabin and set to work on the aforementioned cocoa, what he'd just thought hit him. He genuinely enjoyed Emma Swan's company, and he'd like to have it for longer than simply a snowed-in weekend.
Was there any possibility that she'd be agreeable should he one day ask to court her?
Later that night, as the shadows began to lengthen and the sunset painted the sky in lovely shades of pink and purple, Emma sat cross-legged in front of the entertainment center, rifling through the DVDs the Nolans had stocked the cabin with. It seemed they had every Christmas movie ever made.
After some debate, it was decided that Emma and Killian would watch "A Christmas Story" as an end to a surprisingly enjoyable Christmas day. After making their snowman and drinking their cocoa, they'd made Christmas cookies, and then Emma had settled in with a good book while Killian typed away at his latest novel, the muse finally deciding to cooperate, it seemed.
The truth was that Killian was surprisingly good company. He had a wit and charm that was truly genuine once he dropped the endless flirting and innuendo (that Emma was coming to realize was as much his armor as anything else. You can keep people at bay when they dismiss you as a player.) The conversation today had been easy, effortless, and congenial.
Emma found that despite her initial impression of him, she actually liked Killian Jones, and she would be disappointed when this weekend was over and they had to go their separate ways.
Maybe….maybe the end of the weekend didn't have to be the end of their new friendship (or whatever it might develop into).
That night, after the movie, there was no discussion about sleeping arrangements. They simply climbed into the bed together, Killian gathering her toward him with an arm around her middle. The fact that she loved the way this felt was something she'd need to examine more closely at some point, but for this night, she was just so comfortable she drifted immediately into a happy, peaceful sleep.
Killian's cell phone buzzed first thing the next morning, and he rolled reluctantly away from the woman in his arms to grab the device and peer at the caller ID.
Dave
"Killian," David started as soon as he'd answered sleepily. "Again, I'm sorry about the mix up. I hope it hasn't been too much of an inconvenience."
"Not at all, mate," Killian said. "I've found Swan to be rather enjoyable company."
There was silence for a moment, and Killian could nearly feel the suspicion bleeding off of his friend. "I certainly hope you're not having too enjoyable of a time. She's not one of your conquests, Killian."
Killian rolled his eyes. He knew David Nolan was protective of his wife's best friend; viewed her almost as the sister he never had. "Relax, Dave. I've been the perfect gentleman."
"Good," David said, "Keep it that way."
Killian rolled his eyes again.
"Anyway," David continued, "I'm just calling to let you know that the plows have been through and your path should be clear whenever you want to leave. Oh, and Merry Christmas."
"Happy Christmas to you too." Killian said in lieu of a farewell.
"David call with good news?" Emma asked sleepily as she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows.
"The best," he said, though a part of him felt a pang of regret that the happy bubble they'd been forced into was about to burst. "The roads are clear. We can leave whenever we wish."
"Oh," she said, glancing aside and looking (dare he hope) a mite disappointed. "Yeah, that's good. I…I guess I should gather up my stuff and hit the road. I've got a few things I need to do before Henry gets home the day after tomorrow."
"Aye, I suppose it's for the best," Killian agreed, though a large part of him wanted nothing more than to object.
Over the course of the next half hour they worked in silence gathering their things and preparing to depart. When all was put to rights and there was nothing left to do, Killian stopped Emma from turning toward the door with a hand to her arm.
"Before we leave, I have a Christmas gift for you, love."
She looked surprised at the sheets of paper he handed her.
"It isn't much," he said, "but in between working on my novel I wrote a bit of a short story for you."
She murmured her thanks, and immediately began reading. Not a paragraph in, a delighted smile covered her face, and she met his eyes. "It's our story! The story of this weekend."
"Aye," he answered, smiling back at her warmly. "Go on. Read it."
She nodded in agreement, settling in on the sofa and pulling her feet up beneath her. She read steadily for a quarter of an hour, and when she reached the final page, she frowned, turned it over, and then looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.
"Killian, it's not finished," she said. "How does it end?"
Killian took a deep breath. Now was the moment of truth. Now was the moment this Christmas either became one of the best of his life…or one of the most disappointing.
"That's rather up to you, Swan," he said. "I was hoping it would end with you giving me your phone number and agreeing to a date in the very near future."
Her eyes rounded, and Killian had a moment of anxiety as he waited for her answer.
She didn't answer with words. She answered by scooting closer to him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him down to her for a long and rather thorough kiss.
As it happened, that was all the answer he needed.