CS January Joy Day 28: "With Whipped Cream and Cinnamon"

By: snowbellewells

This is my contribution to the CS January Joy celebration over on Tumblr. I have to admit, I struggled with this and tried way more than one prompt. For one thing, I had a hard time not getting a little angsty with whatever I tried, and for another, I psyched myself out. I'm glad that more people than usual might see my story, but also afraid they might not like it and wonder why I was included in the group. Anyway, I've ended up with this: a modern non-magic AU making liberal use of the coffee shop trope, which I have wanted to try writing for some time. Hope you enjoy!

Her shop had been busy – packed, hectic, overwhelming even – from the moment she opened that morning at 6:00 and the bell had rung with the first customer passing through the door. Though Emma Swan was always glad when business boomed (she did have rent, bills, and a six-year-old to raise single-handedly), she was short staffed today, as well as short on sleep and trying to fight off a doozy of a cold simply by denying its existence. Even well past the lunch crowd and after hours of constant motion, there was little change in the long line ahead of she and Ashley, her one employee available and helping out at present. It was enough to have Emma seriously thinking if it didn't break soon, she was going to collapse. She knew she really had no business being at work at all, much less hovering over peoples' drinks, but she also didn't have enough reliable help, her shop was still new and getting off the ground, and she really couldn't afford to take a day off with no money coming in. Glancing to the side where Ashley was ringing out the customer she'd helped last, while brushing an escaped lock of blonde hair off her forehead and blowing out a quick, short breath, Emma steeled herself to dive back into the fray. She shot Ashley a quick, hopefully encouraging smile and nod before steaming more milk for lattes, and reminded herself that they would eventually catch up – they always did – and to be grateful for the revenue.

Through the general hum and scuffle of customers waiting, those already served chatting at their tables, and the machinery and utensils she and her co-worker were wielding, Emma heard the bell over the entrance announce yet another arrival. She glanced up in spite of herself, even knowing this newcomer was just adding to their backlog, then sucked in her breath so sharply that it set off another coughing fit in her increasingly stuffy chest, eyes widening in surprise and intrigue. It was him! He was back again! Said gentleman looked up just then, either hearing her loud coughs or sensing her eyes on him, and his gaze warmed slightly with an almost concerned look, before he seemed to catch himself, give his head a slight shake, and slipped into the order line.

Trying not to react visibly, Emma returned to the task before her, moving back and forth behind the counter in a well-practiced rhythm with Ashley, making half a dozen drinks and trying all the time to contain the small smile pulling at her lips and not to look suspiciously excited. The guy – who was the very definition of effortlessly dark and handsome, even if Emma usually prided herself on not noticing such things – had been coming in fairly often for the last couple of weeks. Usually at around the same time, ordering the same drink, and quietly finding one of the booths toward the back to settle in, seemingly enjoying the ambience and cozy bustle for a couple hours of his afternoon. There had been a few instances when his insanely blue eyes – they were almost unreal, Emma swore to herself – had found hers over the espresso machine and the heads of customers between them, and her intriguing stranger had never failed to offer a kind, genuine smile, the sort that – if she would have allowed it – could melt a woman's insides to mush; yet he had never approached her beyond placing his order upon arrival, never offered up any of the irritating or insulting come-ons often lobbed her way. As time went on and he still hadn't done so, it had only made Emma all the more curious. This man was different somehow, and that coupled with the cerulean gaze, dark scruff on a solid, sharp jawline, and his increasingly regular presence couldn't help but become genuine interest as well.

Finally, at nearly three when Ashley went off the clock to pick up her young daughter from preschool, foot traffic had begun to slow down to normal. There were still a couple of customers every little while, but it was much calmer than the ongoing rush they had been handling, and nothing that Emma couldn't manage on her own. Taking advantage of the long-awaited lull, Emma began to take stock of what items needed refilling and tidied up at bit, gathering a breath as well, now that she finally had a chance. She could feel the clammy sensation of sweat drying on her skin which she could only hope hadn't come from a fever but merely the hectic pace she'd been keeping up, and trying to ignore the warmth she felt when she briefly touched the back of her hand to her forehead.

Sighing, she made her way to the station set up just a bit down from the entrance where creamer, sugar, sweeteners, napkins, and stir sticks were housed, and was replenishing items that had been nearly depleted and wiping up spills, when an unsettling and sudden wave of dizziness flared to life powerfully in her head. Spots swam giddily across her vision, as her hand shot out almost blindly to grab the countertop she had been cleaning. Swaying lightheadedly on her feet, Emma pressed her eyes closed and tried desperately to steady herself, knees week and her hold on consciousness shaky. She had never fainted before – hated the very thought of that sort of defenselessness – but she was afraid it was about to happen for the very first time.

That was the moment she felt a firm grasp at her waist, gently cradling her at either side and keeping her from toppling over as she had feared. "Easy there, Lass," a soft, accented voice murmured, close behind her and almost in her ear. "Take a moment, before you keel over on us, Love."

A part of her – the oft-abandoned, self-sufficient and stubbornly guarded piece – immediately bristled at the 'Love' endearment, especially in the ridiculously low, raspy tone it was offered, and at the idea that some guy thought he was going to swoop in and play hero, but another, more sadly neglected part of her seemed to be surfacing through her hazy, cold-induced state, and found her wanting to lean back into her savior's warm, sturdy present and let someone else support her for just a second. Blinking owlishly, she bit back the "not your Love" retort that she felt on the tip of her tongue and turned just enough to see that the person steadying her was none other than her dark-haired mystery man.

"You," she said blearily and then winced internally at her own decidedly awkward slip of the tongue. 'Smooth, Emma,' she thought to herself with a huff of frustration, as she shakily put a hand on his forearm, still wrapped around her midsection carefully and attempted to stand up straight under her own power again. Pausing cautiously until she was sure her surroundings weren't spinning anymore and she was steady on her feet, Emma then managed to take a step back and really look up into that sapphire gaze properly. "I mean," she tried again, stumbling over her words, but trying to sound a little more grateful and a little less overwhelmed, "Thank you. That could have been really embarrassing." Swiping a strand of hair escaped from her ponytail off her forehead once again, she held out a hand to shake his and added, "I'm Emma, owner of Swan's Sweet Drinks and Treats."

He chuckled lightly, sensing her need to regain her equilibrium and taking a slight step back as well. His gaze didn't leave hers though; humor, care, and obvious interest all simmering in the depths of those bottomless eyes as he offered her a crooked smile. "You're more than welcome. Killian Jones, at your service." He winked playfully and then reached forward to take her outstretched hand in his larger one, enclosing strong, calloused fingers around hers warmly and igniting something in Emma that made her breath go thready all over again. It was as though the moment their fingers clasped around each other, sparks went shooting outward through her veins and down the length of her arm.

Killian's eyes widened across from hers, looking every bit as startled as she did, but he didn't pull away or let go, as Emma immediately panicked and fought not to do. If anything, he seemed to lean in closer, as if trying to assure himself he hadn't imagined whatever they were both feeling. "Lass, did you just feel…?" he started, pausing abruptly to lick his lower lip, as if he had to prepare to ask the rest of his question.

Emma didn't wait for him to start again though, she dropped her hand from his and turned anxiously, hoping to keep her balance without another spate of dizziness and make a quick getaway. She didn't know what had just happened, and she didn't want to be rude. This seemingly kind and handsome stranger had just kept her from falling flat on her fanny on the spilled drink sticky floor, after all. But whatever that current she'd just felt between them was, it wasn't normal. She'd never experienced anything like that. And though she didn't scare easily, that powerful wave of emotion…connection…familiarity – whatever it had been – was terrifying. "I…uh…um…I need to get back," she stuttered, gesturing vaguely back toward the espresso machine and cash register, though everyone had been helped and there were no new customers waiting. She just had to get away, put some distance between them. "Thanks again."

He was quicker than she'd bargained for, however, and reached out easily to place a hand on her shoulder, halting her motion without force, but somehow exerting just the right touch to make her pause and turn back to face him again. "Wait, wait, slow down, Emma," he said, his voice gentle, cajoling, as one might speak to a frightened animal ready to bolt. Still moving slowly, easily, his hand slid from her shoulder all the way back down to her hand, and taking it cautiously, he led her over to the table he had obviously vacated in haste when he saw her wavering on her feet. "You need to sit for a spell. Not five minutes ago, you almost passed out and now you're trying to run off at full speed again."

Clearly he was skirting around the obvious electricity they had both felt, and Emma was glad for that, but there was just enough determined concern in his voice to let her know he wasn't going to back down. At least not until she explained the situation… "Look, Killian, I'm glad you caught me and all. It was nice of you to make sure I was alright, but I've got a lot to do. I'm the only one working right now, we could have another rush at any time, and there's more that needs…"

"Hey hey, shh, shh," he interrupted, the soothing lilt of his voice overriding the offense she wanted to take at his talking over her and trying to tell her what she needed. She'd never had parents, and she certainly didn't need some guy – no matter how attractive – thinking she need taking care of now. "What you need to do is stay off your feet for a bit. I'll wash up properly, throw on an apron, and man the station for a while if more customers come in. Admit it, Love. You really ought to be home in bed, if not at the doctor's office, but since you clearly aren't having that, at least take a fifteen minute break and catch your breath."

Emma spluttered and huffed indignantly for a few seconds, not sure how to respond to that. None of what he said was wrong, no matter how much she wanted to argue, but nothing very convincing made its way into speech. "What do you think you're… I mean, do you think I'm just… Do you even know how to make espresso drinks? I can't have just anybody back there breaking the machinery or getting burnt, you know."

The serious look that had covered Killian Jones' face morphed into a playfully flirtatious one with impressive ease. He waggled the dark eyebrows that crowned those stunning light eyes with almost ridiculous expression before retorting. "Oh, just give me a chance, Swan. I think you'll find I'm a man of many talents."

She almost gasped at the way she saw his tongue poke into his cheek after that last statement and the deep resonance of his words almost echoing through her. She managed a nod and tried not to giggle nervously as he left her seated at the table he'd claimed and practically strutted over to the work station, looking back over his shoulder at her with a playfully self-satisfied grin. "Yeah, yeah," she scoffed, only half grumpily, "you win for now. Just try not to break anything."

That was how at closing time an hour later, Emma found herself behind the counter once more, but now working side-by-side with one startlingly efficient and skilled Killian Jones. There hadn't been that many more customers since she'd nearly taken her tumble, but after the break he'd insisted on her taking, he had kept filling orders when they came, seemingly enjoying himself and with a talented flair for it as well. Emma had forced her way back to work against his further protests, but was able to finish cleaning up, restocking, and even total out the register to actually close on time, thanks to his help.

Henry was to have supper and start his homework at the sitter's that night so she still had a bit of time. Turning to Killian from the door she had just locked and flicking off the neon "Open" sign, she smiled at him in genuine gratitude, not really sure that a simple "Thank You" was quite enough. There was still a buzz of crackling tension between them, that electric something, though they had worked together and made a surprisingly good and comfortable team.

Yet, when she made her way back to where he stood expectantly waiting on her, Emma saw that he still had one more surprise in store. "Your chosen drink, Milady," Killian offered huskily, sliding one of their to-go cups across toward her, his eyes locked on her face with a waiting and hopeful expression.

"My chosen drink?" she repeated, then looked down to see the flawless peak of whipped cream and dash of cinnamon she adored crowning his offering, and a single whiff of the concoction told her it was hot chocolate – her favorite. "How did you…?" she started to ask before trailing off, amazed. Wherever this Killian Jones had come from into her life, whatever this sense for what she needed that he seemed to possess, she simply wasn't going to question it. For once, she was just going to enjoy something in her life being right.

Killian grinned widely, a sparkle in his eyes that Emma decided she adored right there and then. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he taunted.

She smirked, bending to sip the warm chocolate drink and sweet, creamy topping. She swallowed hard; both enjoying that first taste and vowing to herself not to run. She met his eyes and answered playfully back, "Maybe I would."