Friday comes and she and Henry decide to celebrate their first week in town with an early dinner at Granny's (he steals her french fries and she slips a second straw in his chocolate milkshake). The diner is busy and homely. She is more sure than ever that they made the right decision.
They walk off their burgers with a stroll by the docks, pointing out the different boats as Henry recounts his week and talks about the new friends he has made. She is so glad he is settling in so easily. It eases the small ache in the back of her mind. All she wants is for him to be happy.
It's 7:30 by the time they are heading home. Killian texts her just as she puts the key in the ignition.
Still okay for tonight?
And yes, she smiles a little.
"You okay, Mom?"
She's typing her reply as she answers, "PTA stuff. Mr. Jones and I are going to be working on the homecoming dance tonight."
"Hmm," Henry frowns. For a second Emma is worried. "Cool," Henry continues, "I like Mr. Jones."
She fastens her belt as she turns the key.
Me too, she thinks.
/
"Locksley," Killian answers breezily when his phone rings.
"Killian, what you up to, mate?"
Killian can hear the bar noise in the background. "Why? You still propping up the bar?"
He can hear the snort of his friend in reply. "Those two from Ladies Night are here. They're asking about you."
"Sorry mate, busy tonight."
"Miss Lucas, I take it?"
"No," he snips, frowning as he remembers to keep avoiding her shifts at Granny's for the near future, "Emma Swan."
"A date already? I'm impressed."
(And Killian can hear the sarcastic tone in his friend's voice.)
"If it were a date, Locksley, you'd know. We're planning for the dance, actually. At her house."
There's a pause before he responds.
"Good luck."
Killian clucks his tongue, "Really? No retort? No sarcasm? I thought this was a bet."
"That it is mate, between gentlemen."
He knows Robin can't see him but he still rolls his eyes. "Alright mate, talk to you later."
Not waiting for a reply, he presses the cancel button and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. He's at the address Emma texted him that morning. Quickly, he looks at his watch. 7:55pm. Not too early to be considered over eager. Not tardy either.
He straightens his shirt (dark blue, brings out his eyes) and raises his hand to press the doorbell. He hears a noise of movement inside, then the quick patter of feet. The door swings open and he is present with the beaming face of Henry Swan.
"Hey Mr. Jones," he grins.
"Hello Henry," he responds, a little taken aback, having not considered the possibility of her son (and his student) answering the door. "Mom's just making a call for work. Wanna come in?"
With a nod, he accepts, slipping inside. Under his arm he has a bottle of white wine (he did internally debate with himself whether wine would give the wrong signal). Henry points at it and smiles. "You want me to take that?"
"Um, perhaps not, lad. Where should I…"
He looks around, a little helplessly, at the unfamiliar hallway. The clear signs of unpacking surround him; stacks of cardboard boxes with bubble packing bursting from within, piles of books and CDs mixed with photo frames and cushions.
"Sorry for the mess-"
She's suddenly there, breezy and casual in jeans and checked shirt, her hair pulled into a high ponytail.
(Yes, very attractive, he mentally notes.)
"No problem, Emma, Henry was taking very good care of me."
She gives her son a short glare, until the two start to giggle. "Alright kid, homework."
Henry pulls and face and blows a puff of air into his overhanging bangs, "Mom, it's Friday!"
"Yes, and tomorrow is Saturday and we have plans for organizing this place. So, homework now, or no movie night tomorrow."
"Fine," he grumbles under his breath and turns for the staircase. He turns back quickly, "Popcorn and ice cream?" he asks.
"We'll see," she teases as he begins to trudge up the stairs.
Silently, she takes the bottle he holds out as they listen to Henry head to his room.
"Oh, thanks…"
Raising a brow, he nods gently, "I figured if we were to work on a Friday night, we could at least enjoy a glass of wine to make it less painful."
She flashes him a pretty, sweet smile, which is all at once beguiling and breathtakingly innocent. He had figured a beautiful woman like herself would be used to a little male attention. Maybe not.
"Good idea," she whispers, quickly biting her lip, "Um, shall we go into the living room? It's just about the only room unpacked?"
Pointing at a door to his left, she leads the way into a cozy room with a large, plush sofa around a heavy oak coffee table. In front of it is a fireplace, stacked with chunky logs, though unlit. Thick blue curtains line one wall, giving the space a warm and homey feel.
"Make yourself comfortable, I'll get us some glasses."
He sits. There are two lamps lit, giving enough light to be considered bright but not garish. On the coffee table is a laptop and notepad; clearly Ms. Swan is organized.
"Sorry," she apologizes as she returns with two glass tumblers, "Haven't quite unpacked all the kitchen supplies yet."
"'S fine," he smiles, helping her place them on the table as she opens the bottle (thank God for twist off caps).
The wine glugs happily into the glasses as a silence stretches between them; the kind that exists between two people who are not yet familiar with one another, but want to be.
She slides him a glass and the two tap edges, "To a successful first meeting?" he suggests.
And, damn, she blushes. He belatedly realizes that there was a double meaning there…
"Sure," she quips with a shake of her head.
Pulling the laptop closer, she moves the paper and pen too. She's sitting about two feet from him on the sofa. She smells nice.
"So," he begins, placing his glass on one of the small cork coasters on the table, "I guess we need to start with a list, then get prices?"
"I guess," she shrugs, "I've gotta admit, I've never done anything like this before."
"Me either," he admits. "The PTA is not usually my thing."
Quickly turning her head, she asks, "What changed?"
He presses his lips together and shifts a little where he sits, "New horizons and all that - a man should always seek new challenges?"
Her laugh is sweet and melodic as she writes at the top of the pad 'Refreshments Committee', "Well I guess this is some small kind of challenge."
"And you?" he asks, leaning a tiny bit closer, "I don't like to pry but Henry gave me the impression you are quite the career woman?"
A soft sigh delays her response; the pen twirls between her fingers as she presses the power button on the laptop. "I guess I've always so busy with work that I never had time for anything else. New town, new start. You know?"
She looks at him and he's startled by her sincerity. He realizes when she talks about not having time for anything else, she means more than PTA meetings.
"Yes," he replies simply.
With a few clicks she has Google open on the screen and they are both shuffling a little closer to the edge of the couch. "Okay, now, what would a sixth grader want?"
The wine in the bottle is dwindling she feels the gentle tug of the alcohol; undoing the knots in her shoulders and loosening her lips. So far they have a two page list of snacks and drinks and are trawling their way through Target's website.
"How can there be seven different types of grape soda?" she laughs.
Killian laughs too, "I have no idea!"
They are both sat on the floor now, backs against the sofa: leaning down to the laptop having given them both a crick in their necks.
"Shall we just go for the middle priced one?" she asks, scrunching up her forehead in confusion.
"Surely grape soda is grape soda? If we buy the cheapest then we can get at least one extra case?"
This whole thing is giving her a goddamn headache (well, maybe that is the wine-). "I didn't think this would be so complicated," she sighs, leaning back and nursing her half full glass of pinot grigio.
"Aye, that's true," he agrees. There is a quiet moment as he stretches out his legs under the table. There is the sound of the TV coming from Henry's room upstairs. Other than that the only other noise is the gentle ticking of the clock hanging above the fireplace. "It's so quiet here."
"Yeah, I guess," she muses.
"My place is pretty central. Can't get away from the sound of traffic and people passing by."
"Sounds like our apartment in Philly. That was one thing I said when we moved here - we'll get a real house. With a garden."
He drains his wine and Emma picks up the bottle and tops both their drinks up until there is none left. There's a silence; a comfortable one but with something tangible to it that she can't quite place.
"So, how do you like Storybrooke?"
His question breaks the brewing tension and she is grateful: perhaps she was sharing a little too much with this guy she hardly knew. "So far, so good. Work is a little different here, but Henry is happy."
"He's a good kid."
Emma nods, taking another sip as she types 'fruit juice' in the search box. "He amazes me every day. He's far more mature than I was at his age."
She presses enter: 152 results. They both let out a soft groan.
"Kids are more adaptable than we give them credit for, love. Trust me, I'm a teacher."
She can't help but laugh. "I can't believe you used that line."
He's laughing too and rubbing his face with his hand, "What can I say? After a busy week, I descend into cliché."
The clock chimes gently. It's 10pm. How is it 10pm?
"Shit, it's late."
Glancing at him, she swears she sees a shadow of disappointment pass over his face. Maybe she was imagining it.
"I need to get Henry to bed…Sorry-"
"No apologies needed. I guess we nattered on a little too much."
And then he's standing and reaching out a hand. Without thinking, she takes it and lets him pull her up. She feels light as a feather as he lifts her to stand. Her heart begins to race a little (perhaps it is the alcohol.)
They both stand a little awkwardly. Her glass is still in her hand so she bends to one side and places it on the table. "So…"
He swallows, as if he is nervous (but maybe she is reading way too much into it.) Taking a few slow breaths she glances around the room.
"To be continued?" he suggests.
"Um, yeah." She licks her lips again. She does that when she is anxious. "Next week? We don't want to be the only ones on the PTA not to complete their assignment."
"Indeed, as its newest recruits that would not look good."
"Great."
There's a sudden thump in her chest. He's just that little bit too close to be comfortable - it's too intimate. She steps back.
"I'll show you out."
The few steps to the door are quietly taken, she turns the lock and lets in a gust of chilly air when she opens it.
"The weather's turning," he observes as he steps into the doorway.
"Not long til some snow, right?"
Nodding, he pauses. "Yeah. Snow and winter go hand in hand here."
With that he holds out his hand. For a moment, she is confused.
"Goodnight?" he adds, more of a question than a statement.
Shaking herself, she smiles and takes his hand (it feels as nice as before - warm and strong and all encompassing). "Yes. Very…productive."
He laughs again. They've done a lot of that tonight, and then makes his way down the footpath to the street.
She watches him go for a second, not for long enough to seem odd. His tall, slim figure soon blends into the darkness of the night. Pressing the door shut, she turns and leans back against the lacquered wood.
Lingering in the air is the smell of his cologne. It's nice. Masculine, but not overpowering. It seems to sink beneath her skin and a warm, fuzzy sensation settles upon her and she can't help but smile.
She thinks of his gorgeous blue eyes and full lips. The tone of his voice and the quaint words he uses that reveal his heritage, even without his accent.
Yes, he was quite different from the serious, business-minded men she was used to (the ones she met at work, of course).
She drifts back to the living room to tidy their glasses away, her heart a little lighter as she lets herself enjoy the sensation of having a crush and spending an evening with a handsome man.
/
He's in the car quickly, slamming the door behind him and then grabbing the wheel with both hands. Taking some slow breaths, he settles himself. His head is a muddle; filled with the sound of her laughing and images of the way her hair glimmered in the lamp light.
He had had a far better time than anticipated. In fact, he had enjoyed himself. They had barely touched (and it was clearly not considered a date) yet it was the pleasantest couple of hours he had spent in a long time.
She was good company, her dry sense of humor and easy manner making him feel settled and comfortable, so he actually almost began to forget the real target of his attentions.
(The bet.)
It had been simple to dig a little beneath her surface. Emma gave off an impression of confidence, but perhaps that was part of her job. His presence had seemed to put her a little at odds - not in the sense that she was unhappy for him to be in her home, more that she just wasn't used to such situations.
He shakes his head as he considered how different she was to most women he met. Well, he had figured that straight away, but the more they interacted, the deeper he saw it went. Clearly, she wasn't quite aware of her own appeal. Perhaps that would work in his favor.
His body, however, was. Their few brief touches had left him more than a little frustrated. His heart is thudding, his skin temperature raised and a knot of tension is building in his gut.
Sighing, he pulls out his phone and pressed a few buttons, "Locksley," he says when the call is answered, "You still out, mate?"
/
Pressed up against the wall of The Rabbit Hole, her skin is soft and her hair blankets his face. His lips and teeth nip at her neck. The perfume she has dabbed behind her ears was cloyingly sweet and tasted bitter on his tongue.
Eager hands slip up the sides of his shirt; she digs in her nails and he grunts softly, slipping one leg between her thighs, pressing his arousal against her hip until she groans into his ear.
"I want you," she whispers and his stomach contracts, his fingers sliding into her hair.
Leaning back a little, he snatches a kiss from her, deepening it by pressing a tongue between her lips.
Her mouth is soft and warm and inviting; she pulls him closer and he feels a mild sating of his desire, the burn cools a little. He pushes his hips closer.
There's a brief parting of lips as they take a breath. His eyes are still closed and his hands slip down her back.
"Oh, Killian," she whispers.
"Emma," is his breathy response.
She pushes him back. Her face comes into focus. Not soft, golden hair, instead curly chestnut locks
"Diane," she reminds him, her eyes narrowing.
He swallows thickly then moves in for another kiss, "Aye."
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