It's the shattering of glass that tears them apart.
The forgotten glass of champagne hits the patio, falling from where it has been abandoned on the wall. He steps back, startled, his hand quickly moving to his lips.
Her mouth is kiss swollen and her hair tangled from where he had twisted his fingers between the strands. She's looking downwards, avoiding his gaze.
Does she regret it?
But he can't think clearly because he's a little drunk - from the rum, the atmosphere, from her. He can almost still feel her body pressed against his.
He watches, a little dumbstruck, as she fingers the material of her skirt - it's torn a little along the slit.
"Sorry about that-"
The apology is weak. He's not really sorry. The whole damn thing would have been torn off her if he'd let the burning urges inside him take over.
"It's fine," she whispers, shaking her head, still not looking at him.
She's running her fingers through her hair. He steps back a little, giving her some space.
(But what he really wants is to capture her lips again with his, taste her honey sweetness and feel the way her body responds to his touch.)
Smoothing down her dress, she looks off into the distance. "This isn't something I normally do-"
His heart sinks a little. She does regret it.
"We've both had a few drinks," he concedes quietly.
"Yeah," she nods, finally flashing him an uncertain glance. "I can't believe I just did that."
And he's disappointed.
Of course, the bet had taken a blow, but it's not because of that.
"Say no more, let's chalk it up to too many drinks and a view."
The smile he gives her does not reach his eyes, but her expression softens and she seems grateful. "Good. I mean, thank you."
It's awkward, of course, the two of them standing on the empty patio, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush kissing her had provided.
"Maybe we should…" she gestures to the door.
"Go ahead, I'll just be a minute."
And with a silent nod, she's gone.
/
With trembling limbs, she quickly walks back toward the party, self-consciously tugging at her dress as she moves whilst trying to smooth her hair with the other hand.
Stepping back into the throng, she wonders if anyone can tell what she has been up to. She banishes the thought with a shake of her head. It was a silly, drunken moment, she tells herself, let it go. Don't make things awkward. (Though she has to admit she feels pretty damn awkward as she checks the room for signs he has returned).
She finds a restroom and bolts the door. Digging out her compact, she checks her makeup. Her face is flushed but a little powder fixes that. Then with a slick of gloss, she's looking presentable. She inspects the tear in her dress - it's small, not too noticeable. She tells herself not to think about it.
Regina finds her just in time before her introspection reaches fever pitch. For once she's thankful to be introduced to a dozen new faces, to be the subject of a hundred questions; it means she doesn't have time to think about the way his lips felt, or how wonderful his body pressed against hers was, or how she didn't really regret it at all-
But, she conceded, as the clock struck ten and she thought she really ought to be getting home, she knew her crush needed to remain just that. She couldn't really get involved with her son's teacher - could she?
/
He sulks around the library for a while, flicking through a few books, finishing his rum. When he finally feels ready, he returns to the party. She's there, across the room, amidst a group of people he didn't know. Her cheeks have lost the flush from earlier and she seems altogether more composed.
It's almost like it never happened.
But it did. He's stored the memory of the moment in his mind and replays it as he looks for Robin. Briefly, he considers telling him - gloating in his small victory.
He decides not to.
/
The night ended innocuously enough. He lost sight of Emma sometime after ten. Of course she must have left - she had Henry to think of. Still, he was a little disappointed that they hadn't crossed paths again that evening.
Maybe he'd call her tomorrow. If that wouldn't be too awkward.
The guests had dwindled as midnight approached, until only a handful of partiers were left.
Regina and Robin had disappeared, leaving him to be the last man standing at the bar. It both amused him and annoyed him that they seemed determined to play out their relationship as some sort of secret affair. He wishes they would just come out as a couple in public and be done with it.
People confused him sometimes. Most of the time. Perhaps this was why Robin was his only semblance to a close friend in this town. Perhaps this was why he preferred his own company.
As the final drops of rum rolled down his throat he sat alone at the bar thinking.
Thinking way too much.
/
Shopping list in one hand, Costco card in the other, she's waiting for him by the giant sliding glass doors.
She'd put off today for as long as possible, but tomorrow is the dance and she can't avoid him forever. In fact, she feels immature and childish already - after insisting she was busy all week and that they would need to finish their plans via email. She'd even avoided going to the PTA meeting that week.
That's right, good old Emma Swan, hiding when things get awkward.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees him. He's wearing a dark blue plaid shirt and jeans. Damn he looks good in jeans. She blushes as the thought passes over her.
Preparing her face in an open smile, she waves until he notices her. It takes a deep breath to still her nerves. Will he say something? God she hopes he doesn't. She still blushes at the memory of her behavior.
And his. It was him too, a small voice reminds her.
"Hi," he smiles and all at once she relaxes. He's got a great smile.
"You ready to shop it up?"
"Of course, I love shopping." His voice drips of sarcasm and the laughter she responds with is real and light.
He grabs a cart as they enter. "So what's up first?"
She glances down at the neatly typed list. "Soda," she replies, "Lots of soda."
Between them, they wrestle a dozen cases into the cart. He tries to help her with hers, but she can manage - she senses a little admiration for her strength. Most guys seemed to find it a little intimidating, but weekly yoga for five years has its benefits.
By the time they're perusing the chips and dips, the conversation is flowing easily. He asks polite questions about her job, she inquires about the town. Easy stuff. It's unnervingly civil.
"Cake next," she sighs as she looks at the mountain of tortilla chips. She wonders for a moment how this will all fit in her rental.
"You okay?" he asks unexpectedly. For the first time that afternoon their eyes meet properly. His are so, so blue.
"Yeah," she insists with a shake of her head, "Just wondering how we are going to fit all this in my rental."
"Well I have an SUV. It should all fit in there." He's scratching behind his ear for a second, like he's pondering something. "Maybe tomorrow I can pick you up and we can set up together? Save on gas?"
She finds herself nodding, because that does make sense. If everything is in his car then it makes perfect sense.
"Okay," she smiles as she picks up a chocolate fudge cake, mentally judging the size of a slice, "That sounds like a good plan."
"Great," he quips, before he switches his attention to the rows of baked goods.
Great, she thinks, suddenly a little nervous.
/
The trunk is packed and they are saying goodbye.
She hasn't mentioned the kiss. Did he expect her to? He wasn't sure.
The hour they had been at the store had flowed so quickly it seemed no sooner had he parked that he was putting the empty cart back while she waited by his car.
"So that's that," he smiles, dangling his keys from his finger.
"I guess so," she replies. Her hair is in a braid laid over her left shoulder. She's playing with the hair tie and it's pretty endearing. Coy, almost.
"I-" he begins but he's quickly cut off.
"About the other night-"
She mentioned it.
"Yes…" he sighs, trying to gauge what she is going to say.
"I don't want things to be awkward, you know?" She shrugs and looks up at him. "I mean you're Henry's teacher, and we're on the PTA together and I should not drink that much vodka-"
"Hey," he hushes, his hands automatically going to her shoulders. She stops immediately. "I should be the one apologizing. That was… not cool."
And the weird thing is - it's the truth. As much as he enjoyed it (and he really enjoyed it) the whole situation had been off - too much alcohol, too little understanding between the two of them…
"So we can move on?" she asks with narrowed eyes. He nods, releasing his grip and stepping back a little awkwardly.
"Great." Emma holds out her hand and he takes it. She gives his a firm shake. "Back to business."
"Exactly," he replies, meaning more than just the dance. "How about I swing by your place at six tomorrow - is that okay?"
"Sure," she smiles, "Can't wait." She stops herself and seems to think better of her turn of phrase. "I mean I'm really looking forward to the dance and seeing all the kids happy and, you know, helping out the school…"
To save her further embarrassment, he softly says, "Goodnight," and turns to get into the car. He watches her walk away in the rear view mirror. She turns back for a second and waves.
Looking at his reflection he catches himself grinning, startled by his own goofy expression he quickly turns the key in the ignition.
Get a grip, Jones, he warns himself as he pulls away.
/
Her hands are on the steering wheel and the engine gently purrs. She's been sat like that for almost ten minutes.
After watching him drive away, she'd dawdled back to her car.
She'd been waiting for him to bring up the kiss - he seemed like the type who would. But he hadn't and the tense feeling inside her had grown. While they were stacking boxes in his trunk, it became unbearable. He was too close to her - his cologne was the same as that night and it brought all the memories crashing back.
(Details like the texture of his hair and the light calluses on his hand she'd felt when he cupped her ass-)
And it had all burst forth in a wall of words. She was babbling. She did that when she as nervous.
She tightened her fingers on the leather until her knuckled started to turn white. Why did she feel so wretched? Why was she feeling so flat and vexed and-
But she knew why.
Gently, she placed her head on the steering wheel and crinkled her forehead.
"I have a thing for my son's teacher," she whispered to herself, groaning at the realisation. Not just a crush - a thing. A thing where an attraction had grown and now she felt her body humming a little when he was near and it was nice and she knew where this kind of feeling usually led-
She wasn't exactly sure what all this meant, but she knew sure as hell that it made things awkward. Especially now he'd made it clear that he thought it was a mistake that they'd kissed.
Lying back in her chair, she took a deep breath. So, he was handsome, just a little charming, funny and a great kisser. A really, really great kisser. It was unfair really.
As she released the parking break, she told herself that she could handle this. She could hide her 'thing' for Killian Jones. She could be professional, cordial… Urgh, she didn't know the word to use. But she could be it.
Because it's not like she had any other choice.
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