You guys are amazing to me, and I can't thank you enough for all the follows, favorites and reviews you've left me after the first chapter. I hope you keep enjoying the story, and see you on Tuesday for the next chapter!
When four o'clock finally rolls around and Emma can leave the office she does so as quickly as possible to avoid bumping into Walsh because he always offers to walk her home and she's getting tired of telling him that she can find her building alone.
It's been a decade since the day Emma had opened her eyes to the darkness but she still gets annoyed when people assume she can't deal with life on her own and don't wait for her to ask for help, assuming she's shy or embarrassed to do it.
Luckily, Emma manages to evade Walsh, but before she makes it down half a block the sky opens with a vengeance and Emma curses under her breath, trying to orientate herself and decide where to duck for cover.
The aroma of flowers tickles her nose and she turns toward the shop where it comes from, her mind made up for her when the rain intensifies; Emma sighs and reaches out her hand, searching for the knob and feeling awfully self-conscious, hoping that whomever might be inside isn't watching her fumble around.
"Hello?" She says as soon as she enters and closes the door, but doesn't move further into the shop, afraid of accidentally knocking something over.
"I'll be right with you", comes a reply from the back room, and Emma's eyebrows shoot up in surprise because this is probably the last place she would expect to hear a smooth male voice with a British accent like the one the owner of this flower shop possesses.
"Take your time", she calls back and follows her nose, her fingers finding soft petals before she leans down to take a sniff.
"Sorry I've kept you waiting", the voice is much closer this time and Emma wonders if this is how Elsa had felt this morning, then smiles to herself and straightens up, facing the florist who stands stock still a few feet away from her. "How may I help you?"
Now that he'd seen Emma and her cane, there's a note of apprehension in his voice that stings even though she's used to it, but she decides to ignore it and tells him that her original idea was to hide from the rain, but now that she's here, she might as well buy herself some flowers.
"Do you have houseplants here?"
"I do, yes. What kind would you like, lass?" The man asks and comes to stand in front of Emma, close enough so that that his scent reaches her but far enough not to make her feel crowded. Judging from the place his voice comes from she deduces that he must be taller than her, but beyond that she's completely stumped as to his appearance.
Not that it matters either way, but it's absolutely impossible not to like his voice and the faint scent of the ocean and leather that surrounds him.
"I'm not sure. Something that smells nice and won't demand too much attention?" She says it like it's a question and wonders what is it about this man that makes her feel so unbalanced.
"I'm sure we can find something. Would you like to come with me to the shelf or do you prefer if I bring the pots to you?" He asks her and she appreciates that he's leaving the choice to her.
"Bring them to me", Emma says because having strangers touching her and leading her places is not her thing, even if they sound incredibly proper.
The first flower he brings her is an african violet and Emma scrunches up her nose because even though she remembers liking the color purple, she finds their smell too heavy and she's not afraid to tell him so.
"Maybe something less overwhelming", the florist murmurs more to himself than her and retreats, leaving her wondering why couldn't he have brought one pot in each hand, but in the end she supposes he didn't want to confuse her nose and she waits anxiously for the next flower.
"What is this one called?" She asks when he returns and leans closer to smell whatever he's holding out to her, her hand brushing the leather glove he's wearing as she reaches out to touch the flower.
"Gloxinia", he says, and she wonders if it's her fault he sounds so subdued.
"What color is it?" Emma asks next, her fingertips caressing the thin petals gently, and she is well aware that he's looking at her and not the flower in his hands.
"This one is red but I have a few shades of purple too", he answers and Emma asks him to pick a purple one for her. "Lighter or darker?"
"Dark", she says and inquires about him making deliveries.
There's a slight pause before he answers and then he tells her that he does.
"I'm going to need your name and address", he says and Emma rattles it off, trying to hear if the rain is still falling outside. "It was nice to meet you, Emma."
"You too…" She trails off and catches herself wanting to know his name even though it shouldn't matter to her; after all, she might never talk to him again.
"Killian. Killian Jones", he says and she smiles, holding out the money and turning toward the door as soon as he takes it. "Wait. Take my umbrella."
"It's okay, my building is just a few blocks away", Emma tells him but she gets the feeling he won't take no for an answer, judging by the urgent sound of his footsteps.
"Nonsense. There's no need for you to get soaked", Killian says and before she can object again she's already holding an umbrella's curved handle. "You can return it to me when I come deliver your flower in a few hours."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely", he tells her and she can hear the smile in his voice clearly enough.
"Thanks", she says and finds that she doesn't mind it so much when Killian opens the door for her even though it usually pisses her off when Walsh tries to do the same.
"You're welcome, love", Killian says and she opens the umbrella, quickly walking away and wondering if he'd gone inside or if he's going to watch her until she rounds the corner and disappears from sight.
Killian closes the door after Emma, feeling like the worst kind of a dumbstruck idiot for being so awkward around her.
He'd been waiting for her to come into his shop and now that she had he'd barely been able to sell her flowers, much less flirt or try to find out more about her.
At least he knows he's going to see her again, and he can just imagine Will's face if he finds out that Killian-I-don't-make-deliveries-Jones had just agreed to take a stupid houseplant to the home of the most beautiful girl in the world.
"Get a grip, Jones", Killian mutters, then spends half an hour agonizing between three shades of dark purple gloxinias even though he's well aware of the fact that Emma won't even know which one he chose.
The next two hours seem never-ending and Killian gives up fifteen minutes before it's time to close up, shrugs on his jacket and leaves the shop, ducking his head because it's still raining and shifting the pot with Emma's flower under his bad arm so that he can unlock his truck.
He still remembers the jolt he had felt when she brushed her fingers against his fake hand and he wonders if she had even realized that it wasn't flesh and bones she was briefly touching, or if she was too focused on smelling the flowers to notice.
The building Emma lives in is old but beautiful, and Killian takes the opportunity to slip inside when an elderly gentleman comes out, then makes his way upstairs, reading the names on the doors until he finally reaches Emma's apartment.
Once there, Killian takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair and adjusts his grip on the pot before ringing the doorbell.
"Coming!" Emma calls through the door and he shifts from foot to foot, suddenly anxious to get this over with. "Who is it?"
"It's Killian."
The door doesn't open and he feels stupid for going out of his way to deliver this stupid plant when the girl of his dreams doesn't even remember his name.
"The florist."
"I know who you are", she says but there's still no sound of keys jingling or the door being unlocked. "You can leave the pot in front of the door."
"Excuse me?" Killian asks her incredulously, thinking how this is quickly turning into the strangest delivery he'd ever head of.
"I said-"
"I heard what you said. Why don't you just open the door and I give you the flower?" Killian asks, trying to hold onto his temper because it feels like she's jerking his chain and he doesn't enjoy it one bit.
"I'm not opening the door", Emma answers sharply, a note of defiance creeping into her voice and Killian is at a complete loss. "I'm sorry about your umbrella, but I'll return it to you tomorrow on the way to work."
"I don't understand", he says because he really doesn't, and he would very much like to know why she refuses to take the flowers from him.
"Listen, Killian. I know you're probably a decent enough guy, but I don't know you well enough to be sure, and I'd rather not get assaulted on my birthday. Or any other day of the year", she adds and finally everything clicks for him.
A blind girl living alone in a big city must be a sure recipe for disaster.
"Happy birthday, then, Swan", Killian says, feeling his rightful indignation drain away because Emma is just being cautious and he'd rather have her safe even if it means he won't see her until tomorrow. "I'll leave your flower by the door so you don't trip over it."
"Thank you", Emma says and he hesitates for a moment, then tells her not to leave the gloxinia in direct sunlight.
"And don't be alarmed if the flowers start closing, just don't water it too much and after a while they are going to be blooming again", he says, feeling extremely foolish talking to her about the flowers while standing in the hallway, but she's not giving him much choice and he doesn't like the idea of leaving her behind when she's all alone on her birthday.
"Goodbye, Killian", she says and he nods to himself and tells her goodbye before he walks away; he jabs the call button with a little more force than is strictly necessary and doesn't look back at Emma's door.
He's stepping inside the elevator just as she comes out of her apartment wearing a fuzzy pink sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that settles on her shoulder when she leans down to pick up the pot with flowers.
The elevator door closes and Killian thinks how she should've waited until he was gone before coming out, suddenly feeling tired and more disappointed than he had in quite a long time.
It's been years since he had last shown an interest in a woman, and even before that, and after her, all the one-night stands ended up being tremendous mistakes that left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and more than a little dent in his ego.
He wonders if that's the real reason why he'd taken a liking to Emma so fast, if her blindness somehow makes her a safe choice… It would've been a nice theory if he had any intention on trying to seduce Miss Swan, but despite her beautiful face and green eyes, she obviously has a lot of issues with trust and Killian is the last person who should try to show her that some people are worth opening your door for.
Maybe he should call Will after all and find out where they can get sloshed, because his empty house doesn't hold much appeal to Killian tonight, nor does going to bed at a respectable time.
Killian sits in his truck for good ten minutes before he makes up his mind and throws his phone on the passenger seat, easing out into traffic and driving out of the city.
If he still feels like drinking when he reaches his house he can always open that bottle of rum that's sitting untouched in one of the kitchen cupboards.
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