Emma woke up earlier than Killian did. It was par for the course for her to be the first one, to pull herself out from under the warmth her blankets offered and exchange it for refreshing cold before anyone else. She rolled closer to the window, socked toes finding the chilled space where the door met the edge of the mattress, and tugged her blanket up over her shoulders as she peeked out at the campground.
He'd parked them facing the reservoir, which was quickly turning into molten gold as the sun rose and painted the water with light. It was blinding to look at, but Emma felt warmer with morning falling on her. Emma stared out at the firs and red cedars lining the edge of the man-made shoreline while her eyes adjusted, idly wondering whether the weather report had changed since they left. Icy temperatures were one thing, but icy roads were another.
They'd been snowed in last year, the four of them. David and Killian had already gone out and collected enough firewood to last them a week, but the first fourteen hours of their Tradition weekend did not include electricity.
She'd gotten to know Killian in the arguments over who could carry more firewood between him and David, and the debates about whether a marshmallow was better toasted or burnt by the fire, rather than watching reruns of holiday movies on the family channel. Having never been much for the holidays to begin with, it was a welcome change of pace.
(And if Mary Margaret started to throw her some very pointed looks when she thought the men weren't looking after that, well, Emma just got good at ignoring them.)
Emma glanced behind her to see Killian already awake and looking at her, his greener than usual thanks to the light. The time for teasing comments about staring came and went, and she chalked it up to the effort it took to pull her back into the present.
"Feel like helping me pack everything back on top of the car?"
Killian scoffed, as if she'd never suggested anything more ridiculous in her life. "It was your idea to take everything down so we could see the moon, you know."
It'd been his idea to park near the water and suffer the chill of the breeze, too, but she left that out of her argument as he pulled himself up from under his blankets. She was sure it would be better to pull on her coat and gloves and pack the car than it would be to linger on him and the way sleep had mussed his hair, the way he was running his fingers through it and over his face to wake himself up.
She had always liked the fresh morning air.
Emma made quick work of the luggage on the gravel at her feet. Every step she took was crisp and satisfying under her boots, and every breath came in a cloud, motivating her to finish before Killian could see how she was doing it. She was doing her best to recreate his neat, methodical style of packing, but she just didn't have the knack for it that he did.
"I don't mean to be ungrateful, lass, but you look like you could use some help."
The sudden closeness of his voice in the otherwise quiet morning was almost jarring. Emma looked down from her perch on the step rail and found him standing and admiring her handiwork. Admiring was the wrong word, Emma realized, as she saw the scrutiny in his eyes.
"Maybe more than a little," she agreed guiltily, lifting her hands away from the luggage strap she was fighting to lock.
He was a good sport about it, jumping up to stand next to her and holding the bags down. Emma pulled at the slack in the strap and tried not to let the flashes of light reflecting off his watch blind her. She'd seen it up close a few times before; it showed the day of the week as well as the phases of the moon, and it featured a tiny, inlaid pegasus instead of a 12. He'd mentioned it was an heirloom when she last asked, and ever since she had wondered about it. Now wasn't the time to ask, though, especially when she saw where the hands were pointing.
Emma slid her eyes toward him. "Is there time for Tim Horton's?"
He let up on the bags a little, satisfied when they strained tight and firm against their straps. "There's always time for Tim Horton's, Swan. Twenty minutes is more than enough time to find something close by."
"Twenty minutes not counting checkout time?" She challenged.
"Fair point."
True to his word, Killian navigated her out of the camp and toward the nearest coffee shop. They had to wait twelve minutes in the drive-through line, and by that point Emma was so enticed by the smell of fresh bagel sandwiches she ordered them breakfast along with drinks. His eyebrow lifted as she passed the bag of hot food over to him, but Emma wasn't having it.
"Don't look so cocky. Black coffee and an english muffin are not hard to remember."
"They aren't…but what if I had wanted something else?"
"You didn't," she said knowingly. He would have stopped her if he did, and he hadn't said a word as they waited in the line of cars.
"But what if I had?" A slow, almost curious expression grew over his face as he spoke, like he was searching for the answer in her eyes rather than waiting for her reply.
"Then you could learn to live with disappointment. It's nine hours to Green Bay, and it's not nearly as pretty as yesterday's drive."
"That's a matter of perspective, Swan," he grinned, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Take a left turn out of here."
He busied himself with sending Mary Margaret an update as they drove along, and Emma felt grateful for his superior memory. She felt grateful for having someone at her side to begin with, honestly; he was the whole reason Tradition was still happening this year. Mary Margaret wasn't about to leave David at home on his own, and she wasn't about to drive so far alone. She'd had made enough trips that way for a lifetime.
Hours later, they had crossed back over the U.S. border, and Emma was staring worriedly at the horizon. It was as sunny in Michigan as it had been in Ontario, but thick snow clouds were moving in from the west as quickly as they were driving from the east. "Did you say you checked the weather last night?"
"No," he told her, already digging out his phone to pull something up, "but I can." She waited patiently for him to give her an update, and the longer the silence grew between them the more worried she got. "Killian? Is it loading."
"Oh, it loaded. They're calling for snow and freezing rain by the hour, though, so I'm trying to find us a good rate on a motel for the night."
Emma slumped a little in her seat, foot sliding a bit off the gas pedal. It was just her luck that they'd get delayed while she was behind the wheel, and she was starting to wonder whether David's poison ivy was just the first of many signs they shouldn't be taking this trip. Half of her wanted to pull over now, before they could miss another exit toward civilization.
"Should I—"
"Not yet. We can put ourselves on the other side of this if we hang on a few more exits…ah, if that's all right with you, that is," he added hastily, seeming to realize what they were in for. It was a lucky thing he had texted Mary Margaret earlier, when they were both blissfuly unaware of what they were driving toward.
Emma shrugged, trying to convey a calm she was no longer feeling. "Better than sleeping in the car."
Killian smiled and flicked his eyes back to his screen. "Then merge left. We've another six exits to go."
Emma dropped her foot down on the gas pedal and pulled them in front of the truck they'd been coasting behind, watching the horizon. It was like high tide coming in; every mile they drove seemed to push them further under a fast-moving cloak of grey sky and uneasy air. A cloud of birds flickered in the last patch of sunlight left on the road, and she glanced over to him again.
In a second, she went from slightly apprehensive to highly suspicious. The grin hadn't left his face, and he looked like he was actually trying to rein it in.
"You're excited about this, aren't you?" He was, despite all protests to the contrary, and the wariness turned to annoyance bordering on anger. There was no denying the spark in his eyes, even after it fell away with the realization of her mood. She didn't have time to read further into it before it was gone. "You're okay with us getting snowed in before we even hit get to Milwaukee."
"We're not going to get snowed in, love. I told you I was putting us on the other side of this thunderstorm."
"It's a thunderstorm now? And you just wanted to drive through it?"
He wasn't picking up on her tone yet, she could tell. Emma's eyes widened as he nodded, oblivious to her mood when his own was still high. "It's not all that terrible. They're actually quite beautiful when they get fierce."
Emma stomped down on the gas and tore down the exit they'd been about to pass, angrily registering the sound that meant his GPS was recalculating. She heard a horn honk behind her, but only dimly over the sound of blood pumping in her ears. She refused to look at him until they reached a stoplight, and even then it was only to ask where she should turn.
"Left up here. It's just four blocks north," he said in confusion. Emma didn't bother answering the question in his tone; the sky was darkening, and the first few raindrops had skittered across the windshield by the time she pulled into the parking lot of the aptly named Cold Spring Inn.
She shoved the gear in park, registering a little guilt at the strain she was putting on David's Range Rover, but not enough to keep her from yanking the keys from the ignition with equal force. Killian's hand rose up, but was out of the car and slamming her door before his wrist crossed the center console. Backpack in hand, Emma dodged the icy mix falling from the sky and went for the front door, trying and failing to pull her wallet from the front pocket before her knees slammed into the front desk.
"Welcome to the Cold Spring Inn. Can I help you?" A middle-aged man with red, receding hair greeted her pleasantly from the other side of the desk. He looked like he was a breath away from mentioning the weather, but seemed to think better of it after she nodded instead of replying.
Emma folded a stack of bills in her hand, trying to ignore the footsteps and sound of rolling luggage behind her. "I'd like a single, if you've got one."
"Unfortunately, our singles are booked for the evening," he answered, a hint of confusion on his face. The solid presence at her right shoulder made it clear why that was. "I could certainly offer you what we have left…" he paused, scrolling over his monitor. "How about a room with a queen-sized bed and a garden view."
"How much is that?"
"A hundred and twenty per night. I'd be happy to waive the check-in fee for you, since it's getting so bad out there."
Even without additional charges, Emma couldn't afford the room. She'd packed enough money to pay for gas and one grocery trip, just in case, and she couldn't spend half of it here. She took a steadying breath before turning her eyes back up to the man, hoping like hell there weren't tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
"That's fine. Thank you anyway." She turned for the door, already trying to think of whether they'd passed another place on their way here. They were right off the interstate; it couldn't be that difficult to find another place with open rooms she could actually afford.
Emma shivered once she was back out on the sidewalk, almost ready to laugh at the ridiculous scenario she'd gotten herself into. She couldn't wait to tell Mary Margaret what was going on, how she probably should have One pathetic, angry chuckle escaped her between the door to the motel and the Rover, and then that persistent footfall was behind her again.
"We need to find another place. There has to be one nearby."
"No we don't."
"Excuse me?" She whirled on him again, incensed to find he'd been reaching out for her again.
"Emma, just calm down. We can split a room tonight, and stop at an ATM tomorrow after the roads clear. It's perfectly safe."
She stared at him until the icy rain started coming down more steadily, until she was hyper-aware of how they looked standing out in the weather she'd wanted so desperately to avoid. The adrenaline of her anger was freezing over at the look in his eyes, too, much as she wanted to hold onto it. "Fine," she muttered, all her fight leaving her in one cloudy exhale.
The front desk attendant looked happy, if surprised, to see them back again. He offered to send another staff member down with their luggage and Emma refused before he even finished his sentence, more and more desperate by the minute to be alone. If nothing else, she could lock herself in the bathroom for a couple of hours until she felt like she could handle being in the same room with Killian again.
He handed them a single room key at the door and bid them goodnight, and she tensed herself for an explosion to follow. Once their bags crossed the threshold, one after the other in a space that felt comically narrow for the distance between them, Killian was going to demand she explain herself.
But he didn't. He left the room once his bags were tucked into the closet across from the bed, pressing the key card onto the countertop without another word. She had no idea what he was doing, and for a few wild seconds she imagined him going to sleep out in the car in the middle of a storm just to prove his annoyance with her. The storm picked up quickly, slamming against their garden view a little too heavily to be just rain. A minute later the power was flickering, and despite the swirl of unease churning in her chest, she hoped he was all right.
She should have listened to herself about this trip. David and Mary Margaret hadn't forced her to come all this way, even if the poison ivy had never happened. She shouldn't have expected to drive halfway to Canada with Killian and survive the trip unscathed, considering her track record.
A small voice, one that sounded remarkably like her eleven-year-old self, reminded her that this was she should have expected. She'd ignored it to make her sister-in-law feel like there were still some sacred things in the world, and now she was paying the price.
Emma swept the pad of her thumb across her phone, which told her the weather was clear back home. Of course it would be. She was traveling thousands of miles away from the two people who made sure she had a family to go to for the holidays, who always reminded her when she needed to ease up on herself, who would have known that she didn't like storms. Why wouldn't it be better there? She threw her phone into the open mouth of her backpack before it could update to their current location and stared at the floor, trying not to think of all the ways she could have avoided this.
A knock at the door managed to startle her, just when she finally pulled herself out of her thoughts to turn down the sheets of the bed. Emma had accepted the fact that she'd be on her own, which was just as well, seeing as she planned on spending most of the night regretting the reason for it. She opened the door, expecting nothing but the front desk attendant telling her about the electricity, and found Killian with an armful of vending machine snacks in his arms instead.
"Apparently there's no room service here," he smiled weakly. "Mind if I come in?"
"You paid for half the room."
"I know. But it felt right to ask."
Emma felt her guard rise — she'd expected a confrontation, not whatever this was. She let him aside and stayed near the door as he dumped several small snack bags on the bed, trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between what he'd just said and what she wanted to say back to him.
"They were out of Funyuns on our floor, but I had a feeling I'd find some if I just kept wandering around," he continued, scratching the skin behind his ear. "I remembered you eating them last year, and I thought something familiar might help."
She could hear sorry in every word, even in the way he punctuated his pauses, and Emma wrapped her arms around herself as she took a half-step back into the room.
"I went camping as a kid," she blurted out suddenly, surprised at the sound of her own voice. His rustling through the bags immediately stopped. "The foster family I was living with took me on this big trip to New Hampshire."
Killian's eyes rose to hers, the junk food on the bed forgotten, but hers were glued to the floor. The last time she told this story was the first year she'd joined Mary Margaret and David on this trip, and it hadn't been easy to look at them, either.
"We were supposed to be spending the night in the mountains. It was their version of Tradition, the whole family-bonding thing. It sounds so stupid saying it now, but I guess I thought bringing me was some kind of test to see if I really fit in with them. I thought if I made it through the trip they'd want to adopt me."
His eyes were burning holes in her now. Emma worked to speak casually, but it was too quiet in their room to miss the occasional waver in her voice.
"This snowstorm came up, and there was still a long way to go before they got to the campsite. Their kids noticed how freaked out I looked, and they kept bugging their dad about it until he turned around to tell me to suck it up. They'd driven through a hell of a lot worse with no complaints from anyone before they took me in. The car hit the shoulder while he was distracted, we went into a ditch, and they had to cut the trip short to get towed home. I think you can guess how they felt about adopting me."
"Emma, will you look at me?" She dragged her eyes up and saw empathy in his expression. It was far less painful than she was expecting it to be.
"I'm sorry I got angry with you. I should have explained before," she muttered, noticing how damp his hair was. He had to be cold.
Killian shook his head, dismissing her as gently as he could. "It's all right. I just want to say something to you." He waited a moment to see if she'd protest. When she didn't, he took another step, cutting off her view of the window outside. "I know this can't carry the same weight as it would if it came from Dave or Mary Margaret, but I like to think I know you fairly well. I also know that wounds made when we are young tend to linger," he told her, ignoring another flicker of darkness from the overhead light. "So please, don't apologize to me over something terrible that happened to you in the past. I shouldn't have assumed you would share my strange penchant for storms," he added, finally drawing a half-smile from her when he said it. He looked proud when it happened, and Emma rolled her eyes in a way that said all was forgiven.
The power went out for good as they changed into drier, warmer clothes, but it was still much warmer than it would have been in the back of the Rover. Every pillow on the bed was piled behind their backs and a small mountain of snacks sat at their feet. With every Cheeto he traded for one of her Funyuns, the howling wind outside felt less intense. With every work story about David he exchanged for one from their time growing up, the storm seemed to quiet down.
"We can still go back to Boston at any point, if you needed to. No questions asked," Killian offered later, when Emma's eyes were droopy and the taste of fried onion had been brushed out of her mouth. She'd expected a real bed to feel strange after the cramped space of the car, but she just felt warm.
"We should keep going," she said after she realized he was asking. "It's Tradition."
She couldn't see him in the darkness, but Emma thought she heard a smile in his voice. "All right, Swan. Do you want me to drive until Green Bay? It's still technically my leg of the trip. I can put the snow chains on."
"We'll figure it out tomorrow," she muttered, unwilling to think about it now. He seemed to accept that answer without comment, so she let her eyes slip shut and fell asleep to the ever-steady snow draping itself over the city outside.