"So, did that break the ice? Do you think she'll actually talk to you now?" Robin asked that Monday, a minute after they watched her cross in front of the storefront as usual.
Killian scratched at his ear. "I don't know. She was so spooked at being late to… whatever it was that I don't think she even registered that we had a conversation."
"Well, you'll find out at the end of this week."
"I suppose, provided I haven't scared her off for good."
"Are you nervous?" Belle asked, a teasing note in her voice, clearly delighted at the prospect.
"No, I am not bloody nervous! Why are you two so interested in this, anyway?"
Robin scoffed. "Killian, we're surrounded by overpriced furnishings. She's the most exciting thing that's happened around here in a year."
Killian sighed. Of course his friends would consider his… predicament their own personal reality show. "I am not here for your entertainment."
Robin simply snorted, and Belle just smiled and patted his shoulder before walking off. "You should have thought of that before you started being so entertaining, then."
Friday came.
And yes, he was bloody nervous.
He knew what her voice sounded like now, knew what her eyes looked like up close, knew that she wasn't nearly as frigid as Robin initially assumed. She was just… guarded. And tired. Obviously so, so tired.
His curiosity had been dampened by sympathy after their last encounter. She was obviously stressed, ridiculously so, and stretched so thin in her life that she'd resorted to taking a weekly nap in a furniture store, knowing full well she could be kicked out at any moment. At first he'd thought she wasn't risking much by doing so - it's not as if she would be arrested or anything, merely asked to leave - but the longer he thought about it (and oh, had he thought about it), the more he realized how false that was.
She was risking shame.
Killian knew a thing or two about that.
He tried to keep himself occupied when 3:00 rolled around, doing his best to look busy in a store that hadn't seen a new customer in the last 20 minutes.
The little bell on the front door chimed while he uselessly adjusted the spacing of a living room set. He glanced at the clock - 3:21.
He fought back a smile. Right on time.
He pretended to finish the job he was doing, as if moving a random loveseat a few inches to the left even meant a damn thing, before allowing himself to look up. She was there, beautiful as always, this time making a determined beeline to the bedroom suites.
She didn't even look at him before choosing a mattress, climbing up and curling into a fetal position, her back to him.
He sighed. So. That was that.
Her alarm went off at 3:50, like always. She gave him a stiff nod on her way out, as always, but kept her eyes trained on the door as she tilted her head.
He stared after her as she left, and tried not to roll his eyes when Robin's unmistakable footsteps approached behind him. "Sorry, mate." And he did actually sound sorry.
Killian shrugged, pasting a bored look on his face. "Well, now I know."
It wasn't that his Tuesday was going that badly. Not really. Just a series of small inconveniences that gradually chipped away at his patience and left him with a dull headache and a scowl on his face.
He'd overslept and came in fifteen minutes late that morning in cold and rainy weather and forgotten his umbrella to boot, earning a lecture from Regina that lasted so long he talked himself out of quitting on the spot at least four times during her lengthy tirade while he shook out his wet clothes. Every other customer who came in the damned place was rude, condescending, or both, and no fewer than three of them had eyed his prosthetic hand with a lack of tact that would have made even his boss blush.
Even sweet Belle was in a bad mood and not up for chatting, and Robin must have gotten into it with Regina as well, if his terse replies to Killian's attempts at small talk were any indication.
And then, when 11:30 rolled around, he realized he'd forgotten his lunch. He wasn't hurting for options for food, not with the mall's food court and various restaurants scattered around the periphery, but it was still pouring rain outside and he still didn't have a bloody umbrella.
It was either go hungry or get soaked.
Killian chose the latter, if only to get the hell away from the store for an hour. His closest option was the sports bar a few hundred yards down the walkway, the one with the gaudy neon signs and advertisements for American football and terrible beer that held no interest to him whatsoever.
So. Overpriced chicken wings it would be.
He held his jacket over his head as he ran, his socks getting soaked through and still managing to drench half of his shirt despite his makeshift raincoat. He shook out his clothes as best he could once he made it through the doors, feeling very much like a labrador retriever trying to dry off after a swim.
It seemed the weather had scared off most of the patrons, as the restaurant was nearly as empty as his own store. He waved off an offer to be seated by a hostess and made his way to the bar area instead, choosing one of the smaller booths and wondering if he could squeeze the moisture out of his socks without anyone noticing.
A bored waitress dropped off a menu and a glass of water as he shook out his jacket once more, glancing around the place. It wasn't that bad, all told. The music wasn't too loud and seemed to stick to a 90s alternative theme, a few of the big screens were showing the Everton match, so at least he'd have something to watch. Some saint of an employee had clearly cranked the heat up, which kept his shivers at bay while he dried out and perused the menu.
It was standard bar fare, and he decided to forgo the wings in favor of a burger, settling back to watch what he could of the match before his food arrived. A quick look at the weather app on his phone told him he wouldn't get a reprieve on his walk back to work - the rain wouldn't subside for hours, at least.
He briefly wondered if he'd see her walking by in such a storm. He doubted it, not with the way his day had been going.
He allowed himself to relax and watch the match for a bit, only interrupted when the waitress dropped off his food. The burger was actually quite good, much to his surprise. Perhaps he'd misjudged the place. He, Belle, and Robin could probably come here for a change of pace on the occasional Fridays they went out for a few drinks.
He got so wrapped up watching the match that he forgot himself for a bit, and he only noticed the time when he checked his phone at the beep of a Facebook notification - he flagged down his server for the check with only ten minutes to pay and get back to work, and he wasn't keen on subjecting himself to Regina's wrath again.
He sighed as he waited for the bill. He'd only just gotten dry, the short walk back to the store seeming much longer once he was warm and full. Good food and football or not, it wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had.
The waitress finally returned with only five minutes left on his lunch break, a confused look on her face. She handed him a zeroed-out bill and a small umbrella. "Uh, Emma took care of your check and said to give you this. She said something about returning the favor?"
"What - who's Emma? And why -"
The waitress shrugged and nodded towards the bar, which didn't help much, considering there was no one sitting at it or standing behind it. "Hell if I know, but she paid it before I could even print your receipt. Have a good one, okay? Stay dry."
And with that, she was off.
Only then did Killian register what the waitress was wearing. Jeans. A fitted black polo. Sensible shoes.
He turned towards the bar once more, finding it still empty. It couldn't be. This whole bloody time she was literally three doors down from him and -
Emma? Was that her name?
He waited a few moments, work schedule be damned, and his breath caught when a familiar face emerged from the kitchen and stepped behind the bar, hands loaded with bottles of liquor and her hair pulled into a loose ponytail.
He'd never even looked to the bar the entire time he was there, too wrapped up in the football match to even notice her. Had she been watching him this whole time? Or worse, had she been hiding from him this whole time?
She froze when she saw him looking at her, clearly expecting him to be gone by then.
He forgot to breathe for a few heartbeats and fumbled with the umbrella he forgot he'd been holding, juggling it a bit and just managing to snatch hold of it before he could drop it. Smooth, Killian.
He chuckled to himself and she finally moved, setting the bottles on the bar and fighting a smile, probably at his own bumbling foolishness. He was tempted to just drop the damn thing then and there, just to see if she'd finally send a real smile his way, a flash of teeth, a laugh, anything.
In the end he couldn't do much more than smile stupidly at her, holding up the umbrella in a gesture he hoped conveyed his thanks. One corner of her mouth did turn up then and she nodded, disappearing back to the kitchen.
Killian knew she wouldn't show her face again, not while he was still there. He dazedly pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave a tip on the table, looking back down at the umbrella in his hand and shaking his head, his face threatening to crack with a grin he could hardly control.
While it couldn't keep his feet dry on the walk back, at least it stopped his hair and shirt from getting soaked again. He hardly made it in the door before coming face-to-face with Regina, a scowl on her face. "You're late. Again." Her eyes flicked over him." And you look like a drowned rat."
Killian bowed in a grandiose gesture, and he may or may not have shook the umbrella just so, just enough to send a fine mist of water across the front of her pencil skirt. "Lovely to see you too, Highness. My apologies. I'll stay late to make up for it." He brushed past her without another word, waiting for the yelling to start.
It never came, only a long-suffering sigh as she retreated to her office, her heels clacking along the way. "Dry off before you go back on the floor, for godsakes."
Killian would never understand how Regina knew he'd responded with a sarcastic salute despite her back being turned to him, but her perfectly-timed "shove it, Jones" only confirmed his suspicion that his boss was some sort of witch.
Robin stood back, watching the exchange from the middle of the floor, raising an eyebrow at Killian as he walked past.
"I don't know what you see in her, mate," Killian smirked.
Robin ignored the jab, an exasperated expression on his face. "Are you trying to get fired?"
"Maybe."
"What the hell has gotten into you?"
Killian stopped and turned, tapping his friend in the chest with the umbrella. "Emma."
"What?"
He grinned. "Her name is Emma."