Chapter Two.

Killian came back at his usual hour the very next day, just as Emma had finished putting out the freshly made sandwiches and toasts. She – or Ruby, depending on who started first that day – made them herself every single morning just before opening up and they were usually all sold out by the end of the day.

She peeked at him through the glass doors that were between the food and the costumers, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and attempted to determine if he still was in a foul mood or not.

"Hello," he said as he came up to the counter, and she wondered for a second if he would pretend last night never happened.

"Hi." She gave him the same smile she gave all the costumers, bent on not singling him out like some creep – like she had been doing since he first came in. "The usual?" She reached for a paper cup, promptly not looking at the way his hair fell over his forehead, clearly not having been combed this morning.

"Aye," he nodded. He handed her too much money as per usual, but didn't move away after receiving his coffee so she let the bill lay there. Since there were no other costumers currently waiting in line, she figured it was as good of an excuse as any to look at him, so she met his already waiting eyes, feeling like they saw much more than she wanted to share.

"I – " He scratched himself behind his right ear in what could only be described at the cutest gesture of uncomfortableness Emma had ever witnessed, but she kept her face neutral. "I wanted to thank you for last night. It was a rough one for me, and I realize you could've kicked me out had you wished to."

Surprised, she raised her eyebrows. "You're welcome." She poured a small cup of coffee for herself, not able to resist as the fumes from Killian's beverage insisted on seeping its way into her nose. "I am curious, though. Why would I kick someone out that just wants a hot beverage?"

"You did more than that, love."

"Yeah, I gave you some liquor because you looked like you needed some." She shrugged and took a sip from her cup, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of it than it had been. Truth be told, she would've treated anyone else exactly the same – she even had an evening a month where she let homeless people and others who couldn't afford a coffee have what they wanted for free, and she or Ruby always went by the shelter down the street to leave the leftover food that wouldn't last until the next day after closing up.

The fact that it had been someone she'd been a pile of goo over for the past two months had only been an added bonus.

"No matter, it was kind and I appreciate it." Taking a sip from his coffee, he turned to leave.

"Wait," she said, just knowing she couldn't let him out of her sight until she knew. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you since you first came here, but there's never really been a right time for it, because I don't want to sound like I don't appreciate it."

Killian sighed, his shoulders heaving up and down in a slow motion as if steeling himself for the question she was about to ask. He gave her a small smile that did not reach his eyes. "Ask all you want, I believe I am an open book."

She took the ten dollar bill from the counted with her fingers and held it up. "Why are you always giving me a ridiculous amount of money when you just buy a coffee?"

He frowned deep. "What?"

She made a grimace. "Well, I only charge a few bucks for my drinks so ten would be one hell of a tip. You've handed me a twenty dollar bill, too, and you always leave before I can give you your change back."

He laughed. "Was that all you wanted to ask me?"

"Well – yes. I know it might be inappropriate for some, but I just have to know."

"I don't find it inappropriate at all, it was just unexpected. And I didn't realize I did that if I'm being quite honest with you."

Now Emma laughed, feeling like her grin might split her face in two halves. "You must have a lot of money then, not to notice. Mind sharing your occupation? It might be more lucrative for me to change my trade."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "My occupation? You don't – " He paused, before a smile spread over his face. "I'm a former baker of cookies and other sweets, actually. Nowadays I mostly write the recipes for others."

"That sounds like fun, though. I always wished I had learned to bake like that, but I'm stuck with my delicious bread baking skills." She shrugged. "Or so my son tells me."

"I'm inclined to agree with him then."

"You've tasted it? I don't remember that."

"Ah, I believe I bought that from the other girl who's here most of the time. Tall, with brown hair."

Emma nodded. "Ruby."

Killian agreed, before looking down at the golden clock he wore around his left wrist – or what was technically not his wrist, but looked authentic enough to be, just like the rest of the hand did – and swore silently, but loud enough for her to overhear. "It seems I have to run." He made a quick wave and was out through the door before Emma even had the time to open her mouth.

Not even three seconds later, Ruby came out from the back with her usual grin plastered on her face. "It would seem you have some explaining to do, Miss Swan."

Emma rolled her eyes. "How long have you been hiding back there?"

"Hiding?" Ruby made a shocked facial expression, putting a hand over her heart to make it more dramatic. "I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing. I was sorting the spices in alphabetical order, so you're welcome."

Emma scoffed. "I only own three different sorts of spices."

"And I sorted them with great delicacy. Now spill!"

"There's nothing to spill about."

"Oh, right, and what was all that 'thank you for last night' thing about then?"

Emma laughed at Ruby's imitation of Killian. "You really shouldn't be allowed to do an English accent, it's horrible."

Ruby crossed her arms across her chest. "Still doesn't answer my question."

"It really was nothing. He came in here looking like hell and I gave him a cup of coffee with some liquor in it. We didn't even talk for the whole time he was here."

Ruby grinned. "I'm sure Mr. Jones can be chatty when he wants to, as we just saw." She bit her lip. "I wonder if he's the talkative one during sex, too."

Emma smacked her friend on the arm even as she snickered. "Stop it, there are kids in here!"

Ruby only shrugged, and stepped in to take the new customer before Emma had the chance to do it herself.

From then on, it got a little bit easier every time Killian came by; she no longer felt like a stalker for asking about his day or what book he currently read (he told her he was just rereading Peter Pan by J.M Barrie, a gleam in his eyes as he spoke and she didn't quite understand why).

He would ask her about her day, or what she was planning for Christmas. It was small things, but made Emma feel like she'd made a friend nonetheless.

(A friend she happened to be extremely attracted to, but that was neither here nor there.)

Every now and then, Killian would stay at the coffeehouse to drink his coffee instead of taking it to go. When he did, he always chose a table close to the windows and kept his gaze outwards, almost as if not even aware of the people around him; like he, for just a moment, would wish them all to vanish.

Henry came running through the doors one afternoon just as Killian had sat down and taken of his big coat. (It didn't exactly get any warmer as winter got closer, and Emma found herself wanting a jacket that looked equally warm to his.)

"Hey mom!" Henry all but shouted as soon as he was inside, setting his backpack on the floor right by the counter.

"Hey kid." She smiled. "I didn't know you were coming to see me. What about school?"

He shrugged. "Last class cancelled. I think she got the flu or something." He let his eyes wander the rather small room filled with people. "Quite a lot of costumers today. Think you have time – Oh my God!" He practically squealed and left Emma alone in less than a second – only to go stand in front of Killian's table.

She could only gapingly stare from afar as Killian gestured for Henry to join him at his table.

When Killian left, after spending the better part of half an hour chatting with Henry, Emma bewildered staring at them as she took orders from other costumers, Henry went up to Emma with a smile and her confusion only deepened.

"Henry, how do you know Killian?"

Henry widened his eyes, looking at her as if she were the stupidest person to ever walk in a pair of shoes. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. And don't tell me you don't know him, you don't chat with strangers for that long."

Henry grinned wide. "Mom, that was Killian Jones."

"Yes, I am aware of that." With no awaiting costumers in sight, she sat down on the stool by the register, waiting for her son to get to the point – which sometimes took a while, as he easily got caught up in small details when telling a story.

"Are you – do you really not know who he is?"

"What? Some celebrity on of the shows you watch?"

He shook his head. "I can't believe you don't know." He reached for his backpack on the floor and opened it to dig through it. He pulled up a package of cookies from 'Pirate's booty' – a very popular brand among kids and at every Starbucks in the country; heck even Emma sold some at her place – holding it out for her to take.

She accepted it with a shrug. "Why are you giving me cookies? You do know I sell some here, right?"

"Look at the back."

She flipped the bag over in her hands and saw the table of contents and a neat description of how the cookie's had been captured at sea by the most vicious pirate of them all, a cartoon of said pirate right next to it. It looked like a version of Captain Hook as a small child in a striped shirt in light blue and white, a red hat and a mischievous grin all over his small face.

"Cute," she commented and Henry sighed, reaching over the counter to point at the bottom of the bag.

"What does it say there?"

She lifted the bag closer to her eyes. "Pirate's booty is a privately owned company and does in no way affiliate with real life pirates." She chuckled.

"Go on," Henry prompted.

"Killian Jones, founder, has –" She looked back at the name again to see if she had read it correctly, because it couldn't be –

Henry snickered. "I'm glad you're not a detective, because you would suck at it."

Still shocked, she didn't comment on his language. "But – but – there must be more than one Killian Jones. How do you even know it's him?"

Henry rolled his eyes so far back she thought they might get stuck there. "His face is on all of the boxes."

She could feel the color slowly disappearing from her face as she looked down at her feet, wondering how long it would take to dig a hole there deep enough to hide in forever. She had deliveries of various cookies from Pirate's booty every Wednesday that always came in those boxes and she kept her own stock in at least three cupboards in their apartment for when she were on her period and craved something sweet. She'd been eating those cookies since they first came out, feeling like they were a blessing from heaven when she first tasted the chocolate chip ones.

She let her head fall to the counter, remembering her conversation with Killian a few weeks back when she'd asked him about his job and he'd said he was a former baker.

Henry was right; she'd really be the worst detective ever.