Author's Note: To keep with the correct date, this is a double update. So if you haven't, make sure you read chapter 5 (December 27th) before you read this chapter.
Regina Mills, third stool from the end, just sat down
Robin stares at the text for a full thirty seconds, before he answers Ruby with: Why are you telling me this?
He's honestly rather ashamed by how many of those seconds he spent imagining jogging down the road and slipping casually into the second stool from the end like a lovesick fool.
It's ridiculous, the way he feels about her. Yes, they have a history, and, yes, he's always liked her, but the last few days, it's been… more. He keeps glancing twice at every long black parka he sees, keeps stealing glances into the coffee shop as he passes in the hope he'll see her there. Keeps skimming the sidewalks for her silhouette.
He's like a schoolboy with a terrible crush, and since when does he act this way? (Since he saw her two spots in line ahead of him on December the 22nd, that's when.)
His phone buzzes with Ruby's reply: Thought you might want to actually talk to her instead of just making googly eyes every time her name comes up
(She's been giving him hell for said 'googly eyes' ever since Christmas Eve, and, he's fairly certain, taking every opportunity to mention Regina just to draw them out of him.)
Another text pops up a moment later, before Robin's had a chance to respond: She's alone. Your move, Romeo
Robin rolls his eyes and gets back to work, straightening the rental skis in the back room of his shop.
He lasts a whole five minutes before that little voice in his head pipes up with a reminder that he has that Granny's Diner voucher for her, and that Randy the Reindeer is still in his car, keeping him company from the front seat on all his jaunts about town. The little stuffed fella is still there out of sheer laziness, not because leaving him in the car means he's likely to be on hand anywhere Robin might bump into Regina.
Because that would be pathetic, and he is not pathetic. (He is, in fact, quite pathetic.)
He gets another text: She looks really good today. Green's a nice color on her and then a minute later, Isn't green your favorite color?
Robin shakes his head and dutifully pockets his phone again, fighting the urge to be incredibly pathetic and walk the five minutes down the street from his storefront to Granny's, so that he can see just what shade of green she looks so fetching in.
Ruby's just ribbing him, and besides, he wouldn't want to crowd Regina – they've already seen each other, what? Twice? Three times this week? And he'll see her again on New Year's – there's the party, and they've agreed to meet for brunch on New Year's Day, so that he can join her while she partakes of her first free meal.
When Ruby texts again, clearly just trying to get his attention now, her choice of words makes his heart swoop low into his belly: You two would make cute babies. You should get on that.
He thinks of Regina's confession the other night and just how much she might be hurt by that particular line of teasing. If it wouldn't be such a betrayal of Regina's trust, he'd tell Ruby to knock it off and to please not ever, ever make that joke in front of the two of them. As it is, he just ignores her again. She can play matchmaker all she wants, Robin is staying right here.
His phone buzzes again: She looks sad.
That does it. Those three little words are the ones that finally break his resolve and have him flipping the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "Closed for Lunch," before ducking out back to grab a certain stuffed reindeer from his car. He can turn down many temptations, but making Regina laugh when she's down is not one of them.
It's gotten bitingly cold outside, a gusty wind whipping around what could otherwise be a cozy snowfall. The flakes are a bit icy, though, and the wind makes them vicious little daggers that have him flipping up his collar and hunching down a bit into it, wishing he'd thrown on a hat before stepping out into the gloomy midday. He trots a little down the sidewalk, nearly slipping twice on the amassing slick of snow that has yet to be shoveled.
The wall of warmth he walks straight into as he opens the door to Granny's is especially welcome, what with his ears already starting to turn pink with cold.
As usual, there's holiday music pumping over the sound system, the jukebox in the back shut off for the duration of December. There's still garland strung around the doorways and over the shelves behind the long diner counter, and the decorated tree still takes up a whole four-top's worth of space in the front window (the donated gifts underneath are all gone, though, having been distributed to the needier families in the community in time for Christmas).
And there, three stools from the end, looking as festive and familiar as the rest of the place, is Regina.
The green in question is emerald, he discovers. A deep, emerald green cashmere that she's paired with those same skinny jeans from the day he'd seen her in the coffee shop, and those same heeled boots. She's sat there with a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and an open copy of the Storybrooke Mirror, frowning softly over it as she skims the pages.
Robin dutifully ignores Ruby's presence just beyond her, arms crossed as she leans against the back counter and smirks at him while he unzips his coat. He hangs it near the door, fishing that voucher from the pocket and then taking a little breath before he closes the distance between himself and that second stool, easing onto it and sliding the voucher and Randy the Reindeer over onto Regina's newspaper.
He watches her tense and scowl before she realizes what she's looking at – and then she smiles, letting out a little chuckle as she shakes her head and lifts her gaze to his with an amused, "You didn't."
"I did," he tells her, trotting Randy a little closer. "He was lonely, and his family is so unfair to him. It was only right that he be taken in by someone kinder."
Regina bites at her lower lip (her lipstick today is a bold, festive red that suits her almost more than the green of her jumper), reaching over to grab the reindeer from him and hold it up in front of her. "You are ridiculous," she scoffs, but she's still smiling.
So, mission accomplished, then.
"There are conditions, though," Robin insists gravely. "You can only take him in if you promise to play all his reindeer games."
At that, she laughs out loud, and Robin can't help the grin that splits his face. Oh, this is bad, he has it bad for her. How on earth has he gotten this smitten with her in such short order?
She sobers dutifully, or tries to – mirth still tugs at the corners of her mouth as she attempts seriousness and tells him, "I promise, I will play all his reindeer games."
"And you won't ignore him?"
"Never."
"Good," Robin nods, reaching across the counter for a menu. "It's settled then. You and Randy will be roommates; that way neither of you will be lonely."
The way he says it is clipped and casual, and he's looking at the menu, or at least pretending to be (he knows the Granny's menu like the back of his hand at this point), but he's not at all unaware of the way his words have her softening beside him, her posture curving just a bit as Randy the Reindeer gets pulled safely down into the comfort of her lap, one arm looped around him for safekeeping.
She reaches for the voucher with the other, tapping it against the newspaper absently, and saying, "Thanks for holding onto this. Although, to be honest, I should just give it to you. You'd get more use out of it."
"Not an option," Robin tells her, glancing over and setting his menu down as he points out, "It says right on the bottom that it's non-transferable."
Granny has been making her way over as they'd been talking, reaching them just in time to overhear Robin's comment and add one of her own: "And a good thing, too." She tells Regina, "I can't tell you how happy I was to hear you won the raffle this year. I need to recoup after a year of feeding Leroy."
Regina snickers, and nods, says, "Well, anything I can do to help, Granny."
The old woman smiles warmly, and Robin can't help teasing her, leaning over a bit toward Regina and stage whispering, "We'll just have to stuff you to the gills on New Year's Day. Really get your money's worth. In fact, I'll just order a coffee and eat off your plate."
"That," Granny says, "would be cheating. Now, what can I get you, or are you just going to sit here and flirt?"
Regina lets loose an airy sort of chuckle, muttering an annoyed, "Why does everyone always think we're flirting?"
She sounds more embarrassed than actually irritated, though, so Robin feels comfortable turning his head toward her and muttering, "Probably because I've been flirting with you," watching her smile falter and then flicker back to life before he turns his attention to Granny and orders: "But I will have a turkey club, fries, and a cola, please."
"You got it," she tells them, shaking her head with a smile and walking away.
For a moment, it's silent, and Robin thinks maybe he misjudged and pushed a bit too far by flat-out admitting his little indulgence. But then Regina speaks again, quietly, asking in a tone he can't quite decipher, "You've been flirting, huh?"
"Do you mind?" he asks with a little grimace.
Regina just smiles, shaking her head and meeting his gaze to tell him, "No, I don't. I like it; it's been a while."
Robin chuckles lowly and mutters, "Don't tell a man that – now I feel like I should really lay it on thick."
"No, don't do that," Regina insists, reaching over and grasping his hand with hers. "Part of the fun is feeling like you mean it."
Robin's thumb rubs over her fingers slowly, down and back up, as he looks her square in the eyes and promises, "I mean it. You look really lovely today, Regina." His gaze drops to her mouth for a moment, to the subtle curve of an almost-smile, and the sudden urge to kiss her is desperate and breath-stealing. She swallows, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips, and he wonders if she's feeling it, too.
But they're in the middle of Granny's, and news of her divorce is only just now making its way through town, so they probably… shouldn't.
Regina must be thinking the same, because she clears her throat slightly and pulls her hand gently from his, taking a breath and letting it out on a soft, "Thank you. You, too – that blue is a good color on you. Brings out your eyes."
"Oh, this old thing?" Robin teases, giving a tug to the collar of his jumper. It's a royal blue, and hand-knit; Granny had parked it under his tree before Christmas.
Regina's eyes roll just a little, and she shakes her head at him again, stirring her spoon through her soup. He can see from here that it's chowder, a Granny's specialty – but still not much of a lunch.
"Is that all you're having?" he asks; anything else should have arrived by now; the diner isn't packed.
Regina shrugs her shoulders and says lightly, "I just wanted to get out of the house for a while. And I'll probably steal some of your fries, since you've decided we're lunching together."
Her gaze slides over to him, amused and only slightly accusatory, and Robin realizes that he never did ask if she wanted a companion for her meal. He'd just sat himself down and made himself at home.
He frowns good-naturedly, telling her, "Well, if fry-sharing is a requirement, I might have to rethink this. There's a comfy-looking booth over in the back where I could eat my fries in peace."
"Mm." Her brows lift, fall. "I guess I'll just sit here and starve, then. All alone. And fry-less."
"You won't be alone," Robin insists, nodding toward her lap. "You've got Randy down there to keep you company – and the paper."
Regina laughs and leans over to bump her shoulder good-naturedly against his. "Don't let this go to your head, but you're a much better conversationalist than a stuffed deer." (What a compliment, he scoffs.) "So, I'd much rather have you stay – if you don't, I'll just sit here and brood."
"We can't have that; there's no brooding allowed between Christmas and the New Year," Robin teases, one hand lifting to rub over her back on impulse. "New city ordinance – I'd have thought the mayor would have told you."
He'd been hoping for another amused smile from her, but falls short. All he coaxes out is a wry smirk, and a, "Somehow that doesn't sound like Mother," before she closes her eyes for a second and murmurs, "That feels good."
He's still rubbing her back, tracing a slow zig-zag between her shoulders and down. Her jumper is ridiculously soft beneath his open palm (Is everything she owns this soft? Is that what wealth gets you – clothes that all feel like you're dressed in a cloud?), and he's perfectly content to sit here and give her a good petting if it's going to make her face go all soft like that. Like she's touch-starved and he's her oasis in the desert.
He feels her lungs fill and empty on a sigh, and then she's rolling her shoulders slightly and telling him, "But you should probably stop. People have been talking."
"About us?" Robin asks, letting his hand skim down her spine and away, back to the safety of the bubbly glass of cola that's just been settled in front of him (by Ruby, who'd waggled her brows teasingly, taking advantage of Regina's closed eyes apparently).
Regina stirs her soup again, and nods, tells him, "According to my mother, rumor has it we were 'all over each other' at the winter festival."
Robin winces. He should have known better than to be that physical in such a public place.
"I think that's a bit of an exaggeration," he says, before taking a sip of his drink.
"It is – which I told her," Regina says. "She and I had a nice little chat yesterday – a couple of them, actually." He can tell by her tone that said chats were not 'nice' at all. She seems to catch herself, then, rushing to assure him, "About a number of things, not just our scandalous PDAs."
"Has she finally accepted that you are, in fact, getting divorced?" he asks, as she manages at last to take another bite of her soup.
Regina nods with her mouth full, swallowing, and confirming, "She has. Finally."
"I'm sure that's a relief."
"Mm." Regina makes a rather annoyed face, and says, "It's not without its own set of issues, believe me. Now she has a whole new crusade – she's decided that I'd be better off if I wasn't working for Leo. That it will get 'awkward.'"
She air quotes, a little clumsily with spoon still in hand. And loath as he is to ever side with her mother about things, Robin admits, "I can't say I blame her. Do you want to keep working for him?"
"It's not about working for him," Regina explains. "I enjoy the foundation; we do good work. And Leo has no problem with me staying on in my full capacities, divorce or no divorce, so I don't see any good reason why I should have to uproot that part of my life, too."
"Fair enough," he reasons. He doesn't know all the details of her job, but he knows that she doesn't work beside Leo day-in and day-out, and if they did end things on good terms, she's probably right. It's likely not actually a problem. Still, he can't help asking, "Are you happy there? I know you said you enjoy the foundation, but are you happy?"
Her expression shifts then, goes somehow knowing, and sad, and Robin isn't at all surprised when she responds with an all-too-telling, "That's what I've been asking myself. And I think I'm… happy enough."
They both know what that means.
She makes a half-assed attempt at smiling and then takes another bite of her soup as Ruby sets his plate down in front of him. Robin immediately turns it around so the pile of fries is between himself and Regina, earning a little chuckle that fades almost as soon as it starts.
Screw it, Robin thinks, letting his hand rise to her back and take up those soothing strokes again. It's just a bloody back rub; it's not like he's snogging her on the counter top.
She glances over at him, and Robin shrugs, says, "I don't mind if you don't."
Regina squints a little, assessing, then breathes into his touch, and decides, "Let them talk."