He happily stayed up late that night to finish preparing for the youth event - and he hardly noticed that he was smiling like an idiot the entire time.
In fact, for the next week he couldn't help but feel like the entire world was just a bit brighter, his coffee was a little sweeter, his sermons came to him easier, even Lucy's mother seemed to be doing well.
"It's like she's a different person. And they haven't changed her medication or anything. The doctors can't explain it," Lucy beams.
He clasps her shoulder tenderly in support, "I am absolutely thrilled for you. It is indeed a fantastic development."
He continues working through a few more items in his inbox before she speaks again, a little more seriously this time.
"It's a miracle, Father Jones. I believe it with all my heart and soul," her face shows all the faith and optimism he'd struggled to possess most of his life. "Don't you think it's a miracle?"
He cringes inwardly at the question. He knows the priestly answer is that, yes - the bible tells us there are miracles. Jesus performed many miracles, and God continues to work in miraculous ways in our lives today.
But, he also knows that a good priest wouldn't lie - and saying that he believes it is a miracle would be a lie. He believes that modern medicine is a miracle - that the hard work and dedication of her doctors is what has made the difference. That sometimes good things just happen.
"Father?" She asks again.
"So sorry. It's a wondrous thing, and I'm sure God's plan is at work," he responds diplomatically - noticing Lucy seems a little deflated at his sidestep. "Actually, Lucy, I'm going to step out for a minute if that's OK. I've got my cell if you need anything."
The cool breeze helps him clear the awkward encounter from his mind - but it brings up another matter that's been a splinter in his brain.
Emma.
They hadn't really interacted much since that night. She texted him to say hello, and she came to the AA meeting for setup and cleanup. In fact, she even stayed for the meeting again - sitting silently in the back and listening to the struggles of the few who came for support.
He found himself somehow stronger knowing she was around. He knows he should still be wracked with the guilt of his sinful thoughts and actions - but with each passing day and each simple smile she tossed his way, he was all the more confident there was only one thing left for him to do.
She had to admit - she really did like him for more than just his looks (and the absolutely incredible sex). He was gentle with her. He was kind, empathetic, caring, insightful and there was a hint at his troubled past and inner-demons that made him relatable in a way she never would have expected.
Over the next week she texted him little hellos and silly flirty emoticons, a sharp contrast to the downright lewd pictures she'd sent what felt like forever ago. It was kind of strange (and very distinctly her) to have gone about things backward - started so… brazenly, and lead to giggling over flirtatious texts like a teenager.
That man had a way with words. In fact, it's one thing she noticed about him right away - when he got the chance to come up with his own material, he was mesmerizing. It's not that he used large or complicated words, but he was incredibly precise with each selection, and sometimes the most appropriate choice was a phrases that hadn't been in vogue since the 1800s.
Nonetheless, it all added up to something so unique, so unlike anything or anyone she'd ever come across. He was different, and she desperately wanted to know why.
Her phone started buzzing in her back pocket and she grinned at seeing his name light up her screen.
"Well hello, Father Jones. What can I do for you?" She said sweetly as she fished for her keys to lock up her apartment.
"Good morning, Miss Nolan," his eyes darted across the church courtyard to check for any passersby who might overhear him. "I miss you."
Her heart leapt at his sincerity.
"Is that right, Father?" She responded coyly.
"Aye. What you are doing right now?" He voice dropped a little, and she sensed he actually had a reason for calling.
"I was just headed out to run a few errands. Why? What's wrong?"
"Is it that obvious?" He chuckled a little bit at her keen observation.
"Well, I can run the errands after work instead. Where are you?"
He sat nervously at the docks waiting for her to arrive. The more he thought about it, the more he wasn't quite sure this was the right moment. Maybe they needed to spend a little more time together - get to know each other better.
His eyes were trained on the gentle waves of the water, trying (failing) to match his frantic thoughts to their steady and constant rhythm.
She thought he looked every bit the definition of a brooding man - shoulders pulled inward, brow furrowed in worried reflections, eyes unfocused as he got lost in the channels of his mind.
"Hey you," she said gently, sliding next to him on the wooden bench.
"Hey yourself, lass," he perked up a little as he turned to face her.
"Where were you just now?" She double checked they were alone before slipping her hand atop his.
"Just floating around." He said simply.
"Anywhere interesting?"
"Aye. You." He eyed her warily. "Us."
Her heart dropped into her stomach suddenly. If he's so sullen, and he's thinking about us…
"What about us, Killian?" she pushed, trying to keep the panic she felt from creeping into her words.
"I want there to be an us," he was almost whispering - as if his trepidation would somehow be allayed if he said it quietly. "Is that -" he cleared his throat roughly. "Is that something you would like?"
Her throat was suddenly incredibly dry as she searched his face for the war of emotions going on beneath the surface.
Of course she wanted that - but… how? She liked spending time with him and she wanted to get to know him better. But they couldn't exactly go on dates.
"I'd like that," she finally nodded. "I just… don't know how. It's not like we can go out to dinner at Granny's."
He immediately seemed more at ease and laughed at her comment about the favorite local diner.
"No, I suppose not, love. But, I've got a few ideas nonetheless," he smiled broadly. He had the kind of smile that she couldn't see without reciprocating. It tugged at her heart in ways she couldn't understand.
"OK. I'm game, but I'm working late tonight," she said, her thumb rubbing the soft skin on the top of his hand absentmindedly.
"Tomorrow at 8," he said confidently - sweet smile replaced with a devilishly handsome smirk. "Meet me here."
Her workday seemed to drag on and on - probably because she spent half of it staring at the clock in the corner of her computer screen - but when quitting time finally hit, she bolted out the door and was home in record time.
She had no idea what Killian had planned for them, but as she mentioned the other day, it's not like they could be out and about in public - so she figured that whatever the plan, it's likely they'll be alone.
The thought of being alone again with him made her skin flush a rosy pink (when would that stop happening?), as she thumbed through the contents of her closet. Realizing the task was nearly impossible with no clue what they were doing, she decided to shoot him a quick text.
Does it matter what I wear, Jones?
He smiled as his eyes swept over her words on his screen.
You can wear [or not wear] whatever you like. It'll just be you and me, love.
She huffed a chuckle at her phone, turning back to her closet while she typed.
I can't very wait for you at the docks naked, can I? Especially with my father being the Sheriff…
That thought unsettled him more than she likely intended it to, but he realized it wasn't very gentlemanly of him to give her no direction at all.
Fair enough, lass. Consider it a proper date. (Well, an almost proper date anyway).
With that, she had just the thing. It was a little number Ruby helped her pick out years ago - but it still fit her like a glove. It was the perfect combination of feminine and tough, just like her, and as she slipped into it, she knew it was the right choice.
Before long it was time to set out for the docks - she wanted to walk, that way her car wasn't just sitting out on the streets, opening her to prying questions later. The crisp air did little to calm her nerves about the evening, but all the same she soon found herself approaching the docs - Killian having already planted himself on that same bench.
He heard her long before he turned around - using the extra minute to take a few deep breaths and try to settle the jitters that had suddenly taken hold of him.
Get a grip, mate. It's just a date. And you've already… well… You know…
"Killian?" She came around the corner and her eyes immediately fell to a gorgeous long-stemmed red rose lying on the bench next to him.
He wasn't kidding about it being a no-shit for real, date.
"Emma -" upon seeing her his mouth was suddenly impossibly dry. She was a true vision - her hair tucked up into a high ponytail (curling gently at the tip), her slender frame and soft curves wrapped tightly into a black leather dress that made his mouth water in an almost animalistic way.
"God, Emma, you're bloody gorgeous," he finally stammered - his eyes still roaming every inch of her in unabashed appreciation.
He wasn't even aware that he'd stood up, but she was equally impressed with his choice of date night attire - a pair of dark-washed jeans, gray button down shirt with several buttons undone (exposing a delicious patch of chest hair), a tight black vest that hugged his trim waistline just right, and… was that… eyeliner?
She really couldn't judge - it looked downright hot on him, and the smirk he was giving her seemed to indicate he knew just how good he looked.
"See something you like, love?" He purred into her ear as he handed her the rose and gestured with his prosthetic toward the street.
"Perhaps." She tried to answer coyly, but she knew he could see right through her. "So, what's the plan?"
"You'll see. Are you OK to walk a few blocks in those?" He nodded down to her heels. "I should've been more thoughtful and brought the car, but I prefer not to drive if I can avoid it."
"Oh, yeah, that should be fine," she responded, daring to snake her arm in his while they walked. "But, out of curiosity, why don't you like driving? I find it to be rather freeing."
"That's a story for another time, lass," he said dismissively. "I'd much rather talk about how absolutely stunning you look."
She blushed at his compliment, and allowed him to change the subject - filing away that mystery for another day.
When they reached the door he fished his keys from his pocket and bowed dramatically after as he pushed the door open, "Welcome to Chez Jones - after you, milady."
She chuckled at his theatrics before stepping over the threshold.
The space was simple and neat - only as much furniture as absolutely necessary. A low-profile modern black couch and a rustic wooden coffee table, a TV tray leaning against the nearby wall, a tall bookshelf packed with hardback novels. No pictures. Like, at all. Curious.
"Make yourself at home, dinner will be served in 15 minutes," he called to her as he ducked his head into the opening of an apron.
"Really? An apron?" She quirked an eyebrow at him teasingly, but she had to admit, even that looked good on him.
He muttered something about not wanting to "ruin his outfit," but she couldn't hear it since he was up to his shoulders in the fridge, pulling out bits and pieces to the meal.
She stood at the edge of the kitchen, chatting happily while he worked - and before long he was pulling out a red checkerboard picnic blanket and tossing it onto the floor with a few couch cushions.
"Sorry for the lack of propriety, but - as you can see - I don't do much entertaining. So we're stuck with picnic style," he gestured down to the blanket and pillows and let her get comfortable while he lit a few candles and poured some wine.
As it turns out, he's a pretty good cook. Apparently he'd made pasta from scratch (she had no idea how that would even work), and the sauce was made with tomatoes from Mrs. Green's garden and herbs from his own modest window-box garden.
When they were finished she insisted on putting the dishes in the sink, since he'd been kind enough to cook - and he agreed, using the moment to put the couch cushions back and throw the blanket into the hamper.
"So, what now, Jones?" She stepped out back into the living room to find him turning on the TV.
"I thought we could pick something on Netflix and just enjoy each others' company," he gestured to the couch.
She doubled over in genuine laughter, and when she finally pulled back up (cheeks stinging with tension) she noticed he didn't understand what was so funny.
"Did you really just ask me to 'Netflix and chill'?" She searched his face, but it quickly became clear that it wasn't an intentional reference.
"I suppose…" he said cautiously, "But, I really don't understand why that's funny…"
"Right, priest," she continued chuckling as she led him to sit next to her on the couch.
"It's a euphemism people use these days," she explained, letting her hand stay on his arm. "When people say 'Netflix and chill' it means they're having sex."
His eyes widened at her explanation, a gentle blush blooming on his cheeks.
"Oh. Well, that's not exactly what I meant…" he bumbled.
"I dunno, Jones," she crooned, trailing her hand up his arm and to his jawline before dragging her fingers down to trace the v of his open neckline. "It doesn't sound so bad to me…"
He sucked in a harsh breath at her suggestion, immediately hard as a rock, and countered with a breathy, "we'd better pick something we've both seen before, then."
They ended up on a documentary of some kind (that neither of them had seen) after deciding it really didn't matter what was on - and they didn't want to waste any more time.
She'd climbed atop his lap at some point, the material of her dress pulled up around her hips to grant her better mobility. Her arms were around his neck, kissing him so fiercely he could hardly breathe.
She felt divine in his arms, moving wantonly to the rhythm of her desire, his pants painfully tight now. He took the initiative to grasp her tightly around the waist with his good arm and flip them so her back was the one pressed into the couch cushion.
He stood back a moment, quickly removing his prosthetic hand while she moved forward to undo the buttons on his vest and shirt - making quick work of both. She laid back when she finished, pulling her own dress over her head before allowing her legs to fall to the side - panting up at him, ferocity and arousal in her gaze.
He was fumbling with his belt, his fingers suddenly clumsy at the sight her her on display in front of him, clad only in a delightfully skimpy black lace bra and panties.
The vibrant colors of the screen behind him danced over her delicate skin, and he mused to himself that she looked like a stained glass window - an incredible piece of art.
"See something you like?" She threw his earlier comment back at him while she tauntingly dipped her hand into her panties to tease her aching clit.
"Fuck, Emma -" he licked his lips as he removed his jeans with renewed vigor - desperate to feel her against his skin. He kicked his pants to the side before descending on her, kissing her passionately, getting lost in the feeling of her soft lips on his.
Eventually he broke away long enough to catch her eye and ask, "Bed?"
She nodded in response, her arms still around his neck as he lifted her without warning - her legs snapping around his back quickly to steady herself. Her growled lowly at the feeling of her sopping wet core on his abs - if he'd removed his briefs he might've slipped into her just then, and while that would have undoubtedly been an incredible feeling, he wanted to do it right this time.
What he hadn't explained to her is that this evening was a way for him to test the waters - see what they would be like as a "regular" couple. He wanted to see what it felt like to make love to her, rather than just have sex. He wanted to see how she reacted - if it was something she wanted as well.
He laid her down gently when he reached the bed, crawling over her tantalizingly slow - licking a path up her gentle curves as he went. When he reached her belly button he looked up at her through his lashes, sending another wave of arousal through her.
"So beautiful," he panted, continuing to work his way up her - pressing feather-light kisses everywhere he could, driving her mad with want.
He was being so gentle, so tender, so… loving. But she was so far beyond that - she needed more friction, more pressure. She whined at him, writhing in impatience.
"More, Killian, I need more," she rolled her hips up into his, eliciting a moan from him.
"Aye, you'll get it," he teased hotly in her ear. "Patience, love."
She thought she'd burst into flames the way each kiss and stroke of his hand across her tight form was working her up. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore and he reached her hand down to rub his generous length through his briefs.
She knew at the way his eyes snapped shut in pleasure that he was just as ready as she was - so she rolled him onto his back, hooking her fingers into his waistband and urging him to lift his hips so she could pull them down.
He obliged, watching her like a hawk - not wanting to miss a single moment as she reached behind her and unhooked her bra, tossing it aside before slipping out of her panties as well.
She was nothing short of miraculous, and as she lowered herself over him, he cupped the back of her head, bringing her lips to his and kissing her languidly.
When he couldn't take it anymore he rolled them over, his body pressing hers into the soft mattress, his hard length pushing into her leg, reminding her of the incredible ache between her thighs.
He brought his hand down to her core, dragging his fingers along her bundle of nerves, making her jump at the contact she'd been so desperate for. She groaned loudly in appreciation.
"Holy hell," he choked out. "God, you're soaked."
He sank two long fingers into her, relishing in the way her back arched off the bed each time he curled his fingers up to stroke at the spot that had her vision blurring, the coil of her orgasm building low in her stomach as he brought her higher and higher with the motion.
But as much as she loved the attention, she longed to feel his warmth velvety length inside her, and she pleaded with him to give her what she wanted.
"As you wish," he replied, bracing himself with his bad arm as he brought the thick head of his cock to her entrance, pulling it through her folds to coat the tip in her arousal before sliding into her at an agonizingly slow pace.
He closed his eyes in concentration, the feel of her warm and wet around him making him dizzy.
Once he was fully seated in her, he stilled a moment, taking in her sated expression, before slowly moving himself almost completely out of her, and plunging back in just as slowly. He set a leisurely pace, determined to revel in every single glorious second.
Each drag of his cock along her slippery walls a praise to her beauty, her wit, her tenacity. Every long thrust of his hips was an ode to her perfection, and every movement sent him closer to the truth he'd known longer than he cared to admit.
When her hips started rising to meet each of his thrusts, sending him that extra bit deeper into her, he lost all control.
His pace quickened with a greedy desire to mark her as his - to make her know exactly how he felt about her, and that enthusiasm seemed to have her spiraling closer to her own release. She was writhing and rolling her hips in this amazing way, and watching her chase her orgasm turned him on like nothing else ever could.
"That's it, Emma," he groaned as she rolled him over, riding him harshly - her perky breasts bouncing with the movement.
His encouragement only made her wetter somehow, and she wanted to come so badly she bucked into him wildly as she neared that golden-tipped edge
"Oh, God -" she screwed her eyes shut as her pleasure finally burst over her in hot waves, the intensity of her inner walls gripping him sending him over the edge as well.
Her eyes sprung open at the sharp yelp that accompanied his orgasm - their gazes locked as his hips fell out of rhythm as he pulsed deeply within her.
She laid herself down onto his chest, keeping them connected as she listened to his heartbeat settle back into its regular cadence. She shivered a little as her body cooled down, and he slipped out of her gently to pull a blanket over them.
She'd never been much of a snuggler, but when he laid on his back, she found herself with her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her tightly.
"This is nice," she admitted softly.
"Mmhm." He responded, toying with a soft curl while he contemplated the conversation he wanted to have.
"Emma," he started, his tone serious. "Can I be honest with you?"
She turned a little so she could look up at him, and she could feel his heart racing beneath her hand.
"I don't like the way that sounds, but yes."
"I think…" He brought his hand up to scratch absentmindedly behind his ear, willing himself to continue. "I think I'm falling in love with you."
I couldn't have heard that right. Did he just say… no. We barely know each other. You misheard that.
She pulled away, eyes staring into the distance as she moved to the edge of the bed - and the loss had him shivering as if he was in the middle of a snow drift in his underwear.
"Emma?"
Her silence made his heart drop into his stomach.
That's it. You've ruined it. Git. You've said it too soon. That was too honest. Too much, Killian. God damn bloody fool.
"I'm sorry, what?" She finally responded, sounding completely dumbfounded.
"I shouldn't have said it. It's nothing." He was building his walls back up. All of his self-hatred flaring to the service, his mind screaming all the reasons she could never love him.
She immediately knew that she had reacted poorly. If she were being honest with herself, she would say that she feels like she's on that same track herself - but that scared the hell out of her.
All the same, she hated that broken look in his eyes. He had the look of a man who had laid it all on the line, and gotten kicked in the teeth for it. She saw all of his past hurts written on his face. She saw him curl in on himself, making himself physically smaller - as if he could disappear from his own home just by wishing it hard enough.
A year ago, she would've run. She would have freaked out about this stranger being overly attached - a perv, a weirdo-stalker asshole. But, for reasons she refused to acknowledge, she couldn't let him hurt like this.
She couldn't admit the truth, but she couldn't watch him suffer either.
She crawled back up to him, and hated the way he flinched when she cupped his jaw to turn his head to face her.
"Hey," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm flattered, and I really do like you, I just… I can't say it back right now. OK?"
His jaw was set so hard it was starting to hurt, and she noticed the flexing of his muscle as he tried to maintain his composure - to keep his demons in check.
"What does that mean? For us," he clarified - voice thick with emotion. "Do you even want there to be an us?"
"Can we just… not put a label on it for now?" She offered. "I do want to get to know you better, and I really did have fun tonight."
His eyebrow quirked up at that, and she jumped to explain, "even before the Netflixing."
He started to calm down a little, the antagonistic voices in his head quieting just enough to allow him to think clearly for a few moments. Of course she was overwhelmed. He needed to take his time. Show her that he really cared for her.
"Aye, so did I." He responded. "And I didn't mean to overwhelm you. It was self-centered of me to make such a comment with all of this being so… new."
"It's OK, Killian. Really. Just, be patient," she smiled sweetly - and he felt in that moment that he could wait an eternity for her.
"We've all the time in the world, lass." He reassured her, and hoped she wouldn't run away - and when she settled back into her place on his chest, he was certain he could die of happiness, even if she never felt the same way about him.