Archive of Our Own

There’s this saying about the holiday season being magical. The bright lights and extra desserts make everyone cheery. All of the TV ads are happy, the storefront signs cheerful, and the music that plays over and over again on the radio is as positively peppy as one can get. And if it snows just the right amount for the roads to be drivable but still enough for every kid to build a snowman, well, then the holiday season just might be damn near perfect.

If you live in a snow globe and no one has dropped you on the ground and shattered you, glass and glitter and that weird liquid that’s inside leaking onto the ground and making it sticky.

Emma’s snow globe has definitely been dropped. A few times if she had to guess, and the superglue that was holding it all together isn’t so super after all.

Emma taps her foot, the heel of her boot clicking against the coffee shop’s tile, and she checks the time on her phone once more. She’s been standing in line for ten minutes when it usually takes her less than one, but the coffee shop around the corner from her office has begun to make special holiday-themed drinks. Their lattes have Christmas tree designs in them, and Emma swears every teenager in Storybrooke has decided they have to have one.

All Emma wants is her usual skinny vanilla latte in a to-go cup, no design needed. She doesn’t buy it much, just twice a week. Otherwise she makes it at home, but life keeps kicking her in the teeth lately. The least she can do is stain those teeth with coffee.

Eventually she makes it to the front of the line, orders her drink, and because this day is just not hers for the taking, she turns and immediately runs into a man and spills her drink down the front of his shirt.

At least she knows the drink wasn’t scalding because the absolute last thing she needs is to be sued right now.

“Oh fuck,” Emma mutters as the cup rolls away on the ground, leaving a cream trail behind it. She’s so transfixed on watching it roll away that she barely even registers the man she spilled it on. Slowly, her eyes scan up past the shiny brown shoes and the tailored navy pants that match the suit jacket. Then she gets to the dark trimmed scruff framing his scowl, and finally, she sees a pair of ridiculously blue eyes widely staring at her. “Fuck, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for the cursing. And the coffee. Mostly the coffee.”

She pushes forward and starts wiping his shirt down with the napkin she’s holding before she realizes how ridiculously inappropriate she’s being. She’s basically feeling up this man’s abs, and there is absolutely no way this morning can get any worse.

“It’s fine,” the man grumbles, backing away from her and gingerly picking his foot from the ground, flicking some of the coffee off. It’s obviously not fine, but at least he’s not yelling at her.

“It’s really not,” Emma insists. “Hand me your phone.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma shakes her head and resists the urge to dry off his shirt again. “I’ll give you my number so you can charge me for the dry cleaning. It’s the least I can do.”

She can’t really afford to pay for the dry cleaning of what looks like an expensive suit, so she hopes he doesn’t take her up on it.

“No need,” he says. “It needed to be cleaned anyhow. Have a nice day.”

“Uh, yeah, you too.” Emma turns around to Ashley behind the counter. “Can I get another drink? And a mop.”

-/-

“I know, I know, I’m late,” Emma apologizes as she rushes through the side door of the house, dropping her extra bags on the ground. She’ll get those later. “But, Rubes, I’m telling you, you wouldn’t believe the morning I had. The hot water at my apartment wouldn’t turn on so I couldn’t wash my hair. It’s disgusting and dry shampoo can only save me a little bit. Then my car wouldn’t start, so I walked to the coffee shop.” Emma kicks her boots off and bends down to grab her heels from one of her bags. “The line was a mile long because all the teenagers in town were there for the holiday drinks, which was annoying, but then I ran right into this insanely attractive man because I spilled my coffee all down the front of his suit.”

Emma’s heel settles into her shoes, and she turns around and shrugs off her coat, draping it over the kitchen counter. She walks through the kitchen where baking sheets line every available surface and turns the corner to her office where she suspects Ruby is.

Emma stops in her tracks when she gets there.

Ruby is there, yes, but she’s sitting next to the man from the coffee shop who is no longer in his stained suit.

What the hell?

“So, insanely attractive, huh?” he asks, his lips forming into a smirk.

“What are you doing here? How do you know where I work? Are you stalking me?”

“Emma,” Ruby interrupts, and all of a sudden Emma notices what Ruby is wearing. Instead of her usual jeans and top that is probably a little too revealing for her job, she’s in a conservative red dress. The crazy colored streaks in her hair are pulled back in a ponytail, and her makeup is neutral. Ruby doesn’t do neutral. “This is Killian Jones. He’s from the bank.”

Oh shit.

Seriously. Just seriously.

For a moment, she’s glad she dressed nicely today. It’s mostly because she has a meeting with some school officials later, and they tend to like to do business with people who don’t have holes in their jeans and a questionable stain on their shirt.

Neither do people from the bank, and Emma already knows this meeting isn’t going to be good. It never is when someone shows up unannounced.

Or when you’ve spilled coffee on them.

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Swan,” Killian starts, standing and sticking his hand out. Emma takes it to shake and then drops it.

“I’m not sure I can say the same.”

He laughs, his teeth a bright shade of white. “Well, neither could I since you spilled your coffee on me this morning, but I’ve gotten over it. Now, if you’d like to sit, we could get this meeting started.”

Emma knows what he’s going to say, and when she sits down, she knows when she stands up, it’s not going to be because she’s receiving happy news and wishing Killian a good day. If she stands up at all. Killian Jones is likely to knock her on her feet.

They’re late on their loan payments. Revenue is nonexistent. They don’t have the cash flow to pay all of their seasonal employees. Hell, they don’t have it to pay any of their employees. Emma’s barely been taking enough salary to pay her rent.

Everything he says is something she already knows, but it’s the last thing that’s the kicker.

“Look, I know you two do a lot of good here, and I want to be as lenient as possible...but if you can’t cut down costs and pay all your fees, I think we’ll have to foreclose on you at the end of February.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks.

“I’m afraid so. I know taxes have increased and the renovations you did to keep up with code have changed things for this year, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“We understand,” Ruby tells him, but Emma doesn’t understand. Not at all. “Thanks for coming by instead of doing this over the phone.”

“Of course.” He gathers up his files and stands, leaving a small card on the table. “Call me if you have any questions. Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” Ruby mumbles. “You too.”

Emma doesn’t say anything. She can’t. This place, Ingrid’s place, has been her heart and soul for the past four years. Ingrid adopted Emma when Emma was seventeen, and then Ingrid went and died on her five years ago, leaving Emma this old victorian style house that was falling apart at the seams. Ingrid wanted Emma to move home from Boston and turn this place into a safe haven for kids in the foster system. Emma didn’t want to do it. She hated this town, hated how into her business everyone was, but she was tired of chasing down skips. She needed something different.

Then Ruby told her she was moving back to Storybrooke to be with her boyfriend Graham and Granny, and Emma figured why the hell not move back too?

So now, even though Emma is the least imaginative person she knows, she runs the Holiday House where foster kids come to unwind and talk to other kids who get what they’re going through. It’s something you don’t understand unless you’ve been through it, and Emma certainly has.

And now it’s all going to be taken away from her and from these kids because the government cut most of her funding, and Emma can’t make up for it on her own.

She stands from her chair, the legs squeaking against the floor, and in three steps, Emma is out of the office and in the kitchen where Killian is still standing putting on his coat. “You knew who I was at the coffee shop, didn’t you?”

He turns around and looks at her with wide eyes. “Aye.”

“So you knew I was in financial trouble. That’s why you didn’t make me pay for your dry-cleaning. You pity me.”

“Pity is not the right - ”

“I do not need to be pitied,” Emma scoffs, turning away from him to close the office door. Ruby will still be able to hear her, but she has to pretend at least. “I have got this under control.”

Yeah, Emma doesn’t have any of this under control, but she’d never admit that.

“I understand you’re in a difficult situation. Like I said - ”

“How could you possibly understand? You’re wearing what I can only assume is a crazy expensive suit, and you get paid more in a couple months than I make in a year. This is not just a business, okay? It’s so much more than that, and I’m so tired of only rich people like you being able to make it in life when most of you have never had to lift a finger.”

He nods and grasps his keys in his hand. “Goodbye, Ms. Swan. I hope it works out for you.”

And then he’s walking away, and while his life will go back to normal, Emma’s won’t.

In fact, Emma’s life seems like it’s an on-fire disaster with no chance of being put out. She spends all morning calling agencies that usually fund them, but there’s nothing they can do. The school administrators come by, and while they’d love to set up an after-school program with the Holiday House, they don’t want to fund it. Emma can’t afford to take on the costs all on her own.

She just...she can’t. Ingrid left her this house with a mortgage, running a business out of it is a whole other host of costs, and they keep adding up.

“What if I get another job?” Emma asks Ruby.

“Are you going to go back to being a bounty hunter? There’s not a lot of crime around here.”

“I made really good money doing that, though.” Emma drops her head to her desk and groans. “I could drive down to Boston, talk to my old boss, see if they can do something for me. I’d wire you the money, so you could take care of everything here.”

“Oh,” Emma continues, “what if I give up my apartment and live here?”

“Not allowed because of that one grant we get.”

“Shit.”

“Hey.” Ruby places her hand on Emma’s shoulder and squeezes. “We’re going to do everything we can, go down every avenue, but I think you need to accept the possibility that we may have to shut down.”

Emma sits up and looks out the window. From her office, she can see little flurries of snow outside, but mostly, she can see kids on the playground, sitting around at the top of the slide and on the swing sets. If she’d had a place like this to go to as a kid, maybe she wouldn’t be so screwed up. She’d have the comfort of family and friends and a place that feels like a home even when it’s not permanent. Emma’s nearly thirty-years-old, and she swears she’s still searching for home herself. It feels like they keep getting ripped away from her.

-/-

December passes slowly.

Mostly because Emma spends all of it moping while trying to fix leaking faucets with duct tape and bad roofs with a band-aid. Every day more bad news seems to come, but Emma pushes it all down while working. The holidays are hard for these kids. Their classmates talk of Santa and vacations and a million family traditions, and most of these kids have either never had those or have had them taken away from them. Emma tries her best to make everything seem like normal. They take the group ice skating, do crafts, ask them to make a list of presents they want and need that will be donated by some local church groups, and if Emma wasn’t acutely aware of everything going on behind the scenes, she’d be thrilled with how things are going.

Instead she goes home at night to her tiny apartment where the walls are mostly bare and the fridge nearly empty, and she watches TV as her mind races with solutions. If this were a movie, she’d host a fundraiser. It’d be a carnival or a bakeoff or something else that’s aesthetically pleasing, and they’d raise enough money to keep them going for not just the next month, but years to come because of an anonymous benefactor.

This is not a movie. Not even close.

Because if it were a movie, her life would be looking up. She’d have holiday plans, maybe some more food in the fridge because she was cooking to cheer herself up, and she definitely would not be running into Killian Jones everywhere she goes.

It was a coincidence when she saw him at the grocery store. He was getting essentials. She was getting wine. She ducked into the aisle with condoms to avoid him, but then he walked right toward her to pick up deodorant that was on the aisle across from her. He didn’t say anything, but she knows he wanted to.

It was probably still a coincidence when she saw him at her gym. Lots of people go to the gym, and it’s entirely possible they have been going at different times for years.

It was a little more suspect when she was at the optometrist getting a refill of her contacts when he was there too, talking about how his glasses got scratched.

It was downright suspicious when he was at Granny’s Diner sitting with Belle the librarian, someone who often volunteers at the Holiday House, at the same time that Emma was there. It was three in the afternoon. That’s not exactly prime eating hours.

He’s everywhere, and while Emma avoided talking to him at first, each time she sees him now, he starts a conversation as if she has any desire to get to know him as a person. Logically, she knows she’s not losing her business because of him. It was his job to tell her she’s behind on payments, and he was doing a nice thing by telling her in person. But now she has a face to aim all her anger at.

That face, no matter how pretty it is, is one she wants to punch.

There’s that saying about not shooting the messenger, but that’s all Emma wants to do.

Storybrooke isn’t a big town. It’s not small either. It’s somewhere right in the middle, but Emma is convinced she should have seen Killian Jones before their fateful meeting at the coffee shop. Or at least heard of him. This town isn’t a stranger to attractive men, but when a new one moves in, the gossip mill that is the teachers at the elementary school gets going, and every single woman in town hears about the new guy.

Emma feels like she should have heard at least something from Mary Margaret or Jasmine, but maybe she’s more out of touch than she thought she was.

Not now, though, because yet again, she’s sitting in her favorite coffee shop treating herself after a particularly shitty week, and there he is in that same blue suit (stain free) standing at the counter talking with Ashley. She watches as Ashley laughs and fixes his coffee before grabbing two muffins out of the display case and wrapping them before putting them in a small paper bag. Another Christmas song comes over the speakers, and as Emma isn’t in a very jolly mood, she turns up the volume on her podcast, letting it drown out the noise of festivities around her.

What it doesn’t do, however, is drown out the noise of Killian Jones sitting down across from.

He places his coffee to his right and digs out one muffin, putting it next to the coffee, before digging out the other muffin and sliding it across the table until it’s in her face.

What is happening?

Emma takes one earbud out.

“Do you like blueberries?” Killian asks.

“Uh, yeah?”

He nods at the muffin while pouring a little sugar into his coffee. “That’s blueberry. Mine is banana nut if you prefer that.”

“Why are you giving me a muffin?”

He stirs his coffee. “A peace offering.”

Emma raises her brow. “I wasn’t aware we needed a peace offering between the two of us.”

Killian sips his coffee and raises both brows. The lines on his forehead appear with the movement, but he keeps drinking. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Swan, but we have seen each other everywhere this month. Hell, I half expected to see you in my kitchen in the morning.” She opens her mouth, but he holds his hand up. “Not like that. Unless, of course, that’s what you prefer.”

“I don’t.”

“Alright then. So, we’ve been running into each other, and you’ve been giving me death glares. I usually don’t care if someone likes me or not. Actually, I never give a damn about it, but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Emma picks at the muffin before thinking twice about it. Yeah, she saw Ashley put it in the bag and he offered his instead, but Emma doesn’t trust it hasn’t somehow been tampered with.

Because she’s a crazy person.

“Are you saying you’ve scorned me?”

“I’m saying,” he sighs, picking off some of his own muffin, “that you’ve had some shit luck, you’re blaming me for it, and before you murder me and bury me underneath the play set, I’d like to try to redeem myself.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“How?”

“Well, the muffin, of course, but if you’d like, I can also meet with you and go over your financials, talk about options other than shutting down. It’s what I used to do in Boston, and I was damn good at it too.”

“Modest.”

“Never claimed to be.” He pops the travel lid on his cup and puts his muffin back in the bag before giving her another business card. “My cell number’s on the back. I can’t talk to you about it during work because it’s technically a conflict of interest, but I’m free any other time to help.”

Emma flips the small piece of card stock over, staring down at the numbers neatly written there. “Ruby does the books. I don’t need you to save me.”

“I know you don’t. Might still be nice to give those kids a safe haven, though. Being an orphan comes with enough challenges as it is.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

He shrugs and straightens the lapels of his coat. “I guess you’ll just have to trust my word.”

She doesn’t. He’s never given her any reason to.

-/-

She meets with him anyway.

-/-

It’s the day after Christmas, which Emma spent holed up in her apartment by herself. She did a video call with David, Mary Margaret, and their son Leo because Mary Margaret insisted, but other than that, Emma’s day was spent by herself. Ruby had her family and Graham, and well, Emma had several spiked hot chocolates, a dozen donuts, and enough internet access to keep her entertained. In a perfect world, she would have been able to open the Holiday House so kids could have a place to go, but Emma couldn’t afford to keep it open. She also wanted her employees to have the day off, and there was no way she could do it on her own.

Which is why she dragged her ass out of bed and to Granny’s to meet Killian Jones in freezing temperatures with a slight hangover.

(Okay, it’s a killer hangover.)

(But if she doesn’t admit that, maybe it’ll get better faster.)

Emma orders a full breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She won’t eat for the rest of the day, but right now, she needs hangover food. Killian, on the other hand, orders an omelet and a side of food.

Stupid healthy people.

Emma’s only half listening when he starts going over her financials, showing her all these little details and categories she’s never heard before. It’s a lot to handle, especially when he keeps throwing out new terms, but there’s one particular thing that catches her attention.

“You think someone wants to buy the place?” Emma asks as she cuts a little more of her pancake.

“Aye, I do. It’s a nice building, love. Not a lot of property like that in this town.”

“Yeah, but…” Emma sinks down in the booth and tightens her ponytail. “How am I going to find someone who wants to buy the place and keep it running how it is? That’s not...I don’t exactly know a lot of rich benefactors waiting to buy charities.”

“So put out some feelers for it. See if anyone latches on to it. You may be able to keep the house but not the business with how it’s going. Why not try so there’s a possibility of you keeping both?”

“I don’t even know how I’d go about doing that.”

Killian smiles, his teeth white against the black of his beard. “It’s simple. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

“And that’s you?”

“That’s me.”

-/-

“What that is, is bullshit!” Will groans as he throws his head back and slams his bottle down on the counter. “It’s not stealing if you plan on giving it back. It’s more like borrowing.”

“Pretty sure that’s still considered stealing,” David says.

“Yeah, well, you’re a cop, so I can’t expect you to be reasonable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” David asks, obviously offended.

“Alright, alright,” Ruby interrupts. She steps between them and holds her hands up. She’s slightly tipsy and stumbles on her stilettos. Seriously. Her outfit is amazing, but no one should wear heels that high when they know they’re going to get drunk. “It’s New Year’s Eve. We’re here to have a good time, not to argue over Will’s sticky fingers. Oh, speaking of Will’s sticky fingers...there’s Belle.”

Emma nearly chokes on her drink, half at Ruby’s disgusting joke, half at who Belle is walking into the Rabbit Hole with.

Killian Jones is the bad money she can’t seem to get rid of even if she has welcomed him into her life with semi-open arms.

Okay, completely closed off, but she’s trying to be nice since he’s helping her when he has absolutely no reason to. She’s not entirely convinced he’s not doing it just to get into her pants, and that would definitely be the most effort a man has ever put in. It’s not every day someone tries to save your business just to sleep with you.

Allegedly. Emma is making all that up in her head.

Belle and Killian continue to walk in, and while Belle’s outfit is killer as always, Emma’s eyes stray toward Killian’s. So far, she’s only ever seen him in suits, but tonight, he has on a pair of black jeans, a dark gray shirt that’s halfway unbuttoned to show off an indecent amount of chest hair, and a leather jacket that can’t keep him warm. Emma gulps and shakes off the shiver that runs down her spine.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Sorry I’m late,” Belle apologies as she kisses Will’s cheek. “It took Killian forever to decide on what to wear.”

“It didn’t,” Killian corrects. “And I told Belle she needn’t pick me up. I do have a car.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t dragged him. Killian, do you know everyone? David, Mary Margaret, Ariel, Eric, Ruby, Graham, Will, obviously. Um, that’s Aurora and Mulan down that way. Oh, and Emma. Do you know Emma?”

His eyes flash toward hers. “We’ve met.”

“Oh, when?” Belle asks.

Emma shakes her head. She doesn’t want Killian to tell everyone her business is failing. This is supposed to be a fun night. That will just bring everyone down.

“Uh,” Killian scratches his ear, “I was getting coffee earlier this month, and this bombshell spilled her latte down my shirt and then felt me up while trying to wipe up the spill.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to argue with you because you called me a bombshell, and honestly, I appreciate the compliment when David told me earlier that the back of my hair looked nice. That is not a real compliment.”

“That’s not how I meant it, and you know it,” David whines, and Mary Margaret pats his back, whispering reassurances to him.

“The back of your hair does look nice, love.”

Emma shakes her head and turns back to the bar. “Another gin and tonic, Scarlet.”

“I don’t work for you.”

Emma digs in her purse for a dollar and stuffs it in the tip jar. “You’re the bartender. You do.”

“Fine, but I’m watering down the gin.”

“I’d expect nothing less than that from you.” Emma adjusts the hem of her sweater dress and nods her head toward the back of the bar as Will quickly finishes off her drink. “I’m going to go play darts. Anyone want to join in?”

The group collectively groans, and Emma laughs at them. “What? No one wants to play against me?”

“I will, Swan.”

Emma raises her brows. “Really now?”

“You don’t want to do that,” Ariel laughs. “She’s not drunk, and when she’s not drunk, she always wins.”

“Well,” Killian sighs, rolling his shoulders back and slipping off his jacket, “I do love a challenge.”

-/-

Emma wins the first round.

Killian wins the next.

They both drown one too many drinks in the midst of their competition, and when they play the tie-breaker, people leave the area so they’re not stabbed with a dart.

It’s fine, honestly. Emma isn’t going to hit anyone. She doesn’t think Killian will either. He’s much better than expected. He’s also...relaxed. It’s weird to see him for more than five minutes outside of a business setting, and as charming as he is then, there’s always, like, this stick stuck up his ass. Here, he’s charming with ease, matching her wit and quips with his own, and she doesn’t think she’s ever met someone who can just as easily make an innuendo as he can say a kind word about a friend.

It’s fascinating, and Emma doesn’t know what to make of it.

So she doesn’t make anything of it, especially when she hits the bullseye on her last shot like some kind of miracle moment in a sports movie, and Emma squeals, throwing her hands in the air to celebrate. Killian crosses his arms over his chest and makes an eye roll, which only exaggerates when she gets in his face to celebrate her win.

“Alright, alright,” he groans, “you played a good game. I see why no one wanted me to challenge you.”

“Don’t worry,” Emma teases, patting his shoulder. “You might get me next time.”

“Oh, so there’s going to be a next time?”

“Well, if you’re around, and I’m around, I don’t see why not.”

He hums and places his hand over hers on his shoulder. “You know, love, I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not acting as if one lucky shot makes you better at darts than me.”

“That was not luck.”

“I think it was.”

“You want to play again?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

-/-

Emma wins the next round.

She loses the next. It’s a repeating pattern.

After that, she doesn’t keep track. All she knows is that she spends New Year’s Eve in a heated competition of darts with Killian Jones at the Rabbit Hole while all her friends sit in the corner booth or dance in front of the local band the bar hired for tonight.

Emma barely even notices when the TV changes to the ball dropping in Times Square, too caught up in laughing at something that Killian said, but then all of the sudden, everyone is cheering. It’s a brand new year.

“Happy New Year, Swan,” Killian says before dipping down and kissing her cheek. “I hope it’s a good one for you.”

And for a second, with all of her problems pushed away, she manages to have the hope that it just might be.

-/-

All that hope disappears several days later.

Ruby tells her she’s found a job managing the Italian restaurant by the pier. Emma is happy for her, of course. She deserves to have a good job that will pay her actual money and have benefits, but it reminds Emma that soon she’ll be out of a job. She hasn’t even thought to apply for anything as she’s been holding out on the hope that this has all been an awful nightmare. Or that just maybe the grant money they need will come in.

It never does.

At least not in the time that Emma needs them to.

Every day seems like a ticking time bomb before her life and the lives of these children blow up, and every day Emma becomes a little more desperate. She clings to her phone, hoping that Killian will tell her he’s found a solution or that he’s found a buyer. There are a few nibbles, a few people who come by for tours, but none of them come through. The day Killian gets that call usually ends with the two of them sitting outside Ingrid’s old ice cream shop eating two giant cones despite the freezing temperatures outside.

Though, sometimes Killian says he “just can’t fucking do it” and they go to their coffee place and get warm drinks and pastries. That’s always a little less miserable but doesn’t feel quite as cathartic.

The late-night drinks in her apartment do.

She’s not really sure how that started or why it keeps going, but most nights this month, she’s ended up getting dinner with Killian whether it be takeout at her place or eating in the actual restaurant like lunatics, or having him come over and commiserate on their failures with a drink and a binge watch of a show. If she’s totally honest with herself, she can admit that she thinks he’s only spending time with her out of pity.

That’s why Emma is not honest with herself, not even in the slightest, about more than just the one big change happening in her life.

She likes having him around despite her efforts not to, and in a time where everything feels upside down, it’s nice to have someone around who will trash talk characters on TV shows who make stupid decisions. It’s comforting, and Emma isn’t willing to question something that brings her peace.

And food. He also brings her food because even though he’s been in this town for under two years (a new piece of information she’s picked up along the way), he knows all of the best restaurants. That’s definitely a perk of keeping Killian around.

Today, she’s sitting at her desk in the office that is now hers and hers alone when he walks in with a bag from Granny’s. You simply can’t beat a classic.

“Hey,” Emma greets, stopping the email she was typing to spin her chair out, “you bring me fries?”

He stops over her as she cranes her neck out. “Onion rings, obviously.”

Emma grabs the bag out of his hand. “Good. Just testing you.” She smiles and spins back around, pulling her food from the bag before getting Killian’s out and placing it on Ruby’s desk. “I’m starving, and our chef isn’t here this week. I’ve been in charge of snacks, and let me tell you, those poor kids do not deserve that. I can barely even handle apple slices.”

“I’m sure you handle them just fine.” Killian settles down across from her and opens his salad container. “So, I’m actually here because I have some news.”

“Oh, that’s never good.”

“Actually, this time it is.”

Emma’s been getting her hopes up only to have them crushed so many times that she tries not to do that this time. Still, her heart rate skyrockets, and she struggles to steady her breath.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” He sticks his fork into his salad and takes a bite as if he doesn’t have her sitting on the edge of her seat.

Oh my God. He’s really going to sit there eating his salad not telling her what the news is.

Emma reaches over the desk and shoves at his shoulder. “Killian!”

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, putting his fork down and dabbing his napkin at the corners of his mouth. “So, I have an investor. He’s been nosing around for a while, but he just got the money approved by his bank.”

“Oh shit,” Emma gasps. She pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around her knees. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Who is it? Is it for real? If it’s for real, I want to hug them, and I am not someone who likes to hug strangers.”

Crinkles appear around Killian’s eyes as he laughs. “He’s chosen to stay anonymous for now out of privacy concerns, but his lawyer will represent him in all the deals. He’s serious about this, Swan. He lost his parents when he was young, was an orphan himself, and he came into some money after he lost his brother and his fiancé. He wants to do something good with it.”

“Shit,” Emma mutters. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye.” Killian scratches his ear before picking up his fork and spearing more pieces of his spinach. “It is. But he wants to do something good with it. And he wants to keep the management exactly the same. Nothing is going to have to change for you except your stress levels.”

Emma tears off a piece of onion ring and pops it into her mouth. She wants to giggle or have some kind of manic breakdown because she’s so freaking happy, but all she can do is stare at Killian and keep shaking her head in disbelief. “Do you want to go out tonight and celebrate? Drinks on me...as long as you don’t buy too many. I’m still mostly broke.”

Killian laughs. “I’d love to. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

-/-

Days and weeks and months pass in the blink of an eye. Emma went from dreading getting out of bed every day, not knowing what horror awaited her when her feet hit the ground to genuinely looking forward to her days. After coffee, of course.

The money from the investor came through, letting Emma pay off her debts enough to be able to keep Holiday House open. The kids never even had to know it had the possibility of shutting down, and for that, Emma is the most thankful. She has no idea what it would be like to have enough money to invest in a business that is never going to give much back to you, but Emma’s reminded of the story Killian told about the guy. He’s so much like her, his story ripped from the same pages, and while Emma can’t fully grasp it, she does manage to get one hand on the idea.

Ruby comes back part-time. She likes her new job, and Emma wouldn’t dare ask her to leave it just to help Emma out. Mostly she works in the mornings, going over the financials that Killian hasn’t looked over yet, and even if they don’t get a lot done, it’s nice to have her friend back.

Today, it’s finally a sunny spring day. The morning was chilly, cold air nipping at Emma’s bare legs on her walk to work, but now, the sun is out, it’s a beautiful day. She’s standing in the sitting room in the house staring out the window at kids running around the playground while teenagers sit and watch TV or play board games behind her. They’ve had more volunteers than usual to watch over everything. Several older retired women decided they wanted something to do during the day, and they take care of everything.

It’s all coming up roses, and while Emma’s taught herself to look for the thorns, today, she’s looking at the petals.

“You cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Emma turns from the window to see Killian walking toward her, eyes salaciously scanning up and down her body. Her dress hits at her calves and isn’t anything close to salacious, but she takes the compliment anyway.

“Hey,” she says back. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Hello, love.” He steps up to her and kisses her cheek in greeting. Emma’s stomach flutters, but that just might be the new chef’s cooking. She’ll have to look into that. “I’m on lunch. Thought I’d stop by and say hello. See how you were.”

Emma leans into him and rests her head on his shoulder as his arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer. “I’m really good. It’s a good day.”

“Yeah?”

His hand is soothing as it runs up and down her waist, and wow, whatever she ate today she never needs to eat again. Her stomach is absolutely flipping.

(Okay, so Emma is not an idiot as to why her stomach is flipping, but she is in denial.)

“Mhm,” Emma hums. “I’m happy. It still surprises me sometimes.”

“I’m glad, Emma.” His lips brush against her temple, and Emma smiles. “Do you want to grab dinner tonight? My place.”

“Can I use that really plush blanket again when we watch TV?”

“Your heart’s desire. That’s all I want you to have.” He taps her side and pulls back. “I’ve got to go get actual lunch, but I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Emma smiles. “See you tonight.”

Killian nods and walks away. Emma watches him go, as do several girls in the room, and she laughs when he puts a little extra swagger in his step for her.

Ridiculous.

“Hey, stop mooning at Jones everyone. He’s too old for all of you to even be thinking that.” Ruby walks in the room and claps her hands, snapping them all out of it. “Not you, Ms. Swan. You can make eyes all you want.”

“I do not make eyes,” Emma protests.

“Uh, yeah, yeah you do.” Ruby stands next to her at the window. “I mean, comes on, do you seriously not see it?”

“See what?”

Ruby rolls her eyes in an exaggerated roll. “So I was watching the security cameras, and no, it was not creepy, but I literally just watched the two of you stand here and cuddle. And you’re going to say that you don’t see how you’re basically a couple.”

“We’re not.”

“Yeah, and I don’t sleep with Graham a few nights a week.”

“I don’t know how often you’re sexually active,” Emma whispers. The kids aren’t listening, but she can’t take the chance that they are. “What’s the point of this conversation?”

“Oh, come on, Emma.” Ruby raises her brows, and she gives Emma the look that Emma knows means Ruby isn’t taking any of her bullshit. “Do you seriously not see it? That man obviously wants to date you. Hell, he invested tens of thousands of dollars into Holiday House as a silent investor, but he’s still around all the time.”

Emma’s almost too busy thinking about the fact that Killian may want to date her that she nearly misses the tail end of Ruby’s words.

She doesn’t, though.

What the hell?

Emma shakes her head. She must have heard wrong. “What are you talking about?”

“Look,” Ruby sighs, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’ve picked up pieces here and there from our friends. Killian moved to town after his brother and his fiance died in a car crash. They were picking Killian up after he’d been away for work for a few weeks, and on the way there...well, it happened. They died, and they both left him all their money. The investor, the one who saved your ass, is Killian.”

No.

Absolutely not. That can’t be true.

“Did you really not put those pieces together? I mean, the checks have the name Jones on them.”

“I don’t look at the checks. You and Killian have always handled that. I don’t...I need some time.”

Emma would try to articulate her feelings, but she can’t. She’s somewhere between shocked, hurt, happy, sad, furious, relieved, thankful, and every other emotion out there. Basically, she’s everywhere, and for several hours, it feels like she’s in a tailspin.

In five months, Killian has gone from a stranger she hated to a man she could possibly love one day, which is the first time she’s truly admitting that to herself, and it’s exactly why she freaks out.

The men in her life have always tried to save her from herself. They’ve always known better, been better, thought she was helpless because she doesn’t have a family to guide her.

What utter bullshit.

And here she was, thinking she’d finally found someone she trusted to hold her heart without dropping it, and he’s been lying to her all this time.

With all the emotions swirling in her head, the one she lands on is furious.

She’s fucking furious.

She nearly stands him up for dinner, but her fury leads her right to Killian’s front door. She scoffs now riding the elevator up to his apartment. She figured he lived in such a nice place because of his job, and while that may be partially true, she knows it’s not entirely true.

“Hey, love, I - ”

Emma shoots past him when he opens the door and starts pacing in his kitchen. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were my investor? And why did you put me through all those false alarms if you knew you were going to invest money the entire time? What kind of fucked up thing was that? Did you just drag it along because you wanted to spend time with me? There are a lot easier ways to do that than manipulate me!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he starts, holding his hands up, and Emma’s heart is doing that racing thing again. This time it’s not a thrill though. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the investor for the Holiday House!”

Killian closes his front door, but he doesn’t move from it, not when she’s moving like a mad woman.

“Aye, I am,” he says. “How did you know that?”

“Ruby. Apparently your name is on the checks.”

“My brother’s name. I have a trust in his name. But, love, I - ”

“No, don’t you dare try to defend yourself when this was obviously some asshole move to get in my pants.”

“Hey,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “if you would be quiet for one moment instead of making up this utter bollocks about my motivation for investing in your business, you could let me explain to you that this was not a scheme to get into your pants. In fact, I’m fucking pissed off that you would think that to begin with.”

“Well, what do you expect me to believe? You’ve been lying to me!”

Killian groans and then laughs with a flash of his teeth and a shake of his head. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to save you. I didn’t want you to think exactly what you’re thinking now. All I wanted was to help you and those kids because they don’t deserve to be left alone like you were, like I was! But I should have known that you would think it was somehow an underhanded move to fuck you. God.”

He runs his hands through his hair and keeps his face buried behind his palms. Suddenly, as her heart calms down and oxygen returns to her brain, Emma realizes she is the biggest jerk in the world. She gets that trophy, all shiny and new on her shelf.

“Killian, I - ”

“No,” he interrupts before he starts walking toward her. The fire in his eyes is the one that burns when he’s angry. She’s only seen it a few times, but she’s seen it. “You don’t get to interrupt me again. I’ve had a miserable life, much like you have, and when I moved here and got to do something good, it felt like a weight lifted off my chest. I wasn’t planning on being your investor. I was trying to find you other ones, but when I couldn’t, there was this niggling voice that sounded like Liam telling me to use his money to do something good. So, I did, but I didn’t tell you because I know you well enough to know you’d react exactly like this.”

He stops and shakes his head, laughing again. “I also didn’t want you to know it was me because I didn’t want you to think any differently of me after hearing my story.”

“For being an orphan? I’m one too. I would have never.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to change your opinion.”

That shiny Jerk of the Year trophy on Emma’s shelf? She definitely still deserves it, but she’s realizing, so do all of the people who have ever acted like not having a traditional family is something to be ashamed of.

Emma knows it’s not welcome, that he deserves to be pissed at her, but she steps around the counter and wraps one arm around Killian’s neck and the other around his waist, embracing him. He’s stiff for a moment, but then he does the same, pulling her in close and holding on tight as he sways her back and forth. He’s always so warm and smells like pine, and Emma doesn’t appreciate that enough.

She certainly doesn’t appreciate him enough.

“Killian?” she whispers, her eyes still shut and her arms still around him.

“Yeah?”

“Earlier you said you wanted me to have my heart’s desire. But what about you? What do you want? You’ve done all these wonderful things for me, whether I knew it or not, but I don’t think I’ve ever done anything good for you. So, what do you want?”

“You.”

Emma stifles her laugh of disbelief. “Oh, come on, Killian. I’m serious. Let me do something good for you to make up for being an ass.”

“As am I, Emma.” His arms tighten, and she swears he breathes her in. “I don’t think I’ve hidden my intentions with you. I obviously have feelings for you, which is how we got into this damn situation in the first place. You’re wonderful and witty and such a damn smartass that I can’t help but smile when you decide to pick fights when we’re watching TV or going on runs. You make me smile, and you know, I hadn’t done that for a long time before you, at least not as often.”

Emma’s first thought is that it’s too much, that she can’t handle any of this, but then she thinks of something Killian told her once. He’s yet to see her fail, and he told her that in the middle of her biggest failure in recent years.

She’s got no idea what’s happening, but that’s a lie. She knows exactly what’s happening.

Emma tilts her head back, putting a little space between the two of them, and he’s looking down at her with a smile she doesn’t deserve. Still, that small space between them lessens when he dips his head down and presses his lips to hers.

She’s thought about this more than she’s willing to admit since she’s constantly lied to herself about her feelings for him. She’s thought about the way he would taste (like mint), about the way he would feel (warm), about the way he would kiss (with the care and preciseness of everything else he does in life). It’s like she thought, which she pats herself on the back for, but it’s also different.

Mostly because this time, it’s real.

The softness of his lips, the slight harshness of his stubble, the deliciousness of his moan when she nibbles on his bottom lip, the feel of his smile when Emma smiles. It’s all real, and if Emma lets her mind run too much, she’d get whiplash.

So she doesn’t do that. Not at all.

She lets Killian kiss her, lets his hands travel to her waist and the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her closer to him until she can feel the way he gently ruts against her. It feels damn good, and Emma can’t decide if she’s more filled with joy or desire.

She decides she can have both.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier,” Emma says as Killian latches onto her breast, making her arch her back on his bed. They moved at some point, but she has no idea when. It’s all been one big, wondrous blur.

He looks up at her with those big blue eyes, brows raised to his hairline. “Is that honestly what you’re thinking about right now?”

“I mean, you’re doing a very good job right now, but yeah. I felt like I needed to say it.”

Killian laughs and crawls back up her body until he’s hovering over her. Emma reaches up to trace the crinkles around his eyes. She likes those, likes how they show up when he’s joyful. Even more, she likes that they’re there because of her.

“We can talk about everything later,” he says, though she knows it’s a promise. “Or now. If you’d like to talk before we did this. That’s fine too.”

“Later,” Emma sighs, cupping the back of his head and pulling him down to her. “We’ll talk later.”

-/-

They do talk later. About a lot and late into the night. Emma finds that she occasionally gets distracted when Killian’s hand falls to her inner thigh, that Killian gets distracted too, and for awhile, they don’t talk, not unless it’s an instruction or a praise. She likes those moments a lot too.

She likes all of them.

She likes Killian, and most surprisingly despite her jerk ways, he feels the same way. It’s almost laughable. In fact, it is.

Emma tilts her head back and laughs, and Killian shifts in the bed next to her, turning and propping his chin up on his hand to look at her. “What are you laughing about?”

“I mean,” Emma chuckles, throwing her hands up, “we met because I spilled coffee on you and you had to tell me my business was falling, and now my business isn’t failing and I ruined another one of your shirts.”

“Eh, it’s not ruined. I can get that button back on.”

Emma rolls her eyes and sinks down on the mattress, turning to Killian so they match. “Are you sure about this? About you and me?”

“Absolutely not,” he admits, flashing another grin, “but I think we’re worth giving a chance. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs with a content smile, “I do.”