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donteattheappleshook · 2 years

Text

Give me my yesterdays 1/1

Summary:

Neal was a great dad. He took care of her and Henry, he showed up to every track and field race, he was home for every holiday. She wasn’t unhappy. She had her family and her friends. It was fine. It was enough. Until her son went off to college and her husband started working late, and a twenty-something year old moved in next door.

Rated M.

A silver!Emma story because I didn't know I needed one. VERY loosely inspired by The Private Lives of Pippa Lee (or maybe just Keanu Reeves...)

Read it on Ao3 (it’s posted there as two chapters)

Thank you a hundred million times to @elizabeethan and @the-darkdragonfly for all your help with this fic and all your ideas and for encouraging me to write this at all! The best pocket friends in the world <3

*****

PART ONE

“Hey look! There’s a moving van parked outside.” Henry's mouth was full with the bite of toast he was still holding.

“Oh yeah? She asked, sorting through the piles they’d started of ‘giveaway’ and ‘to bring’. Emma had been disappointed to hear that Mrs. Lucas was leaving the neighbourhood to live with her granddaughter in the city. She’d been living next door to her since Emma moved in almost eighteen years ago, when she’d been home alone with the baby while Neal was at work and she could get Henry to stop crying.

“The new neighbours must be here!”

“What are they like? Hey, do you want this crock pot or do you want to buy your own?”

“Couple of guys,” Henry answered. “They look like students.”

“What?” Setting down the pot she crossed the kitchen to join him at the window. “Like your age students?” Emma wasn’t so sure she liked the idea of living next to a couple of teenagers on their own for the first time, remembering the parties she’d gone to and thrown in those few years she’d been able to attend - and the noise. But Henry was already shaking his head.

“Nah, they look older.” She squeezed in beside him, marvelling as she always did at the fact that he was a full head taller than her now. “He’s got a school hoodie on though,” her son explained, pointing to one of the men carrying boxes inside.

There were two of them, both somewhere in their twenties, one with short cropped hair wearing a leather jacket despite the unseasonable heat, shouting at the other who had a mess of dark, inky black hair and the Boston University sweatshirt.

“You guys are a couple of curtain nudgers,” Neal accused, shaking his head as he came downstairs. She stuck her tongue out at him. He wasn’t technically wrong.

“The new neighbours are here,” Henry told him.

Emma looked at Henry. “Oh my god, they can’t be much older than you. This is going to turn into a frat house isn’t it?”

Neal snorted, finally coming to the window and glancing out. “You sound like an old lady. Those guys are way older than Henry,” he argued, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Lighten up, Ems. It’ll be good to have some young blood in the neighbourhood. It was turning into a retirement community around here.”

“Watch it. You have ten years on me,” she challenged and he laughed.

“Both of you are old.” Henry rolled his eyes, putting an end to the argument.

“But look,” she pointed out to her kid - he was still her kid, she didn’t care how old he was. “College kids moving into the neighbourhood. It can’t be that bad. Are you sure you still want to move all the way out to Cambridge when you’ve got a perfectly good room here?”

“Yeah, but they’re not living with their parents,” he reminded her. She did her best not to sulk. They’d had this conversation before, about him living on campus his first year to get the full college experience.

“The kid’s got to spread his wings,” Neal piped in and she tried not to glare. She failed and saw Henry’s teasing smile.

“Yeah, Mom. I've got to spread my wings,” he echoed, stretching his arms out. “Harvard is only twelve minutes away,” he reminded her when she pouted. “And I’ll visit all the time. Plus, from the looks of it, I’ll probably end up at a party next door within a few weeks.”

She smacked him in the arm and he laughed, Neal joining in as he headed back to the fridge to find something to eat. “You should go over there,” her husband suggested. “Bring them a pie or something, welcome them to the neighbourhood.”

Emma just raised a brow at him. “When, in the twenty years you’ve known me, have I ever been the welcome-wagon, pie baking type?”

He shrugged. “You could be.”

“Why don’t you do it then?”

“Neither of you should be baking anything,” Henry cut in. “We want them to feel welcomed - not like we’re trying to poison them.”

“Hey!” they both snapped.

“I’m gonna go see if they need any help,” he decided, scarfing down the rest of his breakfast.

“That’s nice of you,” she smiled at him and he kissed the side of her head the way she used to do to him before heading out. Emma watched from the window as he made his way over and introduced himself, shaking hands with the two young men and acting way too much like an adult, but at least looking a little bit more like a kid again standing next to them.

“You know he’s just trying to get out of packing,” Neal smirked over his coffee.

“I know. But it’s still a nice thing he’s doing.”

“Yeah, it is.” Neal made his way back over, joining her in her spying. “We did a good job with him, I think.”

Emma hid her sad smile. They had. Henry was a great kid and Neal was a great dad. He took care of her and their son, he went to every track and field race, he was home for every holiday. She’d never had a family, never had a home. Growing up it was all she wanted, and she’d wanted it for Henry too. It was why she’d agreed to marry Neal when she was so young. She wasn’t unhappy. She had her family and her friends and she was planning on going back to school in the fall. It was fine. It was enough.

“Hey, speaking of college,” Neal started.

“Like we’ve spoken about anything else this summer,” she joked. His lips pressed into a thin line. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, about you going back,”

“And?”

“And… I just don’t think we can do it.”

“What?” She stared at him in disbelief. They’d talked about this. She’d been talking about it for years and she was finally doing it. She only had a few credits left in her degree. She’d put it off for eighteen years.

“We just don’t have the money,” he shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“Since when? We budgeted. We had it all figured out.”

“Yeah, well, things are a little tight right now. There’ve been some extra expenses with the firm.”

“They didn’t seem so tight when you bought that old camaro a few months ago.” It was still sitting in the garage. His midlife crisis fixer-upper untouched and leaking oil.

“Yeah, well, it’s my money.”

“Don’t pull that,” she snapped, getting angry now. “How many times over the last fifteen years have I said I should go back to work? You were the one who said I needed to be here for Henry, that you’d take care of us. You were the one who said there was no point unless I finished my degree. And we agreed, now that Henry’s moving out it’s the right time.”

He shrugged again and she wanted to shake him. “I’m sorry, Ems. We just can’t do it. Besides, is there really even a point?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like you said: I take care of you and Henry. You don’t need to work, or spend money on a few college credits. What are you going to do anyway? Sit in a class with a bunch of kids your son’s age? You’re almost forty. It’s a little late to be starting your life over.”

“And what am I supposed to do now that Henry’s moving out? Sit at home and wait for you to come back from work? Have dinner on the table?” Her fingers were shaking, hardly able to contain the frustration, the tears that were burning her eyes and her throat.

“You could pick up a hobby.”

“I need something for myself, Neal. We agreed -”

“Look, it’s too late anyway. The deadline for tuition passed.” He looked at his watch as she gaped at him. “I gotta go to work. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Neal,” she insisted, following him out to his car. “What are you talking about? Are you serious right now?”

“It’s done, Emma,” he told her, getting in and starting the engine. “I’m sure you’ll find another way to occupy your time.” He leaned out to kiss her cheek like it was any other morning; she moved away. “I’ll be home late tonight.”

And with that he drove off, leaving her staring off after him in the driveway, anger building inside of her, fuming. It’s done, he’d said. He’d just decided. All summer he’d let her go on and on about how excited she was - she and Henry had poured over course catalogues together and researched professors - and just like that it was over.

She let out a frustrated scream, turning and kicking the nearest object she could find, Henry’s soccer ball, as hard as she could, needing an outlet and sending it flying across the lawn.

“Woah!” The voice startled her, looking up and finding herself face to face with a wide-eyed, young man, body twisted out of the way of where the soccer ball had just zipped past. “That’s a hell of a punt you’ve got there, love.”

Emma just stared at him blankly, shocked by his sudden appearance, by the fact that she’d nearly knocked him out just then, and still reeling from her conversation with Neal. He was giving her an awkward, nervous smile, cheeks flushed as he caught his breath from the scare she’d probably just given him.

“Sorry, I’m your new neighbour, Killian,” he said quickly, reaching out a hand to introduce himself - his one hand. Emma shook her head, realising she’d been staring. He was handsome, twenty-something, tall and dark haired with crazy-bright blue eyes. The kind of guys she'd have had a poster of up on her wall in college.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m Emma. Sorry,” she shook his hand, “I almost… I mean I don’t - I’m not normally like this,” she finished, embarrassed at her first impression.

Killian smirked, a mischievous, playful thing that she knew right away could be dangerous when wielded. “Too bad. Our team’s looking for a striker.”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, that’s more my son’s thing.”

“Your son?” he asked, looking flatteringly surprised. Emma gestured towards where her son was helping the other man carry a table in. His brows shot up. “You’re Henry’s mother?” He schooled his expression after a moment, a friendly smile pulling at his lips. “He’s a nice kid.”

“I think so,” she shrugged.

Killian bit his lip against a grin, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, I should go back before Will reads me the riot for not doing my share.” He looked at her then, eyes catching hers and holding them, a rare kind of sincerity in his words and his smile. “It was nice to meet you, Emma.”

“Nice to meet you. Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

***

Emma was relieved to discover that her new neighbours weren’t in fact a frat house. While one of them - the one she hadn’t met - had a voice that carried across the whole street when he was outside, there was a blissful lack of loud music and guests apart from a small group she’d seen once or twice.

“They both came here from the UK. Will works in business,” Henry told them. “And Killian’s still in school - I think he’s getting a Masters or something. He thought it was cool that I was going to Harvard,” he bragged subtly.

The one she’d deduced was Will spent most of his time inside or out at work from what she could tell. Killian, though, was almost always outside working on something around the old house, replacing a window, painting, or fixing the wiring on the front porch light. She’d nearly gone over there once when she looked out her window and saw him on the roof. Whenever she was outside at the same time he’d give her a friendly smile and a wave with a stiff, left hand.

She didn’t interact with him directly again until the end of that week. “I’m not actually going anywhere, Mom,” Henry had complained. “You’re leaving this house. That’s going somewhere.” “Let your mom throw you a party,” Neal had interjected to her surprise and she wondered if he was feeling guilty about their conversation. They hadn’t spoken about it since.

The only thing she had left to do was go buy the food for tomorrow. The danger of living with two men was that groceries had a habit of mysteriously disappearing as soon as she wasn’t looking. There was a reason she kept a stash of treats in the back of her closet. So when her car turned over but wouldn’t start, it was the last thing she needed.

“Oh come on,” she whined at it, trying again. “Come on, you’ve never let me down before.” The Bug was ancient - as her husband and son enjoyed pointing out - but she’d had it since she was a teenager and she wasn’t going to give it up until it died. Which it had apparently decided to do today. “Really?” she demanded, aware that she was talking to a car but not caring. “Today? Of all days?”

She tried one more time. The sad, old engine grumbled, the car rattled, and then there was an awful screeching sound and it went silent. Emma gripped the steering wheel, forehead falling against it and letting out a guttural cry of frustration. Just what she needed: one more thing in her life falling apart.

“Are you alright, love?” a concerned voice asked softly beside her. Her face somehow managed to pale and flush at the same time as she opened her eyes and looked over to see Killian standing outside the car. Of course it was him, of course he was catching her screaming and abusing inanimate objects a second time. Hell of an impression she was making.

“The car won’t start,” she explained weakly. He pressed his lips together, brow pulling down and nodded.

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” he offered.

“Do you know anything about cars?” Killian gave her a wry smile and she realised that question may have been a little rude. “Sorry. It’s… sentimental.”

He smiled again, nodding. “I promise not to hurt her. My brother was a mechanic. I worked with him for a while.” Was - she hoped he’d just found a new profession.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

He tapped the window frame, looking pleased that she’d accepted his help. “Pop the hood, will you?” She did as he asked and he leaned over the engine. “Okay turn it on,” he called. "Okay, off." She heard a few clanks and then he had her do it again before going back to work. Emma caught glimpses of an elbow or a shoulder from behind the hood, his prosthetic bracing him as he leaned in. What could have happened to him? He was still so young.

Finally, he shut the hood and came back around to the window, wiping oil on the front of his jeans from his stained-black hand. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“The good news,” she said, needing some good news this week.

“You just need a new starter. It’ll cost a pretty penny but it’s easy to replace.”

“And the bad news?”

He winced. “It’s not going anywhere until you do.”

“Damn it,” she sighed, hands dropping into her lap. Neal had taken his car and she didn’t enjoy the idea of carrying armfulls of groceries for thirty people - half of them teenage boys - on the bus. She should have let Henry set her up with an Uber account like he always tried.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“I need to get groceries for Henry’s party.”

“Is it his birthday?”

“No, he’s moving out on Friday.” She tried to keep the sadness that always clinged to those words from her voice. “I’ve got to pick up some stuff to stock his fridge with too.”

Killian nodded. “Well, I could give you a lift if you want.”

“To the store?” he nodded again. “Oh, you don’t have to…”

“I don’t mind,” he insisted, smiling kindly. “It feels like the neighbourly thing to do.” She should say no. It was too big a favour. But she was really desperate.

“Are you sure?” She found herself returning his infectious smile even as she still hesitated.

“Absolutely,” he beamed. “Let me just get cleaned up really quick,” he added, looking down at his hand and his grease covered jeans. He gestured towards the house, the invitation obvious even if he didn’t say it out loud. Emma grabbed her wallet, nodding and stepping out of the car. She followed him across the lawn to his house, hovering awkwardly on the driveway as he headed up to the front door.

“You’re welcome to wait inside,” he told her, then glanced up at the sky. “Looks like it might rain.”

She hesitated for only a moment, feeling a bit strange following a twenty-something year old into his house when any of the gossips on the street could see. Come on, Emma, you’re forty next month. Be a grownup. “Okay, thanks.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said once they were inside, disappearing up the stairs.

She’d been in this house a hundred times, but it was so different now. The rooms were the same but Granny’s ‘old lady’ furniture and TV had been replaced with a worn leather couch and armchairs and several gaming systems. The photos of the Lucas family that had littered the walls were gone, replaced with posters of bands and movies.

There were a few framed photos on the small table in the entrance way, which surprised her. She didn’t think anyone got photos printed anymore. Most of them were of Killian and Will and the friends she’d seen coming in and out, and one of a couple she assumed were someone’s parents. But the one that caught her eye was smaller, older, a framed polaroid of Killian, looking probably about Henry’s age, his arm wrapped around a man with the same striking blue eyes, both of them in uniform and laughing at something. Killian had both his hand. She picked it up, looking at it more closely.

“My brother,” he said suddenly, making her jump. She hadn’t heard him come down. “Liam.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop.”

He shrugged. “It’s not snooping. They're out there to be looked at.” He took the picture from her and smiled at it a little sadly. “That was the night I graduated from the Naval Academy.” His thoughts seemed to trail off then and she decided it was best not to pry.

“The house looks different.”

His gaze snapped back up to her, pleasantly surprised. “You’ve been here before?”

“Oh yeah. The woman who lived here practically raised Henry.”

“Mrs. Lucas is a lovely landlady. Terrifying woman, but I think she likes me.” He gave her a cheeky little smirk and Emma tried not to flush. She was sure she did. He was a likeable guy, kind and sincere with an almost mischievous charm. She was also pretty sure that face got him out of trouble a lot. Careful, he’s at least a decade younger than you. And you’re married, she reminded herself quickly.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” she said to change the subject. “I noticed you doing some work outside too. Did she hire you as super?”

Killian flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. I just noticed a few things that needed doing. I worked construction for a few summers to get through school,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d just lend a hand.” His eyes widened suddenly. “Don’t tell her though. I don’t want her to think it’s charity or she owes me anything. I’m just trying to keep busy until classes start up again.”

Emma frowned at him. “Wait, how old are you?”

He looked a little surprised by the question and very amused. “Why?”

“The Navy, construction, a mechanic, a Masters, apparently… I’m just trying to figure out when you found the time to do it all.” She had years on him and she’d never done anything.

He smirked, shrugging. “I wasn’t in the Navy very long.” She didn’t miss the way his fingers drifted subconsciously to brush over the plastic covering his forearm.

“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t pry.” He was doing her a favour, not offering her a peek into his personal life.

He shook his head."We should get going,” he reminded her, bringing Emma back to why she was here in the first place.

The store was only a short drive away and Killian soon pulled into the parking lot, killing the engine and turning off the music she’d been enjoying way more than she expected to. The stuff Henry listened to was… not good. Maybe there was a bigger age difference between them than she thought.

“I can be really quick,” she promised. “Or did you want to go somewhere and come back?” She felt bad leaving him to wait in the car. He thought about it for a minute and then unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I’ll just come with you.”

“Really?” Emma couldn’t imagine this is what he wanted to spend his afternoon doing.

“Yeah. Will got high last night and ate all our snacks. Might as well replace them.”

“And find a better place to hide them,” she suggested as they made their way across the parking lot.

He looked at her in disbelief, lips curling up. “You hide your snacks?”

“I live with two men. If I want a single Pop-Tart to myself I have to hide it.”

Killian laughed. “Where?”

“I’m not telling you that,” she scoffed. “Just keep them somewhere Will would never think to go.”

“Behind the cleaning supplies then.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Exactly.”

They made their way through the aisles in comfortable silence for a while, Emma pulling things off the shelves, Killian following along and throwing an item or two in his basket.

It was surprising how easy it was to be around him. She felt so guilty for the favour he was doing her but every time she looked over, ready to apologise, he would give her a happy smile, like he was having the time of his life wandering the grocery store with a stranger.

“What’s your Masters in?” she asked casually, thinking she could be a little less of a stranger. They were neighbours after all.

“History. Specifically, governance in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century piracy. I just want to make sure I’m as unemployable as humanly possible.” That made her laugh.

“Can’t be any more unemployable than me."

“Why? What’s your degree in?”

The question was simple but it still made her hands grip the cart a little tighter. “Nothing. I never finished.”

“No?”

“No. I got pregnant with Henry when I was twenty-one. He was born the summer before my senior year. I took some time off to stay home with him and just… never went back.”

“What did you want to be? When you started.”

“What did I want to be when I grew up?” she raised an amused brow at him.

“Yeah."

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “I was pre-law though.” He looked impressed and Emma tried to hide how pleased that made her. “What about you? Was it always history?” She grabbed a box of crackers and tossed them on top of the cheese she’d picked out earlier.

He shook his head. “I wanted to be a WWE wrestler.”

“You wanted to fight?”

“No, I think it was the outfits.” She let out a loud, embarrassing snort of laughter and he flashed her that same grin from when they’d first met. She knew it was dangerous. “What?” he demanded. “I look spectacular in spandex.” Emma rolled her eyes. He gave her a saucy wink. “You’re picturing it aren’t you?”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, shaking her head and turning down the chip aisle. “Just… help me find some salsa.”

He did, bringing back the spiciest one they sold and tossing it in her cart. “It’s not too late, you know,” he told her hesitantly. “If you wanted to go back. You still have plenty of time to grow up.” The smile she attempted failed, turning sad and she saw the regret in his expression.

“I think it’s a little too late at this point.”

“Nonsense. If it’s something you really want, you should fight for it.”

A lump formed in her throat at how different his words were from the way Neal had spoken about her dreams. She swallowed past it, forcing a smile. “Yeah well, as soon as you don the spandex, I’ll enrol.”

Killian chuckled. “I think you’d have to get a few drinks in me first.” Emma didn’t like how appealing the idea was, spending more time with him, drinking with him. He was fun. She missed fun. “Oh, I forgot,” he said suddenly, “I owe Belle a bottle of wine.” They’d already gone through the booze aisle. “I’m going to go run and grab one. Do you need anything?”

Emma looked into her cart which had a concerning amount of alcohol in it. “No, I think I’m good. I’ll meet you in cereal.”

He took off and Emma tried to ignore the way she couldn’t stop thinking about ‘Belle’. She didn’t care. He could date whoever he wanted. But he’d been flirting with her just now, hadn’t he? Emma shook the thought away. It doesn’t matter if he was flirting with you; he’s way too young for you. And you’re married, she reminded herself again. Killian was just a flirty guy. He probably even flirted with Mrs. Lucas. And Belle. Stop it.

She was thankfully distracted by her search for Henry’s favourite cereal, wanting to send him off with a few boxes of it, if only to make sure he actually ate breakfast while he was living on his own. She didn’t trust the dining hall, or her son to wake up early enough to make it down on time.

She found it finally, on the top shelf. The top shelf that was way over six feet up. Why did they put things on that shelf? Why did they even have that shelf? She reached for it, stretching as high as she could in her flat boots, her fingers barely grazing the box on the shelf below it.

Emma cast a look around, hoping to find a staff member or even a tall stranger, but there was no one. She reached again. And when that didn’t work she jumped, once, twice, nearly there, just too far away. Well, then there was only one thing left to do. She gripped one of the shelves, looking around again to make sure nobody was watching as she tested the weight of her boot against the second, and froze when she saw Killian, leaning against a wall of cornflakes and eyeing her with a shit eating grin. He’d definitely seen her jump.

Emma rolled her eyes, setting both feet back on the ground. “A little help?” The amused expression didn’t leave his face as he crossed the distance between them, reaching up to grab the box - stupid tall people - and handing it to her. “Thank you,” she said with no small amount of sarcasm.

He cocked his head. “Were you about to climb the shelves?”

She huffed. “Of course not.” The look he gave her told her he didn’t believe a word she said. “Can you grab me another, please?” she asked with as much dignity as she could. He did, lip caught between his teeth as he tried to school his features. They walked quietly for a moment, Emma feeling his eyes on her before she finally burst out, “They don’t make these places for short people, okay?”

“I knew it,” he smirked as they passed the Pop Tarts. He stopped, grabbing a box and tossing it into her cart. “For your stash.”

She smiled. “I actually like the unfrosted ones.”

Killian scoffed, pulling a face. “Nobody likes the unfrosted ones.”

“I do,” she insisted, grabbing them. He plucked the box out of her hands.

“Then you have terrible taste.”

“Give it,” she demanded, reaching for the box but he raised his hand and kept them out of her reach, laughing as she tried to take them back. “Seriously? How old are you?” she rolled her eyes again even as she fought her laugh.

“You seem very preoccupied with my age,” he pointed out, still holding the box away. “Why is that?”

Because she needed to remind herself how young he was. “Because you’re acting like a child,” she sassed him instead.

Killian snickered, stepping back when she grabbed at his shirt, trying to get a grip on his arm, forgetting herself and the row of unfrosted Pop-Tarts within reach. “A tall one,” he bragged, reaching up and setting the box down on the top shelf.

Emma baulked at him. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

“It’s for your own good, love. I’m saving you from yourself.”

“Well, you’re officially uninvited to the party.”

“Was I invited?”

“Not anymore.” Marching her cart and her frosted Pop-Tarts towards the checkout with a huff, she heard him chuckling behind her before he ran to catch up.

***

“What’s this album?” she asked as they made their way back down the road towards her house. He’d plugged his phone in as soon as they’d gotten the groceries in the trunk, the same playlist as before.

“It’s a local band. They play at the campus bar a lot.” They pulled into her driveway.

“I like them.”

“We should go see them sometime.” Killian froze the moment the words came out of his mouth, her heart racing frantically. “I mean - come out with a group of us. You could bring Henry. And your husband,” he amended quickly.

“Henry’s not old enough to go to a bar,” she pointed out. “And Neal’s not really a live music guy.”

“Oh.”

They were sitting in her driveway, the car idling next to her Bug as the silence stretched between them. “I can help you bring your groceries in,” he offered, and she wondered if he was also trying to put off their goodbye. She’d had fun with him - more than she’d had in a long time. She didn’t want it to end. But Emma looked up, seeing Neal’s car parked in the driveway and shook her head.

“No, I’m fine, thanks. You’ve done more than enough.” Emma hesitated, her hand on the door. “The party’s at five,” she said. “If you and Will want to come. I think Henry would be thrilled.”

Killian gave her a soft smile. “Yeah, alright. Sounds fun.”

“Great.” She went around to the back and loaded her arms up with the bags. It was heavy but it felt too weird to have him come inside with Neal home - and that was a problem. “Thanks again,” she said, coming to the window.

He nodded. “Anytime.” She’d only just turned when he called, “And Emma?” She looked back at him, a small smile hiding something she couldn’t read. “Just so you know, I’m twenty-six. I’m not a child.”

***

“Was that the new neighbour who drove you home?” Neal asked when she joined him in the kitchen. She let out a sigh of relief when he took several bags from her.

“Yeah. My car wouldn’t start so he gave me a lift to the store.”

“That’s awfully nice of him,” he frowned. His eyes darted quickly towards the window, at the house next door.

Emma shrugged. “He had groceries to do too. He was on his way anyway.”

"Do you want me to take a look at it?" The image of the broken camaro in the garage flashed through her mind and she shook her head.

"I already called Gus."

Neal hummed, seeming appeased and beginning to put away the groceries.

Emma followed suit, reaching into the bag in front of her and hiding a secret smile when she found a box of unfrosted Pop-Tarts.

***

“Will! Killian!” Henry exclaimed as they came into the living room. “I didn’t know you guys were coming,” he beamed.

“Your mum invited us,” Will explained. “We never say no to a party.”

“Emma, this is Will,” Killian introduced as she went to greet them.

“We brought you some wine,” Will told her, gesturing with the bottle in his hand. “Though I guess the kid’s a bit young for that - at least in front of his mum.” Killian elbowed him. “What?”

“Neal,” Emma greeted when he joined them, an arm wrapping firmly around her waist, surprising her. He wasn’t usually one for PDA. “This is Killian and Will, our new neighbours.”

“Right,” he said as though just remembering someone had moved in, shaking both their hands. “Welcome. Help yourselves,” he told them, smiling, his hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder as the other gestured to the food laid out. “The little lady put on quite a spread.” Emma looked up at him, pulling a face. What was up with him?

“Is that your camaro parked in the garage?” Will asked Neal who brightened instantly at the question.

“Yeah, man, ‘77. Just got her. Gonna fix her up.”

Sure you will.

“She’s a beaut.”

“Do you wanna go check her out?” Neal offered, practically bouncing at the opportunity to show off his new project.

“Does the Pope wear a funny hat? Henry?” Will invited, handing his roommate the bottle of wine and the three of them headed off towards the garage, leaving Emma and Killian on their own. She could have been wrong, but she thought she saw Will throw him a look over his shoulder - she didn’t catch Killian’s reaction.

“Thanks for coming. Henry was happy to see you.”

“Of course. We couldn’t miss the big send-off. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “I mean, I’ll be a wreck when he leaves on Friday, but I’m fine for now.”

“But Harvard though, that’s amazing. You must be proud.”

She beamed, nodding. “I am. So proud. I’m just going to miss him. It’ll take some getting used to is all.”

“I know something that might help with that.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

His smile was wicked as he held up the bottle he was still carrying. “What do you say? Shall we crack it open?”

She bit her lip. This felt like a very dangerous game to be playing. “Let’s do it.”

They were two glasses in when he turned to her suddenly. “So wait, which one are you? The Swan or the Cassidy?”

“What?”

“Henry said his name was Henry Cassidy-Swan. I’m guessing one of those is yours.”

“Swan,” she answered, already a little fuzzy, maybe a little too loudly. “Emma Swan. I kept my name. We weren’t married when he was born, so I gave him my name. Just in case.”

“Just in case?”

"In case I decided not to go through with it,” she explained, clutching her third glass to her chest. “We got engaged because I was pregnant; I almost didn’t say yes. But I didn’t have a family growing up. I wanted him to have one. We added the ‘Cassidy’ after.” Her face paled and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god. I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t tell anyone. It’s the wine. It makes me say stupid things.”

“Don’t worry, Swan,” he soothed, placing a hand on her arm, the nickname rolling off his tongue too easily. She shouldn’t have liked it so much. “I won’t say a word.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, embarrassed. “This is what happens when you get old and stop going out. Your tolerance goes to shit and suddenly you’re wasted like a teenager on wine coolers after two drinks.” She could see him trying his best not to laugh at her- obviously much more sober - and it made her giggle.

“You’re not old.”

“Oh, I am.”

“How old?”

“My birthday’s next month. I’m gonna be forty!”

“Forty isn’t old,” he insisted. “You’re talking like you’re ready to move into a home.”

“It’s old when you’ve got a kid who’s legally an adult.”

“But that kid is moving out,” Killian reminded her. “You’re gonna be a young forty year old with no kid at home. What are you gonna do then?”

Emma smirked, feeling warm from the wine. “Turn into a lush if I keep hanging out with you.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean you won’t,” he admitted sincerely and before she could answer Henry joined them, Will not far behind. Neal wasn’t with them and Emma frowned, wondering where he’d snuck off to.

“Hey Killian,” Henry started. “You should come meet my friend, Avery. He’s going into History too.” Emma hid her smile in her glass, her son clearly excited to show off his cool, new, mature friends to his old ones.

Killian shot her a knowing grin but nodded. “Aye, hopefully I can save him before it’s too late,” he quipped before letting himself be dragged around and introduced to every eighteen year old in the room.

Emma looked around for his roommate and winced. He’d been cornered by Ms. DeVille who lived three doors down. She looked to be at least on her third martini and was tracing the line of Will’s jacket lapel with a gloved finger. Poor guy, she was going to try and eat him alive. She was just going to go attempt a rescue when Neal came down the hall from the garage.

“Alright, see you then. Okay,” he said into his phone then hung up. Glancing up, he gave her a hesitant look when he saw her, lips pressed tight and rubbing at the back of his neck. Bad news, then.

“What is it?”

“I have to go away this weekend.”

“What? Why?”

He winced. “There’s a conference in New York. We need to go try to find some new clients - network.”

“And you have to go?”

Her husband frowned at her. “It’s my company, Emma. I told you things were tight.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed and he at least had the decency to look abashed.

“We need this.”

She sighed. “Fine, when do you leave?”

“Friday night.” Her face fell. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to bring Henry to school and hang out as long as he needs. I just have to be there early in the morning and I can’t risk getting stuck in traffic.”

“Okay. So long as you’re there for the send off.”

“Of course,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t miss that.” No, he’d just leave her to spend the weekend alone on the night her son moved out. Neal pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Thanks for understanding.”

“What’s wrong?” Killian had found her once he’d been done making the rounds, obsessively reorganising a cheese plate. She blinked at him. She thought she was doing a good job of hiding her disappointment.

“Nothing.” He didn’t believe her but he didn’t push. She sighed. “Neal has to go away this weekend. It’s fine.”

“So you’re gonna be on your own? After Henry leaves?” She was touched by his concern.

“What’s that?” Will jumped in, having finally escaped his neighbour.

“It’s fine. I’d just spend the weekend wallowing either way,” she joked.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he insisted. “Why don’t you come out with us? We're going to a show downtown with friends.” Killian gave him a look that she couldn’t place, something chastising. She wondered if this was the band they’d talked about the other day, the one he’d invited her to see.

“No, really, you guys don’t need your sad neighbour killing your vibe. It’s just one weekend alone. I’ll be fine, really.”

“What do you mean a weekend alone?” Henry asked. Where did these guys keep popping out of?

Emma sighed. “Your dad has to go out of town for work. Don’t worry, he’s still going to bring you to school and help you get settled in,” she promised.

“Oh no. Do you want me to stay the weekend? Or do you want to come stay with me?” Emma smiled softly at him. He was such a good kid. But she knew he had a bunch of things planned for the weekend and orientation. He didn’t need his mom there cramping his style.

“No, I’ll be okay, don’t worry.

“We’re trying to convince your mum to come out with us - to cheer her up,” Will told him.

“You should go!” her son insisted.

“No, Henry, it’s fine. I’ll keep myself busy. Don’t worry about me.” She brushed his hair back.

“Really, Mom. I think it’s a good idea."

"Kid…" She couldn't explain why going out with Killian was a bad idea, especially when she couldn't exactly explain it to herself, not without admitting some things she definitely didn't want to admit.

"I’ll feel better knowing you’re out having fun.”

Emma sighed. That was a low blow even if it was unintentional. “Okay."

“Excellent. We’ll pick you up at ten,” Will declared. Killian had been quiet throughout the conversation but he caught her eye then, his expression not quite a smile but something nervous and pleased hiding behind it. Will smirked at Henry. “We’ll get her as sloshed as you’ll be,” he vowed.

A resounding, scolding chorus of "Will" filled the room.

***

The goodbye was the hardest thing Emma had ever done. She’d held it together through the move, the multiple trips back and forth to the dorm, the dinner, the unpacking, the last minute shopping, but the damn had broken when she wrapped her arms around her son and said goodbye to him.

“Just until summer, Mom,” he promised. “I’ll visit all the time. And I’ll be home for Christmas break.”

She nodded against his shoulder, trying and failing to hide her tears. “I know.”

Neal had held her hand the whole drive home, he’d let her cry into his shirt as long as he possibly could before he had to leave, apologising over and over again as she shook her head and told him to go, that she would be fine.

She let herself cry for another hour, smiling through her tears at the photos and texts Henry was diligently sending her to assure her he was okay - and to try keep her from feeling too lonely she was sure - before heading upstairs to get ready.

It was almost ten. Normally she’d be getting ready for bed around now, not dressed in a pair of jeans she had to hop into and a shirt she’d bought because she thought it was fun but never had the nerve to wear. She wiped helplessly at her face. There was nothing to be done about the redness of her eyes but she hoped that some cold water, some makeup, and a dimly-lit bar would hide the worst of it.

The doorbell rang and she hurried downstairs, swinging open the door to Killian standing on the other side. His gaze snapped up to hers, eyes widening for a second as he looked at her. “Swan, you look…"

“Like a wreck,” she finished for him.

“Not in the slightest,” he promised. “Ready to go?” He gestured behind him to a car being driven by a small brunette. The woman waved at her through the window. She looked just out of diapers.

“You sure this is a good idea?”

“Come on,” he laughed.

Emma climbed into the backseat next to a blonde woman as Killian slid in beside her, Will already in the passenger seat. Killian introduced them as Belle and Tink. So this was Belle, her traitorous mind thought jealously. She had no right to be jealous. Killian was her friend - Her far too attractive, twenty-six year old friend who was taking her on a pity night out with a bunch of other twenty-something year olds. Oh god, what was she doing?

“Oh shit,” the blonde said, looking at her. “Will said you were a MILF.”

“Tink!” Belle snapped at the same time as Killian snapped, “Will!”

“Please forgive them,” Belle said. “She’s already had half a bottle of vodka. So had Will when he said that,” she rolled her eyes.

“Sorry,” Will said, abashed.

“You do look great, though,” she added.

“We didn’t get the details but apparently we’re drinking to forget tonight?” Tink clarified.

Emma laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Excellent. I have the perfect recipe for that.”

“Is it just more vodka?” Killian asked.

“Yes.”

They reached the bar shortly - not a campus bar, she was relieved to find. She didn't think she could handle running into Henry. Killian helped her out of the car, giving her that cheeky smile when they reached the sidewalk.

“I hope those are your dancing shoes,” he said when she reached him, speaking low so only she could hear.

“You’re gonna make me dance?” she groaned.

He shook his head. “No, but they are,” he warned, glancing at Belle and Tink who were already doing so in line to the music they could hear coming from inside.

“Great.”

Killian laughed as they got inside, Emma still flustered by the fact that she’d actually been asked for her ID. The bouncer was probably just trying to be nice, she thought as she fumbled to put it back in her wallet.

“Let’s get you a drink, yeah?” She followed him to the bar, the weight of his prosthetic against her lower back comforting as he guided them through the crowd. “What do you want?” he shouted over the music.

She thought for a moment, she hadn’t drank anything besides wine and the occasional cocktail in years. “Whiskey,” she answered, remembering how much she used to enjoy a really good whiskey.

“Well alright, then,” Killian grinned, amused and impressed. He ordered for both of them, passing a bill to the bartender who lingered as she took it. While they were waiting, two men joined them, greeting Killian like old friends. “Emma, this is Robin and Graham,” he introduced.

The four of them got their drinks and joined the others at the table they'd managed to grab. Killian slid into the booth after her, the seven of them squished in so tight that his thigh was pressed to hers. He reached an arm up over her and settled it on the back of the bench to make more room, and Emma found herself accidentally tucked into his side with nowhere to go, Belle just as squished on her other side.

“Well this is cosy.” She was trying to ignore the awkwardness of how she was practically resting against his chest - and the fact that he smelled so damn good - and the way his breath puffed warm against her cheek when he laughed.

“Don’t worry. The band will start soon and those two will be long gone for the rest of the set,” he promised, pointing to Belle and Tink. “Will’ll join them in about three more drinks,” he guessed.

She could feel his jaw moving against her hair as he spoke and she twisted her neck up to see his expression, to ask how many drinks in he’d be joining them. That was a mistake. There was no room between them, her nose nearly bumping against his own before she snapped her head back quickly, apologising.

“You look great by the way,” he said just loud enough to be heard over the music. “That’s what I was trying to say when I picked you up.”

Evade. “I can’t breathe in these jeans.”

Killian smirked playfully. “Well, your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.”

Emma took a sip of her drink to hide her flush, and then another when his laughter rumbled through her and her traitorous heart raced. You’re married. “So, how did you all find each other?” she asked loudly, changing the subject. She’d noticed that not one of them was American. They shared a laugh.

“Robin’s my cousin,” Will answered, pointing to the man who looked closer to her age than the others in their party. “Graham works with me.”

“Will was my roommate in first year and Belle lived next door and kept coming over to complain about the pot smell seeping into her room,” Killian explained and Belle rolled her eyes. “And Tink…” he hesitated.

“Tink just kind of appeared,” Graham finished.

“Like magic,” the blonde smirked.

Will snorted. “Oh, yeah, appeared in our kitchen the morning after this one went out and got hammered.” He stuck his chin out towards Killian and Emma nearly choked on her drink.

“Will!” Belle smacked him.

“What?” Killian rubbed at his brow and Tink rolled her eyes as Will looked between them. “Sorry,” he said and she got the sense that was his go-to even if he wasn’t sure what he’d done.

“That was years ago,” the blonde told her and all Emma could do was nod and smile awkwardly, not sure why the comment was directed at her. Tink’s expression turned wry. “And hardly magic.”

“Hey!” Killian snapped, offended. Everyone laughed.

They chatted a while longer until the band started and the conversation was immediately interrupted, the girls getting up to watch the show and dragging Will along behind them.

“Didn’t even take him three drinks,” she pointed out to Killian.

“Yes, well, Belle can be persuasive.”

“Especially with that idiot,” Robin added.

“Do you want another drink?” Killian offered and she nodded.

“Hey, look,” Graham tapped his friend on the shoulder once Killian was at the bar, pointing to the dance floor. They followed his gaze to where Belle and Will were wrapped up in one another.

“That didn’t take long,” Robin rolled his eyes and Emma frowned.

“Wait, are they together?”

He nodded. "Sort of."

“Oh.” She’d read that wrong, then. So he wasn’t with Belle or Tink.

“How long have you and Killian been hanging out?” Graham started.

"I met him a couple weeks ago." She didn't know if grocery stores and going away parties counted as 'hanging out' though.

“Really?" His smirk was too knowing considering there was nothing to know. "You must have made quite an impression then. I haven’t seen him this smit- Ah!” He shouted, jumping and rubbing his leg, glaring at his friend.

“Killian said your husband’s away for the weekend?” Robin questioned. Graham’s eyes widened before he looked away. She nodded hesitantly, still trying to figure out how that sentence was going to end. “Maybe he’ll come with us next time.”

“Maybe,” she nodded vaguely, looking over to where Killian had made the pretty bartender laugh at something he said. “I’m gonna go help him with those drinks. Do you guys want anything?” They both shook their heads as she got up and she heard them start to argue behind her, the music quickly drowning out their words.

“Swan,” he grinned when she joined him. “Miss me?” The bartender returned with their drinks, handing Killian the two he ordered.

“I can get these,” Emma offered.

“Please,” he shook his head. “You’ve been conned into spending a night partying with Will; you’ve paid enough.”

She smiled. “I like your friends.”

“Me too.”

She managed to stop herself rolling her eyes, deciding to tease him instead. “So, you and Tink, huh?”

He sighed a small laugh, shaking his head. “No. Not for a very long time.”

“Why not? She’s gorgeous. And fun.”

Killian nodded hesitantly. “She is. But I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Why not?” He only shrugged. “You’re a good looking guy. Even the waitress was flirting with you. I’m sure you could find someone if you wanted. ”

His face split into a cocky grin. “You think I’m good looking?” He practically waggled his eyebrows at her and she rolled her eyes. Of course she did. She wasn’t blind.

“I just meant I’m surprised nobody’s caught your eye.”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrected her, but before she could ask what he meant, or find a way to dismiss the look he was giving her, the bartender set a martini down in front of them.

“For you,” she said to Emma. “From that guy.” She pointed to a man in his late thirties at a table behind them who smiled at her, raising his beer in a toast.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” She looked at Killian. “What do I even do with this?” Emma couldn’t remember the last time a random guy had bought her a drink. It was probably Neal.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.”

“Then take it and ignore him,” he said, handing her the whiskey he’d ordered and picking up his own drink.

"That's not rude?"

"That's free booze. He shot his shot and he missed. No reason to let it go to waste."

She contemplated it for a minute before picking the second drink up and Killian beamed. He slung his arm over her shoulders, walking them back to their group. “She’s married, mate,” he told the man as they passed him. “Better luck next time.” Emma elbowed him lightly in the stomach and he giggled, clearly finding himself hilarious.

“He’s gonna think we’re married.”

“You wish you were so lucky,” he flirted and she bit back her smile, face pink. She shouldn’t let him flirt with her so much. And she shouldn’t like it at all.

“Emma!” Belle ran up just as they reached the table. “Come dance with us!” She grabbed her arm, trying to pull her to where Tink and Will were jumping and singing along to the music.

“I just got a drink,” she started. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out dancing, or drinking even. When was the last time she’d had fun for the sake of it, went to a party that wasn’t a work event for Neal? She’d look ridiculous out there with all of these women in their twenties.

“So what? It’ll be fun!”

Killian tried to step in. “Belle, if she doesn’t want to…”

She looked at him. How many times in her young adult life, with a baby on her hip, had she wished she could be out at a place just like this with someone just like him? With a group of friends like this who didn’t care about anything but having fun? She’d missed out on all of her twenties and thirties to take care of her son. But now that he was gone, maybe that meant she didn’t have to miss out on things anymore.

She threw back her whiskey in one shot, and then the martini. Belle threw her hands up, cheering.

“Come on,” Emma said to Killian, “you too.” She was issuing a challenge and she could tell by the glint in his eye that he wasn’t one to back down.

Downing his drink, he set the glass on a nearby table and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Oh my god, you got Killian out here?” Tink gasped as they joined them.

Belle shook her head. “Emma did.”

“You are fun. You can come out anytime!”

The night got fuzzy after that. Killian turned out to be a surprisingly good dancer, despite the fact that he apparently never did it. She wasn’t sure how long they were out there or how many drinks they had, but soon last call was announced and she found herself disappointed at the thought of going home.

“I’m starving,” Belle complained as they hit the street, Emma’s ears still ringing from the music. “McDonalds?”

“No, wait,” Emma insisted despite the consensus. “I know a better place. Follow me!” she demanded, pulling Killian’s jacket tighter around her - when had he given her that? - and taking off down the street, the others stumbling along after her.

Granny’s was just around the corner and they all huddled into a booth as they had in the bar, ordering plates of burgers and fries and onion rings. “You have to try the onion rings” she’d told them. And she was right.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Tink nearly cried over her bite. “How did I not know about this place?”

“It’s been here forever. Your landlady owns it,” Emma told her neighbours.

“I wonder if we can negotiate fries into our rent agreement,” Will pondered around a mouthful.

“I’m so glad you came out with us,” Belle told her and Emma laughed, pretty sure she was saying it because of the food.

Regardless, she agreed. “Yeah, me too."

Killian smiled at her over his plate of onion rings.

He walked her up to her door when Belle dropped the two of them off on their street. Will was apparently not coming home.

“Thanks for tonight. It really helped.”

“You should come out with us again. It was fun.”

She smiled, embarrassed. “You don’t have to keep taking me out because you feel bad for me. Tonight was hard but I’ll be okay, don’t worry. You should have fun with people your own age.”

“Why are you so bothered by my age?” he asked seriously, frustration creeping into his tone. She didn’t have an answer. She did, just not one she could say out loud. The truth was she had to care because it was the only thing keeping her from thinking about him in a way she definitely shouldn’t be. “Did you have fun tonight? Did you like hanging out with us?” She nodded. “And isn’t your husband, like, ten years older than you?” She nodded again. “Then why does it matter that you’re older than us?”

She bit her lip against her smile and he brightened. “I guess it doesn’t.” It didn't, they were just friends. She could have friends who were younger than her. She'd had friends older than her most of her life.

“Good. Because Tink’s already planning a girls’ night with you and Belle. And I like hanging out with you too.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “After Henry was born… All my friends were going out and I was staying in changing diapers and researching cradle cap. Don’t by the way.” His lips twitched up a little. “And they eventually just stopped wanting to hang out with me because I was the boring old mom with a baby who couldn’t go out and party. I guess I’m just surprised you’d want to.”

His expression was warm. “You’re anything but boring, Swan,” he smiled at her, quickly turning mirthful. “Remember, we met when you kicked a ball at my head.” She laughed, hiding her face in her hands. “So I don’t have to tell Tink to cancel her plans?” Emma shook her head. “Good.”

“Hey, Killian,” she called as he turned and left. “Thanks. It was nice to feel a little young and reckless.”

He smirked. “Feel free to call me up anytime you feel like being young and reckless.”

She was in her room getting changed for bed by the time she realised she was still wearing his jacket. Taking it off, she hid it in the back of her closet, next to her stash of snacks, where she kept the rest of her secrets.

***

PART TWO

“How was the conference?” She asked Neal as he unpacked his bag that Sunday evening.

“Oh, you know, boring. Bunch of guys talking shop. But we got some good connections and a couple new potential clients. What did you get up to?”

Emma shrugged. “Nothing very exciting. Lots of Netflix.”

She didn’t know why she was lying. He was her husband; she should be telling him the truth. But the truth was that she’d ended up spending almost all weekend with their neighbour. She’d gone back the next afternoon - the morning had not been kind to her - to bring Killian back his jacket and found him on his way out to the gym.

“You’re going to the gym? After last night?”

“Got a bit of a headache there, love?” he’d teased. Yes. And every muscle in her body ached from dancing. Apparently he liked boxing, something Emma told him she did too when she was in college. He’d raised his brows in surprise. “Now this I’ve got to see.” And somehow, after much persuasion and promises of unfrosted Pop Tarts - “you monster” - she’d found herself throwing punches at a bag while he held it steady and egged her on.

There was something very dangerous about working out with Killian. It was far too distracting, too easy to catch herself staring at the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed as he threw punches - and elbows with his left - or the way sweat beaded on his forehead, his hair damp and falling into his eyes. It was doing that now, wet from the shower.

“Are you thinking of taking the course?” he asked, catching her holding a flyer that was pinned on the bulletin board in the gym. A certification course for a bail bondsperson exam. She’d been staring at while she waited for him to come out of the locker room.

“I don’t know. It was just a thought. It’s dumb,” she shook her head, dropping it. She’d accepted the fact that she wasn’t going back to school this year, that she wouldn’t change Neal’s mind. But she could probably do this without him noticing, she could do it and get a job and have her own money. And it was something related to law - sort of. She’d just thought, maybe…

“It’s not dumb if you want to do it.” He pulled the flyer off and handed it to her. How did he always say the right thing?

“Don’t they have to chase people down though? Fight? I don’t know if I could do that.”

“You could if we keep coming here,” he suggested. “I could teach you. You already pack a hell of a punch and I was trained in combat.” She’d said she’d think about it, but she put the flyer in her purse just in case.

On Sunday Killian had been outside working in the yard while she sat curled on a lawn chair, wrapped in a blanket trying to catch the last of the fall sunshine. She’d watched him for a while, as he struggled with the small garden that Mrs. Lucas had tended to for decades, attempting to cover it with a tarp that kept getting caught in the wind. She laughed when he kicked the thing and he looked up at the sound.

“You’re gonna kill those plants,” she warned him.

“And I suppose you could do better?”

She’d hopped up out of her chair and over to his yard. “Yes.”

Grabbing the other end of the tarp she’d taken a look at the neglected garden that her previous neighbour had taught her how to tend, little Henry digging around in the soil for worms while Mrs. Lucas explained planting times and pruning. “You can’t cover it like this.” Emma told him. “They’ll all be dead in the spring.” And somehow, she’d spent the rest of the day working out back with him, preparing the yard for winter, until she got a text from Neal that he was almost home.

“Well, maybe we can do something fun this weekend,” he suggested.

“Yeah,” she told her husband as he hung his shirts in the closet. “That sounds nice.”

***

Over the next week Emma pulled the flyer out of her purse again and again, debating. And every time she did, the idea was more appealing. What was even more appealing was getting out of the house, having a purpose again to work towards. She could have a job to go to every day, something to do other than make up chores around the house and cook dinner for her and Neal. She’d called Killian that evening.

“I want to hire you.”

“Hire me?”

“As my trainer - if the offer’s still good.”

“Okay, but you don’t need to pay me -”

“Yes I do,” she’d insisted and he’d known better than to push. She had to pay him. This had to be a working situation or she worried it could be seen as something else, by Neal, by him, by herself. She couldn’t justify seeing her attractive young neighbour multiple times a week any other way. If the roles were reversed, if she were a man, she didn't have to guess at what it would look like, the gossip that would flood the neighbourhood - the gossip that still could.

“Alright. Why don’t we start tomorrow?”

The solidness of the pad against her gloves felt good as they collided. She remembered the feeling, the burn of her muscles and the endorphins that came with whaling on something. She hit it again, and again, as many times as he told her to.

“We’re going out on Friday,” Killian said as she landed another punch. “If you want to come with us.”

“I can’t.” The next one hit a little harder. “Neal and I have plans.”

She was already dreading the work dinner, another stuffy, dull affair where she had to smile and make nice with the other partners who were dragged along by their spouses. She didn’t dislike Neal’s coworkers, it was more that they were all shop. Business and finance were their whole lives and she couldn’t really care less about it. It was hard to fake interest in bonds and stocks.

“Too bad. Will'll be let down.”

She huffed a little laugh, hit the pad again. “Not you?”

He smirked. “Aye, me too. But I get to see you three times a week. And I could just extend our sessions if that’s not enough.”

“Speaking of,” she started, throwing another punch. “When do I get to hit something besides this thing?”

Killian’s brows rose in amusement. “What are you hoping to hit?”

She cocked her head at him. “I think I could probably take you.”

“Not a chance, Swan. But I applaud your courage.” His whole demeanour was so smug that now she actually wanted to see if she could win. “It’s a bit early for sparring.”

“We’ve been doing this for two weeks,” she argued. “I’ve sparred before and I’m pretty sure the perps hit back.”

“Perps. Look at you using the terms already. Have you been studying?”

“Alright. That’s it. Let’s go.”

“Swan…”

“What?” she teased. “Afraid you can’t handle it?” If there was one thing she’d discovered about Killian in the time she’d known him, it was that he was incapable of backing down from a challenge. Sometimes it was fun to see just how far she could push him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Gear up.”

In the end, it turned out she’d been the one who couldn’t handle it. She’d managed to land a few good blows. “Careful,” he’d warned when she’d nearly gotten him on his stupidly sharp cheekbone. “I know many lovely ladies who would be inconsolable if you damaged this face.” She’d aimed for his stupid smirk the next time, which he’d clearly been anticipating as he blocked it and knocked her on her ass. Killian stood over her, cocky and smug. “Better luck next time.” Emma glared. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist a challenge.

***

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” Neal asked over breakfast.

Emma shrugged. “Nothing big. Maybe just dinner with you and Henry?” She hadn’t seen her son in almost six weeks, allowing him time to settle into his new environment. But she was pretty sure she got a pass on the cool, understanding mom role for her birthday.

“That’s it? It’s your fortieth! You don’t want to do something fancy? Host a send off for your youth?” he teased. Emma narrowed her eyes at him. He was fifty-two and somehow the topic of his youth never came up. Neal laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m only kidding, you know that,” he insisted, kissing the crown of her head as he passed. “I already spoke to Henry. He’s made himself free the day of, so we can go pick him up. Why don’t we go to that place you like in the city?”

Emma nodded. “Sounds perfect.”

“I forgot to mention,” he added as he headed out the door. “Henry called and asked if you’d seen his notebook. He says he can’t find it.”

“Doesn’t he have like a hundred notebooks?”

“Yeah, apparently he’d already started something in this one.” Neal paused, thinking. “Black cover, leather, with a tie around it. I said we’d try find it.”

“Okay. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Neal nodded, getting ready to head out when he looked back at her strangely. “You look different. Did you change something?”

Emma shook her head. “I joined a gym,” she shrugged. “Hired a trainer.”

He smiled, pleased. “I knew you’d find something to keep you busy.” She hated the resentment that reared its head at his words. She’d be a month into classes by now. “I’ll be working late tonight,” Neal let her know. “Don’t wait up.”

“Again?”

“Just until this deal is done. I told you.”

And then she was alone again. She felt like she always was these days. Stuck in their big empty house, Neal at work, always working late, Henry away at school, and most of her friends worked during the day - even Killian had been busy in the week since their sparring match. She’d only seen him at the gym. Apparently he had some big deadline yesterday for his thesis. On the days that she saw him she was alright. But on the days that she didn’t she just felt antsy, bored… lonely. The evenings were the worst. It was harder to keep busy then.

She decided to try and find Henry’s notebook. Maybe she could use it as an excuse to swing by his dorm and see him, maybe meet up for a coffee or lunch between classes. It felt strange to be in his room, Emma realised she hadn’t really been in here since he moved out - it made her miss him more.

She looked on and in his desk, under the bed, under the mattress, in his dresser, nothing. Sighing, she tackled his closet. It was full of boxes. Things he’d decided he didn’t want to take with him, but couldn’t bring himself to part with for good: old books, photos, clothes, keepsakes…

She noticed one in the back, a cigar box, small and probably not big enough to hold the journal but she figured she might as well check just to be safe. She’d checked all the others. The notebook was probably with him at school at this point. Emma picked up the little cigar box, opened it. The smell hit her first.

“You little shit,” Emma cursed under her breath with a disbelieving smirk. There was no notebook, but there was a lighter and a couple of pre-rolled joints in a baggy. She wanted to laugh. She knew she should probably be angry, but in reality she’d always worried that Henry was a little too careful, a little too straight-laced, that he didn’t know how to have fun, how to let loose - not unlike herself. That night out almost a month ago with Killian and his friends had been the most she’d let her hair down in over a decade. And she’d liked it.

She didn’t let herself overthink it, pocketing the baggie and heading downstairs, she was across the yard within a minute. Killian opened the door to her knock, that smile that always made him look so happy to see her bright on his face.

“Swan! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you make your deadline?” She didn’t want to distract him from anything important.

“Yes…”

“Remember when you said I could call you up anytime I wanted to do something young and reckless?”

Curiosity simmered in his eyes. “Aye?” Emma produced the baggie and his lips curled up in surprised delight. “Well then, come on in.” She followed him into the living room, realising she hadn’t been in his house since that day he’d offered her a ride. “Where did you get this?” he asked, taking and opening the ziplock.

“I found Henry’s stash.”

“You stole it?”

“I confiscated it,” she corrected and he smirked at her. “It’s a lesson. The kid needs to learn how to hide things better,” Emma shrugged.

Still holding back a laugh, he nodded as he found a lighter on a nearby table. “Are you sure you want to do this? When was the last time you smoked?”

She had to think for a minute. “Before Henry was born. Wait, is this okay? I don’t want to like… corrupt you or something.”

“Emma, you’ve seen who I live with, right?” he asked, brow ticking up. “If anything, I think I’m corrupting you.”

He took out one of the pre-rolled joints and brought it to his lips, cupping his prosthetic around the flame as he lit it, then took a long drag and handed it to her. She only hesitated for a second, watching him tilt his head back and blow smoke out in a cloud towards the ceiling before she brought it to her mouth and inhaled. Her attempt was far less graceful than his, the smoke burning her out-of-practice throat and making her choke and cough.

Killian laughed under his breath as she got hers under control and took another, less embarrassing drag and handed it back to him. Her third attempt was much smoother and she lifted it to her lips a fourth time but Killian’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling it back.

“Maybe give it a minute.” He was way too amused by this. “Don’t want you to end up couch-locked.” Emma didn’t know what that meant but it didn’t sound good, so she handed him the joint, watching him snuff it out, and waiting.

It hit her faster than she remembered, the edges going soft and fuzzy as she felt herself lighten, feeling floaty as her muscles relaxed in one glorious swoop. She shut her eyes, enjoying the feeling for a minute, remembering it, that silly, giggly warmth starting to creep in. When she opened them he was watching her.

“How do you feel?”

“Awesome.” Her own smile felt goofy and she was sure she was looking at him like an idiot but she couldn’t bring herself to care - especially not when he returned it. “No wonder Will does this all the time.”

Killian laughed and Emma was struck by how much she liked the sound. She hadn’t noticed before what a good sound it was. She looked down at the floor, the rug under her feet. It looked soft and comfy, more so than the dark leather that was growing hot under her weight. She started to shift, deciding it was a better place to sit, and Killian started laughing again.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting on the floor. What does it look like?”

Her limbs weren’t cooperating the way she’d have liked them to, her head too light as she awkwardly made her way down. He reached out for her, helping her when she wobbled dizzily and joining her on the ground.

“Thanks,” she smiled, still holding on to him. Emma narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, inspecting his face more closely. There was stubble on his cheeks where usually it was smooth. “Are you growing a beard?” she asked distractedly.

He touched his jaw, looking surprised to find it coarse. “No. I just didn’t have time to shave the last few days - too distracted.”

“With your big, important deadline?”

He huffed a laugh. “Aye. With my big, important deadline.”

Emma reached out, fingers tracing the shadow on his cheek and along his jaw. Killian turned his face into her plam, smile relaxed and light. “It looks good,” she told him, her hand dropping from his face and landing on his prosthetic. “Sorry.”

Killian shook his head, dismissing her apology, and she caught herself tracing the hard plastic, drawing over the knuckles and up over where it covered his forearm through his shirt. When she looked back at him, he was eyeing her carefully, something soft and heavy in the way he looked at her.

“You can ask, if you want.”

“Does it hurt?”

He blinked, clearly that hadn’t been the question he was expecting. “No. Not most of the time. Sometimes it does - at night usually.”

“Your body forgets it’s not there.”

“Aye.” His nod was slow, whether because of the drugs or because it was difficult to admit she wasn’t sure.

“Did it happen in battle?” She’d wondered since she saw that picture of him and his brother in the entrance. Killian shook his head.

“Car accident. A drunk driver hit us.”

“Us?”

“Me, my brother, and my girlfriend… They didn’t make it.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Oh, Killian.” She reached for his false hand, wrapping her own around it and drawing it to her chest. She pressed a kiss to the knuckles and turned to look at him. He was watching her, lips parted and breath unsteady. “How old were you?”

“Ninteen,” he breathed, eyes focused on the hand she still held close.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You know what the worst part was?” Emma shook her head. “They were the last of my family,” he admitted. She wanted to hug him. “I came here right after though. And I met my friends.” Killian gave her a little smile. “They helped.”

“Friends do help,” she agreed, thinking of how much he and his friends had helped her that weekend Henry left, how much he’d helped since she met him. “I didn’t have family either.” She didn’t usually tell people that. The pot was making her tongue loose. She was pretty sure it was doing the same to him. People didn't go around confessing the sort of things they were confessing. “They gave me up before I was old enough to remember them.”

He nodded. “That’s why you got married.”

“I didn’t want Henry to grow up like I did.”

“You’re a good mum.”

“Apparently I’m a MILF according to Tink,” she smirked, leaning back against the sofa, pleased with herself.

His laugh was genuine, his smile happy despite the sadness they’d just shared and she felt the warmth starting to seep in again. He really was a gorgeous man, and the beard only added to it, his smile made even more beautiful by the fact that it was still there despite all the tragedy life had thrown at him.

“What?” he asked after she’d been staring too long.

“I’m hungry.”

Killian laughed. “There it is. Hold on, I’ll get something.”

“Did you remember to hide your snacks?”

“Yeah,” he said, shooting her a terrible wink from the kitchen. “But Will didn’t.” He came back with sour candies and Cheetos. “Pick your poison.”

Both. She wanted both and Killian watched in horror as she took a handful of candy and cheese and shoved it in her mouth at once. “What?” she asked, words muffled around the food.

“That’s disgusting.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re such a picky eater.”

“Knowing which Pop-Tarts are the best and not to mix Cheetos and candy doesn’t make me picky - it makes me sane.”

She rolled her eyes again, taking his hand and putting both in his palm. “Try it.”

He eyed her warily but did, grimacing as he tried the snack. She smirked triumphantly when he didn’t spit it out. “It’s not awful,” he allowed.

“Told ya. With age comes wisdom, buddy. Remember that,” she added around another handful.

They made their way to the bottom of both bags, Killian turning on some music that he was convinced she’d like, and lit up the joint a second time. At some point they found themselves laying on the rug in the middle of the room, Killian humming along to the song, just out of sync, mind and mouth slowed down in the same way hers was.

She leaned up on her elbow, looking at him, eyes shut, all worry and stress wiped from his brow, like he could be asleep if it wasn’t for his lips curled in the tiniest of grins. He looked peaceful. Like a statue or a painting, beauty frozen in time, and she itched to trace the lines of his face. But even stoned she knew that was a bad idea.

“You’re staring,” he smirked without opening his eyes. “It’s creepy.”

“You have a really nice face." Her voice was dreamy and far away. His smile wobbled as he tried to fight it. “It matches the rest of you.”

He lost the fight, laughing. “Glad to know you’ve been looking.”

Emma tisked at him. “No.” Well, yes. “I mean all of you. You’re a nice person.”

He finally cracked an eye open, the blue looking brighter after having been hidden so long. “You’re high,” he accused.

“I mean it,” she insisted, laying back down, curled on her side to look at him.

Killian mirrored her. “Thank you.” Emma smiled at him, proud of winning an argument she wasn’t completely sure they were having. His gaze traced over her face, her eyes, her lips, her hair and the air grew heavy between them. When he spoke his voice was low over the music still playing softly in the background.

“Can I say something that I shouldn’t and blame it on the drugs?” She caught her lip between her teeth, heart hammering, and nodded. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” A lump caught in her throat, eyes burning at the declaration, at the years she was attaching to them that weren’t his fault. Kilian’s brow pulled up in concern. “Why does that make you sad?” he asked gently.

Emma shook her head. “It doesn’t. It’s just - not something I’ve heard in a long time.”

He frowned, disbelieving. “That you’re beautiful? But your husband - Neal - he must -” He cut himself off when she looked away, more tears burning at her eyes that she didn’t let fall.

A heavy pause held between them and she didn’t know if it was the drugs loosening her tongue again or the fact that she hadn’t been able to say it to anyone that sent the words tumbling out, but they did before she could stop them. “Neal and I haven’t… been together in almost a year.” It wasn’t as though it was his fault. They hadn’t been very amourous for a long time and she hadn’t been instigating much herself. But a little less than a year ago, he’d just stopped trying.

Killian’s eyes saddened and it made her want to cry more. Emma wasn’t blind. She knew he had a bit of a crush on her, but he didn’t rejoice in the fact that her marriage was falling apart, didn’t take the chance to disparage her husband. He was sad because she was sad, and it hurt for reasons she couldn’t explain.

He reached for her, arm crossing the short space between them to wrap around her waist, pulling her to him and holding her against his chest. Emma tucked her nose against his collarbone, fighting the part of her that wanted to cry as he held her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her temple and she shook her head. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” she echoed. “I came over to get high and have fun and now I’m crying all over your shirt.” Her fingers fisted in the fabric next to her cheek.

“Hush, Swan,” he said, once again refusing her apology. “It’s Will’s shirt anyway,” he shrugged and she laughed. He always made her laugh.

They lay together for a while, until she had herself back under control. Emma wasn’t sure when his fingers had started tracing patterns over her spine, or when she’d begun to breath him in, the addictive, salt and leather smell comforting as it enveloped her, but she knew it was probably too long.

His hand traced up her back, into the ends of her hair, combing through it until it settled at the nape of her neck. She lifted her head to look at him, faces inches apart, his thumb tracing across her cheek as he watched her reaction before shutting his eyes. His brow pinched, breath leaving him on a heavy exhale.

“If you weren’t married,” he started, another sigh, “I’d try kiss you right now.”

She shut her own eyes, breathed deep, leather and salt. “If I wasn’t married, I’d let you.”

Emma could feel his heart pounding under her hand, racing at her answer. She wanted him to. She had wanted him to since they’d argued in the damn grocery store. Her hand slid up his shoulder to find the hair at the back of his neck, silky against her fingers.

She could lie to herself all she wanted that this was some one-sided infatuation, that their age difference mattered, that it was insane to feel like this about someone she barely knew. But none of that was true, none of it was standing in her way.

“Swan,” he breathed when she inched towards him, tilted her chin up until their noses brushed, until she could feel his breath on her lips. His fingers tightened in her hair, but he didn’t move, only parted his lips. She wanted to, more than she’d wanted anything in a very long time. She dipped her head, just nearly feeling the hot brush of his mouth against hers before she stopped, pressing her lips together in a hard line. Her hand settled on his chest again, a barrier this time. She couldn’t.

“But I am married.”

Killian nodded, forehead pressed to hers, eyes still shut, but didn’t pull back. “Do you love him?”

She couldn’t answer that. She didn’t know. And what scared her was that if she didn’t love him now, then she probably never did. She didn’t care about him any less than she had when they’d gotten married, when she was twenty-one and thought it was enough to keep them together, to give their son a home. It may never have been love at all. But whether it was or not, Neal didn’t deserve this, not after he’d stayed faithful to her and their family all these years.

“After I lost Milah,” he started and she sucked in a breath, sure he could feel her heart pounding under his thumb as it traced the line of her jaw. “I never thought that I’d feel - that I’d even want to feel…” His brow furrowed against hers, thumb moving to brush gently over her bottom lip, tongue sliding over his own as he pulled back enough to meet her gaze. “And then I met you.”

Emma couldn’t breathe. The way he was looking at her - the weight of what he’d just admitted heavy on her chest, like a weight she wished she could be released from, that she could be reckless and selfish and admit what she wanted. But she was married. She’d made a promise to Neal all those years ago, and he to her. He’d stood by his promise, and she couldn’t throw that in his face, couldn’t risk her family.

“I can’t do this to him. I can’t rip Henry’s world apart either.” Killian nodded again but she could see the heartbreak in his eyes before he looked away. “I should go.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Emma,” he admitted, still holding her close. She was the one who would have to pull away.

“You won’t. We're friends. We can keep being friends,” she promised, as though that was ever really what this was. “But we can’t do this.” She dropped her hand and he let her go, both of them sitting up.

“Aye,” he agreed, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Can we write this off as something we shouldn’t have done and blame it on the drugs?” she tried, echoing his words from before with a forced smile. It fell flat.

“Of course.”

Emma got up and grabbed her things, crossing the room to the door. When she looked back he wasn’t looking at her, focusing on the rug in front of him.

***

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to see him in almost a week, blaming it on studying for the course she’d finally registered for. She’d skipped their sessions at the gym and hid indoors whenever he was outside. Twice he’d called her and she’d let it go to voicemail.

It wasn’t that Emma didn’t trust him. She just didn’t trust herself around him. She kept waking up at night, laying next to her husband, remembering the feel of Killian’s fingers on her cheek, on her back and in her hair, imagining them against her skin, on her breasts, between her legs, imagining his lips taking their place.

She couldn’t look him in the eye when every time she thought of him she was overwhelmed by the images. But it had only been a few days, she told herself. She would get it under control. Things would get back to normal.

“I have to go on another business trip,” Neal told her that evening when he came home from work. “This is a big shot. If all goes right, it’ll turn everything around.”

“When do you leave?”

“Wednesday. Should be back on Monday night before your birthday and then we can go out,” he promised.

“Alright. Hope it’s not too boring.”

He chuckled. “It’s always boring. That’s why I don’t drag you along with me.”

“So thoughtful of you,” she teased.

“What are you going to get up to?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Emma still hadn’t told him about the bail bondsperson certification. She worried that bringing it up would start a conversation - maybe even an argument- she wasn’t ready to have - especially if things weren’t certain. It was better to wait until she found out if she passed before mentioning it.

She was sitting at home studying that Thursday when she got a text from Killian.

Going to the pub tonight - Belle wants you to join. Thinks you'll get me to dance again.

Emma smiled sadly at the text, the olive branch he was sending out. It was a bad idea. Killian and dancing and booze were a dangerous combination that she wasn’t ready to face. She sent him back a picture of her open study guide, answering that she couldn’t tonight. But eventually, she promised herself.

The knock on her door startled her awake that night and she fumbled for her phone. Two AM, who the fuck was at her door at two in the morning? She was furious for a whole ten seconds before panic seized her. Had something happened to Henry? To Neal? There was another knock and she hurried downstairs, heart racing, afraid of finding police on her doorstep. But when she swung the door open she found Kilian - Killian supporting a half-conscious Henry.

“What happened?” she demanded, hands cupping her son’s face, looking him over for injuries.

“He’s alright, Swan, don’t worry. He’s just had too much to drink.”

“What? Henry, can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Henry lifted his head slowly, like it weighed a hundred pounds and met her eyes, brow pinched. “Don’t tell my mom,” he begged her, words slurred.

“I am your mom, kid.” His face paled and he started crying. “How the hell did this happen?” she asked Killian, helping him bring her drunk eighteen-year-old inside.

“I don’t know. We were in the same pub. I found him passed out in the bathroom. He was asking for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry whined as they set him down on the bathroom floor, Emma rolling up a towel to put under his head.

She brushed his hair off his face. “It’s alright, you’re home, baby. Tomorrow’s gonna suck though.” He whined again. Emma looked up at Killian. “Are you sure it was just alcohol?”

He nodded. “I think so. Tink strong-armed some of his friends for answers.”

“Okay. That’s good.” It didn't look like alcohol poisoning, just a regular old first night of overdrinking. “What was he doing in a bar? He’s eighteen.”

Killian laughed softly. “He’s a freshman, love. It’s practically required to black out at least once before midterms.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not helping.”

His smirk didn’t leave his face. “I’ll get him some water,” he offered.

“Am I in trouble?” Henry asked pathetically.

“No. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll wait and see if your hangover is punishment enough.” Henry whimpered in answer and then shot up, leaning over the toilet bowl and puking his guts out. “There you go,” she soothed, rubbing his back. “Get it all out.”

Killian returned with water and a blanket. “It looks like the lad’s going to be camped out in the bathroom for the night.” As if on cue, Henry threw up again. When he was done, Killian sat down on the floor with them, handing him the glass.

“Alright, drink up,” he ordered. Her son did as he was told. “Have you got any bread?”

“That’s an old wives tale.”

“It’s not,” he insisted. “It soaks up the liquor.”

“All it does is give you something to puke up.”

“Don’t talk about liquor,” Henry muttered, sounding a bit more coherent than he had when he’d first walked in. “Or puking,” he added, before doing just that. Killian handed him the water again, making him drink.

“Thanks for bringing him home.”

“Of course.” He looked down at her son. “Do you think he’s got it out of his system?” he asked as Henry settled his head back down in her lap. “He was sick a few times at the pub before we left.”

Emma brushed the back of her hand over Henry’s forehead. He was snoring softly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.”

“You don’t have to stay. I’ve got it from here.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked up at him. His jaw clenched and his shoulders tense as he set down the glass and stood.

“Killian…”

“It’s fine. I have class tomorrow. I’m glad he’s okay.” He hesitated. “Will I see you at the gym next week?”

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she sighed, looking down at Henry who was still sleeping soundly.

“Swan,” he hesitated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she shook her head, unable to look at him. “It was mine. I just… What we did - what we almost did, it can’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Yes, it will,” she admitted because she knew it would. Even now she wanted to keep him here, to let him wrap his arms around her again and give in. But she had to think about her family.

“Emma -”

“And it can’t.” She finally forced herself to look at him, seeing the same conflict playing out over his features, reflected back at her. “I just need some space right now. I need to figure some stuff out. Just… give me some time, okay?”

He watched her for a moment, expression breaking her heart before he nodded. “Okay, Swan.” Killian hesitated another moment before leaving. “I guess I’ll see you around the neighbourhood.”

Then he was gone.

***

The bathroom door opened, waking Emma from where she’d dozed off on the couch. Once Henry had been asleep for a while, with no sign of getting sick again, she still hadn’t wanted to leave him. So she’d settled on the sofa to wait it out. Now she had a crick in her neck and a sore back. She winced as she sat up, Henry standing bashfully by the door, looking like the walking dead.

“How’s your head?”

“Horrible.” His voice was dry and raw, eyes half shut against the sunlight.

“Yeah, drinking your body weight will do that to you.”

Henry grimaced. “It was an accident.”

“What, you just accidentally dropped a couple pitchers of beer down your throat?” She was doing her best not to laugh.

“It wasn’t beer, it was some mixed thing - Jungle Juice. Everyone had it.”

She did laugh at that, a pitying chuckle. “Oh, kid.”

“Can you mock me later?” he begged. “I feel like I ate sand... And then puked it up.”

“Go upstairs, drink some water, brush your teeth. And take a shower, you reek. Then come back down here and we’ll talk about last night.”

He trekked slowly and begrudgingly up to his room, wincing with every step he took. Oh yeah, she remembered her first hangover too. From the look of it, it was probably punishment enough for his night of teenage delinquency. She’d let him off easy - but not too easy. When he came back down shortly after, she held out a couple of painkillers.

“Take these,” she instructed, dropping them in his hand. He squinted at them, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Here, to chase it down,” she offered, holding a glass full of whiskey under his nose. Henry’s face turned green, hand coming up to his mouth.

He gagged. “I’m gonna puke again.”

“What? You don’t want a drink?” she asked, pushing the glass towards him. “I thought you were a big partier now.”

“Mom,” he begged and she smirked, setting the glass down.

“So what have we learned?”

“Don’t drink the Jungle Juice.”

“That’s right. You’re in college. If you’re gonna drink, stick to beer.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I am,” Emma promised. “I'm mad that you were so dumb about it. But it’s not like I can stop you. You’re an adult. But if you’re gonna do adult stuff you’re gonna have to deal with adult-sized consequences. Like hangovers.”

“Are they always this bad?” he whined.

“Mhm. And they only get worse the older you get.”

“Are you gonna tell dad?”

“You know I have to. But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you - this time. You get one dumb pass. Promise me you'll be more careful next time.” He nodded, letting his head fall against his arms folded on the table. She brushed a hand over his hair. “I’ll make some breakfast. It’ll help.”

“Was Killian here?” he asked as she was taking eggs out of the fridge. She froze, suddenly wondering how much he remembered. She was pretty sure he’d been asleep when they’d spoken. She only hoped that if he’d heard them he hadn’t put together what they were talking about.

“Yeah,” she answered as casually as she could. “He found you in the bar and brought you home.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Emma laughed, with a small sigh of relief. “You were pretty rough.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “I got some good pics.” She turned it to show him a few choice ones of him wrapped around the toilet bowl.

Henry blanched. “What are you gonna do with those?”

She winked. “Blackmail. For when future girlfriends come over.”

“I’m never living this down am I?”

“Absolutely not.”

He ate the plate she made him, devouring it in a frenzy she remembered well and then asked if he could go back up to his room and sleep. She sent him up with more water, promising to drive him back to school in the evening.

***

It was early the next morning when she remembered she still had to call Neal and let him know about last night. There were some secrets she could keep for her kid - this wasn't one of them. She’d forgotten to tell him last night, only having brought Henry back to school late and he’d called her before bed to tell her the deal had gone through. He’d been a little tipsy and out celebrating with his partners; she hadn’t wanted to kill his good mood.

It wasn’t quite eight yet but her husband had always been a bit of an early riser and she was pretty sure that any work wouldn’t have started yet. So she picked up her phone and called him - hoping to catch him before he headed out to whatever closing meeting or contract signing he had today.

It went straight to voicemail. She tried again and the same thing happened. Emma rolled her eyes. Neal had a bad habit of forgetting to plug his phone in at night and leaving it to die by morning. She looked through their text messages for the name of the hotel he was staying at and his room number, figuring she’d try that and if she didn’t reach him she’d just call tonight.

Someone at the front desk answered and transferred her to his room. The phone rang a few times. By the fourth ring Emma was about ready to hang up when someone picked up. It was a woman, a small giggle greeting her before a casual, “Hello?”

Emma blinked, thrown by the strange voice on the other end. “I’m sorry. I think they gave me the wrong room. I’m looking for Neal -”

“Who is it, babe?” someone else in the room asked. She knew that voice.

“I don’t know,” the woman answered. “Did you order a wakeup call?”

There was a shuffling on the other end and then suddenly Neal was on the line. “Hello?” She couldn’t speak, too stunned, too shocked, heartbroken, angry. There was a long pause before he spoke again, voice hesitant and nervous. “Emma?” She still didn’t answer. “Emma, is that you? I can explain,” he started quickly, cagey and panicked. “I… we… I mean, she,” he stumbled over his words.

Emma hung up. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Her phone started ringing. She let it, staring at the screen, her husband’s name flashing in large letters. Her husband of eighteen years. Her husband that she’d respected too much to betray only days ago. Her husband who was apparently sleeping with someone else.

She didn’t know how long she sat there staring at her phone, how many times he called, but it was midday when the key turned in the lock and she looked up to see Neal walking through the front door. He shut it, standing in the entranceway, looking at her with trepidation and guilt.

“Ems…” he started.

“Who is she?”

“Emma -”

“Who is she?”

He sighed, heavy and defeated. “Tamara.”

“Your secretary?” she baulked. Be more of a cliche, why don’t you? He didn’t answer. “Is that what you’ve been really doing? Every time you had a late night or a work conference?” She’d been such an idiot.

“No,” he shook his head. “Not every time. The company really was struggling.” He looked down, ashamed. “It’s why we couldn’t afford your tuition. Things have been rough and with everything that’s been going on and all the late nights, Tamara just -”

“How long?” He didn’t answer. “How long?”

“A year.”

“A year?” she repeated. “A year?” So he hadn’t just been sleeping with someone. This was an affair, something he’d lied to her about for a full year while he pretended everything was normal, while they played happy family and kept her in the dark about the state of their finances.

He joined her at the table, sitting next to her and taking her hands. She pulled them free. “I’m sorry, Ems. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I - I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Which are you sorry about? That you hurt me or that I found out?”

“Both,” he answered honestly. “I wanted to tell you. I just couldn’t…”

“Do you love her?” She needed to know, had to understand. He looked at her with remorse. “Do you?” He nodded, looking away, unable to hold her gaze. “Why? Why didn’t you just leave me? Why cheat?”

“We’re a family - you, me, Henry - I care about you Emma, I always have. I didn’t want to break us apart. I couldn’t do that to our kid.”

The words were so familiar, so like what she’d told Killian when she’d come close to doing the same thing. Is that what this was? Is that what their relationship had become? The two of them just staying together for the sake of their kid? How long had it been like this? Maybe it always was.

She should have been angrier, she should have been heartbroken, jealous, devastated. But instead there was only a kind of numbness, an acceptance, and some other feeling that she couldn’t place, a weight lifted.

“Did you ever love me?” she asked.

“Emma, of course I -”

“No, I mean it. When we got married, it was for Henry; we both knew that. But in the last eighteen years, did you love me?”

He sighed, looked down at their hands. “I think I did. I loved us.”

“But not anymore.” He started to say her name again, consoling, apologetic. “No, it’s okay.” She took a deep breath. This was the worst possible way they could be having this conversation. But it was also more than a decade overdue. “I think maybe we’ve both been trying to play the part for a long time. Maybe it’s time we stopped.”

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

“I’m furious at you,” she answered and he grimaced, nodding, expecting it. “I’m so angry at you, Neal, for all of it. For cheating, for lying, for how you handled all of it. A year. A fucking year and you just let me go on like an idiot, oblivious, giving things up so that our family could be happy while you went off and did whatever the hell you wanted!”

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. And I really, really want to hate you for it.” Her hands were shaking, the anger that had been evading her boiling to the surface now and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “We’re not happy. We haven’t made each other happy for a long time. We stayed together for Henry, but he’s a grownup now. He doesn’t need us to play happy family for him anymore.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I think we should get a divorce.”

The words left her and she inhaled sharply. It was as though finally saying those words out loud took all the tension, all the doubt and the loneliness she’d been carrying with her for years with them. She felt relieved. That was the feeling she hadn’t been able to place. Relieved that they were done pretending, that she didn’t have to keep living a lie. She felt free for the first time in almost twenty years.

“What will we tell Henry?” he asked, the question making her pause. Henry. His world was about to get turned upside down. But he was a strong kid, smart, resilient. He would be upset, of course he would, but he was older now, he’d understand that they didn’t love him any less just because they didn’t want to be together anymore.

“Let’s not tell him anything right away. But I think you should find somewhere else to stay while we sort everything out. Not with her -” she added quickly, serious about that. “Not yet. That’s just… too much. For me and for him. And I think you should make an excuse to miss my birthday.”

He nodded. “Okay.” Neal stood, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I’ll find a hotel. I’ll go get my things.”

“Okay.”

And that was it. Her marriage was over. Neal was packed and out within an hour. The house was quiet, empty, but for the first time in a long time it didn’t feel lonely. Emma could see her life ahead of her now, possibility, freedom at her fingertips. The hope of happiness on the horizon after years of settling, of being a passive participant in her own life. This was her fresh start. And she knew exactly how she wanted to start it.

Will answered when she knocked on the door, eyeing her warily. She wondered how much he knew.

“Is Killian home?”

“Aye… he’s upstairs.”

“Thanks.”

She pushed past him, finding Killian’s room by the familiar music that was playing softly through the door. She didn’t bother knocking, stepping in and finding him laying on his bed reading. He looked up in surprise.

“Swan?” His movements were slow and measured as he set his book down and sat up, treading carefully.

“Hi.”

“... Hi,” he echoed, frowning.

“Neal’s having an affair.” She hadn’t put any thought into how to tell him this. Apparently she was just going to blurt it out. “It’s been going on for a year now.”

His mouth fell open in disbelief, brow pinching tight. “I’m so sorry, love.” Killian stood, pausing at the edge of his bed, cocking his head, trying to read her. “What can I do?”

Emma chewed on her lip, taking a shaky breath. It was a moment before she was able to look up at him, her nerves calming at the concern on his face, emboldened by it. “Remember how you said you’d kiss me if I wasn’t married?” He blinked. She lifted her hands, let them fall back at her sides. “Well?” He didn't move, watching her, waiting, probably afraid she'd run again if he did the wrong thing. "I left him."

She heard his sharp intake of breath before he crossed the room in a few, quick strides, catching her face in his hand and crashing his lips down over hers, swallowing her small gasp of surprise. Her hands found the front of his shirt, holding him to her, keeping him there.

When he pulled back, she swayed towards him, nearly stumbling and holding back a laugh at herself. It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like that, like he was trying to breathe her in, like he was trying to imprint the press of his body against her skin, leave the taste of him on her tongue.

When she finally opened her eyes she was met with his hopeful expression, the smallest wrinkle in his brow, still worried he’d overstepped. Rising up on her toes she caught the back of his neck and pulled his mouth back down to hers. His smile turned up against her lips before his arms slid around her waist and he deepened the kiss, pushing the door shut by pressing her back against it.

His lips were hot against her jaw and her throat, fingers rough and warm against the skin under her sweater. Emma reached for the buttons of his shirt and he pulled back. She could feel him watching her as she undid them quickly, skin hot even as her fingers shook. Before she could push it from his shoulders, he kissed her again, hand and brace sliding down over to the back of her thighs and hoisting them around his waist.

“Is this okay?” he breathed against her as he walked them across the room, sitting down on the mattress, her knees landing softly astride him. Emma only nodded, catching his answering smile with her own and pushing his shirt the rest of the way off. Killian tugged her sweater up over her head, hair falling around them both in a mess of staticky waves that he smoothed down as he looked at her.

She expected to feel self-conscious, to worry about how different she might look from the women he was used to being with. But she couldn’t, not with the way he was looking at her. Not when his lips found her neck again, travelling over her shoulder to her breast, pushing the fabric out of the way so he could trace his tongue over her nipple.

Her fingers slid through his hair, finding something to hold onto, wound up and overly-sensitive from going too long without being touched, from dancing around this, from wanting him for so long. It was strange, after having only been with one person for so many years, not knowing what to expect as his lips and hand explored her skin, finding which spots made her fingers fist in his hair and which made her cry out. He was determined, teeth grazing over the dip where her neck met her shoulder when his kiss had made her shudder.

She breathed out his name, needy even to her own ears as she ground her hips down, trying to find friction against the hardness pressed against her centre, the low growl it pulled from his chest making heat pool in her stomach. He turned them, laying her down on her back and settling above her. He paused, watching her, that line back between his brows.

Emma traced the stubble covering his jaw, longer now than it had been the last time she’d done so. She held back a secret smile at the thought that he'd grown it out because she'd said she liked it. “What's wrong?”

“I just want to be sure…” Killian hesitated, unable to meet her eyes. “If you’re angry and trying to get revenge on Neal I -”

“No,” she promised, cupping his face and making him look at her. “No, Killian, it’s… I’m angry, yeah. But that’s not what this is. As shitty as what he did is, it means that I finally don’t have to pretend that I don’t want what I want.” She let her fingers slip into the hair at the nape of his neck as his hesitation ebbed, the soft strands she’d wanted to touch so many times since she’d met him that day on the front lawn. And now she could.

“And you want…” he pressed, swallowing nervously even as that self-satisfied smirk of his began to pull at his lips.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” she asked, nearly rolling her eyes. “While I’m lying here half-naked in your bed? Because that’s not clear enough for you?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. He was going to make her say it. But Emma softened a little. He’d been honest with her, admitted his feelings long before she’d been able to and she’d hurt him. And still, he’d waited. He deserved to know it wasn’t in vain. “You,” she said, brushing back the too-long hair that hung over his eyes. She kissed him, quickly, mouth still smiling against hers, before repeating it. “You.”

When she kissed him again he returned it, holding her to him as he lowered himself above her, pressing her into the mattress, hesitation gone at last. There was a sort of frenzie to the way he touched her, to the way his lips and tongue sought hers, eagerness and relief and desperation that was reflected in the way her fingers tangled in his hair and dug into the muscles of his back. But his movements were slow, the hand sliding down from her cheek to her hip feather-light and careful, the lips tracing her neck teasing and unhurried.

His nails danced across the waist of her jeans, making her hips jump and her breath uneven and she bit her lip. She felt his smirk against her collarbone when she arched against him demandingly, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as he worked the button open, fingers sliding in and brushing over the fabric beneath. Emma let out a small cry as he traced the length of her through it, finding her covered clit and working it in lazy circles.

“Fuck,” she hissed, bucking her hips against his hand, nails digging into his arms. It had been so long since she’d been touched by anyone but herself, let alone had someone take their time with her, be so focused on building her up slowly.

Killian looked up at her curse, watching her head and shoulders press back against the pillow, teeth biting into her lip against the small, needy sounds caught in her throat. A smile crossed his lips, swollen and red as his eyes darkened before he ducked his head and dragged his tongue over the hardened peak of her nipple, closing his mouth hot over it.

She swore again when he pushed the fabric between them out of the way, dipping into her centre and groaning deeply against her skin when he found her wet against his touch. He found her clit again, thumb circling more intently now as his lips moved to her other breast, sliding a finger inside of her and then a second when she bucked against his hand.

He worked her relentlessly, driving her steadily towards her peak, the feelings and the need more intense than she could ever remember it being as the tension built and the heat burned through her. Killian’s lips searched for every inch of skin he could reach, tongue sliding up from her navel to the valley between her breasts, nipping at their peaks and then tracing each line of her ribcage, hot and open mouthed.

He returned to her neck, sucking a mark into the taut lines of it and closing his teeth over her shoulder before soothing the mark with his tongue, fingers pushing into her faster, thumb working in tighter circles. Her toes curled into the sheets, feet sliding against the mattress as she tightened her legs around his hips, around his hand as she began to coil in on herself.

Her hand fisted in his hair again when he kissed below her breast bone, lips trailing down the soft skin of her stomach towards her centre and she moaned at the very suggestion of his tongue on her, his intention obvious. But she stopped him, so close now that the thought of him taking his hand away was unbearable.

She only half registered his confusion before a litany of breathless cries and pleas began escaping her, growing louder and more desperate in time with the curling of his fingers. And then she was there, right on the edge, his mouth at her ear, whispering encouragement, praise, begging her to come for him before his lips captured hers again and Emma shattered in his arms.

She was still shaking, release burning through her, immense and ovewhelming, her grip vice-like on him when tears started to fall from the corners of her tightly shut eyes.

“Emma?” His voice was gentle, worried as she felt him pull back a fraction, fingers sliding from her so he could prop himself up on his arm to look at her. “Love, are you alright?” his brace wiped carefully at her wet cheek. “Did I -” he started but she cut him off, shaking her head.

“I’m fine,” she promised, breathless and still reeling with emotion, sitting up and brushing her own tears away. “More than fine,” she added with a small laugh when the concern didn’t leave his expression. “Sorry. It’s just been a long time since…” Since what? Since she’d been with anyone? Since she’d cared enough to be with someone? Since she’d felt this way about someone?

Killian nodded, understanding. “It’s okay,” he promised. “It happened to me the first time after Milah.” She couldn’t make sense of the regret written across his features. “It was a lot, the guilt and the -”

“Guilt?” He thought she felt guilty?

“It doesn’t mean anything -”

“Yes it does,” she wasn’t going to let him finish that sentence. “It does mean something, and it’s been a really long time since it did.” He looked at her then, some of that regret being pushed out by hope. “I don’t feel guilty. You and me… It means something. You mean something to me.”

It wasn’t exactly eloquent, but from the look on his face it was enough. He smirked, reaching up to trace the line of her spine, going for smug but his obvious happiness betrayed it. “So, you’re saying this is going to happen again?”

“I mean, it hasn’t even happened once yet…” she teased.

“Oy!” he protested, laughing as he caught her waist and yanked her back down beneath him. Emma giggled, unable to remember the last time she felt this carefree.

“Yeah, it’s going to happen again. If you want it to…” she hesitated and he beamed at her.

“Aye.”

He leaned down to kiss her again and she was glad then that she hadn’t let him kiss her that day in his living room. As his lips moved against hers, stirring need and long-forgotten desires in her, Emma realised she wouldn’t have been able to stop and they would have ended up here. And it would have meant something, just like it did now, but it would have been tainted, by guilt and secrecy and betrayal. Emma didn’t want him to be an infidelity; he deserved so much more than that.

“Many, many times,” he promised against her lips, cocky as all hell.

She wanted to roll her eyes at him, say something sarcastic, but then his hand resumed its exploration of her skin, mouth stealing her words, and she thought maybe it wasn’t just overconfidence. He was, afterall, twenty-six…

***

“How many bloody swan ornaments do you have?” Killian exclaimed, pulling another small ceramic swan, this one wearing a Santa hat, from the box of decorations. She took it from him, holding it up and smiling fondly at it.

“Henry got one for me for Christmas when he was five with his piggy bank money and I liked it so much he got me one the next year too, and again the next year - and then it just became a tradition.”

“And you don’t mess with tradition,” Henry declared, emerging from the kitchen with a handful of gingerbread men, one already missing a head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Killian promised.

“Are the potatoes almost ready?” Emma asked her son. He was bringing a girl home for the holiday and had insisted on making part of the dinner, clearly hoping to impress her. You and dad are both bringing dates - I should be allowed to too, he’d insisted.

It was the first family get together since she and Neal decided to separate that fall. Henry had been sad when they told him and he’d wallowed for a few days, but she’d been right about him. He was a strong kid, and smart too. It didn’t take him long to accept that this was best for both of his parents.

She’d thought her heart was going to give out though when he’d asked her if she was seeing someone. It was out of the blue, when they were out shopping for his dorm room a little over a month later.

“What makes you say that?” she’d panicked. She and Killian had been keeping their relationship quiet. It was new and it was too soon to spring a new boyfriend on her son right after she left his father. As far as Henry knew, Killian was her friend and neighbour who was helping her out around the house now that she was on her own.

“You just seem happy. Like really happy… I didn’t realise how sad you were.” There was guilt in his voice and it hurt her to see him feeling bad about something that wasn’t his fault.

“I wasn’t sad, Henry. I just wasn’t… I was fine.”

“Mom, I’m eighteen. I know what it means when a woman says she’s ‘fine’.”

She fought a snort. “I am happy, kid.” Emma wrapped an arm around him. “And you’ve always been the best thing in my life,” she promised. He’d smiled, continuing to browse the aisles, determined to find more adult sheets and duvet covers and art for his walls. That had been her first hint that he might be thinking of bringing a girl back.

“Would it bother you,” she ventured, “If I was seeing someone?”

He shook his head, grabbing a blue comforter and inspecting it too closely. “I know about dad’s affair. He told me,” Henry admitted when she blinked at him in shock. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She’d had to stop herself from hugging him right there in the middle of the Target. “So, if someone is making you happy now, well, I’m happy for you.”

She’d hugged him, right there in the middle of the Target. And he’d let her for about five seconds before getting embarrassed.

“Is it Killian?” he asked carefully when they turned down the next aisle and her breath caught in her chest. She’d been so afraid to tell him because Killian was also kind of Henry’s friend. Apparently they hadn’t been as covert as she’d thought.

“Yeah,” Emma finally admitted. “Is that okay? I know he’s a lot younger than me…”

Henry shrugged. “He’s no younger than you than Tamara is younger than Dad.” He flipped through a few posters. “I like him. He’s a good guy.”

He’d left it at that for a while, until December rolled around and Henry realised that they wouldn’t all be celebrating together. It had been Neal’s idea that they still celebrate as a family in the old house, and Henry’s that they invite Killian and Tamara. That’s gonna make one hell of a Christmas card, Emma had commented.

“They’re almost done,” Henry said, glancing back at the disaster that was the kitchen. “My arm is tired. I don’t know how you whip those things every year.”

“And every birthday and Thanksgiving, and -” Emma began listing.

“Okay, we get it, you’re taking those puppies to the gun show,” he rolled his eyes and she smirked proudly.

“Throw them in the blender,” Killian suggested. “Works like a charm.”

“That’s genius!” Henry declared before running back into the kitchen. Emma looked at Killian in disbelief.

“What?” he shrugged. “I’m in college.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

His smile was wicked as he crossed the space between them, catching her around the waist as she hung the Santa swan on a branch next to a homemade monstrosity from Henry’s preschool years. The sound of the blender roared dully from the other room.

“Please,” he scoffed, nose finding the sensitive spot below her ear. “You love having a hot young piece of tail on your arm.”

“Not when you say it like that I don’t,” she cringed, shaking her head in amusement.

“So you’re saying you do love it when I say it another way? How about your pretty young thing? Your sugar baby? Main squeeze?”

Emma could feel his shit-eating grin, way too pleased with himself each time her shoulders tightened in response to the terrible suggestions. “Yeah, I’m not loving any of those,” she assured him. Killian chuckled, turning his face into her neck and pressing a kiss there that had her melting back a little in his arms.

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin and she froze, breath catching as she turned to face him. He’d never said that before. She knew, on some level she’d known from the beginning, but he’d never said it.

She smiled at him, warming at the words, softening at how nervous he looked while he waited for her to answer. Her fingers found the hair at the back of his neck, combing through it. “I love you too.”

Killian swooped down, beaming before he kissed her, arms pulling her close and she could feel every ounce of his happiness and his excitement pouring out of him. And she returned it tenfold.

“But,” she said sternly, breaking away suddenly. “If you ever call yourself my sugar baby again, this is over.” He only laughed and kissed her again, longer and deeper than before.

“Ew. Child present,” Henry groaned when he walked in. Emma hadn’t even heard the blender shut off. Killian barely pulled back, refusing to let her go and looking far too amused when he reminded Henry that he always insisted he wasn’t a child. “I am when my mom is making out with her boyfriend in the middle of the living room,” he shot back and Killian laughed, relenting and releasing her.

He took her hand, held it up in front of them for inspection. “Acceptable PDA?” he asked her son.

Henry nodded. “Keep those hands where I can see them, though,” he warned.

Killian rolled his eyes, faking exasperation and innocence. “I’ve only got the one!”

Henry pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Killian, whatever he was going to say next interrupted by the doorbell. “I’ll get it,” he offered.

“Here we go,” Emma breathed, bracing herself. “Ready for the most awkward Christmas ever?”

He squeezed her hand. “It’ll be fine, love. Besides, the first one with the new girlfriend’s family is bound to be awkward. It’s practically a rule. And you’re going to have to suffer through New Year’s Eve with Will. He rents a karaoke machine - What?” he asked when he realised she was staring at him.

“The first one?” Emma asked, biting her lip against the grin that was nearly splitting her face.

“Yeah.”

“How many more are you planning on spending with the new girlfriend?” she asked as casually as she could.

Killian kissed the fingers that were still entwined with his and gave her a small, tentative smile of his own. “All of them.”

****

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