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"There's got to be an easier way," Killian muttered through gritted teeth. The dancing snowmen on the wrapping paper seemed to mock him: their cheery smiles looked more like nasty smirks as he balled up yet another attempt at wrapping the small box.
He glanced at the clock overhead, his heart sinking as he realized he'd spent the better part of an hour trying to wrap one bloody present. This was ridiculous. This was infuriating. He'd gone through half the roll of paper and most of his duct tape with nothing to show for it!
Frustratedly, he shoved the box away from him and threw his head in his hands. This whole gift-wrapping catastrophe had sucked literally every ounce of joy out of the air, and now he was seriously considering giving up on Christmas altogether. (An overreaction, perhaps, but given that he'd just been defeated by dancing snowmen, he didn't really care.)
"Hey."
Killian's head snapped up at the sound of Ruby's voice. "Ruby?" he said, staring as she walked behind the counter of the bar with a bowl of chilled limes. "What are you doing here so early?"
Ruby raised her eyebrows as she brought out the cutting board. "My job?"
"But I thought you were closing with me tonight," Killian frowned, surreptitiously trying to sweep the wrapping-paper mess out of sight. "You guys switched shifts?"
"I had to," she exhaled. "Graham said I could leave once all the prep's done, and I'm going to need the whole afternoon to finish my Christmas shopping."
"Oh," he said, rather disappointed. "Well, so long as you get me something good."
Ruby smirked, halving a lime with a satisfying thunk! "Did you get me something good?"
"Theoretically. I asked Emma for some ideas." (Interrogated, really: he'd done all but lock her in a dark room with a flashlight in her face.)
"Hmm." Ruby nodded as she tossed a few lime wedges in a bowl. "Did you ask her to help you wrap it, too?"
Killian narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"No reason," she said innocently, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I just didn't think it was possible for someone to be worse at gift-wrapping than Emma."
Killian snatched up the scrunched wrapping paper. "Right," he said shortly, "you're not getting a present anymore."
"Oh, come on!" Ruby laughed, turning around to follow him as he strode for the trash can. "Killian, relax—I can help you."
"You just worry about your limes." He dropped an armful of paper into the trash; then walked out of her reach. "I'll wrap my own presents, thanks."
"Kil—"
"Nope."
"Let me teach you!" she said exasperatedly. "I'll just show you how to do one, okay? You can do all the rest by yourself."
Killian let out an impatient breath and whirled around to tell her, he did not need her help, and could she mind her own bloody business?, and for the love of God, could she not stand so close to him?
He needed at least a foot's distance between them to breathe properly, and she was—what, two, maybe three, inches away? Somewhat disoriented, Killian blinked rapidly and tried to refocus on what he was going to say. I don't need your help. Mind your own bloody business. For the love of God, can you not stand so close to me?
"Oh, very well, just the one," was what came out.
Ruby beamed at him, as Killian cursed himself. "Good choice," she winked; and with a light jerk of her chin, added, "Now, go sit down."
"Don't tell me what to do," he frowned (as he did what he was told). "And no peeking!" he added severely as she reached for small box. "No questions, no shaking the package, no looking for clues!"
Ruby's eyebrows shot up with intrigue. "So this is my present?" she gasped, pulling it close to her chest. "What is it?"
Killian tugged it out of her grip irritably and held it up. "Do you want this thing or not?"
"Want," she said instantly.
"That's what I thought." He nodded at the stool next to him. "Now, show me how to put a ribbon on it."
As it turned out, wrapping presents was an extraordinarily dull affair. It involved a lot of measuring and cutting and complaining that duct tape was so stupid, Killian, what are you—kidnapping Santa? The whole process couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, but by the time she'd gotten to the ribbon, his eyes had glazed over and his thoughts were like molasses.
"… and then knot it once, really tight, before you tie the bow… and that's it!" Ruby held up the prettily-wrapped package in triumph. "See? It's easy."
"I wouldn't know, I wasn't paying attention," Killian exhaled (which made Ruby roll her eyes exasperatedly). He took the package from her hands and waved her off. "All right, go on, get out of here."
"I know, I know…" Ruby sighed, swinging her legs off the stool. "Those limes aren't going to cut themselves."
"No—" Killian caught her arm and turned her around to face the door. "Get out of here. You've got Christmas shopping to do."
"I can't." Ruby twisted around, giving him a strange look. "I'm on prep tonight, remember? I'm not half done."
He shrugged dismissively. "Make me a list. I'll take care of it."
"Kil…" Ruby smiled and started to shake her head. "That's really nice of you, but—"
"Take your coat," Killian interrupted, rising from his seat to fetch it from the coat rack. "Colder than a witch's teat, as they say. If they still say—I actually don't think I've ever heard anyone say that in real life." He lifted her purple coat off a hook, and held it out with the sleeves open. "Here."
Ruby hesitated and bit her lip; looking between him and the coat. Killian raised an eyebrow.
"Left arm goes in here, love," he said, indicating the left sleeve with a jut of his chin.
She winced."You sure?"
"Either that, or it's the right. Fifty-fifty chance."
Ruby rolled her eyes good-naturedly and turned around, tucking her arms into the sleeves. "Thanks," she grinned, glancing at him over her shoulder. "I'll owe you one, okay?"
"Nah," Killian shrugged, lifting her ponytail out the back. "I don't mind. But don't tell Graham."
"Why not?"
He paused. Somehow—between Graham's intuition and Killian's lack of subtlety— Graham knew about what Killian could only comfortably call the Ruby situation. It was already a source of great amusement for Graham, and if he found out about this, he'd never let Killian hear the end of it.
"Don't worry about it," he said finally. "Just get me something good and we'll call it even."
Ruby narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but she didn't push it. Killian stepped back, hands in his pockets, as she did up the rest of her buttons and then reached for her purse.
"I'll get you something good," she promised, throwing the strap over her shoulder.
"You better."
"I will," Ruby grinned. "And Killian?"
"Hmm?"
She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek; stepping back with a shy smile. "Thanks again."
Killian stared at her with wide eyes. "Sure," he rasped, his voice slightly higher than usual. "Any time."
Ruby let out a small tch of laughter and readjusted her purse strap. "I'll see you later, okay?" she said over her shoulder.
Killian raised a silent hand in farewell. Even as the door shut behind her, he remained in place, staring after her; his mind reeling with overlapping thoughts.
Don't read into that—
—she's so pretty
—it didn't mean anything—
—she's really pretty, though
—what are you, twelve?—
—maybe she likes me—
—you are being absolutely ridiculous—
"All right, mate?"
Killian jumped and whirled around to see Graham walking in from the backroom, a crate of wine in his arms. "Yeah," he said, nervously straightening his shirt. "All good. Just—just sent Ruby on her way."
"On her way?" Graham frowned. The bottles clinked dangerously as he dropped it on the counter, folding his arms. "She's supposed to be doing prep for tonight. That was the deal."
"We worked something out," Killian shrugged dismissively, walking around Graham. He kept his eyes down as he reached for the knife and the bowl of limes. "She said, she'll cover one of my shifts, if I ever need it, so…"
"And you didn't think to clear it with me?" Graham frowned, tilting his head to catch Killian's. "Kil."
"What?"
"I said, you didn't think to clear it with me?"
Killian tossed a lime wedge in the bowl. "Does it really matter at this point?"
"I guess not." Graham drifted over, watching him carefully. "I'm surprised you agreed to it, though. You hate prep."
"It's Christmas," Killian frowned.
"You hate Christmas, too."
"Not so."
"It's been so for as long as I've known you."
Killian didn't answer. The knife thunk!ed into another lime, louder than he intended.
"Oh…." Graham let out a quiet, knowing laugh. "I see."
"No, you don't see," Killian said witheringly. He waved his knife, shooing Graham away. "Don't you have something do? Crates to unpack? Trucks to get hit by?"
Graham rolled his eyes, but went back to unpacking the crate. "You know," he remarked, opening the fridge to began sliding the lager bottles in, "you might consider telling her, at some point."
"Telling her what?" exhaled Killian, halving another lime.
"That you like her." Graham looked over his crate with raised eyebrows. "It's kind of sweet."
"Get fucked."
"I'm serious," insisted Graham, grinning. "You ought to tell her. I mean, I get if you're nervous, but maybe you could ask Emma to fish around for—"
"Whoops—" Killian abruptly upended the bowl of limes, sending them toppling to the floor. He smiled blithely at Graham. "Out of limes."
"Killian!"
"Back in two shakes."
Before Graham could yell at him for wasting product, Killian tucked the bowl under his arm and strode away, whistling.
He'd never tell her, of course. For one thing, there was barely anything to tell: Ruby was a pretty girl and all, but it was a passing fancy, nothing more. It would burn out in a few months, and he'd forget all about her mesmerizing eyes and her devastating smile…the sly tilt of her head… the way she could—and would—argue with him over literally anything, but also, the way he knew it was as much fun for her as it was for him. That was his favorite thing about Ruby. Actually, no, that was his second favorite: his favorite favorite was her smile. That girl could bring him to his bloody knees when she smiled…
Passing fancy, he reminded himself. Nothing to tell.
Even if there was something to tell (which there wasn't), Killian knew he wasn't really Ruby's type. From what Emma said, her type was more of the soft-spoken and poetic variety; not guys who'd skipped the last two months of anger management because they wanted to take a sledgehammer to the soft-spoken, poetic counselor's face every time he pushed them to stop using humor as a shield and connect with their feelings.
Passing fancy. Nothing to tell. Passing fancy. Nothing to tell.
Honestly, it was embarrassing how much time he'd already spent thinking about this. If there was nothing to tell, there was nothing to think about, so he wasn't going to think about it starting now.
Not even the way she'd stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Not even the shy little smile on her face afterwards.
Not even the—
"I need limes," Killian announced loudly to the supply closet, using the sound of his own voice to distract his thoughts. "Need some limes, limes, limes… lots of limes, good limes, love me some limes…"
Was it possible, though? Maybe she did like him, if only a little bit. Maybe he was her passing fancy. Maybe he was her nothing to tell.
"Still looking for those limes," he declared to no one. "Got to find those limes, can't go without limes, definitely going to need a shitload of limes…"
It might not be such a bad idea to ask Emma about Ruby. Hell, it might not even be a bad idea to ask Ruby about Ruby. Was Graham right? Should he consider telling her at some point, that half the time, he thought of nothing but her mesmerizing eyes and devastating smile? Of the tilt of her head and her penchant for arguing? Of the way she'd stood on her tiptoes—?
"This is embarrassing," Killian told himself. "You're embarrassing me. There's nothing to tell, it's a passing fancy, and you've got a fuckton of work to do, so get to it." And stop thinking about Ruby, he added silently (because if he said it out loud, he was basically speaking it into existence and confirming that it was more than a passing fancy and there was everything to tell).
Christmas, he decided, was responsible. There was a romantic dreaminess in the air that turned people's heads and got them carried away with all kinds of nonsense. Once the holidays were over, everything would—everything must—go back to normal and he would be himself again.
He would not think about her eyes.
He would not think about her smile.
He'd likely lose all interest in her, and wonder why he'd ever wasted so much time thinking about her at all.
(Exactly six years later, Killian and Ruby would be arguing over whether or not she should be allowed to dress their one-year-old in a gingerbread-themed onesie and use it for their Christmas card.)
(Eventually, Killian would give in, because Jake looked ridiculously cute in that stupid little onesie, and he knew he could use the photos as blackmail once Jake was a teenager.)
(Which, the year Jake turned sixteen, he definitely did.)