Chapter Text
Killian woke up abruptly, jarred into consciousness by the ringing phone. He struggled to his feet, sleeping bag sliding against the sofa. He’d been struggling with the floorboards long past midnight. His target date of April seemed impossible; the house was far from ready.
The phone pealed loudly and he yanked the bright yellow receiver off its cradle. "What?" He leaned heavily against the doorframe.
"Good you're home.” Belle sounded panicked. “I tried calling your cell but it goes right to voicemail."
“What’s wrong?” Killian squinted around the kitchen but without a clock it was impossible to judge the time. His phone was somewhere in the house. Maybe upstairs. He’d been taking measurements for the bathroom windows last night. The battery must have died.
“I hate to do this but I need your help. There’s a pick up order and Will was supposed to be back but the truck broke down and he has to deliver the orchids and the school librarian’s out sick so I’m here and I can’t leave until three.”
“Slow down.” Killian could barely separate one sentence from other, between the terrible connection and Belle’s rapid-fire delivery. “Where are you?”
“The school,” she replied. “Doc’s out sick so the principal asked if I could cover. And Will was supposed be back by now.” Her voice rose higher and higher with each word.
“What do you need?”
“Can you open the shop? Just until David picks up his order. I wouldn’t ask but it’s for Mary Margaret and I -”
Killian wanted to argue that the flower shop wasn't his concern but Belle was talking faster now, going on about someone named Doc. “Alright. Alrigtht. I’ll take care of it.”
“Really? Killian thank you so much. I owe you one. Really. Do you still have the spare key?”
“Sure. Listen Belle I should go.” He hung up before Belle could continue. Killian considered a shower but decided clean clothes were good enough. He'd only be standing behind the counter for an hour or two at most.
There was a thick layer of frost on the grass when he left the house. His field coat didn't provide much warmth.
He didn’t remember ever having a spare key to the shop, but knew the only place they would have stored it. The old truck was parked at the end of the driveway. He’d been storing it in the garage but had moved it out to make room for all the furniture and boxes he needed to get out of his way. Now the garage door barely shut.
He climbed in the passenger side and opened the glove compartment. Napkins and papers spilled onto the floor. Killian stuck his hand inside but didn’t encounter a keychain. “Dammit.” If the key wasn’t in his glove box, he didn’t have any idea where it could be. Frustrated, he left the mess on the floor and slid across the bench seat. It took three tries but he finally was able to shift into gear. The heater sputtered but didn't take the edge off until he was nearly at the store.
The dashboard clock was useless. It wasn't until he passed the clock tower that Killian saw the time. Ten fifteen. Too bloody early for his liking. He parked the car in front of Booth's Hardware. Without a spare key, he'd need to break in.
Killian barely registered the slam of the door behind him, glancing wildly around the hardware store.
"Do you need help?"
He looked down the first aisle. A woman was balanced on a ladder. Her blonde hair was tied back in a complicated braid that fell between her shoulder blades.
“I need to break a lock,” he replied.
She climbed down the ladder with ease. “You know most people don't advertise that they're going to commit a crime. But if you want to tell me where, I can have the Sheriff meet you." A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.
Killian was in no mood to flirt or make small talk. "Do you know Belle?”
“Of course. Why?” Her demeanor changed, eyebrows coming together in a concerned expression.
He exhaled loudly. “She needs me to open the flower shop. Will’s stuck somewhere and she’s at the school?” He spread his hands, hoping she didn’t press him for more details. It was a miracle he’d remembered as much as he had. “Something about an order that has to be picked up.”
She considered him for a long minute. “Who are you?"
He extended his right hand. "Killian Jones."
Her eyes widened in recognition. "The mystery brother-in-law."
"Mystery?" He struggled to keep his tone light; brother-in-law stung. He should have married Milah when they were twenty-four and on top of the world with a job that paid him too much and no real responsibilities. Or when they were twenty-nine and she’d turned her attention to the house. Instead he’d waited too long. His job was a distant memory and the only thing he had left of Milah was barely habitable.
She released his hand. "Yeah. Belle mentioned you were back in town. I thought you were some kind of ghost."
He didn't answer. It was Milah who was the ghost, her memory haunting every corner. Killian realized that he had been standing silent for too long. He cleared his throat. "And you are?"
"Emma," she replied. "Emma Swan."
She reached under the counter and pulled out a shoebox. “I've got a spare key in here somewhere. Hang on.” She pulled out multiple keychains, dropping them against the counter.
“Got it.” Emma passed him a small key attached to a plastic keychain shaped like a lobster. “Just bring it back.”
Killian pocketed the key, baring his teeth in an approximation of a smile. "Will do." He could feel the lack of sleep making his movements jerky.
Outside he looked around at the empty sidewalks. If he couldn’t sell the house come spring, maybe Liam would cover a plane ticket. The idea of decamping to his brother’s home, tail between his legs, held little appeal.
The key worked perfectly. He stepped into the shop, flicking on the lights with his left hand. It looked the same: narrow and cramped, every wall filled with photographs. The counter ran along the right wall - the prep room and Maurice's office were at the back. Killian felt like he was underwater.
He should have brought coffee with him. The smell of dirt permeated the air. Minutes passed slowly and later, after the old computer had sputtered to life and he was on his twenty-seventh game of solitaire, the bell over the door rang sharply. The man closed the door behind him and crossed the floor.
“Hey, I’m picking up an order.” He leaned his hands against the counter. “Should be under David Nolan.”
“Got it,” Killian replied. The box was sitting on the table with a post-it note on its top. It was light enough for him to balance on his forearm without straining. He set the box on the counter. “Here you go.”
David lifted the lid. Inside was a large vase of white flowers. “Perfect. My wife’s going to love it.”
Killian realized that he had no idea how to work the cash register. Fortunately David passed him exact change. “Thanks man.”
He turned off the computer and the lights, locking the front door when he left.
The wind had picked up. He stuffed his right hand in his pocket, fingers tight around the borrowed key. Inside the hardware store a tall man stood behind the counter, writing in a ledger. “Did you need help?” he asked when Killian approached the counter.
He wanted to ask about Emma Swan. Instead he pulled the key out of his pocket. “I borrowed this to open the flower shop earlier and told Emma I’d return it.”
“I’ll tell her, thanks.”