#anyway i’m rewatching prepping for it to drop today don’t know if you can tell

[oopsiemydaisies]

ella outing nick and charlie to tao still makes me so mad bc why would she do that! why would she out someone! idc if tao is charlie’s friend why would you do that! ik they probably did it because they weren’t sure if they were gonna get renewed but still it SUCKS

[spartanguard]

begrudging birthday

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JENNA!!!! aka @the-jolly-tad-cooper aka @fairytalesandtimetravel aka TOTAL SWEETHEART. I had no idea it was your bday until today but there was no way I could let it go by unnoticed/celebrated, so here’s a quick(ish) fic that may or may not be based on one of your posts today. Hope you had an absolutely wonderful day because you are amazing and deserve it! Love you!

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s tradition, Emma.”

“I don’t care!”

“I’ll buy you a bearclaw.”

“And…?”

Elsa sighed. “And a hot chocolate.”

“With?”

“Cinnamon, duh.”

“Fine.” Angrily, Emma took the pin Elsa was holding and affixed to the pocket on her work-specified button up. “Happy?”

“Yes!” her friend gloated, while Emma pouted in return. “Come on, Emma; it’s the one day a year dedicated to celebrating you. And we love you. Let us.”

In all honesty, Emma kind of hated her birthday. Growing up, it was just another reminder of the anniversary of the day her parents abandoned her, and most foster parents were hard-pressed to do much more than give her a card (if they acknowledged it at all). As she got older, she’d learned it was best to try to avoid the spotlight, so ignoring birthdays became part of that.

Then she had Henry, and while she cherished his handmade cards each year, that was as far as she ever wanted it to go. But leave it to her manager, Elsa, to glean her birthdate from her employment paperwork and post it on the calendar in the grocery store’s backroom.

And now she had to wear the damn birthday pin. And it was Saturday, so there’d be a bunch of people in...including him. (Him being a subject of avoidance and obsession ever since she started working there.) Oh well, at least it wasn’t a hat; no one would notice it, right?

Wrong.

“Emma, why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Granny admonished as Emma rang up her groceries. “You’ll have to come by the diner tonight with Henry for a slice of cake. On the house.”

“Okay, Granny,” she answered, somewhat amusedly and non-committally as she handed the sassy old lady her bags. She had been planning a night of lounging on the couch with pizza and her Roku (Galavant rewatch until Henry went to bed, then catching up on Lucifer) but they could probably squeeze a diner trip in.

The next customer purchased a sole bouquet of flowers; she glanced up to see David, one of her best friends. “Uh-oh, how did you piss off Mary Margaret?” Emma teased as she processed the transaction.

“They’re actually for you. Happy Birthday, Emma.”

“David…”

“Hush. You’re still coming over for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“I’m pretty sure your wife would drag me out of my place and into yours if I didn’t.”

He chuckled. “Too right. See you.”

Emma sniffed the sweet-smelling bouquet before slipping it under her register. They were awfully gorgeous, but no way was she leaving them out for more people to catch on to what today was.

But, of course, small town that Storybrooke was, she knew nearly every customer and each was quick to wish her a happy day, either from seeing the pin or hearing it through the grapevine. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate their well wishes; she just hated being put on the spot.

(That, and she really wasn’t sure what she’d do when he finally showed up.)

Thankfully, she got a break a few hours in, and—as promised—a bear claw and fresh cocoa were waiting for her in the breakroom. She flopped down as best she could in one of the hard plastic chairs and dug in, relishing the hyper-sweetness of both and fielding a couple more “Happy Birthdays” from people coming in to start their shifts. Just a few more hours of dealing with this nonsense and she’d be home to her son.

“Hey, Emma?” Elsa meekly asked, poking her head into the room. It was her “I’m about to ask you to do something you might not want to do but I’m your manager so you kind of have to” voice; Emma braced herself. “So...Ashley just called in; apparently, Alexandra has a fever. Can I put you on demo for the afternoon?”

Emma sighed. She had a love-hate relationship with demo. She wasn’t the most experienced cook so the odds of her ruining whatever they were promoting were 50/50. But it also meant hiding out in the corner for the rest of her shift, even if it involved increased foot traffic (including him). “What is it today?”

“Soup. Tomato and roasted red pepper—your favorite!” Elsa added, as if that spiced up the deal. (Which it did; she’d definitely need to hit Granny’s for a grilled cheese now.)

“Okay. But only because I love you.”

“Oh, thank you!” Elsa exclaimed, nearly tackling Emma with a hug. “I love you, too.”

“You know you’re the boss and I have to do whatever you say, right?”

“I know, but it’s your birthday.”

“Ugh.”

Emma finished her treat-slash-lunch, checked her phone real quick (four birthday text messages that she’d reply to later), and then headed to the demo station. There were worse ways to spend a shift than preparing and portioning soup.

Of course, each sample that was claimed was paired with birthday wishes, but she got pretty good at faking a smile, even if her cheeks were starting to hurt.

She’d been at it an hour and was waiting on more soup to heat when she saw a man at the end of the aisle: it was him.

He had his cart, like always, pushing it with the hook he hand in place of a left hand. His dark, disheveled hair hung a bit in his eyes and her fingers itched to push it back. A leather jacket hung on his frame like a second skin and those black jeans left little to the imagination. Even from several yards away, she could see the bright blue of his eyes as they studied the shelf—of course, it helped that he was wearing eyeliner, making them pop.

She wasn’t typically one to go for the bad boys, but something about this guy drew her in, even though the extent of their relationship was her ringing up his purchase every Saturday and he taking his receipt with an accented “thanks, love” that sent a jolt down her spine.

The beeping of the mini stove made Emma jump, pulling her from her trance-slash-ogling of the guy she’d been eying for weeks now. But she’d never work up the nerve to actually make a conversation, or even find out his name—given her history in the relationship department, she knew it was better if she kept her distance.

She distracted herself by spooning soup into sample cups as he made his way down the aisle, and actually managed to immerse herself in it for a moment before his voice interrupted her focus.

“Fancy seeing you over here, love.” Immediately, her eyes darted up to meet his across the counter; she was always amazed at how easy it would be to drown in their depths. Usually, there was a bit of an edge in them, but he always seemed to have a smile for her. Today, though, there was almost—was that relief hiding in his smirk?

She was so caught up in figuring him out that she forgot what she was doing and ended up pouring soup on her hand. Hot soup.

“Ahhh!” she exclaimed, dropping the cup and ladle and shaking her hand.

“Oh, bloody hell—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” she assured, though her voice was strained. “Just need some cool water.” She hopped over to the sink, pulled off her thin food-prep gloves, and turned on the faucet; it wasn’t a bad burn but it was a little red. Her face, she could feel, was even redder in embarrassment.

But a glance over at him showed that his was, too, and he was adorably scratching behind his ear. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She dried her hand and stepped closer to him.

“I apologize; surprising you like that was bad form, love.”

“Emma,” she felt herself blurt out. “My name isn’t ‘love’; it’s Emma.”

“Emma,” he repeated, and damn if the reverent way it fell off his tongue didn’t make her tingle all the way down to her toes. “I’m Killian,” he introduced, offering his hand. She thought he was just going to shake hers when she placed her palm in his, but he gently brought it to his mouth and placed a kiss on her knuckles. Her food safety training was going off in the back of her head, but she was going to have to wash her hands anyway. His eyes didn’t leave hers the whole time, until he released her hand and glanced down at her chest—more specifically, at her pin. That damn pin.

“It’s your birthday?”

“Apparently,” she said with a shrug.

“Well, Happy Birthday, Emma.”

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling genuinely for the first time today.

A silence fell over them for a moment, despite the grocery store din all around them. She knew she should get back to work, but she’d been looking forward to seeing him all shift, and now that they were actually talking, she kind of didn’t want to stop. And neither did he, apparently.

“Was there any—” “I was wor—”

They both stopped and laughed in the middle of speaking over each other, and she gestured for him to continue.

“I have to admit, I was a little worried when I didn’t see you at your normal post when I entered.”

“You were?”

“Aye,” he verified with a nod. “I, uh...I apologize if this seems forward, but...you’re definitely a highlight of my weekend.”

She swallowed. No one had ever admitted anything like that to her, aside from her son. It was a little hard to take in, but she was good at telling lies and he wasn’t lying.

But he did seem to misinterpret her silence. “I’m sorry; that was presumptive and—”

“You’re a highlight of my weekend, too.” Her rushed admission was initially met with shock, but quickly it morphed into a dimpled smile she’d never seen before but was sure she wanted to see more.

“I’m...I’m glad to hear that.”

She could tell he was waiting for her to make the next move, and she desperately wanted to, but she was still processing the whole conversation and that might take a bit of time.

“I should probably let you get back to work,” he said quietly, and she didn’t miss the slight tint of hurt in his voice.

“Uh, yeah,” she agreed, hesitantly. “But, uh...I get off at 4.” That was still a couple hours away; plenty of time for her to get her reeling thoughts and emotions in check.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Good to know.” The playful smirk was back and she was sure there were butterflies in her stomach (or it was grumbling because she definitely needed a grilled cheese).

“Um, was there anything you were looking for today?” she asked, slipping into clerk mode and immediately cringing at her terrible transition.

His smile turned soft; it looked like he picked up on her awkwardness and didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I think I’m good, but...I have a thing later and I need to bring dessert. What do you recommend?”

She got a little jealous at his mention of “a thing” but pushed it down. “Well, our chocolate ganache cake is popular, but…” She leaned in, beckoning him with a finger. “Don’t tell anyone, but the bakery down the street is actually better, and they have amazing cupcakes. Chocolate with vanilla frosting is the best.” That was going to be her first stop on the way home tonight.

“Noted. Thanks, love.”

That jolt ran through her again at his use of the endearment, even though he now knew her name.

“Anytime,” she replied, her voice cracking.

He winked at her. “Have a Happy Birthday.” Before she could say another word, he pushed the cart away and continued shopping.

Oddly, the first thought to enter he head was “I didn’t offer him a sample.” But then she remembered how the whole thing started and got back to work, thinking over the whole encounter.

Killian. Her little crush finally had a name. Honestly, the only reason she’d agreed to even work on her birthday was so she’d see him, and lo and behold, she actually had a conversation with him. Maybe, just maybe, she was coming to see a birthday as a good thing.

She was on a high for the rest of her shift, genuinely thanking people for their birthday wishes while dishing out samples of the heavenly smelling soup. Before she knew it, Elsa was on the other side of the counter. “You ready to go?”

“It’s 4?” Emma glanced at her watch; it was.

“Yeah; I’m surprised you didn’t have a countdown going.”

“Uh, guess I was just having a good time.”

Elsa eyed her skeptically. “But you hate demo.”

“Well...today wasn’t so bad.”

Her friend hummed, musing. “Maybe I should put you here more often.

“Maybe.” Emma would probably regret that, but not today.

“Okay...well, enjoy the rest of your birthday.”

Hurriedly, Emma ran to the back, took off the pin, threw on her coat, and made a mad dash for the door. She pulled out her phone to let Henry know she was on her way, only to then realize: she didn’t get Killian’s number. Not that there had been a good way to do so at the time, but still—idiot. She physically facepalmed.

“You said chocolate with vanilla frosting, right?”

She turned, and there he was, leaning by the door as if he owned the place, bakery bag in hand.

“Ye...yeah.”

He pushed off the wall hip first and sauntered over to her, placing the handle of the bag over her frozen right arm, which had still been gearing up to call Henry.

“Enjoy, love. And Happy Birthday.” He hesitated a moment, but then leaned forward, placing a gentle peck on the apple of her cheek, before turning and walking toward his car (a black Mustang, how typical).

“Wait!” She shook herself from her stupor quickly enough to follow after him. “Let me give you my number.”

A dimple cut into his cheek as he smirked. “Check the bag.”

Confused, she glanced down into the bag. On top of two carefully packaged cupcakes was a sticky note with a phone number on it and his name in impossibly perfect cursive.

By the time she’d read it, he had already started his car and was backing out. “Thank you!” she shouted; whether he heard it or not, he waved, and then drove off.

She stared at the bag for another moment, and the number within, before dazedly heading to her car.

Okay, so maybe birthdays were good.

(Henry nearly grabbed the bag from her when she got home, and promptly demanded to know who Killian was.

He met the man in question when they got to Granny’s and noticed Killian sitting at the counter by himself. Henry insisted he join them.

It also turned out that Killian, too, enjoyed Galavant and Lucifer, so they stopped for a few more cupcakes before heading back to her apartment.

And on her next birthday, they both went in to shop together, on her day off, to take advantage of the family discount—because the rings on their fingers definitely made him family—and then to get cupcakes on the way to their shared home.)