So this ridiculous floral shop AU has obviously been written about a million times by now [fondest regards to Christina Perri on that one], but I couldn't help myself - I feel like this might be a fun approach to take so we'll see what happens! You can see that each chapter will be named after a different flower and I am using my "superior internet search skills" to find out the meaning of the flower that I believe relates best to each chapter. I must warn you up front that this one may get a bit more M-Rated than my last one so proceed with...some form of caution. Now, without further rambling, enjoy :]

Powdered sugar. Powdered freaking sugar. She wasn't sure how one little direction - one simple item on an order form - could be screwed up so badly. She didn't need brown or cane sugar or freaking molasses. How was this so damn difficult?

Emma had been having the morning from the deepest depths of hell.

By the time she had finished packaging the cupcakes the night before for the upcoming city centennial gala, the closed sign had been long shut off and the antique clock on the wall read 1:34 - and yes, that was in the morning. She'd driven home in a less than attentive state, thankful that she lived in a small town and hopeful that this fact would mean a lack of law enforcement patrolling the streets. Her eyes and overall posture had been exhausted by a ten hour day and the last thing she wanted was to explain her zombified appearance to whatever sheriff was on duty.

The gala was one of the biggest events to take place in Storybrooke since...well, ever. She had to pull a few strings in order to secure her bakery as one of the caterers, but what use is it to have connections if you don't intend to use them to your advantage once in a while? This event was going to be great for business and perfect for promoting - but currently, it was nothing but endless work and the reason for Emma's tossing and turning well into the hours of an early sunrise.

Good hell, she thought with sympathy for herself. She was just so tired.

Well played, insomnia, she finally thought after attempting sleep for a number of hours. With no such luck, she'd rolled irritatedly out of her less than comfortable bed far earlier than she planned. The mirror was often a terrible foe on days like today, but she forced herself toward it anyway. Her eyes were bright green although they were set deeper than usual by the dark circles surrounding them. Her hair was a mess - long, blonde, and in need of a stern brush. Her make up was smeared, evidence of a frustrated late night. To top it off, her tired body was moving at the pace of a turtle through peanut butter. As she pulled her hair into a careless ponytail and ignorantly grabbed a mismatched jacket, she realized that she was ironically going to be late even though her inability to sleep gave her much more time that morning to get her act together than usual.

It was this running behind schedule that caused her to run smack dab into that old adage of Murphy's law - yep, anything that can go wrong will. Oh and yes - yes, it sure did.

She was victimized by a traffic jam and a long line at the local coffee shop. A rushed drive had caused her to not only spill her coffee but rather pour it all down the front of the cream and navy sweater she'd chosen to wear. Cursing the cars on the road, her now demolished espresso, and the whole morning in general, she'd pulled into the parking lot with a deep breath. She hoped desperately that she had a change of clothes in her office, preferably located next to the willpower she was going to need in order to get through the day homicide-free.

An embarrassed ambush by one of her employees the moment she walked through the door told her that there was some higher power either testing her or completely screwing with her. It didn't matter which motive it was - she was not amused.

The terrible string of events up to that point had led her to this - a lack of patience and stupid powdered sugar.

"Emma, I swear I filled out the order form correctly. I think maybe it's that they changed the product codes or moved some things around...or maybe they didn't move things around. So what if maybe they entered the order wrong? You know, I bet that's what-"

"For the love of God, Anna," Emma sighed, dropping her head to her desk. "Stop. I really don't care what happened with the order, but the fact is that we work in a bakery specializing in sweet confections and we are currently down to our last two bags of a product I needed you to order."

"I know. I'm really, really sorry. So," Anna said hopefully although Emma was still silent with her head flat against the wooden surface. "What do you think we should do?"

"It's not 'we' - it's 'you'," Emma replied, trying not to sound too harsh. "I need you to handle this because I have to go design two hundred and eighty freaking fondant flowers for cupcakes right now."

"Which I will totally help with...once I fix this little, uh, hiccup. Seriously though, Emma, I just don't know how the order-"

"Anna," Emma said, leaning back to drop her head against the chair. "What is your job right now?"

"To make your job easier..."

"Yes, exactly," Emma said patronizingly. "I don't care if you have to go to Timbuktu or Tallahassee, but I need you to get powdered sugar now."

"Okay, you got it," Anna said, eager now to redeem herself. "I'm on it."

The door to Emma's office clicked closed and she sighed in a most exasperated fashion. She rummaged through her storage cupboards in search of something to wear and grinned for the first time that day when he hands landed on a pale blue t-shirt that was imprinted with the bakery logo.

The Sugared Swan - the name was ridiculous, but she loved it. Everything about it.

It had come into creation the same day Emma signed her small business loan. A few glasses - or bottles of wine had Emma and her friend Mary Margaret laughing hysterically as they scribbled ideas on a legal sized paper pad. For some reason, the next morning, Emma found that name pounding in her head right alongside her wicked migraine.

She lifted the tarnished sweater over her head and dropped it to the floor before pulling the fitted shirt onto her thin frame. She smoothed the fabric with both hands, trailing her fingers over the curvy font and the solid black bird.

Even on mornings delivered by the devil himself, she had to admit that she was happy here. Opening the bakery had forced her to lay down roots somewhere for once and in the midst of doing just that, she'd built something of a home for herself in Storybrooke. It made her smile in a way that security and safety never had.

Upon exiting her office, Emma grabbed an apron off a nearby hook and found herself in the process of tying it when she was greeted by a familiar, faithful face.

"Morning, boss."

"I'm assuming you're leaving off the 'good' from that greeting for a reason, August?"

"Ha! Yeah, you didn't really look like you'd appreciate any well wishing at this particular moment."

August was a good guy - dependable, personable, and punctual as far as delivery people go. He'd hired on just after she opened and Emma always felt lucky that such a responsible employee had remained a part of the business since the beginning.

"So the cupcakes," he said, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked into the large cake boxes stacked in a cooler corner of the room. "I'm delivering those today, right? Where to?"

"To the town hall," Emma nodded, tying up the apron strings behind her back and moving to the large titanium sink to lather her hands. "I'm finishing the flowers today and then I'll go place them tomorrow morning so they can be fresh for the gala. I think it starts around seven tomorrow night."

"Sounds good," August said, obviously trying to get a count of the boxes while formulating the most efficient way to load them for transport. "I'll go back the truck in and get a move on."

Emma smiled softly at his initiative and rubbed hands together in preparation as he descended out the back door. Quiet, she thought. Finally.

Finding a stool off in a different corner, she lifted it over to the smooth, cool metal of one of the preparation tables. Her hands lay flat for a moment as she took in the surroundings she loved - the clean canvas of a soon to be sugary workspace. Little instances like this reminded her how much she truly loved this business and as her heart swelled slightly with pride, she moved to one of the large refrigerators to retrieve the container of fondant she'd set aside for this purpose. Emma gathered an array of tools - a silicone work mat, an assortments of different rollers, a collection of circle cutters, and some luster dust. That finishing touch was her favorite part of the process.

She used a large rolling pin to flatten the pure white confectionery material and then strategically placed the cutters, cleanly producing several circles of different sizes. She moved to obtain a small wooden stick - one she'd use to hold the weight of the flower while they solidified a bit. Her hands moved almost automatically as they twisted and pinched the fondant into a petaled creation. Using a paintbrush to apply some vague gold accents, she sighed happily at her work - the mark of a satisfied artist. One down, she thought with a silly shake of her head.

"Okay, I was able to get us three twenty five pound bags and I called the vendor as well," Anna announced herself, huffing and puffing as she stumbled back into the workspace. "They're going to expedite the original order to us so everything will work out totally fine any-"

So much for a quiet, creative environment, Emma thought.

"Hey Emma," August said, reentering the recently disturbed peaceful scene. "We have a little problem. I was trying to pull the truck in so I could load everything up by the back door, but someone is already blocking the alley off-"

Oh hell on Earth no.

She didn't even allow August to finish his statement before she stalked to the small window that gave a view of the alleyway. She fumed when she saw the old world calligraphy on the shipping truck that was currently stationed right in front of the only way in or out of the loading area.

Fairytale Floral. God, she hated that name.

"I'll be back."

It was still a bit cold out, but the heat radiating from Emma's temper warmed her in a way that caused her jacket to be forgotten. She forged with purpose across the street reserved for business vehicles only and stormed right into the open back door without any caution whatsoever.

"Where the hell is he, Ruby?"

The shop's long time employee stood over a workbench littered with thorns where she'd apparently been pruning roses. She looked up in surprise, jumping a little at Emma's abrupt and scathing entrance.

"Uh oh," Ruby said, smirking as she turned her eyes back to her work. "I know that look."

Emma moved her angry hand to her hip, waiting impatiently for an answer. Ruby almost laughed, but quickly bit her lip before pointing to the door that led into the retail side of things. Emma clenched her fists in an attempt to steady her sudden infuriation as she stomped in the specified direction.

"No, seriously Robin - I'm just amazed you were able to locate such healthy plants let alone score such a deal. I really appreciate you getting them to us so quickly."

Emma's rage grew as she observed the nonchalant conversation taking place near the shop's front entrance. It was enough to make her want to throw a pile of those removed thorns in that direction.

"Jones, what the hell are you trying to pull?"

The addressed man currently holding a clipboard while signing for payment was clearly not surprised and didn't even acknowledge her presence as he swirled his flourished signature across the paper. She tapped her foot urgently, even more irritated with the way he was ignoring her.

"Be with you in a minute, Swan."

Who the hell did he think he was?! What an insufferable bastard. She shouldn't be surprised by him anymore, but he just never ceased to act like a total ass.

"No, you will talk to me now! You are so ridiculous! You know that the loading area has to be open for passage at all times. You aren't the only one trying to operate a business here!"

He didn't say anything else to her as he quickly scribbled something across the pages on his writing surface. He finally clicked the pen and shoved it into his back pocket.

"Go ahead and unload everything through the back door, Robin. That will definitely be the most convenient way to handle things."

Robin looked at Emma in an almost frightened manner before he nodded, taking the clipboard and bolting out the door. Emma stood firmly as she watched him leave.

"Well, top of the morning to you too, Emma. Although I must admit, I do so enjoy it when your greeting is a bit more docile. This shrill tone has never suited you, love."

If she didn't hate him so much the majority of the time, Emma would have probably been much more likely to admit how devastatingly attractive he was. His hair was dark and messy, pushed back and to the side in a careless way. The simple style kept it from shielding the unbelievable crystal blue eyes - the ones that frequently taunted and teased her. He was wearing a simple dark blue henley shirt that was slightly undone at the top with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows. His jeans were fitted and they trailed down his strong legs to a folded cuff that sat just above his dark brown Oxford boots. He glared at her with a mix of disdain and utmost curiosity.

"Well I enjoy it when I'm able to make deliveries without having to come raise hell over here first," she continued with abandon. "I don't know how many times we have to have this damn conversation - and I have asked you repeatedly not to call me 'love'."

"Ah, yes, well," he said with a shrug as he reached down to pick up a crate of vibrant flowers, his biceps contracting against his sleeves as he did so. "I fail to see why you are so insistent on us sweating the small stuff. I mean, here I thought you'd come to share in my just delivered good fortune."

He carried the crate of blossoms to the counter by the register, setting them down on the surface as a little bit of soil fell out of the wooden container. He was so transfixed with the flowers that he failed to notice the frustrated groan that left Emma's lips as she stalked toward him.

"Killian, I could honestly couldn't care less about whatever good luck you've stumbled upon. I have so much work to do and-"

"The hydrangea flower," he interrupted her with a sly smirk, twirling one of the stems in his hand as he dissected the flower with his intense gaze. "You know, they're originally from Japan and the name is derived from the Greek root for 'water' which I've always assumed to be related to the fact that this particular plant needs a great deal of water to thrive-"

"Killian Jones, I do not have time for a botany lesson right now! I just need you to-"

"You see, Swan," he continued, ignoring her outbursts as he ran his fingers over the pristine indigo petals of the flower. "There's always been quite the debate over the symbolism surrounding this flower. Some believe it represents vanity or boastfulness - probably because it's so lavish and it has so many petals. Yet others assume that it's grandiose presence in a bouquet can show just how grateful the giver is for the recipient's understanding."

He was so unbelievably infuriating. Emma rolled her eyes when he finally looked up at her with a knowing half smile, his tongue running across his teeth in an almost flirtatious gesture. He pointed the blossom at her and then waved it around a bit, using it to make some asinine point.

"I just find it strange, Emma, that you'd march into my shop so enthusiastically on a day like today - one where I just received such a beautiful shipment of such an ironic flower."

She glared at him as he all but laughed at her fury. She hated it when he tried to flirt the anger out of her, giving her those seductive bedroom eyes that probably worked on just about every girl he'd used them on - but not her. No, Emma could not stand Killian Jones.

"I'm glad that you delight so much in insane coincidences," she said, arching her eyebrow at him with a challenge. "But I'm really not in the mood for your antics."

He grinned in defeat, holding the flower out to her. She crossed her arms across her chest, refusing to take it. His eyes felt into that puppy dog fashion, full of sadness and pleading as he set the stem next to the register. He looked down at it with a sigh and then back to her, raising his eyebrows playfully without backing down. She caught on quickly - take his stupid, beautiful peace offering and you'll get what you need.

"Fine," she said, almost growling as she snatched it from the counter. "Now, move your damn truck, Killian."

"With pleasure, Swan," he grinned as she sauntered away. "Oh and love?"

She shut her eyes, trying to remember that murder doesn't bode well for business owners before she turned back to face him.

"What?"

"Have a beautiful day."

That stupid idiot.