Face tensed in concentration, Killian focused on the lillies out before him. The pinks and creams blended together in pleasing harmony, but there was something missing. Texture. Movement. As he reached for his pruning shears he stifled a wry groan. If only his old work mates could see him now. Lieutenant Killian Jones, outstanding officer in her majesty's navy, capable, strong (masculine)... a florist. Almost, anyway. Once his community college certification was complete.

From the front of the store he heard a soft groan followed by a loud whisper of, "Snickerdoodles!"

Killian smirked. His sister-in-law's inability to swear never failed to tickle him. Dropping the shears, he headed for the curtain that separated the two parts of the store.

"Alright Else?"

As he stepped into the main part of the business, the blonde was staring intently at a sales note.

"Yes…" she replied, the crease between her brows growing deeper. Then she sighed. "Actually no."

She turned and placed a hand on the large bump that was barely concealed by her crisp, cream apron. "I took this order earlier and I thought it was for delivery tomorrow, but no, silly Elsa, it's due for today."

Killian glanced at the clock above the door that led out onto Main Street. It was almost 5.

"A small mistake, love. You've been growing a baby, anyone can forgive you being a little absentminded."

She gave him a wry smile. "Maybe in some cases, but he specified that they must be delivered by seven pm. And he's not the kind of person who I'd like to get on the wrong side of."

"Oh?"

She sighed. "It's that guy Walsh - who owns the furniture store on Ocean Drive?" Killian nodded his understanding. "Well he always seems nice enough, but that smile of his. It doesn't reach his eyes. I don't trust him."

Killian knew better than to argue against his sister-in-law's almost supernatural powers of perception when it came to others. "Alright then. Give me the order and I'll get it ready, we can get leroy into deliver it-"

"He's already on his way to his brother's for the weekend. I let him off early. You know how close they are."

With a shake of his head, Killian was already reaching for the paper in her hand. "Fine, I'll deliver it. Not like I have any better plans for my Friday night."

"You really don't mind?" she asked, her hands concentrating on cradling her bump as he was already turning back to the workroom.

"You concentrate on growing my nephew and I'll keep your business afloat."

There was a smile in his tone as he slid back beneath the curtain, her barely audible mutter of 'Don't be so cocky," turning it into a full blown grin.

/

One dozen white roses. Perfectly pruned, wrapped in sheer silver paper and tied with a white bow, as per the very particular instructions given on the order. As he retrieved the flowers from the passenger seat of his car, he checked that the small card he'd written out earlier was still attached. It was there, encased in an ecru envelope, as austere as the rest of the arrangement.

He swung the door closed, his left hand cramping as his fingers flexed against the handle. The muscles went into spasm, clenching and stretching as waited for the attack to finish. After a few seconds, the pain passed and his hand returned to its usual state of limited movement and feeling. He was used to it by now, almost 18 months since the accident that had almost cost him his hand and certainly cost him his career at sea.

Human error, they had said. No one's fault, was the verdict, following the series of event that crushed his hand. After six months it was clear that he would never regain full use of the appendage. He was never going to be happy behind a desk so he'd taken an honourable discharge and ventured on an extended trip to stay with his brother and his new wife. And here he was still, so many months later.

He shook away thoughts of the turbulent period behind him and checked he had the correct address. Emma Swan- Apt. 5a, 100 Oak Ave. He tucked the details back into his pocket and let him imagine who this Emma Swan might be- a game he liked to play on the odd occasions that he took care of a delivery. Would she be an ice queen as the flowers suggested she might be? All neutral tones and groomed to within an inch of her life? Well, she was dating that creepy furniture store owner. Was- past tense, it seemed. The card had only two words. 'Forgive me'. Short, not exactly open to interpretation. But also… cold? No pleas, no passion.

Stifling a snort, he made his way into the small apartment building, finding the correct door and pressing the doorbell as he impatiently shifted from foot to foot. Impatient to… well, nothing. He had a long standing Friday date with netflix and a bottle of rum. Regardless, it seemed like an age before the patter of footsteps reached his ears. He tensed, ready to thrust the bouquet into the thorny hands of Ms. Swan and make a quick escape.

He was mentally loading up the next episode ofThe Greatest Catch when the door suddenly wrenched open and a whirl of blonde hair and pent up energy screeched, "WHAT?"

Taken aback for a moment, Killian let his mouth open slightly as he took in the sight: red dress, stiletto heels, tumbling curls.

"I, um-"

He held out the bouquet of flowers, not quite sure what to say to the woman before him with fiery green eyes and a scowl etched on her full lips. She stared at the roses, giving him a moment to compose himself and evaluate the situation. Time to take in just how perfectly the dress was molded to her body. And even more so, just how utterly gorgeous she was from head to toe. Clearly she wasn't wasting any time on that loser.

"Looks like you moved on then," he grinned, keeping the expression on his face as she took the flowers from his grip. She looked up at him, her expression blank. "Date?" he added, gesturing to her attire.

She narrowed her eyes as she pulled out the card. "It's for a job," she snapped. And then he was faced with a whole other load of questions. "I'm not a hooker," she clarified, her tone just a little exasperated.

He wasn't exactly going to suggest that but it did eliminate one possibility. "So what-"

He wasn't able to finish his question, as the next this he knew the carefully constructed arrangement was slapped against the floor and stomped on with one glossy stiletto. "That asshole!" she screamed, scrunching the delicate petals into the tile that lined the hallway. "Jerk!" she added, before tearing up the card with a quite amazing amount of anger.

Killian stared. All at once he was scared… and just a little turned on. Far from being an ice queen, Ms. Swan was more like some kind of fiery siren, all passion and fire. Enough that could even let him overlook her bad taste in mediocre furniture purveyors. For a moment both were silent. She seethed, her chest rising and falling in a distracting motion that drew his eyes to her… assets. He was intrigued, more so than he had been by any woman in, well, quite some time. He also had a strong sense of self-preservation and knew that now was not the time to make his appreciation of her virtues apparent. So he tried to offer a conciliatory smile, enough to step away, enough to let him leave and then later make a few discrete enquiries among those he knew in the small town- surely someone knew more about this woman. No, woman was inadequate. This… force of nature.

Slowly, he turned away.

"Hey," she snapped, causing him to glance back and catch her eye, "If that asshole tries to send me any more 'peace offerings', don't waste your time coming out here." She glanced at the mangled roses. "Seems a waste," she finished, before storming back into the apartment- giving him an all too perfect view of her shapely legs and tightly clad derriere.

When the door finally slammed shut, he looked up and grimaced. "I'm in trouble," he muttered, before sloping back to his car, ready to bury himself in rum and thoughts of Ms. Swan.