Summary: It’s only supposed to ever be one
night, but before they know it, it’s a doorway in Paris, and an apartment in
San Diego, and a blinking low battery light in Maine. Emma knows she needs to
let Killian go, but there’s always that one day a year she can’t seem to stay
Also on ao3 or ff (where it is broken into 4 parts for those who prefer smaller chunks)
She hopes he’ll forget, that life will sweep him away and her impulsive, guilt-ridden promise will be just another missed moment in this crazy life of theirs.
There’s no reason to cling to this one day, after all. She’s seen the photos of him with the same woman for months, the way that woman looks at him with adoring eyes and a happy, easy smile. They look good together, Killian with his rockstar attitude and the cute actress with the rich chestnut hair and short skirts.
He deserves to be happy, but when he reminds her in January that she promised, and if she needs to request leave, she had better do it now, she puts in the request despite the fresh flood of guilt. She assures herself that come June, it won’t matter, because he’ll be somewhere with the actress, and she’ll take herself to the beach. Or something. She won’t be the woman who helps him throw away what appears to be an actual, healthy relationship for a sandcastle on a fault line.
But two weeks before the nineteenth, she opens an email while killing time waiting in her hotel room in Rio to find a flight reservation in her name. It’s a one way ticket to an island in the West Indies, and the only other thing his email says is I trust your passport is in order.
Emma types ten replies before she gives up and closes her email, cursing to herself as she drops her head into her hands. What the hell is she doing? She can’t go running off to an island with him. She promised one day. What the hell does he think he’s doing with the one way ticket?
And what about the actress?
She can’t go. Then she backpedals, decides she’ll go, but nothing will happen. They’re still friends, after all. Since he showed up drunk on her doorstep, they’ve resumed their usual correspondence, though he’s never mentioned the actress, and she’s never been brave enough to ask.
Still, she isn’t prepared for the sight of him when she steps out of the tiny airport into the oppressive heat, the deep blue of the sky reflected in his eyes. He looks good, relaxed even, in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt that highlights the definition in his biceps. And his smile when he catches sight of her – a pure, radiant smile – weakens her resolve in an instant.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he admits as he takes her bag, his palm on the small of her back the only thing she can think of as he guides her toward a waiting car.
“I almost didn’t.” She bites her lip, grateful and disappointed all at once when she gets into the passenger seat and his touch drops away. “What’s with the one way plane ticket?” she asks as he settles into the driver’s seat, slipping a pair of dark glasses over his eyes. “It was supposed to be a day, Killian.”
Well, when I first came to England and he had the jukebox on all the time, I have to say I was a bit confused because it was ‘The Ying Tong Song’ and 'I’m Walking Backwards For Christmas’… and he had an EP of Christmas carols by a sitar player.
Olivia Harrison on George, BBC Radio 2 interview conducted by Jools Holland, broadcast 20 October 2014