A/N: This is just a little thing I'm writing to get me through the rest of the hiatus so I thought I would post it on here and share it :)

The supermarket is quiet, thankfully, when Killian leaves the employee lounge to start his shift. He hates this place, the nauseating white lighting and the crackling speakers that make him flinch every time there is an announcement.

He hates that he knows every aisle like the back of his hand. He hates that he somehow always ends up with the 'coupon shift' and that he is still considered the new guy even after 5 months. Killian Jones hates his job with a passion. Perhaps if he had been younger or interested in retail the job wouldn't be so bad, but when he is a grown man in his thirties who used to run his own business the job is positively torture.

He heads to his usual checkout slowly for lack of both customers and enthusiasm. His Friday shift is usually quiet considering most people are still at work themselves, which leaves him serving older people that despite their friendless make the day go even slower.

He leans on his stool and stares blankly at the rack of magazines on the opposite checkout. He doesn't care for celebrity culture and false journalism yet he somehow always knows which one of the Kardashian sisters is pregnant by the end of the week. Sometimes he moves the lifestyle magazines in front of the celebrity ones to switch it up when he gets tired of the sleazy headlines.

He can hear his brother in his head, laughing as he forced Killian to watch one of those entertainment shows that manage to make spotting someone in yoga pants sound dramatic. At the thought of his brother he grits his teeth and rests his head on the counter, trying to use the counting technique his grief counselor taught him in that one session he attended.

'Long day?' He hears, making him sit back up quickly in shock. A woman is unpacking her basket onto the conveyor belt, looking up to shoot him a sympathetic smile before returning back to her groceries. She is blonde with green eyes and a sweet smile and she's beautiful. He rarely serves anyone around his own age at this time of the day and he feels suddenly awkward.

'Something like that.' He replies vaguely as he scans through her milk carton. She finishes unpacking the basket and moves to the other side to put it all into her grocery bags. He avoids looking at her again, focusing on actually doing his job instead of looking at the pretty woman buying her food.

Just as he scans the last item (a roll of dough for cinnamon buns which amuses him for some reason) her phone rings and she sighs.

'Sorry.' She mutters as she pulls out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and answers it.

'Yeah of course I remembered it.' She says humorously into the phone with a roll of her eyes. Killian watches her as he waits for her to finish the phone call and pay, and he notices smaller details that make her even more beautiful.

Her nose and cheeks have very faint freckles and her lips are a pretty pink colour. She's wearing a red leather jacket with blue jeans and a black vest that shows just a hint of her bra. He finds himself looking far too long at that region of her body and he looks away, feeling awkward despite her not even being aware of him.

'Okay, love you too.' She smiles before hanging up.

'Sorry about that.' She apologies again before finding her card and putting it in the machine. Before he knows it she's carrying away her shopping and heading for the exit, her blonde curls bouncing lightly behind her as she walks.

He feels disappointment swell in his chest. His romantic life had been nonexistent for months, which hadn't actually bothered him, but despite seeing his fair share of attractive women recently she had been the only one to make him feel something, and he didn't even know her.

He resigns himself to the fact that she was taken and he would probably never see her again, so he lets the image of the beautiful woman fade from his mind as he continues wallowing in his sadness. It was going to be a very long day.

Emma clears away the dishes after dinner, smiling and shaking her head when she hears the sound of the TV change to one of Henry's video games. She heard him yell in victory before he came bounding into the kitchen.

'Mom I just leveled up!' He says excitedly.

'Congrats, kid. It makes me so proud to know you've progressed further in your video game than your homework.' She responds, trying to give him a stern, motherly look without grinning at his happy little face.

'But Mom it's a Friday, no child must ever suffer the punishment of doing homework on a Friday night.' Henry tells her, and she laughs at his seriousness.

'Oh of course, you're totally right.' Emma says just as seriously as she closes the dishwasher and wipes the counter down.

'Aren't I always?' Henry retorts, and she ruffles his hair affectionately, smirking when he pats it back down afterwards.

'Hey, can we make those cinnamon buns now?' The boy says excitedly, already getting the dough out of the fridge before Emma could even answer. Emma just laughs again and sets the oven to pre-heat. She knows the premade dough is cheating and that baking from scratch is better but she doesn't usually have the time between work and Henry, but the kid seems happy enough with it.

They roll the dough together and she leaves Henry to glaze them (it's always been his favorite part, despite most of it not even ending up on the buns) before she puts them in the oven to bake. Henry returns to his game while they cook and Emma takes a seat at the kitchen counter, pouring a small glass of wine and sighing.

They had been living in the town long enough now that the initial excitement of moving somewhere new had faded away and Emma was beginning to feel the familiar feeling of emptiness sink in. She loves her son and she's so happy that she has him in her life, but she has always felt like something was missing. She devotes herself to Henry and work, which leaves little time for friends or anyone else.

She promised herself that she would start fresh this time. She would put more effort into meeting other adults that weren't her boss and she would make more time for her son.

So far the latter had been surprisingly successful. Her new boss gave her Fridays off work (apparently there weren't as many bail jumpers here as there were in Boston) which meant that she could run errands while Henry was at school and have more time with him on the weekends.

The other part of her new goal hadn't been so successful. The only conversation she had had with an actual adult had been the checkout guy at the supermarket earlier, and that barely constituted as a conversation. She definitely did share his sentiment of long days and fought the urge to rest her head on the table in exhaustion just as he had.

She remembered hearing a slight accent when he spoke and she shook away the image of the rather attractive British guy that scanned her groceries. She finally found a decent supermarket in the area and crushing on one of the employees was not part of her plan.

The oven chimes and Henry comes running back but she sticks out her arm to stop him opening the door.

'Remember the last time, kid? I think I'll be dealing with the oven from now on.' She teases as he tried to hide the small pink scar on his hand behind his back. She pulls out the tray and inhales the smell of cinnamon. They look pretty good, better than any of their previous attempts to make them anyway.

Henry buzzes around her until they've cooled down enough for him to eat and he grabs the closest one and returns to his game. She sits beside him with her own bun, picking up the second controller and joining in despite her sticky dessert and complete inability to play video games. Henry laughs at her lack of ability but helps her press the right buttons until she somehow manages to defeat whatever evil thing was in her way.

They play late into the night (for Henry anyway, he'd fallen asleep early ever since he was a baby) and Emma pulls the blanket over him and turns the game off. She follows her nightly routine of checking the lock on the door and turning off the lights, brushing her teeth and removing her small amount of makeup before climbing into bed.

Her eyes sting with exhaustion but her mind still races as she lays her head on the pillow. She has a good job, a decent apartment and a wonderful son and she appreciates those aspects of her life. But there is something missing, and she realizes it's harder to find the missing piece when she tries so hard to ignore her problems. She needs to make this fresh start work.