If you're here, I just wanted to say thanks for giving this story a shot. This is my first time writing in the Once fandom, so I'm a little nervous. I hope you enjoy my story.

He'd been rushing down the street, late to meet his parents when it happened.

Killian had been more focused on making it to the pub in time to avoid a lecture from his father than where he was going. So, naturally, he'd gone and walked straight into her. It was only his quick thinking and strong arms that had kept her from hitting the floor.

Thank god for that personal trainer.

And that was when the complete and utter mortification had set in.

"Oh my God. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he asked, panic flashing all over his face.

"I'm fine, it's no problem," she told him, gently pulling herself out of his arms.

"I can't believe I did that. And to you! Of all the people in the world I could have mowed down, it had to be you." His face was burning bright red, concern still etched into every line of it.

"Holy shit." Her eyes widened slightly before carefully roving over his entire body. "You're Killian Jones," she whispered.

"And you're… you," was all he could say, his hand gesturing up and down her body.

She laughed lightly, taking a moment to appreciate his natural accent while he was speaking to her. She was so used to seeing him in character, on his show, that the Irish accent was a pleasant surprise.

Before he could say anything else, a large bulky guy approached them quickly, looking more than a little scary.

"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to step away," he told Killian, moving towards him as if intent on physically moving him away.

"It's okay, Anton. He's fine."

Anton didn't look too happy about the situation but he did back away. A little. The guy was still within reaching distance, but Killian supposed that was to be expected.

"I can't believe I ran into you on the street. I love your show," she told him.

Killian scratched awkwardly behind his right ear. "Thank you," he mumbled, a blush steadily colouring his cheeks. He hadn't felt this awkward in his own skin since he hit puberty.

He was thirty-four for crying out loud, not sixteen.

"We need to get going if you're going to make your appointment on time." Anton had stepped forward, his presence just as daunting as it had been when he first appeared.

"Sure, Anton." She turned her attention back to Killian one final time. "It was lovely to meet you," she told him.

Killian's mouth moved without his permission and suddenly the words, "Can I get a picture with you before you go?" were leaving it. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

What kind of idiot stopped to ask that of a woman of her status?

"Sure," she agreed, handing her jacket and bag off to a silently fuming Anton.

Killian quickly fumbled for his iPhone, ignoring the messages and missed calls from his mother and father, in favour of his camera app.

"Anton will take it," she told him, gesturing to the still fuming man, dressed head-to-toe in black, stood off to the side. Anton smiled his agreement, albeit tightly, before accepting the phone from Killian.

Killian wrapped his arm loosely around her, a little worried about manhandling her in any way that could be damaging. But she was happy to be tucked into his side for the picture, her left arm wrapping around his waist and her head coming to rest lightly on his chest.

Anton took a couple of pictures of the two of them together before handing the phone back to Killian. He paused to shoot him a dirty look at the dreamy expression that had crossed Killian's face the moment this beautiful woman had stepped into his arms.

"We really must be going now," Anton insisted.

"Of course. Thank you so much," Killian told her, holding his phone up to indicate the picture.

"Thank you, Killian Jones. Be sure to tag me in that if you post it online," she shot him a wink, before hurrying off with Anton close behind.

Killian took a few moments to compose himself before finally noticing the small crowd that had gathered around them to watch their interactions. A few teenage girls approached him, giggling between themselves as they asked for pictures with him. He was happy to oblige. After all, he was already late to meet his parents.

What would a few more minutes matter?

When he finally made it to the pub his parents had chosen for lunch he was greeted by the sight of them both, scowls firmly fixed in place.

"What the hell kind of time do you call this?" his father asked, as Killian slid onto a free seat opposite them both.

"Sorry for the delay," he offered, the smile on his face telling them both he was certainly not sorry. "I got a little held up in town."

"Let me guess, a pretty girl in a short skirt?"

"You're half right," Killian conceded, pulling out his phone. "But her Royal Highness, Princess Emma of Cambridge, doesn't tend to go for short skirts."

At the disbelieving look on both of their faces, he slid the phone across the table, the picture open for them to view.

Thanks for reading.