Chapter Text
It was the height of the Christmas shopping season, but Christmas was the furthest thing from Regina Mills’ mind.
She had debuted her spring 2016 collection only last month, and the buzz from her collection - a spectacular one, if she did say so herself - was her best yet. Better than any other since she started her business over a decade ago.
Downstairs, she could hear the bell on the door chime over and over and the din of conversation and laughter. Of course. It was the last full weekend before Christmas - a Friday, this year, much to the chagrin of most in retail - but Regina barely paid it any notice. She was upstairs in her studio office, focused on writing notes for her upcoming lines, clicking through Excel spreadsheets with price points for the department store buyers, the names of the journalists who were conducting the interviews she had lined up in upcoming weeks, and dates of photoshoots she had to oversee.
There was a headache brewing in the area right around her temple, and she suspected that she hadn’t had more than 8 hours of sleep in the past five days combined. She craved coffee, but her espresso machine had just broken. She was grateful that it was Saturday; her small team of designers normally worked in the upstairs studio, chatting until all hours of the day and night, but she'd given her team a bit of time off on weekends this month so they could see their families for once around the holidays.
She glanced at her Rolex. She had 14 minutes until her phone call with the journalist from Vanity Fair. It was going to be a small write-up.
The manager of her retail space downstairs, Belle, had brought up coffee earlier, but Regina frowned as she held her half-empty China cup. She’d ordered one of those espresso machines with the pods special from Europe a few months ago, but the pods were difficult to source in the U.S. and she wasn't impressed with the taste. It wasn't the same coffee she'd had in Europe a few months ago. But she had no time to run out and grab a decent coffee at her favorite place, which was a few minutes’ drive away... in good traffic.
Just then, she heard a knocking noise outdoors, drifting up from the sidewalk. A low thud, thud, thud.
“What is that?” She asked no one in particular, setting her coffee cup back down and standing up, her black heels click-click-clicking across the polished wood floors.
She looked down at the sidewalk outside of the window of her second floor office.
Outside of the building next to her, a group of two or three men and one woman were constructing what appeared to be a wood platform.
Regina let out an impatient sigh. “Not now. Not when Vanity Fair is calling in…” she said out loud, gritting her teeth as she checked her watch again “…11 minutes.”
She grimaced as the banging grew louder. Voices trailed up from the sidewalk, accompanied by laughter. Who were these people, anyways? A For Rent sign had been outside of the brick storefront for at least three months after the last business had closed up shop. Someone new must have moved in.
Not only was the noise a disaster for her phone interview - she required the utmost silence for concentration, especially when she was being interviewed by such a high-visibility outlet - but it was also bad for business downstairs. She strove to provide her exclusive clientele and upscale patrons a relaxed, calm, sophisticated environment.
She began to pace, her phone in hand, the earbuds positioned in her ears, waiting for the call, hoping that the incessant noise from outside wouldn’t carry through on the phone.
1 minute before the set meeting time, her phone rang.
“This is Regina Mills.”
It was the journalist.
“Ah, Christine. So wonderful to speak with you,” she cooed in a velvet, throaty voice, and began the interview.
+
Forty minutes later, Regina hung up the phone. By now, her head was absolutely pounding. The noise from outside seemed to keep pace with the throbbing in her temple. She looked out the window and down at the sidewalk to check on the progress of her noisy neighbor.
A remarkable amount of progress had been made in only an hour - although with all of the noise, at least they’d managed to accomplish something. A platform had been made outside, and she noticed that tables, chairs and several of the most garish inflatable snowmen were being erected as decoration.
It was a winter wonderland.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Regina snarled, tossing her phone onto her desk and stomping over to the hook where her Burberry trench coat was hanging.
She marched downstairs, down a long, twisting, creaking staircase, and down a hall, and into her shop.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Mills,” Belle said in her bright Australian accent.
“I wish,” Regina grumbled as she paraded past the patrons browsing through the shop, pushed the door open and emerged on the sidewalk, the late-afternoon sun filtering through the tree-lined sidewalk.
She walked over to where all of the ruckus had been taking place and stood in front of the group of workers.
“What is this?” She asked loudly, her hands on her hips.
The three men and the woman glanced over at the sound of her stern voiced, their mouths open slightly. A woman brushed past her to go into the shop, which was apparently still open despite the maddening construction happening outside. Regina looked up at the sign.
swan song
artisanal coffee & donuts
The sign, which was designed to look hand-painted and rustic and maddeningly written all in lower case, caused Regina to scowl.
“I’m Emma,” the sole woman in the group of workers outside stepped forward, a hammer in one hand, offering Regina a gloved hand to shake.
Regina ignored the extended hand.
“Are you the owner of this - establishment?” she snapped.
Emma nodded. “Yep. Just opened last week. We’re scrambling to put up some holiday decorations to try to draw Christmas shoppers in for refreshments - sorry for the noise,” she said, grinning apologetically.
“Apology not accepted. I'm the owner of the shop next door and I cannot tolerate this kind of noise during one of the busiest shopping days of the season, not to mention this garish decor doesn’t mesh well with the type of… tone… we want for this street.”
Emma’s smile fell and she put a hand on her hip. “Now wait a second, this is my place, what do you have against me adding a touch of, you know, holiday cheer with it all? Like you, I’m just trying to earn a living-“
“I assure you, Ms.- what is your name?”
“Swan.”
“Swan? Well, that would explain the idiotic name of your cafe. Look, Ms. Swan, your little coffee shop clearly missed the mark in terms of placement. This is Story Brooke, a district that people come to for upscale shopping. We cater to exclusive clientele - Silicon Valley types, mostly, along with a few lingering yuppies with too much time and money on their hands - and we can’t have some goofy cafe with blow-up decorations along this street ruining our calm, sophisticated atmosphere.”
Emma scowled. “I actually did research this area. It would have been a poor business choice for me not to. And yeah, I know exactly what my market is. They are exactly the types I’m trying to attract with my fresh-ground, pour-over coffee, homemade donuts and croissants and muffins and sandwiches and salads. Yeah, I know exactly who I’m catering to here, so don’t lecture me!”
Regina narrowed her eyes. As Emma’s temper flared, that only made Regina want to give the illusion of being calm and in control, her disposition frozen as she watched the woman get worked up. She always preferred it when people had a meltdown in front of her. It gave her great satisfaction when she could be the calm, reasonable, even-tempered one, despite her sharp tongue. It always threw them off.
Regina’s mouth curved up into a little smile. “And what is this little winter - scene - you are constructing out here? Which, by the way, infringes on my storefront. You can’t have paraphernalia that close to my shop’s entrance. Zoning,” she said, gesturing towards one of the garish inflatable snowmen who was grinning wickedly at her.
“Just something festive. It’s only going to be up for a week, two at most. Christmas’ll be over soon, and then it’ll be gone, and you’ll have your precious storefront back,” Emma said.
Regina’s twisted little smile remained on her face, watching as the blonde woman was getting more and more irritated. “Take it down, Ms. Swan,” she said firmly. “Trust me. You do not want to go up against me on something this trivial.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? No. It’s my cafe, my decorations. Deal with it for a week, and it'll be over."
“We’ll see about that,” Regina said as Emma turned her back to her to march over where she was erecting several white trees with neon lights to complete the scene.
Regina turned to walk back to her shop.
“Wait, what did you say?” Emma called after her.
“I said, we’ll see about that. You might want to attend the Story Brooke town meeting Monday night. 7pm.”
“What do you mean?” Emma asked, a flash of worry crossing her face.
Regina raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I know some influential people in local politics.”
“Local… what do you mean? The municipality of Story Brooke?” Emma asked.
“Yes. Our town meetings are held the third Monday of every month. Come on Monday and we’ll discuss your little - display - with the downtown retail association. Or remove it. Your choice. It all depends how much hassle you wish to deal with.”
“I’d be glad to go there and check out what this retail association is all about,” Emma said. “Thanks for telling me all about it - wait, what’s your name?”
“Regina. Regina Mills.”
Emma walked out on the sidewalk and took the opportunity to glance over at the storefront that she’d emerged from moments ago.
FORBIDDEN
“Forbidden…” Emma read the minimalist lettering on the window of Regina’s shop, printed in gold font on a frosted square of glass. “What is this? You have some sort of clothing boutique?”
“It’s lingerie.”
She couldn’t help but notice that the woman’s eyes widened slightly at that.
I designed every square inch of this store years ago. I grew the business from nothing. I assembled a team of world-class designers, built a business that has clientele around the world. Many are famous. I've studied in Paris and New York, and a few months ago I showed at New York Fashion Week. My work is finally getting the kind of attention I deserve and you are being rude and detrimental with your little hipster cafe.
Regina wanted to say those things, but she bit her tongue. She considered herself too classy to stoop to this coffee shop owner’s level.
“Until we discuss this matter again on Monday, Ms. Swan, I suggest you keep the noise levels down,” she said sternly.
+
After Regina returned to her office, she sent off a strongly-worded email to a few people she knew who worked for the town and the Retail Association. Then, the rest of the day passed in an unremarkable fashion. Regina had no more calls to make, and she merely had to look over a few spreadsheets with information about orders and stock in her New York boutique and on her online shop, making sure that nothing was going to go too awry in the Christmas-ordering frenzy.
Most of her sales came from her online retail shop, but her boutique here in California was her first retail space and dearest to her heart. It was in the town where she’d lived for much of her life. Her boutique in New York was actually just nested in a larger department store in Soho; tiny, but popular enough to justify the added expense of maintaining floor space over there.
The funny thing about being a lingerie designer was that Regina Mills had never been that interested in being a fashion designer at all. She studied business in school, and as she was working on her MBA, she landed in an internship for a textile company that designed some of the finest materials in the world; not only did they work with the highest quality of precious materials like silks, but also fabrics they specifically innovated through technology to be both comfortable and beautiful. Some of their synthetic materials were as light as air but easy to wash, draped beautifully and could handle any color without ever fading. They were comfortable, luxurious, and worthy of being worn on womens' bodies everywhere.
Following the internship, she spent the next several years traveling the world, apprenticing with the finest lingerie ateliers, making notes and designs and learning how to blend her ever-impeccable eye for detail and exceptional taste for beautiful and romantic things with the latest in construction techniques for undergarments and sleepwear, and of course allowing her business acumen to guide her into a place where she could start her own line, her own retail company, and finally, to bring everything to the competitive fashion market, fighting hard in an oversaturated industry for a little attention and publicity and, of course, sales.
Her hard work had entailed hours of laboring at all hours of the day and night in endless classes, apprenticeships and internships, a few jobs at a couple of fashion houses, and finally, starting her own line and selling it on the internet. As she worked towards her goal, the years ticked off quickly, her son grew up, and she had little life outside of work.
After the FORBIDDEN line was featured on a few prominent style blogs, that’s when she started to see her orders increase, and finally, she could afford to expand her line, expand the styles, increase the quality and make her lingerie more exclusive and luxurious than it had been when she started. And that’s when she could open her retail stores.
Regina rubbed her eyes at 5 pm that Saturday. Yes, all of the work she had put in over the past decade was finally paying off. Attention and coverage in magazines and blogs had grown her business to the place she always dreamed of it being. She yawned.
Finally, a little after 5, she put her Mac to sleep and clicked off all of the lights in her office and went back downstairs. At the moment, there was no one in the shop, but things tended to slow a bit around dinner time. They stayed open until 8:30 on Saturdays, however, to try to catch shoppers - couples, ideally - who were in a good mood after drinks or were out for a post-dinner stroll.
Belle was artfully arranging a display of black brasseries with a vibrant, almost photo-realistic print of roses on a mirrored table. The shop was sleek and modern; the floors dark polished wood, the walls painted a deep, velvety grey, the lighting arranged to be dim and relaxing, but with lights that specifically shone on the pieces that were for sale, hanging along the walls or displayed on tables. There were candles placed around the store - this year, rose gold was a popular metallic accent, so vases and candleholders sparkled in the creamy-pink glimmering gold throughout the space.
The interior of the shop was like a precious jewelry box both sleek and soft, exactly the way Regina had always imagined a store should look. It was her own little world, her imagination come to life.
“I trust your interview went well earlier?” Belle asked, smiling kindly at Regina. “I didn’t have a chance to ask earlier.”
Regina forced a tired smile. “It did. And how were the customers today?”
“Not too bad,” Belle said. “Sales were quite good, as expected.”
“Henry hasn’t been by yet, has he?” Regina asked.
“Oh, yes, he has. But when he saw you weren’t downstairs yet, he told me that he wanted to try out a donut from the place next door. He said he’d wait for you over there.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose I should go meet him,” Regina said, her heart sinking. She’d have to go back into Emma’s cafe, but with any luck, Emma might have left by now.
She took out her phone and sent him a text, asking him to meet her outside.
As she waited for a response, she adjusted a negligé, which was hanging slightly off-kilter on its silk hanger. She then adjusted a few Christmas ornaments, simple spheres that had been hung artfully through the boutique, her only holiday decorations.
A customer came in, an older man in a pinstripe suit and a cane.
“I have everything under control here,” Belle told her gently, tapping her gently on the arm before moving towards the gentleman to ask him if he needed any assistance.
Regina nodded, too tired to argue, and left the shop.
Outside, her temper flared when she saw that Emma had not, in fact, removed the decorations. Instead, she’d actually added to the garish display; covering her windows in what appeared to be a sheet of tiny twinkly lights, and the multicolored white christmas trees creating a miniature winter wonderland on the deck, cheerfully inviting visitors in.
Despite herself, she had to admit it looked festive. She might even vaguely appreciate it if the place wasn’t neighboring her precious, sleek, minimalist storefront.
She pushed open the door of the shop, and it was not what she'd expected.
Judging from the flamboyant decorations outside, she’d expected sticky chairs and tacky round tables, the smell of cheap coffee and overly glazed donuts. Or, she expected something like the former tenant of the space, Frosty Cupcake Co., whose owner, Mary Margaret, had been sickly-sweet in both disposition and taste as they came. The cupcake shop had not been FORBIDDEN’s ideal neighbor, either; the pastel colors of that shop clashed with the vibe that Regina tried to cultivate for her own shop. She’d been relieved when Mary Margaret decided to close up shop to pursue other interests.
Instead, Swan Song reminded her something she might find in Paris or Brussels; it looked like a coffee shop one might stumble upon in a quant alley, a hidden treasure. Despite her outrage at Emma earlier, Regina couldn't help but feel impressed as she walked in. The floors, booths with small round tables, and the long bar counter were all dark, but that seemed to only offset all of the lighting around the room; everywhere there were bright white modern chandeliers were hanging from the tin ceilings, and tiny, twinkling lights were tastefully strung under the bar, and behind the bar as well, where giant copper coffee machines glistened. All around the walls there were built-in bookshelves containing hundreds of books, photographs and paintings, adding a cosy feeling to the space. It looked vaguely magical, and was actually quite stylish.
Regina immediately located her son sitting at the end of the bar, perched on a high bar stool.
“Here you are,” she said quietly as she slid into a barstool next to him, where he was sitting with a giant mug of what appeared to be hot chocolate - at least she hoped it was, even though Henry was now 13 she still discouraged him from drinking too much caffeine - and a plate with what appeared to be an enormous chocolate frosted donut on it.
“Hey mom.”
“That looks good,” she said, and clutched her stomach as she realized it was growling. She’d only had a small salad for lunch, and that had been hours ago.
“It is,” Henry said.
“Well. Didn’t expect to see you in here,” said a voice, and Regina looked up to see Emma walking towards them.
Regina clenched her jaw. “Ms. Swan, this is my son, Henry.”
Emma smiled at Henry and nodded. “We’ve already met. This guy’s got great taste - donut and hot chocolate with cinnamon. One of my favorite combos, too.”
“It’s great,” Henry said.
“Thanks,” Emma replied, beaming. “So, what can I get for your mom?”
“Nothing. We're going soon,” Regina answered.
“I insist. On the house. Anything you want. We have great pour-over coffee, cappuccino, cafe au lait, a tea collection… and of course, donuts.”
“Do you make the donuts?” Henry asked.
Emma shook her head. “Nope, I’m in charge of coffee, but it’s all I know, aside from keeping a business afloat. My friend Ruby - the one over there - makes the donuts. She learned all kinds of crazy-good recipes from her grandmother.”
“I think I’ll be quite all right,” said Regina, hoping neither of them could hear her stomach as it betrayed her in the delicious-smelling space.
“The kid’s still got a ways to go on his snack - let me at least make you a coffee? On the house. Neighbors always get coffee on the house,” Emma said.
Regina studied Emma suspiciously. They’d stood on the sidewalk fighting hours ago, and now she was cheerfully offering her a coffee?
She started to take off her black trench coat, resigned. “Cafe au lait, please.”
Emma nodded. “Great choice. Never been to France, but had a French friend who taught me how to make them the right way.”
Henry continued to munch on his donut hole and was thumbing through a comic book. Regina gazed around the room, still impressed by the taste of whomever had designed and decorated it.
“I like what you have done with this place,” Regina said to Emma when Emma presented her with what appeared to be a perfect, milky cup of cafe au lait, deciding to make an effort.
“Thanks,” Emma said.
“It’s better than the last establishment that was here. A cupcake business, with whitewashed walls and crumbling antiques and pastels everywhere. You half-expected to see a unicorn wander in.”
Emma’s face fell. “Oh, well, that was my mother’s place.”
Shit. Just when she was having a civil conversation with this woman - one that made her think she might be able to talk some reason into her about the decorations - she’d ended up insulting her mother.
Regina nervously cleared her throat. “Your mother is Mary Margaret?”
Emma nodded.
Emma was barely 30, and she’d always thought Mary Margaret and her husband Dave were maybe mid-40s. Not exactly over the hill. Only a decade older than Regina.
“My parents had me young,” Emma added, reading her mind.
“I see,” Regina said. She knew a thing or two about that - Henry had been born when she was in her early 20s; she hadn't been ridiculously young, but younger than when she probably would have chosen to have kids otherwise. If she would have had kids at all, that is. She didn’t exactly have any romantic prospects at the moment, and she was rapidly approaching her 34th birthday.
Regina decided to cover the awkward silence following that comment by taking a sip of the coffee.
And it was divine.
Emma had wandered away to serve another customer who had just sat down at a small round table, so she missed the look of absolute bliss that crossed Regina’s face - her first truly happy expression all day.
The coffee was perfect. The beans were sweet, but deep and rich in flavor. The cafe au last had been prepared the perfect way - with whole milk, which was absolutely sinful, and likely the coffee had been poured into the warm milk and not the other way around. It was the right way to make coffee.
It was the best coffee she’d had since the last time she’d been to Paris.
She savored every moment as Henry munched on his donut and finished his hot cocoa - Regina managed to steal a small bite of the donut. That was good, too, but a little too sweet for her taste.
Emma had disappeared - the cafe was getting busy again with the after-dinner crowd starting to wander in, and a few musicians were getting set up in the back of the cafe.
She had to get Henry home, though. Mainly because she was exhausted… and so they left before the music began to play (and before Emma could make her way back over to them again).
She made note to send Belle over to Swan Song next time she was at work and needed coffee.