"This is the last time you set me up with anyone, Mary Margaret!" Emma tugged off her heels and dropped onto her friend's couch, propping one foot on her knee and rubbing her thumb along her aching arch.

"Oh! But I really thought you two would hit it off!" Mary Margaret brought two glasses of red wine from the kitchen and perched next to Emma, passing a glass to her. "He's always seemed pleasant at the faculty functions at school."

Emma rolled her eyes. "That's a great word to describe him: pleasant. If you think hearing about someone complain about their ex and be rude to the server all night is 'pleasant.' I'm serious this time, Mary Margaret—no more blind dates." She took a deep gulp of her wine—she was going to need it to erase this date from hell.

"I just want you to be happy!" Mary Margaret looked stricken, and Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes. Mary Margaret and her husband David Nolan were the real deal. Cynics can say all they want about true love not existing, but it practically radiated off the pair. It was enough to make a single girl feel sick.

"Mary Margaret, I love you, but enough is enough." Emma shook her head, leaning back into the couch. "And now I plan on getting spectacularly drunk and falling asleep on your couch as punishment. Because you need to hear every last detail of this disaster…."


Oh. My. God. It was happening again. Honestly, Emma should have known something was up when Mary Margaret picked the swanky Italian restaurant for dinner—the trio almost always met up at Granny's Diner when they went out for a bite. Emma glanced up through her windshield at the sign, and shook her head.

The text from Mary Margaret hadn't come through until Emma had already pulled her VW Beetle into a spot across the street. Apparently the Nolans were feeling a bit under the weather, and they couldn't get a hold of David's college friend Killian (surprise, surprise), and he'd taken off work to join them, so could Emma please, with a cherry on top, entertain him?

This had bad news written all over it.

Once inside the restaurant, it didn't take Emma long to spot her target—a lone man with dark hair sitting alone at a four-top. It had to be him. Emma weaved through the tables until she reached him, "Hi, are you Killian?" Her smile froze when she caught sight of his face. Dear Jesus, please let this be him. The thought popped unbidden into her mind. But good lord, this man was beautiful.

"Aye. And you must be Ms. Swan," He stood and took her hand, enveloping it with his warm, calloused fingers. He gestured to the seat across from him with his free hand.

"Please, call me Emma." What was it about men with accents, Emma wondered to herself. His voice had the lilt and flow of the Irish. She slid into the seat across from him.

"Emma." He said her name with a smile, and she actually felt her body clench, hot and low in her stomach. "I suppose we're just waiting on David and Mary Margaret then?" Killian continued.

"Ah, actually, Mary Margaret claims they've 'both fallen ill.'" Emma quirked her brow, lifting her hands to do air quotes at the end.

Killian nodded, lips quirked in a half smile, "So we've been set up, have we?"

"I'd say so. Mary Margaret does this to me all the time."

"Aye, me as well, lass." Killian laughed, dragging his hand through his hair. "Although, she usually gives me a bit of a warning that it's coming."

Emma shook her head, smiling as she leaned toward him, resting on her forearms. "What a pair we make." When their server approached their table, requesting their drink order, Emma weighed her options. "Well, what do you think?"

"About what, lass? A drink?"

She laughed, "No, do we stay or go?"

He shrugged, "Well, we're already here, aren't we? And you're quite easy on the eyes, so why not?" He shot her a crooked grin.

Emma quirked a brow. Was he flirting with her? Maybe tonight was going to be interesting after all. She turned to their server, the girl was waiting expectantly, clearly not amused by their bantering. "A glass of your house red, please."

Killian looked pleased. "Aye, and a rum and Coke for me. Thank you."

"So," Emma began, after a pregnant pause, one brow curving upward. "How would you feel about a little revenge?"

Killian pressed a hand to his heart and gasped. "On our dear, sweet Mary Margaret?" He flashed her a devilish grin. "I'd say you were speaking my language, love. What do you have in mind?"

She smiled as the server dropped off their drinks, nodding a quick thanks to the girl. "You know, I think I have just the thing." Emma took a slow sip of her wine, eying Killian over the rim of her glass. "I think we should pretend to date."

Killian's lips twitched, "Pretend?"

"Yup." Emma lifted her hands, gesturing between the two of them. "You and I pretend to have this spectacular, whirlwind romance for a few weeks—only to have it erupt in a horrible ball of flame. In front of Mary Margaret, of course." Emma's eyes were shining with wicked delight—a look that was mirrored right back at her.

"Oh, lass, you're a woman after my own heart." Killian's grin was wicked. "Now, let's figure out how we're going to pull this off."


Emma was actually stunned by how much fun she'd had. It wasn't even completely a lie when she texted Mary Margaret that night to gush about the dinner and thank her friend for setting her up (all part of "The Plan," as they'd dubbed it).

The hours had quickly flown by, and it was well past midnight when Emma unlocked the door to her apartment and let herself in, stepping out of her towering heels and padding barefoot to her bedroom. They'd talked the night away—oh, of course they'd plotted and planned, but Emma had learned a lot about Killian Jones during their evening together, and she honestly couldn't remember laughing so much in a long time.

She'd discovered that he and David had been roommates freshman year of college and had desperately hated one another for the first two weeks, for reasons that still escaped the both of them, according to Killian. But one night David happened to come upon Killian cornered by three other guys ("For some minor slight, I assure you," he'd said with a grin), and jumped in the fray to stand by Killian. They'd come out with a black eye and a split lip between them and had been thick as thieves ever since.

"My own Prince Charming to the rescue," Killian had said with a laugh.

Emma was smiling at the memory as she peeled off her dress and dropped down onto her bed, pulling the covers up over her. And she couldn't deny that spending time with Killian was going to be a hardship. The man was sinfully gorgeous. And when he'd hugged her goodnight, she hadn't been able to suppress the shiver that had rolled through her. She'd just nodded when he'd asked if she was cold—it was far less embarrassing than saying she'd nearly moaned at the feeling of his hard body pressed against hers.

The last thing Emma thought as she drifted off to sleep was that her revenge might not go quite as she planned.