Curling her hands around the mug of hot cocoa, Emma Swan tapped her fingers on the porcelain and watched her former foster mother with nostalgia as the woman directed two of her charges through their bedtime routine. The two-story colonial just on the outskirts of Boston had been home to so many children over the years that Emma was quite certain there were ghosts milling about telling their unfortunate stories. She'd spent five years of her life as the foster child of the woman, forming bonds that were not so easy for her at the time. While her time there had not ended all that well, Ingrid Frysta remained a loyal confidant and supporter.

"Why is it that every child who lives here seems to think I have no idea what I'm doing?" Ingrid said, pushing a container of ground cinnamon toward Emma. "Don't get so high and mighty about it. You were the same way. I think you must have attempted to run away three times in that first week alone."

"Habit, I guess," Emma said, sprinkling the added blend over her drink. "When you shift from home to home you're not going to trust the lady you know is getting a paycheck for you being there." She sniffed in the aroma of the drink before taking a long sip. "I was wrong about you. And they'll figure that out too."

Ingrid smiled warmly and took her own sip. "So any more news on your parents? You know some people search forever before they find people who gave them up for adoption. You're pretty lucky to find them without even trying that hard."

Though she didn't reach for it, Emma let her green eyes shift in the direction of the file folder protruding from her bag. "I wasn't really looking for them. It all just sort of fell in my lap. That's all sort of weird, right? I mean there are all these people in the world and Henry's father who grew up in the same small town as my parents. That's a big coincidence."

Ingrid tilted her head, letting her ash blonde hair fall over one shoulder as she regarded her former charge's face carefully. "Yes, I suppose it is a coincidence. What else could it be? Like I said, you're lucky."

"Yeah," Emma said, lifting her mug in Ingrid's direction with a sardonic salute. "That's me, leading a charmed life. Foster homes, a baby at 17, jail time, single parenthood, no clue what I'm going to do with my life. Should I continue?"

Ingrid gave her own sort of mock salute with her mug. "I don't know. I see some good things in your life. You have an adorable son." She gave a quick glance and gesture toward the preschooler playing with plastic letters on the floor in front of the fireplace. "You have a great job that you're very good at even if you don't like to admit it. You've got people who love you, including me and my nieces. And apparently you now have two parents who are anxious to meet you and have you in their lives."

Emma made a face. "She had me when was a year younger than I was when Henry was born. Apparently, her step-mother made her give me up for adoption. That's pretty convenient too. It's like they don't want to take responsibility for my growing up like I did."

"I think you're making excuses," Ingrid chastised, leaning back in the dining chair to view the great room where some of the children in her care were supposed to be finishing homework before bed. The conversation they were having died down with a single look from the family matriarch who leaned back toward Emma. "They offered you an all-expense paid trip to coastal Maine. What's the harm? You go up there. You visit. You get to know them. They get to know you. If it doesn't work out, you can spend the rest of your life making excuses why you can't visit again. Besides I hear that part of Maine is lovely. Think of it like a vacation. No work, someone else cooking…sounds like paradise to me."

"She's really perky. Over the phone I mean. I told her about Henry and she giggled when I sent her a photo of him. She called him a cutie. What grown woman giggles?"

"You've been known to do it yourself, Emma."

Her head shook furiously. "No, I laugh. I don't giggle. And I certainly don't have cute little nicknames for people like she does my father. She calls him Prince Charming."

Giving a small shrug, Ingrid sighed. "I think it's pretty amazing that they are still together. Not many people can say that about their high school sweetheart. They seem pretty nice from those emails you showed me. Give them a chance. I know you are independent and not very trusting, but they seem nice."

"They have a son," Emma said, leaning in conspiratorially like it was some huge confession. "His name is Leopold after her father. And apparently he's younger than Henry."

"You have a brother," Ingrid said, clapping her hands together delightedly. The woman clearly had a soft spot for children. "That's wonderful. And at that age he's not likely to disappoint you or make you any less trusting."

Another face from Emma and she knocked her knuckles on the wood of the table. "And a dog. A collie mix named Wilby. Seriously? They have the perfect little family. What could they be missing? Why do they want me to go there and ruin it?"

"Maybe they're missing an Emma," Ingrid said, giving another look to the great room. "I know you don't believe me, but maybe they have had this hole in their lives since they had to place you for adoption. We've talked about it before, Emma. I don't think they ever considered how you would get lost in this system. They probably thought you'd grow up with a loving family, on a farm or something."

"A farm?" Emma asked incredulously. "Is that your idea of family perfection."

"No, I was reaching. They seem like farm people to me. You said they have a collie."

"So you're in favor of me going," Emma said, reaching over for one of the cookies that sat at the center of the table. "You know we usually do something together for my birthday. It's kind of a tradition."

"There's nothing wrong with starting new traditions, Emma. And you're just going for a week. We can go to dinner when you get back."

***AAA***

David Nolan carried the last of the bags of groceries into the loft apartment he shared with his wife and son, depositing them on the kitchen island with a triumphant grin. "You may have bought out the store, hun," he said, turning his attention to peeling away the canvas totes his wife insisted on using instead of paper or plastic. "You do realize that Emma might not even like this stuff."

His wife pursed her pink lips together in the beginnings of a frown, peering eagerly into the bag closest to her with their son on her hip. "I bought too much, but I don't know what she likes or Henry. Kids can be picky. Maybe we should have told her to stay at Granny's. She could order whatever they eat there. It's just…"

"I know, I know," he said soothingly. "You want her here under our roof. You want us all to be a real family for the first time." He cupped the back of their one year old's head, breathing in the talcum scent. "I want that too."

Shifting the boy's weight, Mary Margaret looked pensively back at him. "She might not like us. These phone calls and all…it's like she can't wait to hang up. I think she blames us."

"We knew this wasn't going to be easy," David reminded her. "She's had 22 years of us not being around. It's going to take some getting used to."

"I suppose," she said, placing their son in the play pen with a few of his favorite soft toys that wouldn't be damaged when he inevitably threw them out. "Her birthday is next week."

"She hasn't even mentioned that. I am kind of hoping she'll still be here. We could get a cake. Maybe we could…" Birthdays were a big deal to his wife, which he had always known. And while it might be awkward to tell her, the couple had always lit a candle on a small cake for their daughter every October.

"We don't want to overwhelm her. Remember. Small steps. Small steps." She made a show of breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. Her arms lifted and dropped in cadence with her breathing. "It's going to be great."

The two of them made quick work of the groceries, eventually finding homes for all the jars, cans, and items in the cabinet and filling the retro looking refrigerator with fresh produce and meats, as well as other items. David was placing some crackers on the highest shelf when he heard his wife sigh.

"Something wrong?" he asked, ever amused by her dramatic ways. "Did I put something away wrong?"

"I forgot to tell you that you that I sort of didn't listen to you about the whole Ariel thing," she said, her nose scrunching as she confessed. "I set her up on a date."

"With?" he asked. Ariel was a good friend of theirs, though a few years younger. She'd been in a relationship for years with a guy named Eric who worked for a company that supplied many of the restaurants up and down the east coast with seafood, especially clams, oysters, and lobster. While they seemed to get along well, they were forever breaking up and reuniting. That pattern had left David a bit hesitant to try to match her up with their more abundant list of single guy friends. Mary Margaret was determined though, wanting to see her friends all blissfully happy.

"Killian." She winced as she said it. "I know, I know. He's a confirmed bachelor and likes his women with a low IQ and beautiful body, but it could work. He's been saying he's getting a little tired of going home alone every night."

David groaned, pulling their son up into his arms. "Killian Jones is not in the market for a girlfriend. He's more of a one night stand kind of guy. She's going to end up back with Eric or hurt that he doesn't call her the next morning. Are you going to talk her down from the ledge?"

"I always do," she reminded him. "Besides maybe it will do them some good if Eric gets jealous."

"Fine, but don't distract Killian. He's my only deputy right now and I can't have him mooning over some girl. I need him to fill in some shifts so I can spend some time with Emma and our grandson."

***AAA***

The apartment was dark when Killian Jones arrived, throwing his jacket onto the rack beside the door and toeing off his boots before feeling for the light next to the small dining table. He and his brother Liam had lived there together for three years, finding that the quiet life of the coastal town was preferable to their more anonymous existence in the larger cities in New England. The two of them shared the 950 square feet of space within walking distance of both downtown and the docks, keeping odd hours at their jobs.

"Liam? Brother? Are you here?" The dim light beside the table was just enough for him as he padded into the living space and toward his bedroom. They had lucked out in finding a space big enough for the two of them to share and yet still provide privacy. The two bedrooms were nearly identical with private baths that meant any overnight company the two had did not risk being seen by the other.

"In my room," a similarly accented voice called out to him. He and Liam were still relatively new to life in the United States, having been raised in a small town outside of London by their mother after their father had abandoned the family. Four years older than Killian, Liam had half raised his younger brother. On the outside he was the one in charge, boisterous, opinionated, and completely organized. That didn't mean he was devoid of humor, as the photographs of him surrounded by friends indicated.

Killian leaned against the door frame and watched his brother complete another rep of sit ups. "You're not working tonight?"

"Slow night," he said, stretching for a towel. "I left it in Robin and Will's capable hands. Or maybe that wasn't such a good idea. They may kill each other."

"If they do, it'll mean job security for me." Killian chuckled. While his brother served drinks at one of the town's only pubs, he had found himself a more regimented career in law enforcement. The irony was not lost on either of them.

"I thought you had a date? Did you do something to screw it up, brother?" Liam lumbered to his feet, throwing his arms over his head in a haphazard sort of stretch. "Don't tell me you screwed it up? I was counting on you to get married and leave me with this flat. That way I don't have to move."

"Apologies," Killian said with a roll of his blue eyes. "I had no intentions of screwing it up, but the date was a bit doomed from the start. I didn't get so far as the restaurant and she had called me by her ex-boyfriend's name five times. I only bought her dinner to appease my boss's wife and sent her back to the lout. I think I should work on my excuses for next time."

"Remind me not to get mixed in with that lot. I do fine with the lasses who are still hung up on their exes without getting set up with more. Belle said she's reading a good book with a bottle of wine tonight. Yet when I offered to come over she claims to have a headache and wants to be alone. I daresay she's probably got that ex-husband of hers back in her life." After grabbing two matching bottles of beer, the two brothers made their way back into the living room with the steely gray couch and matching chair that made the space seem smaller. "I'd take a pass on her, but there's something about the lass that has me coming back for more."

"We're both unlucky in love, brother," Killian noted, heading for the kitchen and pulling out two beer bottles. "I foresee us both living here as bachelors for the rest of our lives."

"Oi! What did I do to deserve such a fate?" The elder brother's hair was curlier than the younger's darker tresses and stuck out wildly at the end of the day. "One of these days I intend to find the right woman and settle down."

"Might I suggest you stop looking at other men's wives and find a more suitable possibility."

"They are estranged," Liam groused between swigs of his beer. "Belle's having a hard time with it being truly over, but she'll get there. And if she doesn't, there are other lovely lasses out there."

"Aye, but you seem quite taken with one who isn't mentally or emotionally available." Killian didn't bother with reminding Liam that just last week he had found him complaining loudly that he couldn't wait for her forever. "Belle is lovely, but take it from a bloke who dated one of Mr. Gold's ex-wives. It never ends well. Even if she does leave him completely, you'll forever be looking over your shoulder thinking that bastard's going to come get you. I'm not sure the lass is worth all that."

***AAA***

Mary Margaret's arms were full as she hoisted her son on her hip and threw her tote bag of graded papers, new assignments, and a sandwich packed lunch over her shoulder. Thankfully her husband had carried the stroller and diaper bag down the steep stairs to her SUV, saving her the hassle of an extra trip.

"You're picking her up, right? Her flight gets in at 11:55. That's a.m. not p.m." The worried mother, looked up at her husband through her dark lashes. "Maybe I should have taken the day off."

"It's going to be fine," he assured her, kissing the top of her head. "I'm going to go in and do a little paperwork. Then I'll head to Bangor to pick her and Henry up. We'll be back in Storybrooke in time to meet you and Leo for an early dinner at Granny's and a quick tour of the town. Stop worrying."

Her teeth sank over the corner of her bottom lip. "Maybe you should take a sign. You know with her name on it. We've exchanged pictures, but maybe…"

"Stop worrying. I know we haven't met her yet in person, but I don't think she's a sign at the airport kind of girl. She was reluctant to even have us meet her there and kept saying something about a bus."

She nodded thoughtfully, turning to look at her larger vehicle. "Don't take the cruiser, okay? You could take my car and I'll drive the truck today."

Reaching around her, he opened the back passenger door and with a lifting motion tugged Leo out of her arms. "You're going to be late," he reminded her, kissing his son's cheek before settling him into the car seat. "The sooner we get this day started, the sooner she arrives. Do you think that Henry will call me grandpa?"

The air rushed out of her as she embraced him as soon as he stood up again. "We're going to meet our daughter," she said with a sigh. "And our grandson." Pulling away abruptly, she scampered around to the driver's side of the car with a quick wave before disappearing behind the wheel. He watched her drive off, shaking his head at her optimism.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he gave a cursory glance for traffic and jogged across the street and down a block to pick up some coffee before heading to the office. Killian was coming in early too, but the guy was horrible at making coffee that anyone else could stomach. It came off weak and more like tea.

Granny's, the only real place to get breakfast in town, was busy as usual. And David had to say hello to a few people before he could make his way to the counter to place his order. Even with the wait, he couldn't help the smile on his lips that the ever observant proprietress noticed before filling his order.

"She's coming today?" Matilda Lucas, better known as Granny, asked, looking over her glasses at him. "I know you and that wife of yours are excited."

"That she is," he answered happily, tapping his ungloved fingers against the counter. "Bringing my grandson with her."

Granny made the appropriate clucking as he shoved his phone in front of her and displayed the picture of the four-year-old that she had sent. "He's a smart one. You can tell. Look at those eyes. They know things." Not offering anything more than a promise he would bring the boy and mother in so she could properly meet them, she gave him the coffee he had ordered and a second cup for Killian.

"You're a good woman, Granny."

***AAA***

Emma's efforts to study the landscape from the fifth row of the bus were interrupted as her son shifted in the seat and kicked her unceremoniously in the side. Giving him a glance, she maneuvered his feet into her lap and rolled her head back against the seatback.

Henry was the perfect mix of her fair looks and Neal's more rugged hardness. His sandy brown hair had been darkening over recent years to more of chocolate brown of his father's, and his eyes were a similar shade. She could see herself in the slight slope of his nose and the thick lashes that framed his eyes perfectly. He had her temperament, remaining calm until he just couldn't take it any longer and then nearly exploding with emotion.

She peeked over at her phone resting on her denim clad thigh. It was nearly 10 a.m., a full hour before her original plane had been scheduled to arrive. Crazy as it was, she and Henry had both struggled to sleep the night before after returning home from Ingrid's place. On a whim she had bundled him up, stuffed their luggage into her little yellow Bug, and arrived at Logan airport before the sun even shone. Switching their tickets had been no big deal, only costing her about $30 per ticket when all was said and done. And despite her parents seeming misunderstanding about her finances, she could certainly afford that.

Rather than wait on her father to fetch her, she had hopped a bus that was supposed to drop her off in the center of town. However, as the bus lumbered south and east along the coast, she realized that her father was probably going to be leaving soon under the impression she and Henry still needed a ride. If it was one of her friends, she might have just texted him and earned an annoyed emoji in response, but she wasn't sure how he would take that. So she drew in her energy and courage to call him.

He answered on the fourth ring.

"Ummm, hi," she said followed by a pause since she wasn't sure if she should refer to him as David or Mr. Nolan or what. Dad seemed far too familiar and the others too formal. She gave up and chose to identify herself. "It's Emma."

While not as enthusiastically positive as her mother, David's reaction was still happy. "Emma, what are you doing calling? Are you allowed to do that on planes these days?"

"I don't really know," she said, breathing out heavily through her nose. "Yeah, so I was able to get an earlier flight. We landed about 90 minutes ago."

"Why didn't you call me? I'll leave right now to pick you up." She could hear through the connection the rattling of keys and the slam of what she assumed to be a drawer. In one of their conversations he had explained that he was the town's sheriff and had one full time deputy to assist him. She had instantly thought of the old black and white episodes of Andy Griffith that one of her foster parents seemed to love.

"No need," she said quickly, realizing he was about to hang up. "I caught a bus. It's supposed to drop me off at the corner of Juniper and Merry Men Court? In about half an hour."

"You took a bus? With your son? Alone?" That was either his overprotective dad speech coming through or his law enforcement persona. She ignored the implication.

"I live in Boston," she said by way of explanation. "It's sort of the norm to hop on a bus. Anyway, I didn't want you to make the drive since I'm almost there. See you soon?"

He was so silent that she immediately thought she might after lost the connection. But suddenly he answered. "Sure, I'll pick you up at the stop. It's a pretty big hike from there to the loft so we'll drive you over."

To be continued?