A/N: Hi all! Back with another one! This story came into my head a while ago and took some time to get out into an actual plot. I hope the first chapter was intriguing enough for you as readers to want to keep going, even if it's not I'll probably still keep writing because this story has been so fun to develop.

Read, review, enjoy! Always appreciate hearing from people. Thanks! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT!

Special thanks to resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta

Word Count: ~5000

Killian Jones was better on his own.

Which was why he relished in the quiet of the morning before the rest of the world was awake. He contemplated this as he stood before an open window, a chilled breeze blowing through, wondering exactly when he started feeling this way.

Perhaps it was after growing up without parents.

Or it could have been following the death of his brother.

Maybe it was from losing the only woman he had ever and would ever love.

Being alone certainly did leave a lot of room for self pity, he thought to himself.

The air was growing warmer as springtime crept in. It was almost April now. The wind coated his bare chest and reminded him that his busiest season was about to be in full swing. Having a landscaping business in the north east meant slow winters but immensely busy springs and summers. The callouses that had just barely healed from the manual labor of the summer before were on his hand as proof.

He looked down the few floors to the streets below. A few early risers milling about, one or two people doing a clear walk of shame with their shoes in their hand, an old man walking his tiny dog. If Killian leaned forward out the window he could see into the building next door. It was that kind of area. Where each city block was a mish mash of structures packed together and converted into makeshift apartments for the influx of young people that had come to the central city part of Storybrooke in the past few years.

"Are you coming back to bed?" a low, feminine voice sounded from behind him.

Killian turned slightly to see the pretty woman who currently occupied the bed. She was still nude, all messy dark hair and big innocent eyes. She was far from innocent though, the way she had positioned herself amongst the mess of white sheets gave him ample view of her. Gracie, Lacie, Maizie, some name or other she had told him the night before in the bar that took up the building's first floor below.

"No." He remained curt in all endeavors of lust. "I wake with the sun."

"Why is that?"

She was pressing him. An act that normally didn't bode well for anyone.

"Because I don't like to waste the day."

"A day in bed isn't always wasteful… if you aren't alone…" she prodded. The woman rose from the bed, moving toward him as her bare feet carried her voluptuous form across the plank wood floors. Her fingers grazed his chest, barely skimming the place above his heart. For a second, Killian entertained it, briefly leaning into her touch. He waited to feel something, anything for her. But nothing happened.

Perhaps another time, another place, another version of himself would have found it endearing. But he was thirty years old and he wasn't still naive enough to believe a roll in the hay with a woman he met in a bar would turn into an epic romance. Whatever rum induced haze had drawn him to her last night was now gone.

"I think it's high time we said our goodbyes," he said gently, taking her hand in his and removing it from his chest.

Normally he would have been gone by now, leaving the woman to awake alone in his usual bedroom above the bar. It was simple. A small studio apartment with a kitchen roughly ten feet from the bed. If you could call it that, the stack of mattresses was hardly luxurious enough to be called a place where one slept. A nightstand held a lamp and the woman's purse, a dresser sat on the wall where the front door was. Other than that the room was bare. Empty. Despite its hollowness it held something to Killian. It was the room that all but had his name permanently written on the front door in place of the number. The room he had stayed in for nearly a year after he lost the remaining soul on this earth he cared for.

Below the apartment where Killian spent most of his weekend nights, there was a bar. One that was owned by his best friend Robin. The space was dark, even at this hour of the morning when the sun was rising to its height in the sky. The wood paneled walls a chestnut color, the black floors sticky with bottle caps and cherry stems, the stained glass light fixtures dimmed to a light glow, the haphazardly dispersed tables empty. There were no windows, only one door that offered a small peephole onto the street. It was dingy, it was grimey, but it had also been in business for a hundred years. Before it was Robin's it was his father's. It was a miracle with all the gentrification that it hadn't been completely overtaken by the bloggers and hipsters that now roamed the city center.

"I see you've returned in one piece," said Robin. Killian scratched behind his ear as he looked over to his friend, arranging the now clean glasses from the night before. The mirror behind the bar caught a bit of light as the sun cast a glow through the peephole. The Rose and the Thorn, read the white glossy letters. The bar's only hint of its namesake.

"I learned my lesson." Killian's tongue felt the inside of his jaw where the tightness still remained even weeks later.

Killian had spent his fair share of nights at Robin's bar, sleeping with nameless women who much like him just needed to get off and move on. For the most part the routine worked well, a night of unattached lust capped off by his swift departure in the morning. However, last time the woman he had slept with was under the impression that Killian was in love with her (he was not). When he tried to sneak out she had caught him and subsequently punched him square in the mouth.

"I take it you were kinder this time…"

"Aye, the perfect gentleman." Killian smirked. The look on Robin's face said he did not entirely believe him. "But I could use something cold, for the headache."

"If you keep this up you'll end up like our friend over there…" Robin stopped what he was doing and pointed to the man at the end of the bar. Half asleep. Beer spilled on the permanently sticky wood counter. "Bill hasn't left that spot in months."

Killian knew his friend was teasing, but there was something in his gut. A sliver of truth that made him imagine what he himself would look like in that position.

"Perhaps just a water for me then."

"How about some food as well. You look a bit narrow. Are you eating at home?"

"Yes, mother, I am." Killian rolled his eyes. It had been even worse when Liam was alive. His best friend and his brother hovering over Killian's every move as some form of pseudo parents. Killian wasn't much of a cook but he ate enough. Most of it was absolute garbage though.

If Robin felt the need to press him any further he pushed that aside. But the look he gave Killian said it all, he was concerned.

"I've been thinking of having your usual room steam cleaned and rented out as an Airbnb."

"A what?"

"A room where people can rent out, you know, pay to stay here…"

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Killian took a seat at the bar. Pulling out one of the heavy old stools that looked to be on its last legs. Literally.

"You tell me."

"So I've lost my spot for entertaining company?"

"There are car services now… you can literally use your phone to have a car take you to your own home instead of staying upstairs."

Car services ran rampant in Storybrooke now that bars and happy hours were becoming so popular. It certainly made sense, to avoid getting behind a wheel after drinking.

"It's just so much more efficient to use the apartment," Killian said back. The truth was he didn't want anyone at his house. His tiny, little house in the middle of nowhere.

"I only said I was thinking about it, and perhaps it would be good for you to date a woman the old fashioned way." Robin didn't meet his eyes as he said it, stacking the glasses along the shelf above the rows of alcohol. "You know, dinner… a movie… maybe a real conversation or two."

"I don't think I'm the dating type."

"You were at one point…"

Killian's jaw clenched and he looked up at his friend, who was only trying to help, but was also treading on delicate territory.

"Ah, Killian, what a surprise," said Ruby as she walked out of the door behind the bar. Still, she had two greasy to-go bags of what he could only assume was Granny's breakfast sandwiches in her hand. Granny's was the local diner that connected to the bar via a swinging door. Killian caught a whiff of the food being prepared in the kitchen. "Luckily I picked up enough for the two of you."

"Would you expect anything less of me on a Saturday morning?"

It was getting to be Killian's only tradition. Burning off a week of hard work with rum, women, and sex.

"I would find it odd if you weren't here actually," she remarked.

Ruby had been a friend for a while. Ever since he moved to the area. She was a tough lass and worked hard. Most days she spent helping her Granny at the diner and then would come to Robin's for tip money. That was how Killian and Liam had met them, just unwinding at a bar at the end of the work day. Twelve years later and the two were just about as close to family as Killian would ever have again. Everyone else was gone.

Killian devoured the sandwich in a few short bites. The egg and sausage and cheese wrapped in a buttery biscuit really hitting the spot. His head swirled but it didn't feel like it was from his alcohol induced evening. No. There was something deeper there. He looked again at the man slumped over the bar. Sweat stained and heavy, alone on a Saturday morning with his face in a pile of his own spit. Killian found it hard to picture the man anywhere else. Did he have a family? A wife? Anyone?

"I've got to get going," he said abruptly, standing from his stool. The morning was already too heavy for him. That was the thing with using indulgences to block out the cracks in the armor. They didn't last forever, and when the fog cleared, when his body sobered, his situation was no different than the night before.

He didn't wait for anyone to say anything else. Just walked out the door and around to the alley where his truck was parked.

Killian's mind often wandered as he drove. It was hard not to when, 7 years after Liam's death, there were reminders of him everywhere. It was Liam's truck that he Killian drove down a nameless highway. It was Liam's cheesy bobblehead dog that still sat on the dashboard. It was Liam's trailer that he pulled behind him. It was Liam's hard work that had started the business Killian hustled to keep alive.

And now with the surrounding suburbs becoming such a popular place to live, Jones Landscaping had been doing better than ever. All thanks to the wasteland of manicured trees and strip malls and chain restaurants all frequented by the area's affluent residents. It was where creative souls went to die and he felt his growing weaker by the day.

The location had never been such a bother when Liam was alive, afterall it was his older brother who had offered him a job after Killian had been in need of an income at 15 years old. But as the city of Storybrooke grew more popular, the outer suburbs flourished. Housing development, one right after the other was built and that was where Liam saw there was a niche. He was smart, he had cornered the market all on his own.

"Only until I find something else," Killian had said at the time, the mantra he recited in his head during sweat filled summers and grueling work. That was nearly fifteen years ago, and here he was still driving the old red truck with the massive trailer that said Jones Landscaping in black letters along the side.

It was his busy season. April. When the north east begins to bloom again after a rough winter. The leaves grow green on trees, flowers scatter the earth, and the air is warm enough to be outside. So most every day of the week he had somewhere he needed to be. Today he would be in one of the original developments. The houses growing larger and larger the further out he drove until he pulled up to the sign that read, Emerald Forest.

Across the street from the neighborhood Killian was pulling into he caught sight of the Gold Construction sign. Advertising their handiwork on yet another demolished woodland area to make room for more homes. Killian felt his hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white.

He took a deep breath and turned his head away to focus on the road. In due time, the truth would reveal itself. He had to believe that.

Once past the front gates, he slowly maneuvered through the neighborhood where the town's Mayor lived. Killian took a few swigs from the coffee he had stopped for along the way and filled his lungs with deep breaths. Carefully, he attached his prosthetic hand then slid the gardening gloves overtop.

"Almost done with those rose bushes?" Regina Mills said from the back porch of her mini mansion. Killian was in the backyard, working along the pathway to ensure her mother Cora's precious roses looked pristine. The Mills, Storybrooke's First Family, was one of Liam's original clients. Between Regina Mills being the town's first female government official, her fiance Graham Humbert being the chief of police, and her sister Zelena being the superintendent of the school district, they had quite the resume.

Killian had come with Liam his first day working, the Emerald Forest neighborhood had been nothing more than a few half complete homes and dirt. The mayor's house had been the first that was done. The massive white columned house required hours of work to get ready for the warmer months. The front yard, with its stately shaped shrubs that lined the brick walkway and delicately planted lilies, it was all Liam's creation.

"Just about," Killian said with as much patience as he could muster. The Mayor seemed to have a real ax to grind today. Being that she had checked on him nearly twenty times in the past hour. All while he mowed, weeded, pruned the backyard to her liking. "You will be the first notified when I am."

He gritted through his teeth. But the Mayor was no idiot, she knew he hated to be bothered while working. Most anyone did not like to work with someone hovering over them, but for whatever reason it seemed landscaping was fascinating to people. He always had an audience.

This could be for a lot of reasons, he often thought to himself as he worked with eyes on his back. It could be because people wanted to ensure their yards came out the way they wanted. It could be because there was nothing better to do than be outside on a warm spring day. Or it could be because most of the women who lived in this neighborhood looked at him like he was a tall glass of iced water on an otherwise deserted island.

"Well, hurry it up. My mother will be home soon and if the bushes aren't finished she'll have to cancel the Garden Party tomorrow."

Ensuring his face was still concealed from Mayor Mills he rolled his eyes. The idea of rose bushes causing anyone to cancel anything was laughable to him that he could hardly swallow his comment. But if he knew Cora Mills, and at this point he thought he did, she was serious about appearances. The world these people lived in was so small they wouldn't know what to do when faced with a real problem.

A few moments later he was done. The backyard was pristine. The lawn mowed to the appropriate height. The weeds pulled from the cobbled brick patio and paths that spanned the backyard. The hedges trimmed to symmetrical perfection. He had other staff. His friend Will often assisted with the business. Robin worked occasionally when he needed the extra income. And in the summer months when school was out, Killian had several high school aged kids assist in the smaller tasks. But the Emerald Forest homes were easily the most expensive in the surrounding area, so he rarely trusted anyone else with this neighborhood on their own.

It certainly would have been nice to have an extra set of hands today though. Killian wiped his forehead down, now beading with sweat and headed to his truck.

While he sat in the front seat, he caught sight of a large moving van in front of the newest house on the street. One house down from Mayor Mills. Separated by the home of Granny, as in Granny's Diner, where she and Ruby lived. The original houses that had been there had been torn down to make room for what was now a custom built, colonial style green monstrosity.

It was the house that the developer's son would be moving into. Killian had been contracted to do the landscaping.

Neal Gold. Son of Robert Gold, the man who had built this neighborhood and most others in the area. As much as Killian despised the idea of it, heat rushing in anger beneath his skin, he knew that if he wanted to continue working in these neighborhoods he would have to bite his tongue and do it.

The house was a blank canvas for him, it had only just been finished structurally a week ago. It had been a while since he had designed anything from scratch. He had always been better at working than networking. Liam was the people person. But now he had to be both.

Killian had also been advised that the younger Mr. Gold's wife would be helping with the design. Some activity for a bored housewife to distract her from the extracurricular activities of her future husband, no doubt. He had seen it time and time again.

He watched the couple from his truck for a moment, his curiosity getting the better of him knowing he wasn't supposed to report to their house to meet them until Monday morning. The man had brown hair cut close to his head and wore jeans and a button up shirt. Even casually it looked expensive. Next to him stood who Killian could only assume to be the Mrs.

His eyes were drawn to her and he could not put a finger on why. She was certainly pretty, though he did not typically go for blondes. Perhaps it was that she stood out against the backdrop of the neighborhood. Her long blonde hair that hung down her back in loose curls, and jeans that hugged her figure. Perhaps it was her stance, that her crossed arms and unsmiling face indicated she was unimpressed. He wondered about her.

The next thing he noticed though was the giant rock on her ring finger. It caught the light of the mid afternoon sun and glinted right in his direction. Stay away, it called to him.

Taking a sip of water from his bottle he recalled the indisputable fact that he was better on his own. Living a life uncomplicated by any emotional attachment. And if that were true of his life he wouldn't feel like such a goddamn hypocrite all of the time. Because his motivations were almost entirely shaped by the complications of his past, with his next move right now being no exception.

Emma

For as many times Emma had moved in her lifetime, one would assume it was a process she was unrattled by anymore. If she wasn't able to fit an item in her backpack to move with her to the next place, it wasn't important. Foster homes have that effect on a person. But now she had a lot of things, as was evidenced by the extended moving truck trailing behind her car. And her stomach was so unsettled she had to tuck her legs against it to stabilize the churning feeling.

"We're almost there," said Neal from the driver's seat without looking over at her. Her husband had driven them all the way from the apartment they shared in Boston. The two hour car ride being the longest she had spent during waking hours with Neal since they got married six months ago. Her feet rested bare on the dashboard and she toyed with the watch on her wrist. The rose gold face of it catching the hints of sun. She spun her diamond ring on her finger to give her hands something to do.

"I can tell," Emma replied looking at her new surroundings. She was a city girl, always had been. So when Neal told her they needed to move to the suburbs of Maine she almost lost it. Scratch that she did lose it. She had had left their apartment for three days, with absolutely no intention of returning, but then something changed.

Emma thought back to those three days. It was January in the north east, so gloomy and cold and snowy. She had contemplated moving, perhaps some place warm. At least for the time being. But it's easier said than done when one grows up alone and has a shot at a normal adult life. Within those three days she had gone back to Neal, as she always did, and agreed to relocate with him. They were married after all, this was a person she had promised to be with. What else could she possibly do?

"So many neighborhoods," she commented. The sight of each passing sign for yet another complex named after a type of tree or flower made her want to sigh. And when Neal turned the car off of the main road into a gated community labeled Emerald Forest, Emma knew she was approaching her new home. The fountain beneath the black cursive scripted sign was flowing and surrounded by flowers that had yet to bloom. It was manicured, it was symmetrical, it was unnatural.

"Neal and Emma Gold," her husband said into the speaker at the guard's tower. The fact that there even needed to be a security guard for an upper middle class neighborhood made Emma roll her eyes.

Neal looked over at her.

"It's just easier if I used the same last name."

"It's okay," she said calmly when in her head she was a bit defensive. Though, sure, plenty of women took their husband's last name she clung to hers. Swan. She grew up with no one, and no roots, her last name was all she had of her past.

A buzzing sound as the gates opened brought Emma's gaze forward, and she watched as her new home was revealed in front of her. The street was quiet, save for the sound of running kids and automated sprinkler systems to keep the lawns their perfect shade of green. On either side of the winding streets were sprawling craftsman homes of varying colors. Some had little distinctions to tell it apart from its neighbor. One had flower boxes, another had a white fence, some had shutters and others had porches. All well kept and pristine.

"This was the first neighborhood my dad ever built," Neal boasted as they drove through. "It was done in under six months."

"Your dad certainly works quickly," said Emma.

Robert Gold was the most prominent real estate and construction developer in all of Maine. If there was neighborhood or an apartment complex or a strip mall in the area, chances were Gold Construction was behind it. The company carried a lot of weight, which was partially why they were moving here. Mr. Gold was getting older, and who could he trust to run his company after he was gone but his only son?

They pulled onto a small cul de sac, with only about six homes taking up the landscape. Emma looked out her window to the place she would call home. It was massive, far too big for two people. Everything about it dripping in excess. Emma had looked online at the place, the layout, the floor plan but now standing in front of it made it all more looming. It was sage green color, soft with white trim. A front porch framed by pillars spanned the entire front. She followed the lines upward to note the balcony on the second floor and the dormers jutting from the third floor. Evenly laid bricks made up the driveway and path up toward the house, but aside from the structure the area surrounding the house was bare.

"So the landscaping has not been done yet. I thought maybe you could brainstorm some ideas for that…" Neal said when they got out of the car. Emma stood on the sidewalk, she had not even realized her arms had automatically crossed until Neal's arm wrapped around her.

It surprised her that after all of this time he still didn't know that she hated the idea of having a yard. But she swallowed that. For now, anyway.

"Thanks."

"Come on, Em," he said taking her hands. His fingers toying with the diamond ring she wore on her finger. "I know it isn't ideal but, we can make it home."

Emma eyed him. Between the depths of his eyes, the furrow in his brow, the way his head ducked just the slightest bit so she was looking right at him, she noted the first trace of sincerity about moving her here. For just a second, she let herself believe it.

"Hi!" A chipper voice snapped Emma out of whatever daze she had found herself in. "Are you the new neighbors?"

Emma turned to look at the person who the voice belonged to, now only a few steps away. She had short, deep brown hair. Her round face framed by the pixie cut, and a smile that seemed to be plastered on.

"I'm Mary Margaret Nolan, I live right across the street with my husband David," said the woman, with her sing song voice. Her hand pointed toward the pale gray farmhouse that faced theirs. It was cute, smaller, more civilized, and overflowing with plants and cheesy lawn figurines. It was the first sign of haphazard quirkiness and Emma decided she liked it.

"Neal Gold… and this is my wife Emma," Neal chimed, shaking the young woman's hand.

"Gold, as in, Gold Construction?"

"Yes, that's my father. We figured moving close to family would be better now that we're settling down."

The word 'we' coming from Neal's mouth was almost funny to Emma. This move had not involved a single 'we' effort.

But then his phone rang, and the dotting husband mask came off. The one Emma had started to believe in the throes of a normal conversation with a neighbor.

"Excuse me ladies, I have to take this." And he was gone, moving just a touch above a casual pace toward where the driveway led to the garage.

"We were wondering who would be living in the new house, it was the only empty one on the street," said Mary Margaret.

Her skin looked so soft, it reminded Emma of a porcelain doll she once saw in a store window. As much as Emma had her guard up being here, the woman seemed to radiate with friendliness. And not really in the bad way that usually made Emma suspicious.

"I like your gnomes," said Emma, noting the several tiny garden figurines that were dispersed in this Mary Margaret's front yard.

"Yeah, they're cute. They kind of started as a joke between neighbors and I didn't have the heart to get rid of them."

So that was the kind of neighborhood this was, where everyone was actually friends. Emma had lived in apartments as soon as she was able to afford them… and apartment neighbors did not have the same friendly outlook this place appeared to.

It was too perfect, like even the bugs didn't dare land on a leaf that didn't belong to them.

The movers began unloading the truck, the sound jarring Emma from her fixation on the scenery.

"I see you've got some unpacking to do," said the woman, drawing Emma's attention back to her. "I'm sure I'll see you around though."

"It was nice meeting you," Emma replied. And with that the woman was off. A bit of a hop to her step as she strolled across the street to her cute little house.

Emma's eyes shifted in time to notice the approach of a burnt red truck. Whomever it was climbed out and began walking toward her just as Neal was. What was this a meet and greet?

"Emma, this is the new landscaper Killian Jones," Neal said as he reached her side. She did not miss the shake of his voice as he said it. And the way his arm suddenly snaked around her waist. "He'll be doing the work for the outside of the house."

Emma eyed the man Neal referred to as Killian Jones. He was dressed simply, work pants and boots with a white t shirt. She surveyed him as anyone would, taking in his appearance. His angular face cracked a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. His blue eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, his soft English accent surprising her. She hoped it didn't show on her face as they shook hands. He had removed one of his rough gloves to reveal a hand that was covered in calluses and welts. Marks of which Neal had none. Sitting behind a desk didn't naturally give you work-worn skin.

"Likewise," she said tentatively. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Neal, who had his gaze on their touching hands.

She tugged hers away, wondering why in the world Neal would hire a gardener who looked like this. Had he not seen a picture? Sure, she was married but she wasn't fucking blind. With his dark hair and rough beard. A hot gardener was the most cliche suburban thing she had seen on every tv show and in every romance novel. Not that she read them.

"I was doing some work across the street for Mayor Mills and saw the moving truck, figured I would introduce myself." When the man offered explanation he looked directly at her... not Neal.

"I've given him some guidelines of what I want done but other than that you two have free reign," Neal chimed in. Emma looked over at him fully now to try to detect any sort of test behind his words. She came up with nothing.

"I'll allow the two of you to get settled, I have a few other things in the neighborhood to tend to today. But perhaps sometime Monday morning we can go over the plans?"

When Killian asked the question, he again looked directly at her.

"Monday works."

"Excellent," he said back, turning again to Neal. The second of decency where every decision made wasn't passed through her husband, was gone. The two men shook hands, and Emma noticed that Killian still wore the one gardening glove on his left hand.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr Gold and..."

"You can just call me Emma. Emma Swan," she said back proudly. Perhaps a little too proudly.

"Emma Swan," he nodded. And with that he was off, walking away toward where his truck was.

Almost as soon as Killian had moved away from them, Neal's grasp on her waist fell.

"That was my dad on the phone, before. I've got some work to take care of this afternoon, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her temple that burned more than it soothed. "Make sure the movers are careful not to drop anything."

"Is it absolutely necessary that you go? What could possibly be so important right this second?" she pried.

"Em, I wouldn't go if it wasn't important, okay?" he looked at her, probably wondering where this side of her was coming from.

An odd feeling settled over Emma as Neal climbed into the Range Rover and drove off. She looked around at the neighborhood and then at the house she would be living in again. As a young girl, she had ached for this kind of life. The kind of stability that came from living in a safe part of town. A nice, big house with a front porch and a husband who ensured her life was secure. She would try to enjoy it. It could be lovely, if she found a way to personalize it like that Mary Margaret had to her home. And Emma supposed in time she would have to get to know her surrounding neighbors. But for right now she settled on looking at them from a distance. After all, everyone had a story.

The cosy, cottage like yellow house next door that had an older woman on the porch in a rocking chair.

The stately all white monstrosity that sat next to it, where a little boy played in the front yard.

The pale blue one with a white arched gateway at the sidewalk, a small dog running about in the front yard with two little girls.

The fun, farmhousey one that Mary Margaret and her husband lived in.

Emma made her way up the front steps of the house. Entering the stale foyer, with its gray tile floor and white walls that extended upward two floors to a skylight. No one had lived here yet, she and Neal would be the first. They would fill this house with all of their things. And as she watched the moving crew carry box after box, couches and chairs, bed frames, dressers, she thought of how their physical belongings were the only things that would fill the house.

Between them, they had a lot of 'things'. Neal had been in her life a long time. They were both nearing thirty, so it had been years since she first met him when she was 17 years old.

The irony was not lost on her that the longest running relationship she had with anyone, was a complete and total sham.