"Do you think that Emma would rather stay here or at Granny's?" Mary Margaret asked, her green eyes studying the diagram of the seating arrangements for the reception. They had created a total of seven final designs so far, but she and David were still discussing the placement of all their friends and family. "Those beds are horrible, but she'd have more privacy."

"I offered her a room here," David answered, his own attention diverted by a half unpacked box of photographs that his fiancé wanted displayed before any more arrivals. Their new home of the 19th century farmhouse was a sprawling mansion in comparison to the renovated loft they had been sharing for the last year. He'd grown up in the farmhouse, raised by his widowed mother in the tall ceilinged rooms that seemed quite bare. Mary Margaret was already changing that with plundering trips to antique markets throughout New England. "But she's never been one to do what I expect. And she'll probably want to rebel against us when she finds out you are setting her up on a date."

"Me?" the teacher squealed defensively. "That was our decision together. You know Emma won't bring a date with her even though we said she could. And you agreed that she has a lot in common with Killian."

"You're not putting this all on me when it all goes pear shaped."

Plucking one of the grapes off the plate next to her pile of post it note decorated plans, Mary Margaret chewed thoughtfully. "I thought you were a romantic. I can't believe I'm not marrying a romantic."

David pulled out the most recently framed photograph of them, one from their engagement photo shoot by the water. In it he was lifting his bride to be into his arms and swinging her around as they both laughed with heads thrown back. "This picture begs to differ. And I don't think it is a crime that a man would want to avoid involving his coworker and the woman he considers a sister in some sort of romantic entanglement."

"It's a date for dinner and whatever," she protested. "Get your mind out of the gutter. And everyone thinks it is a great idea. Did I tell you I saw Zelena at the market this morning? She is totally on board with this and thinks that it will be the start of something great."

Scoffing at her enthusiasm, one of the things that had made him fall in love with her in the first place, David pulled a few more protective wrappings from the framed photographs. "You told Zelena? As in your stepmother's sister?"

"What can I say? I'm horrible at keeping secrets. Anyway, Zelena offered to help anyway she could. Though I'm not sure that's a great idea. She's not exactly subtle and Emma doesn't like to be forced into things."

"My point exactly," David said, pulling the last item from the box and tossing the cardboard to the pile in the corner that needed to be broken down and set aside for recycling. "I just don't think we should put too much pressure on anyone, especially Emma. You know how she can be about anything like this. And piling on pressure from our friends and family just seems like a good way to get Emma to run back to Boston without even staying for the wedding."

David seemed to know his surrogate sister pretty well, as she had already warned that she was not interested in a romantic relationship. Every time she had a date or even just a drink with a guy, Mary Margaret was practically salivating at the idea of future plans and romantic excursions. The last had been Walsh, a furniture designer and shop owner who had invited Emma out for lunch. Mary Margaret had heard about the invitation and was researching affordable airfares to Vail for a couple's weekend before Emma even got back to her modern one bedroom apartment. When Emma didn't even know the guy's last name, let alone if they would see each other again, Mary Margaret had admitted defeat.

"But you have to admit that they would be perfect together," Mary Margaret said, eyeing the table arrangement again with a critical eye. "He's got that rough edge and heart of gold. She's got that rough edge and…" She paused to look at her husband to be who was rubbing his hands over his face. "What?"

"I think by rough edge, you mean walls. They both have walls. When two people who have walls get together, you're not likely to see anyone breaking anything down."

Mary Margaret wrote a quick note on the curled edge of the arrangements and recapped her pen. "No, but you know what two people with walls can make?"

"Do I even want to know? You're adorable when you're optimistic, dear, but this might be a little too much even for you." He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, ruffling her short dark style. "I love you, and if this is important to you, I will certainly do my part. I just don't want you to be disappointed."

***AAA***

The Christmas lights that lined the outside of the farm house where Ruth Nolan had raised her son and probably a dozen foster children over the years were blinking in the early morning fog that rolled in off the shore and a nearby pond where the children used to fish during the summer and skate in the winter. The gravel of the driveway crunched under the tires of her trusty Volkswagen Beetle as she eased in beside the tan truck that David Nolan seemed to keep running perfectly as the day he had driven it off the lot.

"Emma!" he called out, scrambling down the ladder from whatever chore had him atop the roof of the little offshoot of a picture perfect red barn. "You made it!"

He would have hugged the woman who for about two years had been one of Ruth's foster children. However, the blonde woman was still behind the wheel of her car even as her 10 year old son, Henry, jumped out and nearly tackled the man ahead of him. Laughter and a few of those half hugs and half pats on the back ensued as the Nolans' collie yapped happily around them, trying to join in the welcome.

"I didn't realize you were seriously keeping this as a farm," she said, stuffing her hands back into a pair of black, faux leather gloves. "How do you do it all? Sheriff, groom, son, volunteer at the animal shelter, and now farmer? Do you sleep?"

"You're a fine one to talk, mother, bail bonds person, and all around general pain in the butt," he teased as he elbowed Henry in the ribs gently. The move earned a laugh from the boy who was leaning to one side to look toward the chicken coop to see if there were any real chickens.

"It's not too late, buddy," she teased back. "I can turn around and head back to Boston. Mary Margaret will have to choose another maid of honor and you'll be in big trouble for ruining the symmetry of the wedding party." Throwing her head back to laugh at the look of horror on his face, Emma looped her arm through his. "I thought as much. Come on, Farmer David, show me around. You know I haven't been here in about 12 years now."

David gave her a quick tour that included the kitchen and den that they were still renovating. When they passed a closed door that was part of the newest addition to the two story, white, clapboard structure, he paused. "She's not having a good day," he said softly, his large hands resting at his waist and pushing back the leather jacket that seemed part of his uniform as much as his faded jeans and soft flannel shirt. "Most of the time she's like herself…"

Emma smoothed her hand on his jacketed arm. "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be here? I could stay at Granny's. It might be easier without me and Henry here making noise…"

"Nonsense. You're staying here. I even managed to clean out that bedroom that used to be yours for you and the room next door for Henry." The house had four bedrooms on the upper level and the sort of new suite downstairs for Ruth. It had been a rambling mess of a house for the widow when David and Mary Margaret had set up their lives in a loft in the center of Storybrooke, but she had kept it up with help from her son and a few hired hands. Yet as her health failed and her memory began to suffer, David and Mary Margaret had chosen to come back to the rustic farm to make it their home. "She said yesterday that she couldn't wait to see you or Henry. She's been making plans."

"I'm sure she has," Emma said softly, her face not yet crumbling as she thought of the woman who had tried so hard to be mother and friend to her. "I…well, I…I would love to spend time with her. You know that. So what are these plans?"

David grinned, leading the blonde woman into the main living space of the farm house that had already been redecorated in a casual, shabby, chic style that screamed his elementary school teacher fiancé. He told her of the plans for the days before the wedding, his mother insisting on having both traditional and new events to welcome the woman he was planning to marry. "She's been wanting this for a long time."

"I'm glad she's getting her dream," Emma said sincerely. "So what do you need me to do?"

"Mary Margaret's probably better at explaining it," David said, throwing a video game controller in Henry's direction with a promise of a game he would enjoy. "Maybe we should do dinner tonight? We could let Henry visit his grandfather and Belle? You know, get that out of the way. Nothing too fancy, but we could eat here and have a few new dishes that she and I learned to cook in that class we took last year. If you like it, I'll be happy to share the recipes."

Emma snatched the extra video game controller out of his hands and nodded to her son. "Come on, kid. Let's show David how this is done."

***AAA***

Killian Jones held his hand over his eyes and stared upward with a squint toward the tattered sail on his restored sailboat. Having spent more than two years lovingly repairing and renovating the vessel, he felt sick at the sight of this new damage that was undoubtedly the result of his younger brother's spontaneous and careless treatment of anything that wasn't his own. The slim lined schooner should have been in dry dock for the winter already, but somehow his brother had convinced him to permit one last sail as a way of charming a young woman he was dating.

"He's a bit scared to tell you that he borrowed it last night," came the light and lilting voice of his brother's girlfriend, Isabelle Green, otherwise known as Tinkerbelle so as not to confuse her with the town's librarian. "It was a romantic thought, but he didn't…he got distracted."

"I truly don't need to hear this," Killian grumbled, the toe of his boot making contact with the box of tools he had lugged aboard. "And she's a she, not an it. It's insulting to refer to a ship or a boat as something so lowly."

"Apologies," Tinkerbelle said, stepping over the coiled rope and pressing her hands deeper into her pockets. "You want me to tell him you're still mad or should I encourage him to come talk to you."

"I'll speak to him later. It will cost me a bloody fortune to replace that sail. The material isn't cheap by any means." As a deputy, Killian's salary went mostly toward his apartment rent and other necessities, occasionally squeezing out a little for some improvements to the sail boat. A new mainsail would be cost prohibitive, but necessary as the largest rip was nearly from the head to the luff. He hadn't looked at the jib yet, worrying about what he would find. Lowering his hand, he squinted into the direction of the young blonde woman standing with arms crossed and the sun glinting off her mass of gold curls. "You aren't here to talk about my sails, though. What has you here today?"

"David and Mary Margaret sent me," she confessed, hugging herself as the brisk winter wind blew sharply off the water. "They had an idea."

He twisted his mouth judgmentally and took in a deep breath. "About?"

Tinkerbelle was always direct, but she seemed to be working up her courage for something spectacular. Giving him her best sympathetic gaze, she finally began to speak. "So you know the wedding is coming up."

"They talk of little else these days." Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan were getting married the Saturday before Christmas in a holiday themed wedding that might as well have been for royalty with all the pre-wedding events, expensive decorations, and enough attendants to host to fill up the first three pews at the church. He had been recruited to stand up for his friend and supervisor, David, as the best man. While he was certainly willing, he was already stretched thin what with taking extra shifts so his supervisor could arrange a wedding, manage a move, and care for his ailing mother.

"True," she said, slowly drawing out the point of the conversation. "So David and Mary Margaret have all these events for the wedding attendants. An engagement party, the couples shower, lunch the day before, breakfast the day after, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, and the reception were all planned, as well as a million other little events and excursions." It was starting to sound as though the wedding was just an extended version of summer camp for those involved.

"Aye," he said warily, wondering how this might involve some sort of added responsibility for him. He'd already been charged with planning a bachelor party for the groom and rounding up various details for the other events. "And they have decided they want…"

"You to not be there alone," Tinkerbelle answered, scrunching her face as if preparing for the onslaught of his reaction. "David has a sister…well, sort of a sister. She was this kid that his mother took in for a while. Anyway, he calls her his baby sister."

"And he would like me to watch over the wee lass?"

Tinkerbelle laughed nervously upon realizing that he was not understanding where she was going with this. "No, more like a date. Emma is an adult woman living in Boston and arriving tomorrow. David and Mary Margaret were both thinking that maybe you would like her."

One of his thick dark eyebrows rose to nearly his hairline. "Date her? Emma? Wait! I remember Dave talking about her. She's that blonde woman in the photograph on his desk. She's got a name like a bird…pigeon? Eagle? Goose?"

"Swan," Tinkerbelle said with an exasperated sigh. "Her name is Emma Swan. And from what they said about her, she seems like she's your type. Beautiful, smart, independent, sarcastic, and tough as nails. I think…"

His arched eyebrow still hadn't gone back to its normal position. "And why are you asking me and not David or Mary Margaret? This is their idea, is it not?"

"David said he didn't feel comfortable asking because you work for him. And Mary Margaret said she was nervous because you seem to think she's ready to cry every time someone brings up the wedding." She twisted her mouth as she watched him grow more suspicious. Throwing up her hands, she took a step back, precariously close to the coiled rope. "I drew the short straw. It was me, your brother, Ruby, of Mary Margaret. For some reason everyone thought I was the least likely to be killed."

He wiped his hand over his face. "I am not that fearsome of a bloke, am I?"

"No, but you do tend to get dramatic when it comes to being set up on a date. I realize that nobody likes a blind date, but come now. You must know that these wedding events and even the holidays would be somewhat easier with a companion than alone."

"That's the argument you're going with?" he teased, his hand still at his chin. He looked to be deep in thought, though she knew he was simply toying with her. "Threatening me that I might feel abandoned with all the merriment of the holidays and wedding?" The young blonde woman was like family to him, even if she had not been dating his sometimes estranged younger brother. She had been in his life since he had first arrived in the United States and wormed her way into his heart in a way that was usually reserved for siblings.

"Will it work?" she asked, crossing her arms again in front of her forest green wool coat. "How long has it been since you went on a date? Are we talking a few years or a decade?"

The bitter winter wind ruffled his hair and he threw up his ungloved hand to stop his inky black locks from being sent too astray. "It's not been decades. I may not have the social calendar of my youth, but I'm no hermit." She was still eying him incredulously so he shook his head in defeat. "Fine, it was that ginger haired friend of Mary Margaret's."

Clicking her tongue on the top of her mouth, the blonde woman smiled triumphantly. "Her name is Ariel and you do realize that since you had that one date that she has since gotten married and has a baby girl? Not much of a baby, actually. I think she may have learned to drive and is considering university."

"Oi, it's certainly not been that long."

"Perhaps not, but it's true that Ariel and her husband Eric met, fell in love, got married, and had a child all since your last date. So that settles it. You're going to woo Emma Swan for the sake of all involved. Go get a haircut or whatever you need because I don't want any excuses."

"I can still refuse. It is not unheard of, love."

"Dinner tonight at the Nolans' farm. Be there by 6:30. Got it?"

David pulled back the gauzy white curtains that had hung in the office like room on the lower level of the farm house and stared into the darkening horizon beyond the now dormant fruit trees toward the road. Mary Margaret had promised to call when she was close so that he could meet her and leave Emma and Killian to their date. Emma would probably catch on relatively quickly, but he was sure he could sneak out and be long gone before she fully realized. Ruth was visiting with Granny and a group of her old friends for a pot luck dinner that served as a great opportunity so it was the perfect chance for Emma and Killian to meet.

The thundering footfalls of Henry rushing down the curved wood stairs broke through David's planning. "Hey, Henry," David said as the boy jumped to miss the last step and landed with a loud thud. "Are you ready?"

Chocolate eyes stared back at the sandy haired man with a lopsided sort of smile. "Do I really have to go tonight? Can't I stay here? Grandpa always makes everything so formal." He was wearing a crisp green shirt tucked into a pair of pants that looked so stiff and new that they might stand up by themselves. It would have been the perfectly preppy ensemble for visiting his father's family if it wasn't for the comfortable sneakers on his feet and his hair hanging in his eyes.

David had not actually talked to Mr. Gold, who ran the local pawn shop and dabbled in real estate to the point of owning separate properties. Dropping his voice, he slung an arm around the growing boy's shoulders. "So here's the deal…"

By the time Emma slid her feet into a pair of buttery cream colored boots that ended just under her knees, she had yet to notice the quiet of the oversized house. Her boots were capped off with a sweater dress of the same cream color and burgundy accents. Her hair was tied back loosely and hung over one shoulder. David had made such a big deal that the meal would be special that she took the hint that jeans and socks with an oversized sweater probably weren't appropriate.

Holding onto the hand carved banister, she leaned forward to look toward the living room in one direction and the dining in the other. A Christmas tree and the fireplace provided the only light in the living room and the dining room was similarly adorned with candles and two place settings and a bottle of wine between them. Two?

She was a few steps from the dining room when the sharp and unfamiliar knock on the door interrupted her. Groaning in realization, she spun on her heel and glared at the solid oak structure. She'd been set up. Suddenly it was clear that there was a man on the other side of that door, a man she was meant to sit down with for a meal, conversation, and perhaps more. She was going to kill David and Mary Margaret.

The knock sounded again, reminding her that the man on the other side was unaware that she was having a debate internally. Squaring off her shoulders and marching toward the door, she flung it open, almost losing her grip on it and slamming it into the wall.

"Emma Swan?" came the British accent of the man standing on the other side. He was dressed head to toe in black from the leather boots on his feet to his black denim jeans, an equally dark shirt with some imperceptible pattern embroidered into it, and a leather jacket that was worn to the state of becoming almost a second skin to the man. Even his hair was an inky black, as were the thick brows over equally dark lashes that framed the bluest eyes she had ever seen. "That's your name?" He had sort of a stubborn jaw that was covered in a dark stubble that spoke to more than one day of not shaving yet not a full beard.

"Uh yeah," she said, still not opening the door all the way or stepping out of his way. "I'm Emma, but I don't know…" She blew out a breath and ruffled a stray bit of golden blonde hair across her forehead.

"Killian Jones." He smiled broader and offered her his right hand – the one without a glove. She noted that discrepancy as she slowly extended her own hand toward him. The left one was by his side and wearing a dark black glove, unmoving. "Pleasure," Killian said, accepting her hand gratefully as he blinked his blue eyes up at her from his seated position. She was a vision, he had to admit. Long dark lashes framed sea green eyes that were beautifully positioned on her oval face with daintily pointed angles of her high cheek bones and a sharp chin. His gaze lowered to wear she was looking. "I suppose David and Mary Margaret didn't mention that I only have the one hand."

"They didn't mention a lot of things."

"Ahhh," he said, giving her an all too brief lopsided grin. "I'm going to presume you weren't aware that we were supposed to have dinner tonight either."

"No, I wasn't aware," she confirmed. "I just came downstairs and…" She gave a brief look over her shoulder at the empty and romantically lit area behind her. "I may have to kill them."

"Since you weren't aware, love, I should warn you I am a deputy and work with David. It's probably not wise to announce your plans of homicide to a man of the law. But I'll overlook it for now." He dug the bare hand back into his jacket pocket and tilted his head to get a better view of the room behind her. "If you'd be willing, I wouldn't say no to dinner or at least a drink. It's a bit cool out here."

Just as he mentioned the temperature a brisk wind cut through the air and chilled her. "Come in," she said hastily. "I didn't mean…I mean I don't know you, but clearly you're…"

"I will do my best to not betray your trust love," he said, entering the foyer and watching her hustle over to the dining room in search of an actual light. "Clearly David and his fiancé felt that we would appreciate the low lights?"

"Clearly," she repeated. Setting foot in the square shaped dining room with the double archway from the foyer, she frowned. The lines at her mouth deepened as she stared at the food on the plates, piled high. "And clearly they thought we'd be hungry."

He stepped closer to look for himself, the sound of his breathing reverberating in her ears. "Aye, it is quite a spread and the wine…" He lifted it and squinted into the low light. "A good year."

"Figures." Her glance toward the faded label confirmed his assessment. "Yeah, that's good stuff."

"The lass knows her wines?"

She shrugged dismissively. "I spend a lot of time in my car with nothing more than my phone and time on my hands. I've done research on a lot of things, including wine. The year before a drought is usually good, very sweet and tangy. Years when there is too much rain usually mean bitter." She waved her hand toward the bottle he was holding. "That year was cold, but very little snow. I've found the dryer the year the better I like the wine." Briefly she gloried in the pride he wore unabashedly. "But it doesn't matter. I doubt it's a good idea to drink when I'm alone with a guy I don't know in a house."

"You clearly don't trust me yet or at least don't believe I am who I say I am," he assessed, replacing the wine and stalking over to the shelving that lined one wall and studied it intently. "Here," he said, removing a framed photo of himself with David, Mary Margaret, and a few others. "Will this prove my point?" When she didn't reach for it, he put it back in place and pulled out his wallet. He flashed her his badge. "Better? I could probably offer some other identification if it is needed."

"You can't blame me," she said, eying the food again. The salad would be wilted soon and covered dishes would probably cool easily if not eaten. "I'm sorry. If you want to…If you want to go, you're welcome. I mean pack up a meal if you want. Obviously there is plenty."

"Are you kicking me out already?" He pretended to pout. "I have yet to offer you any of my impeccable table manners or lovely talking points. I can be utterly charming and brilliant when I am put to the test."

She was still staring at the table, not allowing herself to meet his eyes. "I…You want to stay?"

"You must know David better than I, love, but I've found him to be a bit relentless. Even if I were to slink away now, he and his bride would surely find another time and place to try this attempt to fix us up." Stepping around her, he pulled out a chair with his one hand and gestured for her to sit. "We can at least tell them we tried?"

She wasn't sure how much she was trying. The first half hour was the usual questions. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color, band, movie, book, time of day, place to vacation? She did not tell him of her life in foster care or the fact that she had now left every man she ever dated before they could leave her. She briefly mentioned having a son, usually something that scared away potential suitors. He had not only seemed interested but admiring of her determination and strength. She told herself that it was probably just an act, but when more time went by and he managed to remember even tiny details, she briefly let herself appreciate his interest.

"More?" he asked when the food was gone and he was holding the bottle poised to pour. "I would but I am responsible for driving home tonight."

"I shouldn't," she said slowly. "So you haven't explained how you knew that I was going to be here and we were supposed to…whatever this is…"

"That's a funny story, I suppose. In fact, it was Tinkerbelle who told me." He laughed at her reaction to that and then shared the conversation. "I realize that your surprise and even irritation is warranted. I felt much the same when it was sprung on me. But I agreed and can't say I am sorry for that. We will be spending a fair amount of time together over the next bit for the wedding. What with you as the maid of honor and me as the best man."

She nodded, her fingers itching to dump the wine into her glass and then into her mouth. "Right. That seems like bad planning on their part. I mean what if I hated you or vice versa? It would make the next few events pretty awkward."

"Aye, I suppose it would, but Mary Margaret has been quite successful as of late with her matchmaking. I suppose she thought we were likely to follow suit."

***AAA***

Emma lowered the scarf that was covering her mouth as she opened the door to the nearly empty diner with her hip. For the nearly two years that she had lived in Storybrooke, Maine, Granny's Diner had been a second home for a girl who'd had no real home of her own. After school each day she had worked alongside her classmate Ruby for the proprietress who was also Ruby's grandmother. Sitting on the stools at the counter when there were no customers, the two of them had managed to do most of their homework and talk about life as the juke box played tunes from the 1980s that nobody had ever heard before.

It was Ruby who spotted her coming through the door first, dropping the stack of menus she was holding and darting past the family she was supposed to seat to embrace her friend. "They said you were coming, but dang if I didn't believe them."

"This place hasn't changed," Emma said, trying to inspect the retro décor as she returned the hug. "You haven't changed either. How are you still fitting in that skirt?" The uniforms at Granny's had always included a red skirt and white top, completely impractical for both the climate and the job that included slinging food around. Ruby managed to wear her skirt just a bit higher than all the others, showing off her long limbs to perfection even with a pair of sneakers on her feet.

"Oh please," Ruby said, keeping one arm around her friend and waving down the other server to seat the bewildered and abandoned family. "You could fit in yours too if you wanted. I bet Granny's still got it in the back. In fact, I know she does. Want to work the breakfast shift?"

"No thanks. It took me three years after leaving this place to wash the scent of the lasagna out of my hair. Speaking of hair, what's up with yours?" Ruby was blessed with thick raven haired locks that had just a hint of wave to them. They were now highlighted with streaks of bright red that was not at all natural. Her lips were painted a similar hue.

"Just an experiment." She held it out as if trying to decide on the spot if it was something she liked. Giving up, she let it settle back down. "Where's Henry? Don't tell me that you didn't bring your son with you? What? He's in college now?"

"Fifth grade and he's over with the happy couple right now. I think Mary Margaret bought out a toy store to welcome him. I'll bring him by later."

"So? Anyone new in your life? Any good dates lately?"

Ruby wasn't subtle. She was always asking about her dating life, insisting that there had to be more to the story. When Emma would study on a Friday night, Ruby was sure it was because she was secretly dating a married man. Saturday nights in the library were code to Ruby for wild parties at the community college about two hours away. Memories of the night before flitted before her eyes, the way Killian had listened to her, the way he spoke of things with a certain expertise and passion, and the incidental touches of his hand that were innocent yet burning. "You'd be the first to know. I promise. But you probably already know anyway. I hear that you have been dating. Dorothy?"

Ruby's features became more animated as she spoke about the way her relationship was blossoming and that even her grandmother had finally relented an age old grudge against Dorothy's aunt. "Mary Margaret set us up on our first date, you know," she said knowingly. The sound of her grandmother's voice in the kitchen sent the now 28-year-old waitress behind the counter to pretend to organize menus and wrapped flatware. "She's got a real knack for matchmaking."

Emma rested her chin on her palm and watched her friend for a moment. A warning voice whispered in her head as realization struck. "Damn it, Ruby, you already knew she and David were going to fix me up? Why didn't someone warn me?"

"Like you would have come here if you knew? Besides the guy is pretty hot. He's a deputy with David. Has his own boat."

"Oh God," Emma said, dropping her forehead to the counter dramatically. "He didn't mention the boat. Good thing because I can't stand guys with boats. Please don't tell me he usually wears a sweater knotted around his neck or has a nickname like Biff."

Amused, Ruby poked her finger into the leather covering Emma's shoulder in the form of a red jacket. "Have I ever called a guy named Biff hot? No, I wouldn't. And I don't do sweaters knotted at the neck. So 1985. So you liked Killian."

She lifted her head slowly. "He seemed okay. I mean, he's funny, nice, and not bad to look at…"

Ruby bobbed her head affirmatively. "Yeah, he's English, got these eyes that…"

"Ruby!" the older woman who owned the diner bellowed. "We have enough flatware for 600 customers. I think we're good."

Brandishing a smirk, Ruby turned to her grandmother. "Granny, look who's back!" Darting out of the way and toward the internal window to the kitchen to pick up an order, she left Emma in the older woman's wake. Though a few inches shorter than her towering granddaughter, Mrs. Lucas hugged the blonde woman just a fiercely.

"Tell me you're back for good," she said, looking over the rims of her glasses. "I could use some good help around here."

"Just for the wedding," Emma said, settling back on the stool. "I'm headed back to Boston after Christmas." Relaxing a bit, Emma peeled off the knitted hat and scarf until she realized under Granny's watchful eye she was being judged for being too thin, tired, and whatever else the woman saw in her.

"And she's in town for a date with Killian," Ruby announced, swaying her hips as she trotted off to deliver food to one of the few full tables.

"I don't even know this guy," Emma protested to Granny. "Please. You have to help me." She made a dismissing gesture. "Mary Margaret has plans, Granny. You know how she is. They just sprung him on me last night. I'm talking candle light dinner and the whole thing. Talk about awkward."

The woman hummed as she swiped at invisible crumbs from her counter. "I don't know. That girl has always had impeccable tastes. She even set up Ruby and Dorothy. I would have never thought…anyway, I think you should go for it. He's a nice guy, a bit cocky and surefooted, but nice. And I'll tell you what. I'll offer you two a meal on the house for your next date."

Ruby sailed back behind her grandmother to retrieve a new bottle of ketchup. "Offer breakfast for the morning after the date. That might be better so I can hear about it."

There was a critical tone to Granny's voice as she condemned her granddaughter's blunt enthusiasm. "Not here, Ruby. Emma's a nice young woman, not a trollop who'll jump into bed with anyone who gives her least bit of attention. She's got class."

Emma tittered silently as Ruby rolled her eyes. "Unlike me, right? Granny thinks I'm nothing but a…"

"Enough," Granny bellowed again, patting Emma's hand. "Welcome home, dear."

***AAA***

The sheriff's station was dimly lit as Killian entered and threw his coat over the back of his chair. "David?" he called out to the silence of the room. He didn't think the man was there, but felt it better to make sure. Finding himself alone, he switched the phones over from night mode and set to making a fresh pot of coffee after he dumped the smidge of coffee that was of undetermined age.

Scalding his tongue on the first mug of the bitter brew, Killian did not even hear David enter the steely gray cave of a station room with a box balanced on one arm and a bag of pastries dangling from his fingers. "I hope that file is more interesting than fresh doughnuts from that bakery that just opened near Granny's. I managed to beat Leroy and the guys to the first batch this morning."

Killian knew better than to make fun of the sweet offering, but still managed to offend. "Isn't there are cliché about cops and doughnuts?"

"If that's how you feel, then I won't share them with you." David dropped the box on one of the five empty desks. At least Killian hadn't asked about them in a while, as the station's payroll didn't include enough staff for such needs. Maybe they could find some use for them later. "And they aren't all for us anyway. Emma's going to stop by in a few."

Dropping the sloppily written report from the state police onto the pile, Killian lifted his brows upward. "Is she now? And what else can you tell me about this lass conspired to set me up with? Not that I don't love and adore Tink, but one would think I would hear such personal news from the source rather than a third party." Wiping his right hand against his gloved prosthetic, he watched his friend's expression fall.

"You know this is more Mary Margaret than it is me," David began sheepishly.

"Aye, but you might have a say in the matter. I didn't mind meeting the lass, but these fix ups rarely work out. Let's say we met and hated each other on sight. Don't you think the wedding will be wee bit uncomfortable with us staring daggers at each other as you and your fiancé say your vows?" Having pushed back from the metal desk, he hunched forward with his arms resting on his thighs. "I'm only thinking of you, mate."

"Right," he remarked in cold sarcasm. "Look, Emma is essentially my family. And since you are still smiling and alive, I'm going to assume it went well. While you are a good friend except when you manage to beat me at poker, I would kill you if you hurt her in any way. So no, I don't expect an epic romance. Mary Margaret and I were just thinking you might keep each other company for a while."

"That's a bit old fashioned sounding, Dave," Killian teased with a smileless expression of amusement. "And they call me…"

The banter did not allow them to hear the click of Emma's heels against the tile floors and the solid but overlooked knock on the glass door to the hallway. "David's being old fashioned? I'm shocked." She strode in, giving the sheriff a side hug as she laid her cheek against his shoulder for a minute. "The computer system here alone should be evidence enough that you're not exactly modern. Are these kinds of monitors even built anymore? And please tell me you're not using dial up internet. I'm already hearing the sounds of the AOL guy telling you that you've got mail."

"I have to be a good steward of the taxpayers' money," David protested, keeping his hands at his weight in his signature pose of pride. "And I'm not taking crap from the woman whose office is essentially her car. A car that is older than she is and had more miles on it than she'll ever see as money in the bank." As he moved to elbow her in the ribs, his leather shoulder holster shone against the denim blue shirt he wore.

Meanwhile Killian watched amusedly as his boss and the blonde woman teased back and forth to the point that he was about to pick a side. Reaching across his desk, he dipped his hand into the bag from Granny's and pulled out a sticky and sweet treat. He had just broken off a piece when he felt her green eyes bore into him. The scrap of the pastry still an inch or two from his mouth, he nearly recoiled at the still and stern expression on her face.

"Well?" Emma asked the sandy haired sheriff. David's normally calm expression colored brightly as she stepped between the two men and stuck out a long fingered hand toward Killian. "Good to see you again, Killian." Carrying herself confidently, she was clearly aware of his appreciative glances to the melting softness of her body and the slight pop of her hip as they tapered into long denim clad legs. "This guy," she said, throwing a hand gesture in David's direction, "failed to say that you would be here. And I guess he failed to say that bear claws are always mine." She crossed her arms over her white sweater clad chest and waited for him to react. And when he did, it was far from dramatic. He lowered the uneaten portion to the wax paper holding the majority of the treat.

"Apologies."

Her eyes scanned him, seeming to take in the tempting, lean, and completely male physique. Her full, unpainted lips opened slightly and then closed again as her fingers wiggled as though she wanted to snatch the pastry back from him. "You didn't know," she quipped, smiling without malice or apology. "David should have said something."

He exchanged a smile with her and then nodded. "Aye, he's apparently not properly prepared either of us for this."

Clearing his throat, David threw up his hands in a mock surrender move. "I didn't plan on anything, guys. Mary Margaret…"

"Yeah, I've heard it," Emma said, rolling a chair closer to the desk where Killian was seated with the bag of treats. "You do realize that starting off a marriage by blaming her for everything is probably not a good sign." She pointed to the bear claw there between them as she sat. "You eating that or too scared to now?"

The whiteness of his smile was dazzling as he grinned. "Split it? I think there's enough for a cup of coffee for you too." He stood abruptly and turned. "We usually have it black, but I bet there's some sugar and maybe a bit of cream if you desire."

"I bought her a hot chocolate," David spoke up, cursing under his breath when he realized it was not there. "That I left on the counter..."

"Sugar, no cream is fine," Emma answered Killian after telling David that leaving her drink on the counter was not going to soften the blow of trying to fix her up. She dug through the bag to find a plastic knife that she used to cut the long pastry in half.

"Very equitable, Swan," Killian said upon his return. "Impressive."

"I have a 10 year old son," she answered back. "Fairness is a state I have to try to achieve often. Warning though, I did have to touch your half. I've had my shots so you should be safe."

His smile ruffled his mouth as one corner lifted higher than the other and he slid the coffee in front of her with a few to go packets of sweetener. "I wouldn't presume to know what level of sweetness the lady would prefer."

David stepped closer to the two and then took a few steps back. "So I'm going to go make sure the delivery of lights has arrived. Regina wants us to decorate the businesses on the south side of the main street. Seems those lights quit working." His face twisted sourly. "You know that if it had been my choice…"

Emma flipped her hair over one shoulder and pulled her arms out of her jacket one at a time. "Right, Mary Margaret is a dictator. I'm not sure I'm buying that. But anyway, I'm here. There's a bear claw and coffee. So we'll talk and make everyone happy that I'm not sitting at home like a serial killer making plans for my next move."

With a sigh that sounded very much like surrender, David retreated out into the cold, pulling his coat off the chair behind him.

"You continue to impress, love," Killian said as the door swung close. "Can't say I've seen too many who can silence ole Dave. He's usually fancies bossing people around, especially me."

"Right," Emma said, a dusty rose color deepening on her cheeks. "So you're…I'm sorry. None of this is your fault at all. I'm just…I'm tired of the whole feeling sorry for Emma for not having a boyfriend. Feel sorry for Emma because she's a single mom. It doesn't occur to Mary Margaret that I might actually be okay on my own."

"It is flattering that she cares so much, as does Dave. Perhaps that is a better way to look at it."

"I guess, but you were right last night. They are relentless. If I were to tell them I wanted to stay away from you, they'd just find some other guy to throw at me. I heard them discussing it."

"And I'm maybe better than the alternative," he said, lifting that bite of bear claw he had discarded before.

"Fishing for compliments this soon, Killian?" she asked. "Actually I was wondering if you might want to do something to get back at them. We both know they aren't going to stop so let's just go with it. I'm not talking cruel or manipulative. I'm just saying we don't show that we hate this. We hang out at all this wedding stuff and they feel better about poor Emma and Killian being alone. After they say I do we can forget the whole thing."

"You know that most romantic television movies on Hallmark have similar plots, love? I hardly think this will work." He wiped some of the sugar off his lips and watched as her tongue made a similar movement across her own. "Fake dating rarely works. Either we will grow to hate each other or we will find we have more in common that either of us would like to admit."