ANNOUNCEMENT: so sorry for the delay in posts. I was traveling for a few weeks then immediately upon returning home I got some sort of cold/flu. So it was a big old mess. Posting will be more regular now that everything's on track, thank you for your patience. And I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: EXACTLY 6000

Disclaimer: All rights to OUAT I own nothing

Aaaaand shout out to resident_of_storybrooke for being my beta!

Sundays. Known to most as a day of rest, a day of worship, a day for family. Which was why, every other Sunday, Killian took the day off to drive the two hours to the Maine Women's Correctional Facility for visitation hours.

He pulled his truck into the visitor's parking lot, feeling his body shift into autopilot as he exited the car and made his way to the processing center. He knew the rules, the things that weren't allowed to go passed the barbed wire gates. How to make the day as painless as it possibly could be. No blue denim. No hats. No metal buttons. He kept two keys on a ring that he needed to get back into his car and some id but that was all.

The waiting room had a familiar smell to him now. The stale office air that permeated the dated wallpaper and fake flowers. It was small, only a few chairs spaced out around the four walls. There was one door in, and one door that led to the visitation room.

"Good morning, Darlene," Killian said to the older woman sitting behind the glass partition. She had worked here every Sunday for as long as he could remember. She was a waif of a woman, with smile lines and wrinkled hands. But she was kind to everyone and always greeted him with a pleasant face. "Killian Jones, to see Alice Jones."

He slid his drivers license across the formica counter and through the slot in the glass partition.

"Of course," Darlene smiled, putting her glasses on to type away at his visitor's badge. "You know the drill."

"Aye, at this point I could do this with my eyes closed."

He took the adhesive name tag and applied it to his t shirt while Darlene notified the guards he was here. Though he really could navigate this whole process blindfolded, it was protocol.

"You can go in now."

Killian walked down the long hallway to the visitor's room he was so familiar with now. The hospital white floors and walls only amplified by the fluorescent lighting. When he reached the door he waited to be buzzed in, and upon providing his pass to the guards he was granted entrance.

Waiting to see her never got any easier. No matter how many times he did it the first sight of her in the all beige uniform with her hands in cuffs caught him off guard. Today was no different, as he felt his chest tighten at the sight of his mother entering the room and escorted to the seat across from him. He still had to close his eyes when the guard undid her handcuffs.

"Hi, mum," he said into the telephone on his side of the glass partition.

"Killian, I'm so glad to see you."

"Me too." He couldn't help but soften a bit when he looked at his mother. She was quite lovely, even behind bars. Which made it harder for him to watch her live this way. "How have you been?"

"As well as can be expected I suppose." Her blue eyes looked around the rest of the room. Of his mother and father, Killian had taken after his mother in the appearance department. Both of them with their jet black hair and blue eyes. Angular faces and tall, narrow builds. "Are you eating? You look thin, Killian."

He rolled his eyes, now, at the second person to bring it up.

"Yes, I am eating. Quite well actually." It was a lie but there was no way for her to know that.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

"How's work? Busy again, I hope?" she asked. Her black hair framing her face. It had gotten so long. There was a time when it just barely reached her shoulders.

"Picking up a bit, you know how it is this time of year. Everyone wants their yards magically transformed overnight. You wouldn't believe the lengths these people go to outdo each other. I just don't understand what kind of person cares that much about something so minute."

"People who have nothing real to worry about, I suppose," a wry smile crossed his mother's face. "We were never those people."

"No we were not."

Killian's mind reverted back to what his life was like before he lost both parents in one night. His father had come from London with nothing in his pocket. But being that the man was a nasty drunk he never gained much more in the span of his lifetime in America. He did though catch the eye of Killian's mother.

They had been poor, dirt poor actually. Living in a tiny house. The four of them. Some months they didn't have heat, others their water got shut off. There was always something.

"But just because these people appear to have it all, that doesn't mean they do," his mother said, bringing his attention back to her. "Everyone has secrets, some are just better at pretending than others."

He remembered his mother doing quite a lot of pretending before she had wound up here. Pretending like the electricity was out for the whole town, not just them. Pretending like the bruises on her arms came from bumping into walls and doors. Pretending like everything would be okay in the morning, when usually it just brought another storm.

"A new house was built in the neighborhood where Liam got his start, the developer's son. He's asked me to do the landscaping."

"That's good news, maybe if he likes you he'll find a way to merge the two," a smile graced her face. "Your landscaping with his construction."

"Perhaps…" It was certainly easier to mask the goings on of his colorful past when his mum had no way of knowing her son's real motivations for working with Gold. In fact no one did, it was a secret that would stay with him.

The Gold project would begin in the morning, and his mind drifted to that large, monstrous house built for only two people.

"Are you alright, Killian, you seem a bit… off?" she asked when they were nearing the end of their two hour visit.

"Fine, just a bit tired I suppose." He smiled trying to reassure her. Whatever life he lived outside of this prison, he was able to edit for his mother's ears when he saw her.

"Well, get more rest. The bags under your eyes are darker every time you come here."

Her hand started to drift upward, reaching toward the glass the partition. Killian wished they could just have lunch together, or sit across from each other at a regular table. But the reality of the situation was that she was in for a violent crime. So their visits were highly supervised.

"Are there any special ladies in your life?" she asked. The question always came up, no matter how hard he fought to steer the conversation other ways, she persisted.

"No, none on the horizon," he said quietly. There was only one of these visits where he had remotely hinted at his romantic life. It was instinct, and he wanted so badly to tell her about Milah but by the time he had worked up that confidence she was gone.

"You're too handsome to be so alone."

"I do just fine out there in the real world, thank you very much."

"I'm sure you do but it's still nice to have a partner."

He knew he could say a thousand negative things about his view on relationships. He knew he could bring up the fact that he had a horrible example of one growing up. But instead he swallowed those. There was no need to waste the little time he had here on their family's murky past.

"If the day ever comes, you will be the first person I tell," he placated. Killian hoped the conversation would end there and thankfully it did, they moved onto other topics. It was too hard for him to sit across from his mother and not tell her everything.

"Take care of yourself," she said right before the guards came to escort her back to her cell. "Next time I see you I want those dark circles gone."

"Alright, mum," he said back. Trying his best to match her smile.

Each time Killian visited his mother in prison, a little part of him stayed there with her. She was the only family he had left, and he felt a constant pang of worry that he would never again see her out in the real world. She had been behind bars for almost 20 years now, and was up for parole this year.

The day Killian had lost his father was the same day he had lost his mother. The word loss meant two different things in this case, as his father was dead and his mother had been the one who had killed him. He was 10 years old when it happened. The night his mum took a shotgun to the back of Brennan Jones.

It was self-defense, the lawyer had argued. Unfortunately for his mother, the jury found the circumstances to be more incriminating than not. There had been more than one shot fired. The fact that each had been to his back. Then of course, Brennan's autopsy revealed more wounds than one. A random stab wound had punctured his there was the matter of where exactly the shotgun had come from. It was not registered, neither had a license. How premeditated was it?

Despite the logical case of the wife trying to save herself from her volatile husband, she was found guilty. It still made him seethe with anger. But in the end she would receive the maximum twenty five years, with a parole hearing at twenty.

Driving away from where he had to leave his mother, in the building surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers hurt his heart each time. But in another two weeks he would come back. As he always did. Because she was all he had left.

The ride back was always quiet. Killian never listened to music on the drive, no radio. He would just leave the windows rolled down and let the wind hit his face. Even when Liam was alive, and would make the drive with him, it was quiet.

Though Liam had a harder time visiting their mother than Killian did. He supposed it was because his brother resented their mother in ways that Killian didn't. After all, Liam was the one who had to care for Killian. When their father died, Liam was 17, and in an effort to stay out of the system, they couch hopped from relative to relative until Liam turned 18 and could legally become Killian's guardian.

Liam didn't say much on the visits. He still made the drive when Killian couldn't because he was fourteen. Liam always made sure that every other Sunday their mum had a visitor.

When he arrived back at his house, Killian cracked open a beer from the fridge and sat alone on the beige leather couch. The whole place was rather sparse, but he didn't need much. The kitchen and living room were a combined space. The walls lined with real dark wood paneling and the floor half wood, half tile. A window sat above the couch, blinds drawn, and a small fireplace was opposite where he sat that he often burned wood in during the winters.

At one point the breakfast nook had been used for a small kitchen table but had, in recent years, been used as a home office for Killian. It had a few windows that allowed him to look out toward the stream that ran through the woods.

He removed his boots and crossed his feet over the surface of his coffee table. If nothing else his house was always spotless. While he could certainly afford more nowadays, the house had been a purchase of his and Liam's. He had lived with his brother in a one bedroom apartment long enough and after a few years of running a growing business the two finally had enough for a down payment. So at 20 years old he became a homeowner alongside his brother. It wasn't much, but it was all theirs.

He looked at the clock on the microwave above the stove and it read 4:00 pm. Killian had nothing to do for the rest of the day. Every other Sunday, when he made the trip to see his mother, he made sure the rest of his day was empty. Work was for the most part off limits, and he often had some high school aged help or one of his other employees. He had about 5 or 6 now, which was massive compared to the days when it had just been he and his brother.

Killian got up and tossed his half-consumed beer in the trash. He didn't really want it anymore, he just wanted to take a nap. The night before he hadn't slept a wink. All he could think about was working for Gold. Or more appropriately his son.

Down the hall off the kitchen there were four doors. One was a linen closet, that held his back up set of towels and his backup set of sheets. Another door led to the house's only bathroom. The third door was the room that once belonged to Liam and had not been entered since his brother's passing. And the fourth led to Killian's bedroom. It had a simple queen size bed frame with dark blue bedding, a dresser and two windows. The walls were the same wood paneling but with some built in shelves above his bed.

He crashed onto his bed face first and then flipped to get comfortable. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the printed out email chain from Neal Gold that sat on his dresser. He reached out and grabbed it, reading through the notes the man had sent him in regards to his newest project.

For someone who was leaving the task to his wife, the man certainly had a lot of rules. The inground pool in the backyard was already in place, so Killian would need to design around that. A lima bean shaped hole in the ground that would need to be filled.

No palms, ferns or daisies.

He was to use the bricks selected to carve out pathways.

No poured concrete.

Real grass in the front yard, sod is to be used in the back.

Killian ran his hand through his hair. The man certainly knew what he wanted. Which was probably how he had landed a woman like his wife. Emma Swan. He would have been lying if he said he hadn't imagined what it would be like to come home to someone like her. A thought so out of character for him, he could hardly believe it had crossed his mind.

He would be around her quite a bit in the coming weeks, and could not afford to allow himself the blonde distraction. He had other things in mind, things that had nothing to do with his boss's wife.

But had everything to do with the Gold family. The people he knew, had more control of the town than anyone else was aware.

Though when his head hit the pillow and his body relaxed into a dreamlike state, he found that for the first time Milah was not there. The woman occupying those corners of his mind was very much so Emma Swan.

Emma could hear the sound of each car that pulled onto the street, as the Mills Garden Party began. She could then hear the rumblings of familiar greetings between guests, as neighbors did. The mingled conversations drifting up through the air to the open bathroom window where Emma was getting ready.

"Em, we've got to get going!" Neal called to her from the downstairs. The floor plan of the house was so open, you could hear everything quite easily.

Emma took one more look at herself in the floor length mirror. She wore a blue and white striped cotton jumpsuit, with a bow in the front. Her long blonde hair was braided to the side, an attempt to encase all of the wild curls. She wore simple jewelry. Stud earrings. A watch and some bracelets. The diamond ring on her finger that felt just a tad too heavy today. It certainly took her a bit longer to get ready, as she had been single handedly organizing the house since they arrived yesterday.

"We're already late and we hardly have an excuse, we live across the street." Neal appeared in the doorway. His khaki pants ironed, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned just a bit. His dark brown leather loafers a few inches from where her shoes were strewn on the tile floor.

"Could you hand me those?" Emma asked with a doe eyed look and a deliberate lack of urgency.

Neal huffed just a bit but otherwise remained quiet as he handed her the wedge heels. Emma took them, slowly, and strapped them onto her feet.

"There. Can we go now?" Neal's hands went to his hips. A lot of other people would have just gone with it, complied and left. But Emma was not a fan of the attitude. Especially when he had abandoned her yesterday, to do God knows what, while she completely assembled the house he had wanted to move into.

"Do you think these look alright?"

"What?"

"The shoes… I didn't have time to do my toes today, and I think it may be too early in the year for anything open toed…"

Neal's eyes shut and she could almost see him putting on little kid gloves to speak to her next.

"I think they look fine," he finally said.

"Are you sure?"

Not that she actually gave a damn.

"Yes." His eyes opened again and he looked at her. "Emma, you know how important this is for me tonight."

He took two steps closer to her and grabbed her forearms. His grasp just a touch too tight. She didn't physically flinch at his touch, but her instincts did.

"The mayor needs to sign off on the expansions we want to make in the community. My future at my dad's company rides on this project."

Emma rested her hand on his chest, and tried to find anything behind his eyes. She looked for anything in his expression that hinted at this future for them and not just him.

"Okay," she said calmly. She was pretty sure that the color finally returned to her face when his hands dropped to her waist and pulled her in for a brief kiss.

The garden party at the Mills house across the street was in full swing by the time Emma and Neal arrived. The sun was just beginning to set and the backyard was lit by colored lanterns on strings hung above. Emma felt the warmth of Neal's familiar hand on her back as they walked the pathway to the pool's patio where everyone seemed to be congregating.

The yard was lush and green, with minimal amounts of flowers. Save for the rose bushes near the back porch. Plenty of trees that looked as though they had been growing for hundreds of years. It was totally private, one could not even tell there were homes on either side of this yard.

A band was set up playing light classical music on the wooden deck off of the house. Stone paths created a maze of routes throughout the sizable backyard. One leading to a gazebo covered in vines where a bar was set up. One led to the pool area in the far left corner. One led to a play place on the right side. A long table was set up in the center that must have had nearly fifty seats, elegantly decorated with white flowers and linens. It was by far the nicest house on the block.

"Son, I'm so glad you could make it," Neal's father said greeting them when they reached the pool area. His father looked quite different than Neal. They both had the same dark eyes but that was where the physical similarities ended. However, she was starting to see more and more of his father in him as of late. "And Miss Swan, you as well."

"Nice to see you," she said flatly. Emma never liked Neal's father, and to be quite honest he didn't like her either.

"Son, if you'll come with me I think the mayor has a few things she would like to discuss before dinner is served." Neal nodded to his father, as obedient as a child.

Without so much as a glance back at her, Neal followed his father over to a different portion of the yard. There they began speaking to a regal looking woman in an elegant, off-white lace dress that came just below the knee. The mayor, Emma noted. With her voluminous dark hair and large eyes she was strikingly beautiful. On her arm was a man Emma assumed to be Mr. Mayor to be… or more appropriately from his badge he was a cop. The way their body language kept them near to one another made Emma just the tiniest bit jealous.

She could follow Neal, trail along and insist she be close just as the mayor's fiance did but Emma had done that before. She didn't want to chase after him.

"Emma!" an upbeat voice caught her attention. It belonged to Mary Margaret, the woman she had met yesterday who lived across the street. Only this time she was accompanied by a man with dusty blonde hair and a friendly face. "This is my husband David, David this is Emma our new neighbor."

"Nice to meet you," said Emma coolly and extending her hand to shake David's. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, the picture felt complete. As nice as it was, it only made her notice how incomplete her own was. "My husband Neal is somewhere around here… business never takes a break I suppose."

She noticed just the tiniest bit of sympathy in Mary Margaret's eyes at her statement. Perhaps Emma had sounded too bitter.

A waiter approached them carrying champagne flutes on a round tray, quickly Emma took one and began sipping. There were quite a lot of people in the backyard. Done up as if this were Easter Sunday on the White House lawn.

"Mary Margaret tells me your husband is the son of the man who built this neighborhood," David said procuring his own champagne flute.

"Yeah, that's the reason we moved all the way out here, so that Neal could work for his father."

"What about you?" he asked.

Emma tapped her ring on the side of the glass, it was complicated.

"I've done a lot of things," she circled the conversation. "I was a waitress for a long time. But more recently I was a personal trainer. I worked at a gym in Boston."

"You guys, the crab rolls are insane," said a woman with long, dark hair and bright red lips said approaching them. "Here try one."

Mary Margaret took the napkin that held the crab roll and took a bite. Then quickly recovered to give Emma the polite, neighborly introduction.

"Ruby this is Emma, she and her husband just moved in next door to you." The girl with the long dark hair smiled at Emma, regarding her but also appearing to survey her. "Ruby doesn't normally come to these things but since Granny's wasn't catering she has the night off."

"My grandma and I have a restaurant in town. We do a lot of the food for these events but we certainly don't have crab rolls like this."

"I'll have to try it sometime," Emma said politely, wondering how long she would have to wait for these people to start spilling the tea on this place.

"Emma was just telling us she used to be a personal trainer in Boston," Mary Margaret unfortunately circled the conversation back to her.

"Oh.. wow that's why your arms are so toned," said the girl named Ruby between bites. She was tall and thin, and wore a red romper that hug her narrow frame. "Mary Margaret and I have been trying to exercise for years!"

"Trying?" Emma looked at the two women, clearly there was some sort of joke she was missing.

"Yeah, well, we always say we're going to train together and do some race… or like start kickboxing. But we always end up bailing."

Emma smiled a bit at that.

"I mean, if you guys need someone to work out with, I'm available," Emma said, surprising even herself at the extended offer. "I try to run everyday."

"That'd be great," said Mary Margaret with the permanent smile that seemed to be etched on her face. But for whatever reason, it didn't read to Emma as disingenuous.

"Alright but I hate running so maybe we can do other things," Ruby chimed in. "And maybe not on the weekends."

"I'll think of something," Emma sipped her champagne. At least it would give her people to talk to during the day. If the first 24 hours of her new life in town were any indication, she would be spending a lot of time without Neal.

Her eyes shifted to where he was standing, nonchalantly discussing whatever plans his father had in store for the further development of suburbia. Eventually she would question him about it, after all she had a right to know. His eyes met hers for a second and he smiled before waving her over. Oh, so now she was invited to the conversation?

"Who did these rose bushes, Cora? They're absolutely stunning." Emma heard voices walking behind her as she made her way across the lawn to Neal. She felt like it was just second nature for her to eavesdrop anymore.

"Killian Jones," said who she assumed was Cora. "He did the whole yard."

"Oh he did my sister's lawn and it came out incredible." The woman's voice lowered an octave for the next part. "And of course he isn't exactly hard on the eyes either."

A third woman spoke up, "when he does the hedges shirtless I watch from my bedroom window. It's just too good not to."

The group of them all erupted in giggles and other quick, inappropriate remarks followed. Emma couldn't help but be amused at their comments, proving her initial impression of her new gardener to have been accurate.

As she finished crossing the lawn Emma felt just a tad out of place. Sure she had been to upscale events with Neal before. But this was different. This wasn't just an event, it was in someone's home. It was a lifestyle. This was how these people lived most days of the week. She wasn't sure if she was being paranoid or not, but it felt to her like every set of eyes in the yard were on her as she made her way to stand next to Neal. Fulfilling her role as the dotting wife with effortless pantomime.

In the morning, Emma awoke in the bed of her new home. Alone. The other side had been pulled down. Neal had come home but was already gone for the day.

She had left the party before he had, excusing herself politely from the crowd of small talkers. When he kissed her goodbye he had promised to be home soon after. Emma picked up the shirt he had worn last night and inhaled its scent. When did she become the type of wife who smelled her husband's clothes for inconsistencies?

A quiet sigh escaped her mouth. She glanced at her watch on the bedside table, the face reading 7 am. It was too early in the day to feel this defeated.

Putting on leggings, Nikes and Neal's Boston University t-shirt she had cut to fit her, she set off for a run. Exercise took her mind off of things. There were certainly worse habits one could have for ignoring the brutal truths of life. And Emma had most definitely faced worse things where, more often than not, she was her own hero.

The morning was a still quiet, something that she wasn't used to. She had always lived in a city. The congestion and noise and smells from living on tightly packed blocks more familiar to her than the wide open spaces. The streets that weren't lined with parallel parked cars because everyone had driveways. The sprawling lawns that set the homes far back from the sidewalk.

Emma pushed her legs onward, alternating between sprint and jog when she felt herself obsessing over the scent of Neal's shirt.

When the movers were unloading the truck on Saturday, she noticed several boxes that contained brand new workout equipment. An elliptical, sets of weights, mats, a bench, a medicine ball, a stationary bike, and a treadmill. All a gift from Neal to make up for moving her to the middle of nowhere.

But Emma hated treadmills. It never made much sense to her to run in place.

After an hour she decided it would be best to head back. Emma had passed a school bus and some morning walkers, watched as people kissed their spouses goodbye. The world was waking up for the day, which meant she had to quit running.

Her game plan was to run straight into the house and upstairs to the master bathroom where she would take a well deserved shower. The sweat coating her body would wash off and the several shower nozzles would soothe her soon to be aching limbs. She hadn't exerted herself that much in months probably, winter being hard for outdoor training. But when Emma rounded the bend to Willow Lane, she noticed a truck parked in front of her house.

"Hello?" she called out. There was a man on her front porch, facing toward the door. Her chest tightened a bit. However, when he turned around she remembered exactly who he was.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gold… er Swan…?," Killian Jones stumbled over what to call her but at least he remembered Swan. He strolled down the front steps to the pathway from the driveway. He wore jeans today, ones that fit him snugly and a plain t-shirt free from grass and dirt stains. In fact, he looked like he had just walked out of the shower, his beard just a tad trimmed, hair just a touch wet. It was Emma who was in dire need of a hose down.

"Seriously, you can just call me Emma." She assumed it was a force of habit for him to address the stepford wives that lived in this neighborhood by their formal name.

"Alright then, Emma," he said cautiously, his serious blue eyes catching hers. "Is this still a good time?"

She wished she had remembered this was happening and wasn't sweaty, gross and a mess from her run.

"Yeah, perfect actually." She stepped around him and toward the house, her shoulder accidentally grazing his arm, "do you mind if I just grab some water before we head back? Would you like some?"

"Sure," he said, a hint of a smile on his face but otherwise stoic. His posture was rigid and she wondered if she made him at all uncomfortable or if he was just inherently serious. "I'll just meet you around back then."

The backyard of Emma's new home was massive. But it was almost entirely empty save for the waterless in-ground pool that had been built. There wasn't even grass yet, the winter had been too cold and the construction team thought it best to wait until spring.

She sat on the shaded porch, the thick half-wall barrier that surrounded the space doubling as a bench for her because they didn't have deck furniture yet. She had her back leaned up against one of the white pillars that held up the structure, and watched Killian Jones. Emma wasn't notorious for checking out other men, she couldn't even remember the last time she had really looked at one in a less than appropriate way. But he was awfully handsome, she had to note that. Even the women at last night's party had agreed. He wasn't difficult to look at.

"Did you have anything in mind as far as plant life?" he asked her as he walked back over to the porch. In his hand he had a notepad and pencil, ready to jot down whatever she said next. The thing was, she had no idea what she wanted. "Your husband already sent me some requirements for the design but other than that-"

"Of course he did," she scoffed.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing it's just…" classic Neal to let her think she had the power but then micromanage the entire thing. "I've never…"

The truth would have been that she never wanted a yard. Nor a large house. None of this. But the watered down version of all of that was, "I've never given it much thought, actually."

He looked at her, his jaw unclenched. He stepped up onto the porch and took a seat across from her.

"Why don't you tell me about your favorite place," he said. The glove from his right hand coming off to hold the pencil.

"Excuse me?"

"Your favorite place. Do you have one?"

Emma leaned back again, crossing her arms over her chest. She had never been asked that question.

"For example," he said, probably sensing her hesitation. "Mine is a small cabin on the coast of Maine I stay in for a fishing trips. So when I bought a house here I wanted it to feel as much like that as possible. Inside and out."

It was personal. As she watched him finish talking she noted that he seemed surprised he said it as well. Her gaze shifted to the backyard. It really was a blank canvas for her. And while this was never something she had wanted control over, it was one of the few things at the moment that remained in her grasp.

"Well, my favorite place in the world would have to be the beach…" she said, partly deflecting. "But I don't really want my yard to look like a cheesy all-inclusive resort."

That got a slight laugh out of him, breaking what was his default concrete expression, but he quickly recovered.

"What I know is that I don't want it to be perfect. Or like, overly done," said Emma gesturing with her hands. Remembering what the mayor's backyard looked like and thinking she wanted the exact opposite of that.

"So perhaps something more natural to the landscape…" Killian started, his hand going to work at sketching something on the paper Emma couldn't see. "Nothing ostentatious…"

"Yeah, I don't want plants flown in from Thailand that bloom once a year or anything crazy complicated to care for. Everything has to be… local."

"Certainly." He continued sketching, his hand moving quicker now. His dark brows furrowed.

"Can you do that?"

To be honest Emma wasn't even entirely sure what kind of plants grew in the north east. She had never grown anything besides a few potted herbs she used for cooking that had lived on her apartment windowsill.

"Aye, love, I can." He finished writing with his pencil and looked up at her. "Anything you want. That's what I'm here for."

Emma ignored the small fluttering that occured in her chest when Killian looked at her. Anything she wanted. It was the simplest choice of words, unintentional on his part surely. But the tone in his voice, it struck a small nerve in Emma, a sensitive chord in her system that reminded her of when Neal had promised her anything.