Robin frowns as he reads the text a second time, sighing as he looks around the busy community center and wondering if Regina will still show up or if she's already seen the text and won't even bother.

He's disappointed for a lot of reasons, not getting an excuse to see her being near the top of the list. But he was especially looking forward to tonight's class because tonight his suggested recipe had been selected and tonight Granny was going to teach them all to make Hugarian Goulash—a favorite of Roland's and Roland's request for his birthday dinner next week. But alas, Granny was sick and Killian, who usually filled in for her, had a date with David, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed cop, who'd had a starring role in all of Killian's most recent stories. From what he gathered, it'd been something of a chase and now that David finally agreed to go out with him, he wasn't going to give up the chance to teach a bunch of adults how to boil noodles and stew tomatoes.

Really, it was understandable. If he were in Killian's spot, there was no way he'd cancel the date.

Still, he was disappointed to miss class. He was disappointed that he wouldn't be able to learn how to make Roland's favorite dinner for his birthday and he was disappointed that he wouldn't get the chance to spend an evening with Regina.

In some ways, it seemed silly to keep attending these classes as a way of spending time with her; after all, they were officially dating now. They'd been out a few times by now—dinner once at an upscale chop house, an exhibit at local art museum another time, and a movie last weekend. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what movie they'd seen because instead of watching, they tucked themselves away in a dark back corner of the theater, making out like a couple of teenagers. They were getting increasingly comfortable with one another—they no longer needed the pretense of a cooking class—but, he liked them and he liked the additional time it allowed them.

Regina wasn't available on weekdays; the only reason she allowed herself to attend the cooking classes at the community center was because Henry's extracurricular activities allowed it. Otherwise, weekdays were dedicated to her son and her job. On weekends, she had a little more time—Henry still had his activities, but she didn't attend every practice, and he was at an age where traveling to tournaments with friends was much more fun than going with just his mom—and that's when she made time for their dates.

He understood. Roland was younger, but as the spring semester picked up, so did Roland's activities. He signed him up for Youth Soccer and when his best friend signed up for Cub Scouts, that meant Roland had to sign up, too. He joined a volunteer group at school that picked up recyclables around the school and one afternoon each week, the school's media center offered a Maker's Space and Roland was obsessed.

"I am going to murder him," Regina huffs as she walks up to the table where he sits, turning her phone to Robin, showing off Killian's text. "He could have warned me."

"It was rather last minute."

"That's how he is," she sighs, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him. "Granny canceled nine hours ago. He knew about this date."

"Maybe he was trying to reschedule?"

Regina's brow arches with skepticism. "He'd never reschedule a chance to get laid. He just feels bad about ditching us, so he avoided the subject until he couldn't anymore."

Robin smiles. She's cute when she's annoyed, he finds himself thinking.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Ten minutes or so," he murmurs. "I'm not eager to sit in rush hour traffic, so—"

"So here you are."

"Here I am," he nods. "To be honest, I'm glad you came, even though it wasn't terribly convenient for you."

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I did want to see you," she admits. "But had I known my cousin was going to plan class, I'd have figured something else out for us to do." She shrugs. "I could've made us dinner or—"

"That would have been really nice."

"It would have been," she says, nodding in agreement. "Instead we're stuck here with vending machine sandwiches."

"Hey, the tuna's not terrible," Robin tells her, laughing as he shakes his head. "I mean, I've had worse."

Her brow furrows. "I worry about you," she tells him. "I'm surprised you haven't died of botulism or—"

"You're not the first to tell me that," he tells her, grinning as her eyes roll. "Truly, you're not the only reason I take these cooking classes." Regina chuckles softly at that. "You know, for awhile, John was convinced you didn't exist and that I was only using a woman I was interested in as an excuse to take classes to learn how to fry eggs and make pasta."

"I can't believe you lack these skills," Regina tells him. "I mean, I do believe it because I've seen you in action in the kitchen, but—" Her voice halts and she laughs. "You have a child."

"I also have a best friend with a restaurant that serves chicken fingers, friends, and macaroni and cheese."

"A bar with a toddler's menu, nice."

"Drunk folks and toddlers have a lot in common, you know."

Her eyes narrow. "But you have to eat at home some of the time."

"I admit, I've had a lot of help since Marian passed. John lives in my building and he cooks, so it's not just eating out, and up until recently, her mother would stop by once a week with a load of food. All I ever had to do was pop things into the microwave."

"What changed?"

"John got a girlfriend," he says wryly, "And about two months before I met you, Marian's mother passed away."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that."

Robin nods. "Roland misses her and, admittedly, so do I. She never liked me much, but she was a constant in our lives, especially after losing Marian."

"And she kept you fed—"

"I especially miss that. I was always grateful, but I didn't realize just how grateful I was for that."

"And now you take cooking classes."

"I do," he says, a slightly awkward chuckle bubbling out of him. "In fact, tonight, my recipe was picked."

"You put a recipe into Granny's suggestion box?"

He nods. "Hungarian Goulash."

"I wondered why she picked something with such a long cook time—"

"Probably why she added that cucumber salad we were supposed to make."

"Probably."

"It's Roland's favorite. Marian's mother used to make it for him all of the time." Regina nods understandingly. "He asked if he could have it for his birthday dinner."

"Isn't his birthday tomorrow?"

Robin nods. "Indeed it is. I was, uh… I was hoping I could learn how to make it and convince you to give me your pot of stew, too, and it could be our dinner tomorrow."

"Ohh, I could murder Killian for cancelling on you! That horny bastard."

Robin shrugs. Really, he doesn't fault Killian for cancelling, though he is minorly annoyed over the late notice. "I googled it. There's a place downtown that has it, apparently. I was going to call and see if—"

"No," Regina interjects, her voice firm and decisive. "What if it's terrible? Not many restaurants around here are known for Hungarian cuisine." She brightens. "And besides that, there's a kitchen down the hall full of the ingredients to make it. I know everything was prepped last night. It's always ready the day before."

His brow arches with interest. "Are you suggesting that we break into the kitchen and have our own little class?"

"My aunt wouldn't mind." She reaches across the table and takes his hand, squeezing it. Even if he didn't want to do this, even if he wasn't desperate to do it, he'd be undoubtedly convinced now. "It'll be fun!"

A grin stretches across his lips. "I don't doubt that for a moment."

Regina gets up and tugs him toward the classroom, fishing out a key from an inner pocket for her purse, explaining that Granny gave it to her about a year before, when Killian started filling in for her here and there. It doesn't surprise him to learn that Killian isn't the most organized fellow and he often complains that Granny's bulky ring of keys don't fit discreetly into his pants. At that, Robin laughs when Regina makes a lewd joke at her cousin's expense, and now that he considers it, the few times he's been at class with Killian, he's worn a ring of keys around his neck. He merely thought it was an odd sort of fashion statement, just like the collection of rings Killian wore.

They get into the room and Regina locks the door, keeping the "cancelled" sign in place. She flicks on the light and makes her way to the back of the room to where the refrigerators are. He watches her go, appreciating the way her slacks hug her ass, and he grins at the realization that he no longer has to feel guilty about ogling her in class.

He comes up behind her as she's washing the vegetables, draping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. She smiles back at him, pecking his lips quickly before turning her attention back to the task at hand.

They talk idly about what she's doing—more specifically, what's included in the recipe and the flavor it brings—and as she finishes the washing, she instructs him toward their workstation.

"I figure, since it's just the two of us, we can take enough to make a real batch of goulash. You'll have leftovers, but from the sound of things, I can't imagine you or Roland would mind that."

"No, we wouldn't," he replies. "And it's a lot better than the sample size we normally get."

She smirks. "That's called a serving size." His eyes roll as she takes a breath, getting out the proper utensils and putting them in the order that she'll use them. "Are you ready for class to start?"

"Very much so," he murmurs, coming a bit closer.

She grins back at him and then goes through the recipe card. He only half pays attention, distracted by how close she's standing. She smirks at him, shaking her head and fully aware that he's not listening. But she seems amused and continues on about mixing the spices together in a little bowl.

"I might need help," he says, grinning slyly and wiggling his eyebrows as he takes the little bowl and a spoon. "Am I doing it right?"

"Softer."

"Can you show me?"

She shakes her head and then nods before coming up behind him and helping him mix the spices.

She's pressed up against his side and he can feel the warmth of her against him. Her fingers are soft and the perfume she's wearing has a soft, sweet scent. He has no idea what it actually is, but she always wears it and he likes it, likes the way it fills his senses and conjures memories of her.

"Okay, that's good," she tells him, eliciting a frown from him. "Now, I'm going to heat up the Dutch Oven. Can you handle getting the meat out of the packaging? If the chunks are too big, you can cut them. I'm not sure how Roland likes it, but when Henry was his age, everything had to be in bite-sized pieces."

"Roland will eat anything, as long as I'm not the one who's cooked it."

"Until now," she beams.

Laughing, he nods. "Until now."

Nonetheless, he chops up the meat a bit more and at her suggestion, he puts the pieces into a bowl, then dumps in the spices. He mixes it up until the meat is well-coated and he feels like he won the lottery when Regina smiles her approval.

While he does that, she chops up some onion, sauteing it in olive oil and then she does the same with the garlic. It smells heavenly.

"Didn't you say you were going to get the oven ready?"

"The Dutch oven," she telling him, nodding as her brow creases. "That's… that's what I'm doing."

"That's not an oven. It's a pot."

She blinks and her brows jut up in surprise. "Oh. Oh, no, no, no," she murmurs, trying to stifle her laugh. "This," she tells him as she points to the pot on the stove, "is a Dutch oven."

For a moment, Robin just stares at it—and then, he starts to laugh. "Well, that explains a lot and it explains why I couldn't find a recipe. I was trying to find one that didn't require a special sort of oven," he tells her, feeling a bit foolish. "Your aunt must think I'm an absolute idiot."

"An adorable one," she tells him, nudging his arm and grinning. "Now, add in the meat." He grins and nods, watching as Regina circles around the counter, selecting a new knife and examining little bottles filled with a brown liquid. "Keep turning the meat so that it doesn't burn."

Robin looks down at the meat and bites down on his lip. "It's browning—"

"It's supposed to," she tells him, grinning. "We'll add in some beef stock in a couple of minutes, then you won't have to watch it so carefully."

He nods and continues to push the meat around with a spatula, still unsure if he's doing it correctly. Regina opens up a can of tomatoes and dumps it in, then adds the stock and Worcestershire sauce, then she prompts him to give it a good stir before lowering the heat.

"Now what?"

"We wait about an hour."

"Oh—"

"I could make us a quick dinner. We have the cucumber salad. That's quick and easy, and I know Granny always keeps certain things on hand. I could probably figure something out." Robin nods, his stomach fluttering a bit as Regina takes his hand. He's still not completely used to affection from her, especially the small little things like holding his hand as they walk across a room. "So, the salad is really easy," she murmurs, opening up the refrigerator. "Just some slices of cucumbers and tomatoes, some feta cheese and some olive oil."

"Sounds like something not even I can screw up."

She laughs. "That might've been the point." She tosses him a bag of tomatoes. "Why don't we see?" Robin's brow arches. "I'm going to fry a couple of chicken breasts up. You make the salad." His eyes widen as he looks down at the tomatoes. "It's literally just chopping things and pouring in some dressing," she says sweetly, leaning up onto her toes and pecking at his lips. "You'll be fine. Let me know if you need help, okay?"

He nods, watching as she turns back to the refrigerator, choosing two chicken breasts—and all he can think of is how lucky he is to have her.

Swallowing hard, he focuses on the salad and when it's done, he beams with pride. It's a pretty salad and it looks harder than it was; but what earns that feeling isn't the salad, but Regina's reaction to it.

At some point, she took off her sweater and is wearing a white camisole and black dress pants. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and her feet are bare, and she's looking at him as if he's done something incredible. The chicken is cooked and sliced and she carries it over to where he's standing, letting her arm slip around his waist as they plate the food. "See," she murmurs. "It wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't."

"I bet you're better at this than you think you are. Your food always turns out great."

"Because of Granny… and you."

"We don't help as much as you think we do."

His brow arches and he offers her a playful scoff, but when he speaks, his voice is nothing but sincere. "I love you," he says without realizing it. "I truly have no idea what I'd do without you."

When he started to speak, he meant to say he wasn't sure what he'd do without her in the kitchen, but as the words came out, it became clear that wasn't all he meant. He loves her, he knows it and he's known it for a long time. But he's been hesitant to voice that, worried that he'd scare her off. From the start, she'd been quite clear about where they stood and he'd sworn that if friendship was all she had to offer, that was what he wanted. Little by little though, his feelings shifted. He was still attracted to her—that was never a question—but he started to think of her in a way that was more than just friendly. By the time she'd asked him out, he was already head over heels in love.

Her smile fades from her lips, but still shines through her eyes. For a moment, neither of them says anything and for a moment, he wonders if he's said too much or if he's said something she's not ready to hear. She looks a little taken aback, but not in a way that seems uncomfortable. She looks like she's struggling to find her voice and his heart is beating so fast, even if she did find it and respond, he's not sure he'd hear it.

"I, um… I just mean…"

"No, no, no," she cuts in, stepping in and pressing her hand to his chest. "Don't take it back. It was sweet."

"It's… funny," she begins, shifting her eyes up to meet his. "We've only had a few dates, but.. It just…"

She falters and he nods. "I know."

"I'm not quite ready to—"

"That's okay. You don't have to say it back," he's quick to say. "I didn't think I was going to say it either, though."

She laughs a little and nods, once more shifting toward him. Her hand presses harder against his chest as she leans up onto her toes, her lips brushing over his. She kisses him and he can't help but respond. At first, it's soft and sweet, but all the time, it's full of affection. Her tongue traces over his bottom lip before pushing inside of his mouth just as she steps forward, deepening the kiss as her hand settles at the back of his neck.

"We should eat," she murmurs as she pulls back. He nods a bit dumbly as she takes a step away from him, but as she does, her hand finds his and their fingers lace together.

She grabs her plate and he takes his, letting her lead him to the workspace next to theirs.

He's glad that their conversation shifts away from his feelings for her and toward the much easier to discuss topic of his son. He explains that the party will actually be two weekends from now because Marian's father is taking him camping the coming Saturday. On Roland's actually birthday, it'll just be the two of them, though. They'll have a little cake and open some gifts, and she asks what he got him. He rattles off a few video game titles and tells her about these shoes Roland's been eyeing that have soles that light up when he walks.

"Henry had a pair of those," she tells him, a sweet smile spreading across her lips at the memory. "But his had purple lights."

"Ah, the Buzz Lightyear version," he says knowingly. "Roland debated for weeks between those and the Spiderman ones."

"So, Spiderman beat Buzz."

Robin chuckles, remembering the constant back-and-forth over the shoes, and how worried he was that by the time Roland made up his mind, the style he wanted would be sold out in his size. "He said the Buzz ones were too babyish as if any light up shoes could be considered grown up."

Regina grins. "They came out with the Spiderman ones about a year after Henry got the Buzz Lightyear ones. He was disappointed… until a little girl in his class got the Spiderman ones."

"Ah—"

"The Buzz was suddenly okay again."

Nodding, he laughs. "And, of course, I got him the always ill-appreciated, but obligatory box of socks and underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans…" He shakes his head as his voice trails off. "The kid's growing like a weed."

"I empathize more than I can say." Regina sighs. "Henry's going to be taller than me by his next birthday. I just know it."

"Well, Roland's got quite a way to go before he's taller than me, but… he's starting to look older, less babyish."

Regina grins empathetically, but before she can say anything, the over timer sounds, and they both nearly jump out of their skin.

"Come on," she says, taking his hand and pulling him toward their workstation. "We have to add the potatoes and carrots."

Robin nods and follows along, again taking a moment to appreciate the view as they cross the room.

Regina lifts a potato peeler and then starts dicing up the carrots. They resume their conversation about kids growing up too quickly.

"Do you want more?" she asks, making his eyes go wide as he looks up at her. "I mean, did you and Marian want a big family or—" She stops and then laughs. "Oh, this… probably is a bit awkward coming from your new girlfriend. I'm not implying that there's a correct answer here. I'm just—"

"I do," he tells her, holding his breath as he waits for her reply. "Eventually, I think."

"Me too."

He grins as her eyes cast down, and he thinks she might be blushing.

They continue prepping the rest of the vegetables—she chops much faster than he peels—and every now and then, as she waits for him to finish his part he catches her smiling at him. He can't quite read her expression, but it's fun and playful, and he thinks he likes it. She helps him to cut up the potatoes and as he adds them to the Dutch oven, she adds the carrots and sets a timer.

"How much longer now?"

"Another hour."

"Oh, damn—"

"Then we add the green pepper—"

His brow furrows as he looks to a little pile of chopped up bell pepper. "When did you—"

"While you were mixing the salad," she tells him, grinning.

"Ah—"

"Then, it's another half an hour."

"We'd have been right down to the wire for class." He takes a breath, watching as he adjusts the heat. "So, what should we do to pass the—"

He doesn't get to finish the question.

Regina turns to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. She kisses him hard, her fingers pushing into his hair as she pushes him back against the edge of the counter. He's a little taken aback and slow to respond, but when he does, he really does.

He breathes her in, one hand tangling in her hair as the other slides down over her ass as his tongue slides against hers. The kiss is loud and wet, and within just a couple of minutes, the effect it has on him is evident to the both of them.

Regina lets out a breathy little sigh and pushes closer, her leg wrapping around his calf as one of her hands falls down his back, sending a prickly sensation down his spine. She pulls back and grins before pushing herself back against him. He's getting harder and he shifts himself, but instead of shifting away from her, instead of putting a little distance between his body and hers, he shifts himself into her palm. She cups him through his jeans, rubbing her hand against him and making him harder.

He breaks the kiss and immediately, her lips settle at the crook of his neck.

She feels so damn good and it takes nearly everything in him not to spin her around and lift her onto the counter and have his way with her.

He thinks about it—picturing her unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down her legs, his hands roaming over her knees and up her thighs, her tugging him back to her and wrapping her legs around him. He groans and lets his head fall to the side, enjoying her lips on his skin and enjoying the fantasy its conjuring.

He pictures himself pulling her panties down over her hips. He imagines them to be a black lace thong and thin fabric curls and bunches as he pulls it down her legs. He thinks of her leaning back on her elbows and letting him get a good look at her, he thinks of her legs spreading open as he leans forward. He thinks of how he wants to make her scream.

But this isn't a fantasy that he can lose himself in.

She's right there with him and they've never done anything like this before.

And they're in the center of a crowded, public building. The doors are locked, but who knows who has a key. She did, after all.

Instead of dissuading him, that realization only seems to make him harder, seems to make him want her more.

It's been so long since he's had anyone like this, so he knows that it won't take much to push him over the edge, but he doesn't want to waste it, especially when he's not entirely sure where any of this is going.

But the thrill of it—the thrill of being with her, finally, after all this time—is almost too much.

"Regina—"

"Shhh."

"What are we—"

"Just go with it."

"I'm happy to—"

Her lips crash back down against his and he loses his train of thought. He can't remember why he pulled away and he can't remember what he was going to say, all he can think of is her.

"You have no idea how many times I've thought about this," she tells him, pulling back and looking up at him through hooded eyes. "So many times I've thought about doing exactly this right here."

"Here—"

"Mm," she nods, licking her lips as she tries to catch her breath. "Have you?"

He nods dumbly. He's thought about this more than he cares to admit. She smiles, laughing softly. "We have more than an hour to kill—"

"So, you want to—"

"Do you?"

She asks, but she already has her answer. Her hand is at his belt, tugging at is as she opens it and his erection is more than evident. He wants her and he wants her now, there's no doubt about that.

"Usually, when I think about this, I'm the one doing things to you."

She smirks. "Oh, I'm sure there's time for all sorts of things. I'll get a turn."

His belt is open and the button of his pants is undone. She eyes him as she pulls down his zipper—slowly, too slow—and he aches for her.

Finally, it's open, but it brings him no relief, but thankfully, she's eager and doesn't seem to want to tease him anymore. Regina tugs his pants down over his hips and takes his boxers down with him, and finally, his cock springs free.

He swallows hard as she licks her lips, looking up at him momentarily, and looking oh, so sexy when she does it. She grins and then shifts her eyes back to his cock, reaching for it and curling her fingers around it. She swipes her tongue from his balls to the tip, then back again. Her breath is hot against him and he can't help but think how good it'll feel when her lips form around him. She strokes him a few times, letting him slip through her closed fist and fuck it feels so good.

He lets out a low moan and reaches for her hair, pushing her fingers into it.

Regina adjusts herself again, once more licking her lips before leaning back in. He lets out another moan as her lips suck at the top of his cock, her mouth feeling so hot and wet and so god damn good.

She sucks him for a couple of minutes, her hand moving to his balls. She cups them, feeling their weight, and then she begins to lean in. Her lips slide over the head of his cock and down his shaft as she takes him in her mouth, and again, he can't stop the sound that escapes him.

"Oh, fuck, that feels good."

She pulls back slowly and then pushes forward again. She does it over and over again, her tongue swirling and her lips sucking until he feels his balls tightening. He knows he won't last much longer.

"Regina, I'm—"

She murmurs something, sending a soft vibration down his cock as she takes him in her mouth again, sucking eagerly until he explodes. Her eyes cast up as he does it and she's almost grinning. When he's done, she swallows it, sucking a little longer at the tip as his cock begins to soften. Then slowly, she rises.

She pushes herself against him—practically wrapping herself around him—as she kisses him.

Her kiss is salty and quick, and as his eyes flutter open he watches a smile edge onto her lips. "My turn," she whispers.

He nods, eagerly, ready to return the favor.

This evening is turning to be better than any fantasy.

Taking a breath, he turns her around, so that she's against the counter and he lifts her up onto the countertop. She licks her lips and reaches down, tugging off her camisole, leaving him grinning like an idiot at the sight of her breasts covered by a thin layer of burgundy lace—and it's only then that he realizes the lacy details of the camisole was actually her bra.

Her nipples are hard, pushing at the thin fabric, just begging to be sucked.

He grins and takes a step in, kissing her again as he fumbles with the clasp at the back of her bra. His grin turns triumphant as the bra loosens and the straps fall down her shoulders.

And then, he hears an odd click that makes them both stop.

Regina stiffens, but doesn't move and then as they look at one another, they hear the familiar squeak of the door.

Her eyes widen and she gasps a hushed oh my fucking god, hopping off of the counter and reaching for her camisole. It's only then, without her in front of him, that he realizes he's still naked from the waist down, that his pants are still bunched around his ankles—then suddenly, the thought of Regina's aunt catching him bare assed in her kitchen is all he can think about.

He dives down, tugging at his pants.

Regina laughs at him, shaking her head, her eyes still wide, just as the door opens. He whirls around just in time to see a leather clad Killian standing there wearing a stupid smirk.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

"I, uh, was just…"

Regina clears her throat, pushing her hand through her hair in an effort to gain composure. "Class was, um... cancelled, so we, um—"

"Decided to get frisky in my kitchen?"

Robin swallows hard as his eyes shift to Regina. Her face is burning red. "No," she says in a small voice that clearly says yes.

"Had I not had a date with the dashing David, I'd be quite jealous of you, love," Killian says, looking to Regina. "But I've got my own muscular blue-eyed charmer ready to have his way with me." He grins, pointing to the cupboard. "I just need a bit of wine, you know, to help things along."

"You came here for wine?" Regina scoffs. "It's not a grocery store."

"Says the girl making her and her boyfriend dinner." Regina bites down on her lip, looking guilty over at Robin who can only offer a sheepish shrug. "Sam's always stealing my good stuff."

"His roommate," Regina whispers, looking to Robin a bit awkwardly as she crosses her arms over her middle.

"Ahh—" Robin nods, his eyes following Killian to the cupboard, and as he turns, he grimaces, realizing that he never zipped up his jeans.

Killian turns back to them, his eyes immediately falling to Robin's open fly. "Well, carry on then," he says, shrugging his brows as he looks up, hoisting up the bottle as if to toast. "Help yourself to my stash," he calls out, just before exiting.

For a moment, neither he nor Regina says anything. In fact, neither of them even so much as move. Instead, they stand firmly rooted in place, their eyes focused on the door.

"I want to crawl under the counter and die," Regina says, her voice barely audible.

Robin swallows hard. He understands the sentiment. "It… could've been worse. It could've been your aunt."

Regina turns her head, her eyes widening. "Oh my god, I didn't even think of that!"

"The mere thought is mortifying, let me tell you."

"I know," Regina murmurs. "I'm thinking about it now."

"Who else has a key?"

"I… don't know," she admits.

Taking a breath, he clears his throat. "So, uh, I assume it's safe to say that we won't be taking Killian's advice and carrying on?"

Regina shakes her head and gives him a regretful little smile. "I'm afraid not." He's a little disappointed, he'll admit, but he understands, and even thinks it might be for the best. He doesn't want their first time together to be like this. She matters to him far too much for that. "But I do think we've earned to snag a bottle of wine."

"Most definitely."

Regina goes to the wine cabinet and selects a bottle, then grabs two wine glasses. She walks back to the workstation where they ate and opens the drawer, fishing out a corkscrew, and by then, he's at the station with her. "It was fun, though," she tells him, as the cork pops off. "I don't regret it."

He sighs and nods. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who had fun."

"We should, um… try again," she tells him as she pours the wine. "In a… less public place."

He brightens. "I'd like that."

"You said Roland is camping this week?"

"Yes, with his grandfather."

"Henry has a sleepover at a friend's house," she tells him as she finishes pouring the second glass.

His excitement starts to build at how perfectly their busy schedules have aligned. "Oh, yeah? This Saturday?"

She nods. "You should come over, maybe around six?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I'll make dinner and then…" An adorable smile stretches across her lips as her cheeks flush slightly. "And then we'll pick up where we left off tonight."

"I can't wait," he tells her, raising his glass and clinking it against hers. "It's a date."