Almost fully dressed, she sat at her vanity and made her final preparations for that evening's date.

Graham had once told her that red was her best color. That wasn't, of course, what had made her choose the scarlet colored shift dress she was currently zipping up. Of course not. It was just a coincidence.

Graham.

It had been a long time since she had thought about him. He was her nearest thing to the one that got away - the closest to a relationship she had gotten since Henry had been born. He had been a coworker in Philadelphia; they had danced around a mutual attraction for months until they finally kissed after a work dinner. After that, they had started dating, casually of course - she told him she didn't want to confuse Henry and he respected that. But then he had been offered a promotion, opening a new office on the west coast. Of course he couldn't turn it down. But, she'd always wondered…

Emma stared at her reflection as she twisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with a handful of bobby pins before pulling out a few stands to frame her face. It wasn't often that she wore her hair up, convinced that her broad shoulders made her head look tiny, but the dress seemed to beg for a more formal hairstyle and who was she to deny it?

Hair done, she quickly curled her lashes and added a few liberal coats of inky black mascara. A slick of neutral lipgloss finished off her look. Nice but not too nice. Despite the fact they had already been on a date, of sorts, and she's already kissed him (and more…) she still wanted to play it safe. Tonight she wanted to look like she had made an effort but not that she had spent hours in the process of getting dressed. Even though she had.

That afternoon had been spent trying on every dress she owned, at least twice, before giving up and sinking in the tub until the pads of her fingers wrinkled up and her cheeks were flushed bright pink. Afterwards, she had slunk downstairs and flicked on the TV, Henry eyeing her warily, as she painted her nails while watching re-runs of Judge Judy.

Eventually, he asked, "Are you going out?"

She'd flashed him a glance. He was sitting cross legged in the large armchair by the window, his laptop on his knee. Emma swallowed and took a breath - she had been avoiding telling her son, not quite wanting the conversation where she revealed her date was his homeroom teacher.

"Yes I am."

There was a pause of a few seconds. She let out the breath she had been holding.

"Like on a date?"

She bit her lip and replaced the brush inside its bottle, narrowly avoiding a drip of ruby red polish landing on her robe.

"Uh, huh," she nodded. "I've got a sitter coming for you."

Internally, she scolded herself, coward. You have to tell him…

"Okay," he quipped, seeming to have lost interest as he turned back to his laptop. Emma picked up the nail polish and stood up to leave the room. "Who with?" he suddenly asked.

Freezing, her jaw dropped open. Should she lie? Maybe save that talk for another date (if there is another date).

God, she hopes there will be another date.

Twisting on her heel, she'd decided to bite the bullet.

"Mr. Jones," she admitted, her smile tight and thin as she waited for her son's reaction.

Henry's brow crinkled, his eyes narrowed-

Emma could feel her stomach churning.

"That's okay, I guess," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"You're fine with this?" she asked, surprised. "I mean I just don't want it to be weird, since he's your, you know, teacher…"

"Yeah…" he seemed to be thinking, his tongue just peeking out between his lips and his eyes fixed on a spot on the corner of the ceiling, "Just don't be all schmaltzy in front of me."

"Of course," she replied, relieved that it had been that easy. She had really expected more of a reaction. "Thanks for being cool about this, kid."

Henry shrugged, "I like Mr Jones and like I said, I just want you to be happy, Mom."

Emma felt her heart melt a little. Damn she had an amazing son.

"But you know what would make it even easier for me?"

"What?" she asked, her tone deadpan.

"If I could have pizza for dinner…" he stared up at her with wide, puppy dog eyes and she wanted to laugh.

"Sure kid," she agreed, watching as Henry gave a small fist pump in victory before she went to finish getting ready.

/

He picks her up just after seven and she can't help the butterflies that fill her stomach (especially when he smiles... Damn.).

They're pretty quiet on the drive; he tunes in an easy listening station and they talk about their day. He tells her how beautiful she looks and she blushes almost the color of her dress.

She glances in the rear view mirror every now and then. It's dark out and the streetlights are whizzing past as they head to their destination (a restaurant; he says it's a surprise). Each light gives her a clearer look at his face: that gorgeous jaw line, that hair that's permanently just on the right side of messed up. She likes to think she's not a shallow person but she can't deny he's incredibly handsome - almost in that movie star way, almost unearthly.

The streetlights gradually cease and the only illumination on the road is the headlights of the SUV. On her right she can just make out the cresting waves of the ocean: frothy white curves that dance in the moonlight.

Eventually, they pull into a small parking lot that faces out onto the water. It is atop a cliff - the edge marked with a white wooden fence. "We're here," he smiles nervously as he puts the car in park before darting to the other side of the vehicle to open her door.

"It's a parking lot…" she replies, confused, as she accepts his offered hand. Killian raises his brow saucily and just grins at her.

"Follow me."

They walk towards the fence that lines the cliff and she soon sees a staircase heading down towards the beach. He gestures for her to go first, following with one hand on her back as she carefully picks her way down the wooden stairs (and thankful she wore shoes with small heels).

At the bottom, she pauses, her mouth agape.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant, displaying an uncertainty she would never have otherwise associated with him.

"It's…" Emma takes a breath, her eyes darting over the small building which is built into the cliff. It is whitewashed with a slate tile roof and small windows with diamond shaped panes of glass. Inside, she can just make out the flickering of low light - candles she presumes - and in the breeze there floats the sound of soft piano music. "Wow, how did you find this place?" she asks, turning back to him.

"I've known about it for a while," he shrugs, "They do the best seafood in town."

"It's amazing," she continues as he leads her to the door, a low set one made of thick oak braced with iron bands.

"We can both agree on that. This place is full of history. The coast here used to be famous for smuggling; the caves along this beach were where pirates would hide their loot to evade the taxes that would be imposed by an official port."

"Look at you, full of information," she laughs as they step inside.

"I happen to have a thing for pirate stories," he replies, joining in with her laughter as he closes the door behind them.

/

Inside is even more impressive. The dining room is carved directly into the rock face, the bare stone exposed and fixed with candles and gas lanterns that create a warm, intimate glow.

He had found this place not long after arriving in Storybrooke, after taking to spending his weekends exploring the coastline and woodland that surrounded the small town. Well, during the daytime at least.

They make small talk over glasses of wine as they wait for their entrees. He realizes he likes to make her laugh. She has such a beautiful laugh, he thinks as he listens to her tell a tale of catching a guy trying to steal some tech from a company where she was working and having to shimmy down a drainpipe in a pencil skirt to catch him (she did).

"Is it tough, working in such a male dominated industry?" he asks, as he takes sip of merlot.

"Is it tough working in a female dominated one?" she retorts, biting on her bottom lip until their eyes meet and both laugh.

"Touché," he nods. "I guess, in a way, we both don't like to conform."

"Damn straight," she agrees, reaching forward her glass and tapping it against his.

"So what made you do it - I mean, security seems an unusual choice, for anyone."

Emma settles back in her chair and takes a deep breath. He feels a little trepidation, wondering if it was too intimate a question to ask on a first (second) date.

"Chance? Luck?" she shrugs. "I don't know which." She takes a sip of wine and he cradles his glass as he waits for her to continue. "I was twenty two, Henry was four. I'd been working these shitty jobs - waitressing, office temp, retail, you know - for a few years, just scraping by. Then I saw an ad for a job working in the office at a bail bonds company. Basically counting cash, keeping records. It was close to my apartment and the hours were flexible, which was great for Henry. So I applied and got it."

"That must had been exciting."

She smiles wryly, "Not at first, but it paid the bills and gave me time with my son. Then one day they were short one person on a big job - three men who'd been awaiting sentencing for a used car racket - so I went along. And I loved it."

He can see the glow rising in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eye when she talks.

"And from there I just went for it. I did self defense courses, got my licenses and within three years I was running the office and then we branched out into home and business security."

"So how did you come to work for Mills Security?"

"They headhunted me. I was reluctant to make the move at first, they wanted a consultant with field experience but it would mean being based in an office. But, in the end, the money was too good to pass up."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Sometimes," she nods, as her tongue slips out to moisten her lips, "But all things happen for a reason and I wouldn't change my current situation for anything."

The food arrives and the only sounds for a few moments are the scrape of silverware against bone china and the satisfied groans when a forkful reaches the mouth.

"Since I've shared a little, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

She puts down her knife and fork and entwines her fingers on the table. "How did you end up here, in the middle of nowhere Maine? I mean, the accent tells me you're English…"

"Very perceptive," he quips with a small laugh. "And a good question. I am English, not that I've lived in the UK for more than a decade. I won a scholarship to study in the States - English initially, but I added a teaching credential later."

"You never wanted to go back?" she asks, confused.

"Nothing there for me, love. My parents died with I was in high school," she opens her mouth - he knows to offer some kind of condolence - but he lifts his hand and shoos it away. "It's fine, really, it was a long time ago. My older brother, Liam, took me in after that, he was from my father's first marriage, more than ten years older than me. I thought the sun shone out of his arse when I was a kid."

Emma giggles at that. He's glad he's made her smile again.

"So what about him? Does he visit you…"

Killian shakes his head and stops for a moment before deciding to go on, " I was in my final year when I got a call - he'd gone missing just off the south coast, in the English Channel. He was a accountant, but he loved to sail. He had a boat - the Lady Elizabeth, rather a grand name for not much more that a few planks and a sail. Took it out every weekend, come hell or high water."

"Oh Killian, I'm sorry-"

"Please, it's fine.. It was a along time ago. And at least he died doing what he loves, most people don't get that, do they?"

For the first time in a few minutes, he looks into her eyes, he can see they are welling up a little with tears and he has to stifle and urge to let the sadness overwhelm him. Emma reaches her hand across the table and takes hold of his. The warmth gives him strength.

"I can't believe I told you that. I've not talked about Liam in years."

"Thank you," she smiles, squeezing his hand tighter, "I'm honored that you shared this with me."

"You're just very easy to talk to, I guess. But perhaps let's not share any more sad stories this evening."

"Agreed," she nods, "Come on, this seabass isn't going to eat itself."

/

It's mild out when they finally leave the restaurant, her head's buzzing a little from the atmosphere (and the wine). She looks up at the sky as he is closing the door- thousands of twinkling stars are laid out as far as the eye can see. It's so relaxing.

"I've had a great evening," she says when she feels his arm at the back of her waist.

"Me too," he replies with a kiss on her cheek. A bloom of pleasurable heat swells from the point where his lips met her skin. "But it doesn't have to be over yet - how about a walk?"

Emma looks back over her shoulder, "I'm wearing heels," she reminds him, kicking up one foot to demonstrate her point.

"There is a wooden walkway. Have no fear, your toes shall remain dry and sand free."

They walk, arms joined, along the beach, in the direction of the Storybrooke lighthouse that they can see shining in the distance. The lights of the restaurant soon disappear and they are guiding themselves solely by the full moon. Around them the sand has formed small, rounded dunes, with tufts of dune grass sprouting, defying their dry and barren home.

"It's so peaceful here," she says when the pause to look out over the ocean. "I guess I'm still not used to living by the coast."

"Most people prefer it in the summer, but I think there's something to be said for the moody seas of the autumn and winter."

"Ah…" she coos, "So you're the dark and brooding type?"

"I can be," he quips.

He puts his arms around her. Though she's wearing a trench coat, she can still feel his body heat and it's warm and comforting. She lets him pull her close until his breath is dancing on her cheek.

The slow flutter in her stomach that has been building all night starts to build with renewed urgency. Gently, she places her hands over his, entwining their fingers as they breathe in unison. No longer is she watching the stars and waves, instead her mind is fixed on the way his chest rises and falls and the feel of his pulse on her finger tips.

Hesitantly, she turns. Her head first, till her eyes meet his, his arms loosening and letting her twirl until she's facing him with her hands on his chest. Her eyelids slip closed their lips meet. It's a simple kiss. One that could have many meanings - hello, goodbye, thank you - but today it means I'm glad I met you.

Killian seems to understand, circling her waist again as he slants his mouth against hers, pouring a pinch of passion into their embrace that has her hands sliding up to his neck and digging into the hair at his nape.

He's stepping backwards and blindly she follows him as he lowers them to sit on the edge of a dune. She should perhaps be a little concerned about sand in her shoes or ruining her coat, but she isn't and instead lies back and lets him pepper kisses along her jaw and throat as she stares up at the stars.

She could swear they are spinning. Surely, the earth is out of control, whizzing around on its axis. That's the only explanation for the dizzy feeling in her head and the lightness in her gut. Sighing with contentment, she closes her eyelids and lets the spinning feeling take control, his mouth finding hers again.

/

Oh he loves kissing her.

Every kiss is something new, something exciting. Every time something that they are both holding back seems to crumble, every touch of their lips brings with it a revelation of passion and understanding that words would fail to explain.

He knows the moment must end soon, but he wants to savor it; savor her. So he tastes the sweetness of her lips and the bitter tang of the perfume she wears on her neck, committing it to memory.

Until finally, reluctantly, he pulls back, his breathing heavy, waiting for her to open her eyes.

She licks her lips before her lashes flutter and he can see her green irises once more. "Hey," she breathes dreamily.

"Hey," he echoes.

They study each other, faces inches apart. It's an open, honest moment, no words needed. Just a look.

And he knows this is special. He can see it in the way she looks at him, in the way his heart skips as her gaze seems to deepen, seeing almost into his soul.

There's a pain in his heart as an old space that he's left closed for so long starts to open.

/

It's there, in his eyes.

That look.

God, it's been so long since she'd seen that. Since before Henry was born.

That look of wonder and hope and expectation-

And she knows she is wearing the same look too.

/

Monday. Usually only bearable after a tall, strong latte and a bear claw, but today it feels different.

Emma strides about the office, all smiles and breezy 'hellos'.

The weekend had been good. Very good. And she was more than pleased that the effects of a date with Killian Jones lasted more than few hours.

"You're mighty chipper today, Miss Swan."

Emma looks up at the cool presence of Regina Mills, all perfect make up and flawless power suit.

"Just in a good mood, Miss Mills. The weekend was kind to me."

"Oh," Regina smiles, placing a hand on her desk as she leans over to look at the file she was working on. "How so?"

"I had a date," Emma replies, surprised at her honesty. Usually she would have made up some other excuse - she usually preferred to keep her work and personal life separate.

"Anyone who I may know?"

"Killian Jones, I think you know him, he was at your cocktail party."

"Ah," Regina said, putting down the manilla file that as in her hands, "Killian Jones."

Emma was sure she heard a hint of disdain in the other woman's voice. "Is there a problem…?"

Regina flashes her a glance, her cocoa colored eyes giving nothing away. She tapped her glossy, red nails on the desk for a second before she shook her head. "No, no problem." She seems to hesitate for a second, "Just be careful. You're new around here."

Regina didn't give her a chance to ask any more questions, instead she just turned and walked away.

Emma felt a little flutter in her gut again, but instead of butterflies, it was tiny needles of anxiety, pricking away at her. First Mary Margaret, then Regina - was there something about Killian she didn't know?

But then she thinks back to their date and how open and honest he had been with her about his brother, how charming and kind he was and the way his kisses scorched her skin.

She tries to shrug off the feeling of unease. She prides herself on judging people by their actions not rumor and reputation.

(But she couldn't help but think, what were they not telling her about him?).