"Hey, so when does your dad come back?" Emma asked, leaning against the doorway of Neal's room at Granny's.

"Tomorrow," he answered, his voice muffled from under the bed. "Goddamn it! I can't find it anywhere!"

"Did you check your closet?" Emma asked, pulling out her phone.

"No."

"I'm going to check your closet," she said, still frowning at her screen as she walked over to the closet to search for Neal's scarf. "Oh, my God, Mom, really?" she muttered, reading Snow's text:

How's your date with Neal? Squeal! :))))

"What is it?" Neal asked, still rummaging under his bed.

"My mom. She's being obnoxious," Emma said, grimacing as she typed back: Mom, seriously, you're being creepy. Stop texting me. She exhaled, putting her phone back in his her pocket to start going through his closet for the scarf.

The green one. The dark green one, that had kind of an olive-tone to it? You know, he wore it with the black coat the other day? She remembered, right? Well, he couldn't find it, so could she help him look before they went out? Thanks.

"Neal, you've got, like, six different scarves. What does it matter if one is missing?"

"I like scarves," he said, emerging from under the bed. "If you're allowed to love boots, I'm allowed to love scarves."

"You never used to wear scarves," she said, sitting back on her heels as she tossed a few shoes aside. "When did that start happening?"

"When I became a grown-up," Neal said, walking into the closet and kneeling down to sift through a few fallen sweaters.

"I must have missed that," Emma frowned. "Mr.-Still-Bragging-About-His-High-Score-On-Zombiepocolypse."

"Miss-Still-Mad-About-My-High-Score-On-Zombiepocolypse," Neal snorted, tossing the sweaters aside. "All right, forget it. I'll just wear a different one."

"It's probably at your dad's place," Emma said, pushing herself to a stand, her knees cracking. "I'm sure Belle will find it in a cupboard or something, and call you up and say, 'Uh, Neal? I think I found your scarf, crikey! Well, I've got to put some shrimp on the barbie and hunt a kangaroo!'"

"You really do the worst Australian accent," Neal told her as she walked over to sit on the edge of the bed to wait for him. "I mean, that is really pathetic, Em."

"Care face," Emma replied, laying back. She stared up at the ceiling, twirling her necklace. "So…was it Tamara, then?"

There was a pause, then a deep sigh as Neal slowly walked over, wrapping a blue scarf around his neck, and settled on the bed beside her. "I know I'm going to kick myself for asking, but was what Tamara?"

"The scarf thing. The 'being a grown-up' thing," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Was that her?"

"No, I met her after I became a grown-up," Neal said, looking down at her with raised eyebrows. "Let's see, she started manipulating me and executing her evil plan about…oh, I'd say a year and a half before you found me in New York. And about a year and a half and a couple weeks before that crazy bitch shot me. Do you hear what I'm saying here?"

"No, I know," Emma said, keeping her eyes fixed on the little silver swan hanging off her chain. "It's just…"

"What's just?"

Emma shrugged dismissively. "Never mind. Doesn't matter."

"Oh, don't do that thing," Neal groaned.

"I'm not doing a thing!"

"Yes, you are. You're doing that thing where you pretend like you don't want to talk about it, but you're still twirling the necklace, so I know that we actually have to talk about it because you're still upset—"

"Neal, this isn't a thing I do. I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Emma, come on—"

"What 'come on'? I seriously don't know what you're talking about."

"Em—" Neal said exasperatedly. "You can tell me anything."

Emma sat up, leaning on her elbows, a small smile on her face. "I can?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course you can."

Emma bit her lip. "Neal?"

"Hmm?"

"I really don't want to help you look for your scarf ever again."

Neal looked at her for a long time, his eyes serious. "You bitch, you just broke my heart."

"Shut up," Emma snorted, hitting him in the arm.

"Okay, but seriously," Neal said, catching her hand. "What's going on? Why are you asking me about Tamara?"

Emma tried to tug her hand away, going so far as to make a soft whining sound and flopping back on the bed like a child, but Neal didn't let her hand or the issue go.

"Why are you asking me about Tamara?" he repeated.

Emma exhaled heavily, turning her head to the side. "Jesus, Neal, I don't know…"

That was a lie. Emma could hear it in her own voice, inwardly wincing at how lame it sounded; and Neal didn't need her superpower to figure it out.

"You do know, you just don't want to tell me because you know I hate talking about stuff."

"So do I," she sighed, pushing herself up. "So can we just forget it? I don't want to spoil the night with this."

Neal gave her an impatient look. "Emma—"

They both jumped as something slammed against the wall, making the dresser rattle dangerously.

"Damn it, Ruby!" Hook's voice shouted, muffled through the wall. "That bloody hurt!"

"What the hell was that?" Emma asked, wide-eyed.

"Picture frame," Neal grimaced, pulling her up to a stand. "Come on, let's go grab a coffee or something."

"Picture frame?" Emma repeated wonderingly, allowing him to tug her out of the room.

"Floor hockey."

"Oh…"

Ashley was working the counter downstairs, pouring coffee and shots with a friendly smile on her face. "Hey, guys," she said as they stopped in front of her. "What can I get you?"

"Uh—two coffees," Neal said, blinking at her cheerful tone. Emma nudged him, raising her eyebrows.

Is she freaking you out, too?

Oh, yeah, he mouthed back, nodding assuredly.

Emma didn't particularly care for Ashley, but she had to admit: she was a far better serve than Ruby. She got them their drinks promptly and with a smile; she didn't make it obvious how much she was judging them, or how little she wanted to be there; and she didn't absently flirt with Neal while she snapped the lids over their cups, which Emma appreciated more than she could say.

"Have a good night," Ashley said, handing them their cups.

"Thanks…" Emma said, exchanging another look with Neal. Seriously freaked out right now.

Me, too.

They walked out of the diner in silence, but as soon as they stepped into the cold December air, Emma burst out, "What the hell?"

"Right?" Neal said in awe. "And—what was that weird thing she was doing with her face? Where she was showing us her teeth?"

"I think that's smiling," Emma said in a hushed tone. "I didn't know waitresses were allowed to do that."

"Unless…" Neal turned to her with wide eyes, gasping mockingly. "Is it possible that Ruby's not a good waitress?"

"Shh!" Emma said scandalously. "They'll stone you for such blasphemy!"

Neal laughed into his cup as they walked across the street and started walking along the sidewalk.

"So what's the deal with Hook and Ruby?" Emma asked, holding out her arms to balance herself as she walked the sidewalk ledge. "I thought they were supposed to be taking things slow."

"They are," Neal shrugged, walking beside her on the edge of the street.

"They only got back together a few days ago, and they're already going at it," Emma frowned, wobbling a little on the ledge. "That doesn't seem very slow."

"It is for them," Neal snorted. "At least they waited 'til after the date this time."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Dude—"

"I have the room next to him," Neal reminded her, putting out his hand to steady her as she teetered dangerously. "And the walls aren't that thick."

"Okay, enough said. Actually, really enough said, can we please change the subject?"

"Yeah, how about we talk about why you brought up Tamara?"

Emma blinked a few times. "So, Hook and Ruby—"

"Emma." Neal took her arm, forcing her to stop and look at him. "You wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't bothering you."

"No, it's…" Emma sighed, looking helplessly up at the night sky. "It's stupid."

"I'm sure it is," he shrugged. "Come on."

Emma looked at him for a long time, then slowly blew out a reluctant breath. "Okay, you know how my mom was texting me earlier?"

Neal nodded, taking a sip of coffee.

"She's always sending me texts like this, whenever we hang out." Emma pulled out her phone, scrolling through her conversations with Snow to show him. "Look at this—How's your date?…Are you guys going somewhere special?….How's it going? Squeal!…"

Neal took her phone, raising an eyebrow as he skimmed through them. "Okay, so they're a little obnoxious…and creepy," he admitted, handing it back to her. "But I don't see what this has to do with Tamara."

"It's just…" Emma shifted between her feet uncomfortably. "You know, this is great and everything, this whole—"she pointed between them—"you and me thing, but…"

"But?" he prodded, raising his eyebrows.

"I feel like we're not—" Emma made a face, waving her hands. "We're not grown-ups, you know?"

"We have a fifteen-year-old kid," Neal scoffed. "That's not grown-up enough for you?"

"I know we're technically grown-ups, but we don't act like it. I mean, our fanciest date was eating pizza at your dad's house." Emma looked at him helplessly. "It's like, we're not taking this seriously."

"I am taking it seriously," Neal said.

"Yeah, but—" Emma shut her eyes exasperatedly. "You're telling me you didn't go on actual dates and stuff with Tamara? Like to restaurants and parties and shit? I mean, you guys were engaged, you're telling me you pulled that off by hanging out in front of the T.V. at home?"

Neal frowned, trying to sift through her questions. "So, you're upset because you think I took things with Tamara more seriously than I am with you? Because we're not part of the fancy restaurant scene?"

"Kinda…" Emma concentrated on poking her finger through a hole in her glove.

Neal was quiet for a moment. "I just didn't know you were into that," he said finally. "I thought things were going well."

"They are going well," Emma said, looking up. "It's just—that's what couples do. Sometimes they go to fancy restaurants, sometimes they go to parties together…You know, they're out in public. Acting like a couple in front of other people. My mom—"she listlessly held up her phone—"she just assumes we're doing stuff like that, because that's what an actual couple does. And I always have to tell her, Not this time, Mom, or Stop being creepy, Mom."

"Okay…" Neal said, frowning thoughtfully. "So basically you're saying, you want to do more couple-y things."

Emma blinked, a little taken aback. "Well—yeah," she said. "Yeah, I want to do more couple-y things."

"Because you want to feel like we're an actual couple."

"Yeah."

"Because knowing I did all that stuff with Tamara makes you insecure."

"Yeah, you want to write a book on it? Christ, Neal…"

"No, no, no," he said reassuringly, holding up his hand. "I'm just trying to understand."

Emma kicked the toe of her boots against the ground, feeling rather embarrassed. "Am I being a whiny girlfriend?" she asked grimly.

Neal sighed good-naturedly, taking her hand as they continued walking. "You're not being a whiny girlfriend…"

"For reals?"

"For reals, Em. You're not being a whiny girlfriend."

They walked in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping every so often, Neal swinging their interlocked hands together obnoxiously high.

"Okay, he said after a while. "You want to go to a fancy restaurant with me on Friday?"

Emma shrugged. "Whatever. I mean, if you're into that—"

"Emma…"

"Yeah, okay."