The "little Italian place" turned out to be more than merely nice; it was very classy, very fancy-looking. Emma looked around at the dimly-lit, luxurious room with linen table cloths and dark-wood tables. Each table had a few candles cuddled around a delicate vase of flowers, surrounded by carved wooden chairs.

Emma leaned to whisper in Neal's ear. "This is a nice place."

"Yeah, it is," he grinned, leading her to the hostess's desk. "Hey. Reservation should be under 'Cassidy', for two."

"'Cassidy'…" The woman ran her finger down the page. "Oh, there you are." She looked up with a smile. "Follow me."

"Okay, but even the waiters are fancy," Emma whispered as they wound their way after the hostess. "I mean, they've got bowties."

"Bowties…" Neal said in a mock-sultry tone. "How scandalous."

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, lightly hitting his arm. "Don't start."

"But look at all the bowties," Neal gasped mockingly, swiveling his head around. "Are you seeing this, Em?"

"You're hilarious."

The hostess led them to a table closer to the center of the room, surrounded by tables with other well-dressed, wine-drinking couples, then signaled for a waitress to come over.

Neal released Emma's hand to pull out her chair. Emma raised her eyebrows as he tapped his fingers against it, clearing his throat.

"What's this?"

"This is me being adorable," Neal told her matter-of-factly. "Now, smile at my adorableness and take a seat."

"Such a gentleman," Emma snorted, obeying nonetheless.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," he shrugged as he took his seat.

"Mmm-hmm," Emma said, smiling at the (also classy) waitress as she handed them their menus. "Thanks."

"Can I start you off with some drinks?" she asked, straightening up and pulling out her notepad. "We have an excellent wine selection."

"Uh…" Emma frowned at the menu. "I'm not much of a wine connoisseur."

"Me, neither," Neal mused. "We'll come back to that."

Emma shifted, feeling a little intimidated by the waitress for not knowing about wine. Classy people knew about wine, didn't they? Was the classy waitress judging her for not being classy enough to know about wine? "Actually, can we have a few minutes to decide?" she asked.

"Oh, sure." The waitress smiled, stepping back. "I'll come back later."

"All right. Stay awesome," Neal told her, pointing at her. The waitress gave him a strange look over her shoulder, but Neal had already gone back to his menu.

"Fish looks good," he remarked. "Lemon. I like lemon."

"Fish…" Emma wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, now I've got a taste memory of Granny's fish.

"Damn it, now I've got a taste memory of Granny's fish." Neal exhaled disgustedly, shaking his head. "Tony should have been fired years ago."

"Hook says Belle gets food poisoning every week from getting the hamburger," Emma said. "Why does she keep getting it?"

"She's got a hamburger fixation," Neal shrugged.

"Yeah, but at least go for quality if you're going to have a fixation," Emma said reasonably. "Granny's really should have been shut down years—"

Neal held up a finger, silently nodding to the right; Emma followed his line of vision to a couple at a nearby table. The man was on one knee, holding a ring box out to a half-laughing, half-sobbing woman while the waiter looked on with a huge smile on his face.

"Yess!" the woman said, nodding profusely. "Yes, I will marry you!"

"And now we have to clap," Neal sighed, half-heartedly putting his hands together as the entire restaurant exploded into a applause. Emma politely clapped along, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed: what, everyone had to put their evening on hold just because two assholes decided to become married assholes?

"I will never understand the appeal of marriage," Emma said as the applause died down, shaking her head. "Never."

"Me, neither," Neal said, going back to his menu. "It's stupid. If two people really want to be together for the rest of their lives, they shouldn't need a legal obligation to do it."

Emma lifted her eyebrows. "Says the guy who was engaged three years ago."

"That doesn't count," Neal objected. "It was only Tamara."

"Yeah, but you were engaged to her," Emma persisted. "That means, you were prepared to spend the rest of your life with her."

Neal frowned, slowly putting down his menu. "I thought we were past the Tamara-thing."

Past the Tamara thing? Because it was really possible to get over something like that? "Maybe you are. I'm not," Emma said, folding her arms.

"Clearly."

"Well, I'm sorry, Neal, but it bothers me," Emma said defensively.

"I don't know why," he said carefully. "Especially since we already discussed how she was a crazy bitch who shot me and manipulated me because she was working for my evil grandfather."

"Yeah, but she wasn't always, was she?" Emma insisted. "You must have thought she was normal at first, it must have started off like a real relationship."

"Emma…."

"I mean, why did you even ask her? You must have loved her at some point."

"Who says I asked her?" Neal said, raising his eyebrows. "She proposed to me."

Emma blinked in surprise. She'd always just assumed… "But you still said yes, " she pointed out. "Even if you didn't do the asking, you were still ready to marry her."

"It's not like it was a big deal," Neal said with a little shrug. "She pulled me aside one day, and said, 'Hey, Neal, wanna get married?" and I figured, 'What the hell?' And so we were engaged. That's it."

"You figured, 'What the hell?'" Emma repeated witheringly. "You put no thought whatsoever into a completely life-changing decision."

"Not really."

"Oh, come on," she scoffed. "You don't have to pretend it was nothing. I get it, okay? It hurts, but I get it. Life happens."

Neal looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable; although, she could see an almost-regretful look in his eyes. Emma stiffened, feeling wary.

"What?"

"No, it's…" Neal frowned a little, dropping his eyes as he played with the little tassels on the menu. He was obviously avoiding her gaze, so Emma knew that whatever was going through his head, it was emotional. That was why he was having such a hard time: Neal wasn't good with expressing feelings. He always got confused and all turned around, trying to figure out a way to say them without really saying them.

"It's what?" Emma prodded. "Tell me."

Neal played with the tassels a little more, twirling them around his fingers. "I wasn't really aware of…you know, anything during that…time," he said finally. "I was just going through the motions."

Emma watched him twist the tassels until a string came loose; he started tugging at it, fraying the little little ribbons.

"Tamara was just a random thing that happened," he went on. "I wasn't paying attention, she just kind of walked into my life, and then she was just there. And I cared about her, in a really distracted, numb kind of way, but…" He gave a helpless little shrug.

"But what?" Emma raised her eyebrows. "Come on, Neal….Be a grown-up, just say it."

"Emma…" Neal looked at her pleadingly. "You know I'm not good at this stuff. Can't we just accept this as one of those unspoken-understanding things?"

Emma shook her head. "Not this time."

Neal closed his eyes, exhaling. "All right," he said after a minute. He tapped his fingers listlessly against the table, bracing himself.

"So…First time you told me you loved me, was the day I found that flyer in the post office. I was all panicked and freaking out about going to Canada, and you were trying to calm me down and talking about stealing the watches for me. So then I got all panicked and freaking out about you stealing the watches, and you just—" he waved his hand—"just came right out and said you loved me. And I remember—" Neal cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to the ceiling. "I remember, I was so relieved that you said it first, 'cause I'd been thinking it for a while, but I didn't want to make things weird…"

Emma waited for him to go on, knowing that if she said anything now, he might lose his nerve.

"Eleven years went by, and I just replaying that day over and over in my head. I got a job in the city, got an apartment, I had friends, Tamara—" he shrugged dismissively. "I barely noticed. I wanted to look for you, but then I thought, no, she's gonna hate me. So when I got a postcard from August, I didn't come to Storybrooke, because I figured I was the last person you'd want to see. And what if you'd found someone else? I wasn't going to come in and screw up your life for a second time.

"So I stayed away. It killed me to do it, but I did. And then you found me in New York, and it was—" Neal shook his head, sighing. "Well, it was a lot of things, but the thing that really sticks out in my head was that I knew the second I saw you, eleven years later…" Neal cleared his throat again. "Eleven years later, and I still loved you as much as I did that day with the watches. And I still do. And that's it." Neal nodded, as if silently reviewing everything he'd said. "Sincerely, Neal Cassidy."

Emma looked at him, feeling her eyes prick with tears as she broke into a watery smile. "Oh, my God," she said, fanning her eyes. "Neal…that was actually beautiful."

"Well, don't make a thing of it," Neal muttered, handing her his napkin. Emma took it, giving a tearful laugh.

"Why wouldn't you want to tell me something like that?" she asked, wiping under her eyes. "Why do I have to drag it out of you?"

"Em…" Neal groaned. "Please, I'm exhausted. I just talked for ten minutes straight about feelings."

"All right, all right," she said, holding her hands up in surrender. "Can I just say one thing?"

"What?" he asked, sounding genuinely exhausted.

Emma smiled, dropping her hands. "I still love you, too."

And she did, she really did. She'd never stopped loving him: not when she was sitting in a jail cell, wishing she could forget him; not when she was sitting with him in a bar, trying to pretend he didn't matter; not when she was on her way to the Echo Caves, almost wishing he was dead so she could lay the pain of everything between them to rest. The universe had seemed as intent on keeping them apart as it had on bringing them together. And finally—finally—it seemed content to just let them be.

"So…" Neal started twirling the tassels again. "I think that makes…what, almost sixteen years between us?"

Emma looked at the ceiling as she counted back. "Henry's going to be fifteen in January, so…yeah, almost sixteen years."

Neal nodded slowly. "Pretty long time, huh?"

"Yeah…?" Emma smiled vaguely.

"Well—" Neal cleared his throat. "I know how we both feel about certain things, but it occurs to me…there was a time when we talked about finding a place in Tallahassee. And now I've got this apartment…"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "I'm listening," she said, propping her chin up with one hand. Neal fought a smile, abandoning the tassels to look up at her.

"Nothing. Just bragging about my new place."

"Hmm."

"'Cause you're stuck at your parents'."

"Yeah, I am."

"Pretty pathetic for a woman in her thirties."

"That's true."

Neal grinned. "I think we know where I'm going with this, Em."

"We know," she agreed. "But we want to hear you say it."

"All right." Neal shook his head, laughing a little. "Can't believe I'm saying this, after I spent all last week telling everybody I wasn't going to do this, but…" He scratched the back of his head, uncharacteristically nervous.

"Come on," Emma said, motioning for him to speak with her free hand. "Let's go, Cassidy, I'm getting old here."

"Okay, okay," Neal said, holding up his hands. He looked at her for a minute, and took a deep breath. "Okay, so I'm just going to ask you."

"Okay."

"Here it comes."

"I'm ready."

"You want to move in?"

"Yep."

"Good." Neal dropped his hands, grinning. "Good."

"This isn't too fast, right?" Emma asked, glancing up as the waitress came around to take their menus, promising to return soon to take their orders. "Sixteen years? We're not rushing into this too soon, are we?"

"Meh—" Neal shrugged. "The first time, it was only a couple of months, so I think we can swing sixteen years."

"We should probably wait until after the holidays, though," Emma said thoughtfully. "I feel like David's head would explode if we spring this on him while he's trying to generate enough Christmas spirit for the entire town. Do you know, he's actually been blasting Christmas music so loudly, we've gotten complaints from out downstairs neighbors?"

Neal made a face. "Goddamn it. I was gonna start bringing my stuff in this weekend, but now…" He blew out a breath. "This is gonna suck. He already hates me, and now I have to—"

"He doesn't hate you," Emma cut in. "At least not right now, he doesn't."

Neal snorted derisively. "I'm sorry, were we talking to the same David earlier?"

"Well—" Emma struggled to find a defense. "We don't usually get all dressed up to go out, he was probably just—"

"Reacting to the fancy restaurant? It is intimidating. I mean, the waiters even have bowties."

Emma closed her eyes exasperatedly. "You're never going to let me live that down—noticing the bowties. That's never gonna die, is it?"

"Never."