Regina's stomach flutters nervously as she shifts herself on the couch, reaching for her wine and curling her feet beneath herself. This is her third official date with Robin, but they're hardly in a place where most couples would be upon a third date. For months, they'd traded letters–getting to know each other and falling in love. For awhile, it had all been anonymous–something fun and flirty to fill their time, giving them each a sort of pseudo-companionship, filling the void that a real companion might.

She hadn't been looking for love, at least, not this sort of love, and it took her by surprise–especially when she learned who he was. At that point, she'd been convinced it could never work between them. In their real, everyday lives, he hated her– and with good reason. She'd been trying to destroy his career for her own professional gain, and rarely did she allow anyone to see beyond her tough exterior. She knew the way others perceived her–a black widow in the publishing world–and she did nothing to change that. In fact, she embraced it. She liked that the men who dominated her field feared her, she liked that they viewed her as icy and cold, and she wore the bitch badge they'd pinned to her proudly.

That was who she was professionally, that was what she presented to the world, and she had no interested in letting down her guard or allowing anyone to see past her the façade she'd worked so hard to build. So that was the woman Robin Locksley knew–and, therefore, could never love.

But she was wrong–and she'd never been so glad for it.

"You like asparagus, right?" he calls out, looking up at her from the stovetop where he stands. "If not I have green beans as a backup."

Laughing softly, she nods. "Asparagus sounds amazing."

"Good, because the green beans are of the canned variety," he admits, offering a sheepish grin. "My son only eats vegetables from a can. He thinks the fresh kind would kill him, I think."

She laughs, remembering when Henry was Roland's age and staunch in his belief that oranges and orange juice completely tasted nothing alike, that cake and cupcakes were completely different, and that bologna sandwiches were disgusting, but hot dogs were his go-to meal of choice.

"Are you sure I can't help?"

"Positive."

"I… just feel sort of useless," she admits. "And I like to cook."

"I know you do," he tells her, grinning as he looks to her. "But I'm giving you a night off."

She feels her cheeks warm as she sips her wine, grinning over the rim as her gaze falls away from his. Robin Locksley is nothing if not considerate of her, and she's not sure she's ever had anyone like him in her life.

That afternoon, after a business meeting that went on for far too long, she'd returned to her office to find a little white envelope sitting on her chair. She'd immediately recognized his hand writing on the front of it, spelling out her name, and she brightened as she opened it, remembering the letters they'd exchanged and how she'd looked forward to them.

Her finger slipped beneath the seal, pulling out a little note card that explained that Robin found himself free for the evening and wondered if she was available for dinner at short notice. Belle was taking Roland on a date, of sorts, to see 101 Dalmations on the big screen at some fancy theatre uptown. Afterwards, she was taking him for a dinner of his choice–which he knew would be fast food–and since they'd be getting in late, she'd offered to keep him for the night, leaving him completely free for the evening.

By the time she'd finished reading the card, Emma was standing in her doorway, wearing a stupidly sly grin as she asked if she needed someone to take Henry for the night–and when she cautiously said that she might, Emma nodded knowingly, admitting she'd already planned a night of pizza and arcade games that she'd probably enjoy more than Henry would.

She'd gone through the rest of the day with butterflies in her stomach–and Emma and Ruby teasing her about what a third date meant, and how convenient it was that they'd be all alone at his apartment. She'd rolled her eyes at the notion, but when it came time to pack Henry's overnight bag, she found herself packing one for herself… just in case.

"It's almost ready," he tells her, grinning. "And I have to say, for a guy who makes mac-n-cheese four nights a week and chicken nuggets the other three, I'm rather impressed with myself."

"I'm sure I'd agree… if I knew what you were up to in there."

He grins. "Well, you know about the asparagus."

"Right," she laughs, taking another sip of her wine. "That solves it all."

"I will tell you, though, that if this doesn't pan out, I've got a frozen lasagna ready to go in the freezer."

"Again," she says, uncurling her legs and leaning forward, trying to catch a glimpse into the kitchen. "I am a fantastic cook. I would love to hel–"

"Sit."

"But–"

"No," he grins, his eyes falling to her nearly empty glass. "You need more."

"Oh–" Before she can decline, thinking it might be best to wait until dinner is served before she has another glass, Robin is rounding the counter that divides the rooms, a bottle of apple riesling in hand. "Well, if you insist."

"I do," he tells her, topping off her glass. "And if you're bored–"

"No, no, no. I'm not. That's not why I–"

He chuckles softly as her voice trails off, his blue eyes sparkling in a way that makes her feel giddy and nervous, and a bunch of other things she's only just getting used to feeling again. "Well, if you'd like something to do to pass the time while I'm finishing up dinner," he says, "There are some magazines over there, books, too. I'm sure you can find something."

She nods, as he disappears into the kitchen again and she grins as she watches a little puff of steam rise up when he lifts the lid to stir whatever it is he's cooking.

Rising up from the couch, she wanders over to the bookshelf that spans the length of the wall. Being in publishing and bookselling, it's always something she pays attention to when she visits other people's homes–and she's not at all surprised to see a lot of Hemingway, biographies of explorers, like Meriwether Lewis, and tales of legendary Native American chiefs. She scans the spines, noting a particularly well-loved copy of the Nick Adams Stories and equally loved copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning poems that does surprise her. The lowest two shelves are filled with children's books, things ranging from Clifford the Big Red Dog to Harry Potter to a few Choose Your Own Adventure-type books.

And then, on a little ottoman beside an overstuffed armchair, there's a cooking magazine. She can see the dog-eared pages and curiosity gets the best of her–and when the first page falls open to prosciutto wrapped asparagus, her grin turns to a full-on smile.

Somehow, the thought of him pouring through old cooking magazines–all of which are addressed to Belle–picking out dishes that are far out of his kid-friendly comfort zone and dishes he thinks she'd like, makes her heart flutter a bit.

Catching her lip between her teeth, she glances up to see Robin very focused on stirring something–and when she flips to the other dog-eared pages, she decides he's probably working on the risoto. She giggles a little, remembering something about risoto that she'd written in a letter–something about the effort it takes and how it's the sort of dish you serve to show someone they're worth your time.

The main course, she realizes will be baked salmon, and the apple-cinnamon smell that consumed her as soon as she entered the apartment likely wasn't a scented candle as he'd claimed, but a cinnamon apple crumble cake.

She smiles and bites down harder on her lip, setting the magazine down as she watches him stirring with a sort of focused determination that's nothing short of endearing–and then, as she looks away, a framed picture of a toddler-aged Roland catches her eye.

"Oh my god," she breathes out, reaching for the picture to get a better look at the curly-haired, dimple-cheeked little boy with big brown eyes, grinning a nearly toothless grin as he sits in a mound of leaves, holding onto one rather large maple leaf. He's wearing a thick brown quilted jacket that's open over his jean overalls and a little orange and blue flannel shirt, and on top of his head is a little knit fox hat that just might be the cutest thing she's ever seen.

It has little ears sticking up and tiny button eyes, and black little nose that seems to take up half of Roland's forehead. Unruly little curls stick out from underneath the hat, and clipped to the pockets of his coat are matching little gloves that look like fox paws–and the sound that escapes her would be embarrassing in anyone else's company.

"You found the fox hat picture," Robin says, not looking up from the risoto.

"How did you know?"

"That's… usually the response it earns."

She laughs a little. "He's just so cute."

"I know," Robin says, grinning. "He was obsessed with that hat."

"Was he?" she asks, her brow arching. "Or were you."

"I think it was a little of both."

"I'm sure–"

"He didn't like his ears to be cold, so he'd try to sleep in it."

"And I'm sure you let him."

"Of course," Robin replies easily, chuckling softly. "I'd come into his room and his head would be pressed against the mattress, those little ears poking up, and his butt in the air–"

"That's adorable–"

"It was," he agrees. "It was a sad day when I realized it no longer fit him. I still have it, though."

"I'm sure you do," she says, finally placing the frame back on the table next to the chair, but keeping her eyes on Roland's smiling little face. "That's a keeper."

"Mm," he murmurs, "I… always sort of hoped I'd get to use it again."

She blinks, her shoulders stiffening a bit as she looks back to him. He's grinning sweetly and he looks a bit unsure–and when a slow grin edges onto her lips, a smile breaks out across his making her heart skip a beat and her stomach flutter.

"Just a thought… for another time."

She nods, biting on her lip. "Definitely," she agrees, distracted by what that might mean and finding herself enjoying the prospects. Now, isn't the time, of course, but it's easy to get caught up in the maybes with him, easy to picture a future with him, and it's reassuring to know that she's not alone and they both seem to be headed in the same direction.

But for now, she decides as a timer dings, she just wants to enjoy a quiet dinner and see where the evening takes them.