"This is great, isn't it, Regina?"
She looked back at Mary-Margaret, quirking her brow in disbelief.
"We haven't even been seated yet," Regina stated. "I reserve the right to pronounce judgment until I've tasted something."
"Killian said it was fantastic" David interjected, rubbing his palms in anticipation as he glanced around the restaurant.
"A ringing endorsement if ever I heard one," Regina bit back, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "I'm surprised the waitresses aren't in tube tops and stilettos if it's his kind of place."
"Just give it a chance," Mary-Margaret intervened, rubbing her rounded stomach. "It smells amazing."
"Everything smells amazing to you these days," Regina muttered, earning herself an eye-roll from the other woman.
"Mom," Henry interjected. "Look! They have Italian Cream Cake."
A waitress walked by carrying a tray loaded with three generous slices, and she held her son's shoulders to keep him from following the woman around the restaurant.
"That's promising," she admitted with measured reluctance. "But I'm certain it can't come up to my recipe."
"Is that a challenge?"
A man's voice startled her, and she turned on her heels a bit too quickly, finding herself almost nose to nose with a sandy beard, blue eyes and a devilish grin that looked good enough to eat.
"Because my son will tell you that his Nonno's Italian Cream Cake is the best anywhere," the man continued, wearing a slight smirk that made her nerves hum. "And he has excellent taste, I might add." His eyes challenged her gently, and she drew herself up as tall as she could, tossing her hair over her shoulder for good measure.
"Interesting," Regina shot back. "Because my son will tell you that mine cannot be beaten. Isn't that right, Henry?"
"Uh, right, Mom," Henry repeated, watching the man with interest. "But I'm willing to try Nonno's version—just to make sure."
"Henry!" she exclaimed, eliciting a chuckle from her opponent.
"Sorry, Mom," he shrugged. "It's only fair."
"He's right," the man countered, flashing dimples that did things to her, things they shouldn't be doing, things she'd nearly forgotten. "It's only fair, after all."
The gauntlet was down, the die now cast, and she'd be damned if she were going to let this interloping Irishman who looked like he'd stepped out of an Eddie Bauer catalog best her skills at Italian Cream.
"How is it fair for Henry to sample your version if your son hasn't sampled mine?"
He eyed her openly, a glint of admiration in his gaze, and she tried to calm her racing pulse, drawn to this man like a moth to the proverbial flame.
"If you offer Roland cake, I'm fairly certain he won't decline," he responded, leaning in slightly, watching her as if he was trying to figure out what made her tick. "Neither would I, for that matter."
Shit. He smelled amazing. And had good teeth. She upped the ante on the spot.
"Wait—are you asking me to bake you a cake?" she questioned with a laugh, flashing her eyes at him, watching him take the bait like an overconfident bass.
"I believe you volunteered," he replied with a shrug. "And look—your table is ready."
Her eyes fixated on his, their depths too attractive, too alluring, and too many other dangerous adjectives that had no business being in her vocabulary or pulsing towards her thighs.
"Wait," Mary-Margaret cut in, pointing to a group nearby. "I think those other people were here before we were."
"Doesn't matter," the man stated flatly. "You have a reservation, don't you?"
Mary-Margaret nodded rapidly, casting a glance in Regina's direction.
"Well, it just so happens that I'm the owner, and I have just the table for you," the man continued with a shrug. He tossed her something between a smirk and a grin, making her feel as if she had just been caught cheating in class for staring at that blasted mouth of his. "Follow me."
Her heart did an odd somersault as he turned to lead the way.
"The owner," Mary-Margaret whispered as they walked behind him. "Well, well."
"Well what?" Regina demanded, keeping her voice low.
"He's pretty cute, huh?" her friend answered, an irritating grin spreading across her face.
"He's annoying," Regina corrected. "And far too sure of his family's culinary skills."
"And here I thought I was being humble and charming," the man cut in, giving her that blasted smirk again, making her want to turn the other direction and drive straight home.
"If this is your idea of charming, you must have been taking lessons from him," Regina retorted, tossing her head in David's direction.
"And you still want me to buy her dinner?" David asked, shushed by his wife instantly as she practically shoved him into the booth.
"I'll buy my own dinner, thank you," Regina inserted before taking her seat beside Henry. "Not that I would expect anything less."
"But it's your birthday," her son insisted. "Nobody should ever have to buy their own dinner on their birthday."
"Henry, it's not exactly…"
"Birthday?" the man cut in, rocking back on his heels. "Well, then, it's settled. Your dinner is on the house, my lady."
She paused, taken completely aback by this stranger whose dimples were too damned distracting for her own good.
"That's not necessary," Regina answered. "Really."
"But I say it is," he tossed back. "And after all, I am the owner."
"Yes," she returned succinctly. "You've mentioned that a time or two."
He actually looked somewhat embarrassed then, and she shook her head, fighting back a grin with all she was worth, knowing it was a losing battle.
"So," the man continued after clearing his throat, his neck flushing an attractive shade of pink. "Since I am treating you to dinner, will you trust me to bring out an array of some of our finest dishes for you to try?"
Her heart sped up a bit, her mouth suddenly dry.
"As long as your array includes Eggplant Parmesan," Regina stated, staring at the bottom lip he was now biting as if he were unsure of himself. God, she had to stop looking at his mouth. This challenge of theirs could get her into trouble all too quickly, and heaven only knew that she didn't need any more trouble in her life these days.
"It does now," he grinned. "And it's one of my personal favorites."
It would be, she mused to herself, wondering if she ignored the man completely if he would simply go away.
"I'm Robin, by the way," he added, tossing her an expression there was no way in hell she could ignore. "Robin Locksley."
He extended a hand, and she eyed him warily, unable to keep herself from placing her hand within his, far too affected by the touch of an attractive man on her skin.
"Regina Mills," she stated, horrified to hear the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat, refusing to look David and Mary-Margaret in the eye as she gestured to her right. "And this is my son, Henry."
"Nice to meet you, Henry," Robin returned, shaking the boy's hand. "I'll make certain Roland brings you the best piece of cake from the kitchen after your dinner."
"Excellent," Henry expounded, earning himself an exasperated look from his mother. "And you wouldn't have some lasagna back there, would you?"
"Nonno's specialty," Robin smiled, his hip swaying slightly in her direction making her all too aware of his groin and the growing ache in her breasts. "And Roland's personal favorite. Any other requests?"
They all shook their heads, and he bowed slightly, casting Regina one last glance before making his way off towards the kitchen.
"He likes you, Regina," Mary-Margaret whispered excitedly, wiggling her eyebrows in a manner that made Regina roll her eyes.
"That's his problem," Regina retorted, wishing the odd fluttering just under her ribs would dissipate before their salads arrived. But she kept looking for him, wondering where he'd gone, spotting him greeting other guests, hugging people who appeared to be friends, and she couldn't help but smile as a boy with black curls came bobbing up alongside of him. That had to be the infamous Roland, his cake-loving son. And of course, the little boy was adorable. He would be.
Damn it. She didn't need this kind of distraction in her life.
Piping hot breadsticks were brought to their table, and they all dove in, the scent of fresh bread far too tempting to resist. The first bite was heavenly, the second even better than that, and she allowed the garlic butter to coat her tongue and flow over her taste buds, savoring the flavor as her stomach growled out loud. Of course their salads were delivered at that very moment by Robin himself, and he gave her a frank look of appraisal as he set her plate down in front of her.
"Hungry?" he whispered, and she narrowed her eyes at him dangerously.
"Nosy?" she breathed back, and he chuckled deep in his chest, the sound sparking a thrill up her inner thighs that made her shift in her seat.
"Does my lady approve so far?" he questioned, his brow flicking upwards as she took another bite of her bread.
She nodded with some reluctance, convinced he had asked her while she was chewing on purpose. She reached for her water, taking a sip before giving her reply.
"It's excellent," she admitted, wiping a stray bit of butter from her lip, catching him grinning at her like the cat who had just swallowed the cream. "Which is more than I can say for the service."
He laughed softly at her, pressing his lips together as his ears blossomed into a bright shade of magenta.
"Shall I bring you some wine?"
"That would be great," David piped in, catching Robin's attention. "And Regina likes a good malbec, just so you know."
Robin tossed him a nod of thanks before turning and making his way back down a small corridor.
"What the hell are you doing?" Regina snapped, leaning across the table. "Dropping bread crumbs along a path to lead him from the kitchen to my doorstep?"
"You could use a nice man on your doorstep, Regina," David retaliated, taking a drink of his water. "Mary Margaret and I have thought so for a long time. And who knows? Having a man in your life might give you a more cheerful disposition."
"Your wife's disposition is cheerful enough for the entire city of Boston," Regina stated flatly, feeling far too defensive but unable to do anything about it.
"David's right, Mom," Henry chimed in, and she turned on him in shock, her eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
"Henry?" she gasped, and he shrugged as if his comment were of no more importance that a discussion of the weather.
She sighed heavily then, leaning back into her seat, not about to give in to the tingling sensation crawling up her legs or the urge to grab up her purse and walk out the front door, making certain this Robin saw every second of her dramatic exit, of course. Damn it, he wore his grayish-blue button down shirt well—too well. It emphasized his biceps, his trim waistline, and especially those eyes of his—those eyes that did things to her she'd rather not entertain at the moment.
"So it's a conspiracy," Regina retorted with a shake of her head. "I should have known no good comes from letting my son spend so much time with his not-so-charming god-parents."
"You haven't let yourself be a woman for years now, Regina," Mary-Margaret observed. "And you know it. You've been a mom, a doctor, a patient, and one hell of a fighter. But it's time you let your guard down a little bit and opened yourself up to the possibility of happiness."
"And who appointed you the Happiness Fairy?" Regina shot back, trying to keep her friend's words from hitting too hard.
"Henry," Mary-Margaret grinned, and Regina shot a glance at her son who just shrugged innocently.
"Face it, Mom," the boy stated flatly. "You need a man."
"Henry!" she exclaimed, her cheeks heating far too quickly for her comfort.
"And he thinks you're hot," her son added with a mischievous grin, nodding in Robin's direction. "I've been paying attention. You are definitely on his radar."
Her mouth hung open, speech deserting her, and she looked to David and Mary Margaret for some modicum of support, only to see them nodding in agreement with her son.
"This is mutiny," she stated, taking another drink of her water. "If I'd known I was going to be ambushed tonight, I would have stayed home."
"Staying home is the last thing you need to do," Mary-Margaret rebutted. "And you know it. It's time you allowed yourself to live again, Regina. Past time, actually, for your own sake and for Henry's."
Her heart squeezed at her words, and she laid her hand on top of her chest, on top of her scarf, over her scar, over the beating heart that kept her alive.
"Are you alright, Regina?"
It was Robin's voice she heard, and she was struck by the look of actual concern in his eyes. Damn it. This was not good.
"Yes," she managed, trying to collect thoughts spinning madly out of control. "I just…"
"There you are, Daddy," a small voice chirped, and she looked around to see the curly-headed Roland beaming at all of them with his father's fifty watt dimples.
"Who makes the cake?" the boy asked, answered by one of his father's fingers pointed in Regina's direction. She took another drink of her water, trying to clear her thoughts before smiling back at the child.
"When are you going to make it for us?" the boy asked, those big brown eyes searching hers eagerly. "When can we come to your house?"
Mary-Margaret grinned at her like the Cheshire Cat, wiggling her brows, making Regina nearly choke on her water. Then Robin's hand was on her back, patting until she stopped coughing, handing her the water glass as she gulped it down greedily.
"She'll never invite us over for cake if you choke her over dinner," Robin reprimanded, and Roland hung his head, looking overly guilty for an innocent remark. She stared at the boy, daring a glance back at his father as her heart took up a rhythm new to her.
"You want to come to my house?" she questioned, still a bit breathless, and the little head bobbed up and down, his grin stealing her heart on impact.
"I promise I won't make a mess," Roland stated, and Robin laid a hand on his son's shoulder with a look of blatant disbelief.
"Roland," he stated. "We don't invite ourselves over to someone else's house. It isn't polite, and we've only just met Regina and Henry."
"But she likes us," Roland returned, glancing back at Regina too closely. "Don't you, Gina?"
Her head started to spin, and she breathed in slowly, trying to regain some semblance of control.
"Of course I like you," she answered, knowing there was no way in hell to turn down the sincere puppy-dog eyes of a four year old charmer. "Roland."
She heard Robin snicker, catching her clarification, and she looked up at him, only to be snared by that blasted half-grin, catching a spark in his expression that hit her squarely. Something overwhelmed her then, something warm and inviting that flowed through her veins like molasses over hot cakes. It was odd, all-encompassing, and the most delicious sensation she had experienced in years.
What the hell?
"Could I get some more water?" Mary Margaret questioned, snapping her out of her stupor as she sought her mutinous reason.
"Of course," he smiled, breathing in audibly. "I'll be right back with a pitcher and your dinner."
She watched him walk away, wanting to call him back, to follow him, to press her face into his neck and smell his skin before kissing him to see how good he tasted. God, where was all of this coming from? Her nipples pebbled beneath her sweater and scarf, and she sat up straighter, determined to shake off this school-girl like crush over a man with a nice ass and dimples as distracting as his accent.
"You're staring, Regina," Mary Margaret hummed, enjoying herself far too much as she and David looked knowingly at each other.
"I'm just glad he left," Regina shot back, trying her best to make her lie sound as convincing as possible. "Now be quiet and eat your salads before I ask for a private table."
She was watching him walk away, he could sense it, could feel red-hot prickles run up and down his spine, and he bit his lower lip, wondering just what in God's name had happened to him tonight.
It was the two-year anniversary of Marian's death, and here he was making a fool of himself over a woman who just happened to walk into his restaurant, a woman with eyes he couldn't forget, a woman with a small scar on her upper lip and a mouth he found himself aching to kiss.
What sort of man was he that he would act like this on the night he should be mourning his wife?
"She's pretty, Daddy," Roland commented, and he sighed audibly as Frank stopped in his tracks.
"The brunette, I take it," Frank added, looking back at his brother-in-law with interest. "The looker with the kid."
"I'm sorry," Robin apologized, his shoulders sagging as he fought back warring urges to run out screaming into the night air or to go back and kiss the hell out of that woman. "I know it's…"
Frank silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.
"It's been two years," the man began, looking at his brother-in-law directly. "And God knows I miss my sister—we all do. But we both knew Marian, Robin. The last thing she'd want is for you to mope around this restaurant and forget that you've still got a life to live out there. She'd want you to move on. She'd want you to meet somebody else and fall in love again. It's time."
His throat constricted, his lungs feeling both heavy and light, and he looked back over his shoulder, wondering if Regina was giving him a second thought, or if she had written him off completely while he stood here agonizing over her like a witless fool.
Damn it. He didn't need this right now.
"She's interested," Frank continued. "In case you're wondering. And she's a knock-out. Go for it, man. See what happens."
"I don't think she is interested," Robin argued, making his brother-in-law snort. "I mean it, Frank. She's only being kind to me for Roland's sake. She practically said so."
"Hold on, then," Frank stated, making Robin's heart sink as he turned to make a bee-line for Regina's table. "I'll go and ask her."
"No!" he cried out, grabbing Frank's arm. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"
"Giving you a push," Frank retaliated. "Listen, if you don't ask her out, I'll ask her for you. There's no use in standing here making up excuses when you're dying to get to know that woman. So make up your mind, Romeo. But I'm only giving you through dessert. After that, Roland and I will take matters into our own hands. Right, Buddy?"
Roland nodded, a look of serious determination overtaking the boy's face.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some cannolis to deliver to Table twelve," Frank stated, sliding by Robin, leaving him frozen in place. He gazed after his brother-in-law in astonishment, palms sweaty, heart pounding, jittery nerves making him feel like a teenager trying to summon up the nerve to ask his crush to a dance. Why should he be so nervous? Regina was an attractive woman, and he was a man—and a single man at that.
A single man. Shit.
The realization struck him hard, reverberating through every nerve and tendon, nearly buckling his knees in the process. He was single. He was lonely. And he had every right to get to know a woman who interested him, a woman who actually made him sit up and take notice, a woman who helped remind him that underneath layers of grief and desperation, he was still a man. He needed to take a chance on living again for himself and for Roland.
If only the thought of talking to her again didn't scare him out of his bloody mind.
"You heard him, Papa," Roland stated, catching his father's full attention. "You need to ask Gina out."
The voice of his son rattled his rib cage, making him want to laugh and roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of his situation.
"I do?" Robin questioned, kneeling down until he was eye to eye with his boy. "And why do you think that, Roland?"
"'Cause you're depressed," the boy sighed with a shrug. "Uncle Frank and Uncle August said so."
He fought back the cold talons that swept him under all too frequently, making his lungs ache as he fought to stay afloat in this world he was trying to navigate without his wife.
"I'm not depressed," Robin argued, feeling like a terrible liar as he stared into Roland's dark eyes.
"Uncle Frank also says you need to get laid," the boy added, scrunching his nose in confusion. "Whatever that means."
Robin's nearly choked, and he shot another glance over his shoulder, ready to take Frank's head off when he passed by again.
"And you want to kiss Gina," Roland stated with a certainty possessed only by young children. "I can tell."
His breath flew out of his chest, his cheeks warming at least fifteen degrees.
"How in God's name do you figure that?" Robin asked his son, unable to stifle another cough as he gazed at his preschooler now giving him dating advice.
"You keep staring at her mouth," Roland answered, looking at his father as if he had just asked the most obvious question in the world. "That's the way it always happens in the movies. And she's been looking at yours, too. You should go and kiss her, Daddy. I think she'd like it."
"I think she'd slap me," Robin corrected, a laugh escaping through his nose. "And you don't just go up to a woman you have just met and kiss her, Roland. That's not how it works."
"Then go make it work," the boy reasoned with a grin. "You can do it, Daddy." His son's confidence both bolstered and shook his own, but he smiled, his mind feeling like it was stuck in a blender on high speed. "I'm gonna go help Nonno with the frosting. See ya."
He then skipped off merrily, leaving his father slack-jawed and dumb-founded, and Robin stood upright, feeling his back in places he'd rather not, reminding him that he was not as young as he used to be. Shit. This is not how he had envisioned this evening, and he breathed in evenly, wondering what to do, wondering how in God's name he was supposed to look this Regina in the eye without completely giving himself away. His mouth felt like paste, his stomach like a pretzel being wound into shape, and he turned unsteadily on his heels, nearly running into the very woman in question who seemed as surprised by their near collision as he did.
"I'm sorry," Regina breathed with a nervous smile. "I-I was just looking for the ladies' room."
She was close enough that he could smell her perfume, and it did things to him, things like making him lose the ability to reason and form sentences.
"Oh," he fumbled, rubbing nervous fingers through his hair. "It's in the other direction, actually."
She stood silently, unmoving, her fingers fumbling nervously with each other.
"I see," she managed, biting her lower lip and staring at her shoes. "Then I'll just…"
"My son thinks I should ask you out."
The words flew from him before he could call them back, and she stared at him slack-jawed, her dark eyes wide and uncertain. Idiot, he thought to himself feeling his ears overheat and his tongue turn somewhat numb.
"Well," she began, her facial muscles working overtime. "That's very kind of him."
"No, it isn't," Robin muttered, backpedalling as soon as the words left his mouth. "I mean, he is a nice boy, and you seem like a nice woman. But that's not why…"
He paused, drawing in a deep breath, grimacing badly.
"I'm botching this completely, aren't I?"
Her face melted in front of him, a radiant yet shy smile striking him hard right where he felt it, and he wanted to kiss her then, more so than he had before, the need to do so making his fingers restless and his lips twitch.
"Yes," she answered, her tone dropping an interval or two. "But it's alright."
He grinned back, daring to take her hand, wondering just what in God's name he was doing and if she'd kick him in the balls for touching her like this.
She didn't.
"I haven't asked anybody out in a long time," he continued, pulling her as close to the wall as he could, trying to claim a fragment of privacy in as odd a situation as he had ever found himself. He scratched the back of his neck, wondering why it felt like a pack of angry fire ants had been unleased along his spinal column.
"I can tell," she returned, and he laughed, exasperated with himself, completely enchanted by her. "But I haven't been asked out in a long time, either."
"You're kidding," Robin rebutted, shaking his head in amazement. She smiled at him again, and his stomach did an odd sort of lurch that made him lean into her a bit closer. God, he pay a king's ransom to see that smile on a regular basis, and his fingers caressed her hands of their own accord.
"No," she began, jumping at a vibration on her hip, smashing the top of her head into his nose. He saw stars for a moment, his eyes blurring as he reeled backwards on impact.
"God, I'm sorry," she began, grabbing the pager with one hand, trying to examine his nose with other. "Are you bleeding?"
"I don't think so," he answered, blinking back the tears that stung his eyes. He sniffed, blinked again, trying to right himself, her face finally coming back into focus through a murky haze.
She was biting her lower lip, looking terribly repentant, and she reached for his face, prodding his nose gently with both of her index fingers on either side of his nostrils.
"I've got to go," she stated, trying ascertain the damage. He pulled back with a small grunt, not ready to have her poke around the bridge of his nose just yet, taken unawares by the small smile that greeted his child-like reaction.
"Hold still," she instructed. "I know what I'm doing."
"If you mean going for the kill, let me assure you that I believe you," he gushed, and he heard her chuckle and hiss through her teeth as he winced at her sure and strong touch.
"I'm not going to charge you for the meal, if that's what you're afraid of," he murmured, rubbing his proboscis as she let go, hoping it wasn't swelling up to the size of a small balloon. He heard her make an appreciative noise, and he managed to focus on her again, hoping he didn't look like the biggest idiot that had ever walked the earth.
"It's not broken," she stated, and he opened his eyes fully, his nose still feeling as if he'd been elbowed by Roland. "But I'm still sorry."
"That you didn't break it?" he managed, making her laugh.
"I'll try harder next time," she returned smoothly. That did it. He lost a piece of himself to her right then, a piece he knew he would never get back.
"A patient," she continued, holding up her pager, her examination of his nose now making perfect sense. "I'm a pediatrician, and one of my children just underwent a risky heart surgery."
That caught his attention.
Her hand had moved to her chest, just above where her own heart was beating beneath layers of cotton and wool. A strong current of pain and attraction wound its way through his nervous system, up his spine and out his body to fix itself around her—this stranger—this woman who had caught him completely unawares in more ways than one standing here in the corridor of his restaurant.
"I need to be there, to talk to his parents and to check on his prognosis," she continued, and he noticed the trembling of her lower lip, her heart now clearly on display for him in a manner he doubted she let many people see. She reached up to prod his nose once again, and he leaned back instinctively, bringing back that smile he knew without a doubt he would dream about tonight.
"Then go," he whispered, drawing those luminescent eyes of hers back in his direction. She stared at him in a manner so unguarded he forgot to breathe, feeling himself spiral down an abyss he was fairly certain had not bottom. "But come back when you've finished. I'll save you some eggplant parmesan and a slice of cake. On the house, of course."
An expression he couldn't quite make out flickered across her features, and he felt warm and cold all over, wondering what she would say, wondering if she would come back, wondering if he'd ever see her again.
"I'll try," she finally responded, nipping her bottom lip and giving his hand a squeeze. She then let go of him and slid away inch by inch, slowly turning on her heels and making her way back to her table and out the front door, taking more with her as she left than she could possibly realize.
Happy Holidays! :D