** Thank you for your patience! I'm normally a pretty speedy writer but I've been finding it so hard to write recently - hence the less frequent updates and shorter chapters. I hope you enjoy this!**

"Thank you for the invite!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.

The hug she is given is unexpected, and for a moment Emma doesn't know how to respond. But quickly she is returning the gesture before pulling away and giving the other woman a wide smile. "Well, thank you for meeting me. I thought it was about time I got to know some people in this town a little better."

"I'm honored that you thought of me!"

Inside, the cafe is pleasantly busy - the air filled with the scent of roasted coffee beans floating above the gentle hubbub around them. It's warm inside. The two peel off their coats as they wait for service. They chatter about the dance the night before and how well it went. If Mary Margaret noticed that she and Killian had left together then she doesn't say anything.

The line is short and they order quickly. Emma picks a slice of carrot cake to go with her skinny latte while Mary Margaret selects a deluxe hot chocolate with all the trimmings.

"That looks good,"Emma admits as they retrieve their drinks and find a table.

"My guilty pleasure,"Mary Margaret replies as they sit down. "What's life without a little of what you enjoy?"

"Indeed,"Emma blushes, a brief flash of Killian's head between her thighs invading her thoughts before she can push it away. "So…"

It's only then she realizes she knows next to nothing about this woman except she teaches and has a great collection of knitwear. She must be thinking the same thing as their eyes meet and the two women dissolve into soft laughter.

After a minute or two, conversation begins to flow. Emma learns that Mary Margaret is dating a local police officer (David is his name, and she practically glows when she talks about him), she's lived in Storybrooke all her life and loves horse riding.)

Emma, in return, talks about her move, her work, Henry's father (briefly) and soon it's as if they have known each other for months, rather than a few brief weeks.

"So,"Mary Margaret asks, dipping her spoon into her mug to scoop out a little whipped cream, "You're no longer with Henry's father…Any other man in your life right now?"

(Wow, she went straight for it. Emma is pleasantly surprised. She thought her the more reserved type).

"Well-"she blushes. Her fingers tighten around her cup - the soothing heat of the coffee seeping through the porcelain throbs through her still chilled skin.

And there it is - that light, little bubble of excitement - the one that appears when she thinks about him. (And especially about last night-). It sends a shiver down her spine and she lightly bites her bottom lip.

"Ahh, so there is!" the other woman teases. Emma squirms a little in her seat, raising one shoulder in a half shrug.

"Well I don't really know what it is yet,"she admits.

"But you like him, right?"

Emma nods, dipping her head to one side as she raises her gaze to meet Mary Margaret's, "I think so."

(And so that's not strictly true. She likes him. A lot. But ever cautious, she doesn't want to say too much just yet-

'Cause what if nothing comes of this, what if it all fizzles out and-)

"Someone from work?"

Emma swallows. Hard. She considers lying for a second, but then-

"No…Actually, you know him."

"I do?"

"Uh huh,"Emma replies, supping down a last mouthful of coffee, "It's Mr. Jones."

Confusion clouds Mary Margaret's face for a moment, her eyes flicker as she thinks. "Killian?"she asks.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh…"Mary Margaret's brow crumples a little and she opens her mouth as if to say something before snapping it shut.

The light bubble in her stomach starts to shift and twist, forming an anxious knot.

"Is something wrong?"

(Oh God, he has a girlfriend.

No, wait, he's married.

Dammit-)

"No,"she shakes her head, "I just-"she hesitates again before the smile returns to her lips. "I just didn't think he was much into dating. But I don't know him very well, so…"

"Well, I'm not even sure it's dating. Well, it's a date. You know."

"Everything has to start somewhere, right?"

Emma smiles in agreement. "So they say?"

The conversation shifts and they chatter animatedly until Emma realizes she needs to go get Henry. The two hug and promise to meet up later the next week.

She's happy when she leaves- it had been a good idea.

She has a friend. Kinda.

(But she tries not to think about the look that passed Mary Margaret's face when Killian was mentioned. It was nothing, right?)

/

"This is… different."

Killian gives her a brief smile as he pushes open the door of the bar. It's a simple timber building, the facade aged by the ocean spray and perched upon the end of the old eastern pier.

"Best coffee in town," he insists as he holds the door open. As she sweeps past, she is briefly encompassed by the smell of his cologne. She takes a deep breath. The butterflies that rose in her stomach when she first saw him waiting for her at the end of the pier make a reappearance. She bites back a smile.

Emma sits. Killian goes towards the counter and takes a couple of menus. As she waits, she plays absentmindedly with the buttons of her wool coat. A nervous bubble rises in her throat.

This is ridiculous! She tells herself. It's just coffee and you are an adult-

She tries to calm herself by looking around. The inside of the bar is stripped back wood. Hung about the walls is maritime paraphernalia - paintings, anchors, buoys, flags - even a stuffed seagull that she sees hiding up in the rafters above.

He returns with another devastating smile and she just about melts into a puddle where she sits. It's about all she can to do shyly return it before she slips off her coat to buy her a few more precious seconds to think.

"So-" he begins, pressing his menu against the table with splayed fingers. His words hand in the air between them.

"Yeah-" she whispers, before clearing her throat, "This is…"

"Weird?" he offers.

"I was gonna go with awkward but weird works!"

Their mutual laughing is enough to crack the shell of tension - as satisfyingly as that of the crust of a creme brûlée. She relaxes back into her chair and pours over the beverage choices.

"Mmm," she hums, "Irish coffee."

"A favorite of mine," he admits, "My family is Irish, a few generations back."

"Is that so?" she muses, quickly taking in his dark hair and blue eyes that all of a sudden make sense. "I've always wanted to visit. Ever since I saw that movie, Far and Away-"

"That's a terrible movie!"

"It's not!" she retorts, "I mean, the accents aren't great-"

"They are awful-"

"And who made you an expert?"

Their eyes meet. The ridiculousness of their conversation suddenly occurs to her and she breaks out in a fit of giggles that she can't restrain. Quickly he joins her and they both struggle to catch a breath.

"I'm sorry,' he insists, his breath heaving. "I didn't intend to spend the date critiquing your movie tastes-"

"So this is a date?" she quickly replies, before she can think.

His eyes crinkle a little at the edges. There's a second that passes by.

It's broken by a waitress placing napkins in front of them. "Hey guys, can I get you a drink?"

She looks him in the eye. "Irish coffee," she replies.

"Make that two."

There's a moment - not quite tense, but far from easy- where she holds her breath as the waitress walks away. Is he stalling? His fingers are pushing the black paper napkin in front of him backwards and forwards.

He looks up.

She bites her lip as their eyes meet.

"I was hoping this was a date," he finally says.

And maybe he's blushing (but it is cold outside and maybe it's just a flush of color…), and perhaps she's misjudging the seemingly tentative tone of his voice-

But she can't stop the smile that flickers on her lips, or the happy, light little fluttering in her stomach.

"Me too," she admits.

/

It's easy talking to her.

Everything else loses focus. The room blurs until it's just the two of them. Their drinks arrive but they can't seem to stop talking and his coffee is a little cold when he takes the first sip.

Movies first. Then books, TV (she loves reality TV, he hates it), politics (briefly). Soon they are ordering a second drink and he's can't believe how quickly the minutes are flying by.

Inside it's a little dark now. The winter sun is low on the horizon, barely visible through the small, shaded windows of the pub. He knows she will have to leave soon and he already can feel the impending loss of her company.

There's a quiet hum of voices that almost masks the music from the old fashioned juke box in the corner. It's not busy but not quiet, either - just a happy medium that lends itself to relaxation and casual intimacy.

Around them, the waitress is walking around, lighting the small candles that sit in little red glass jars on every table. They are both leaning towards each other, hands almost touching and have to move apart when it's their candle's turn. Their eyes join as she scratches a match across the box in her hands. It's a drawn out moment, so much said with just a look…

When it's lit, the warm, flickering light dances across her features. Her lashes cast shadows upwards, serving to highlight the rich green shade of her eyes that sparkle with the reflection of the candle light. The flame's gentle illumination hugs the curve of her cheeks, with their small dimples that deepen when she smiles. She's wearing small, diamond earrings that catch the light when she laughs and her head shakes. He feels hypnotized by her - seduced by the ease of her manners and how easy it is to just be around her and how much he wants to spend time with her.

It hits him as she's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear: she's stunning. Beautiful, elegant, sexy- The thought freezes his mind for a moment.

This is an unfamiliar feeling. One he'd hid from for so long, and yet now it was right here staring him in the face.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, he'd started to fall for this woman. This single mom with the dry sense of humor, who seemed almost as awkward as he did about the whole 'going on a date thing', who seemed to be almost as taken aback with whatever was going on right now-

(It's a date and it's going well, he reminds himself-)

"Hey," she murmurs, her eyes crinkling as she reaches her hand across the table to cover his. "You okay?"

He nods, momentarily unable to speak, his throat dry and knotted, his heart rate starting to pick up-

"Killian-"

She seems to think better of whatever she is about to say, her features falling a little, her hand pulling away from his.

"What, love?" he asks, the tightness loosening and being replaced with concern.

"I-" her eyelids sink to close. The fingers of her other hand hug her almost empty coffee mug and he feels a sickening sensation in his gut and a cool dread flush through his veins. "About last night."

And his stomach hits the floor. He's got it all wrong somehow. She's gonna say it was a mistake- he prepares a neutral face.

"I don't do things like that, you know. I mean ever."

He swallows and nods.

"I mean, I don't want you to think that's what I do - bring guys home like that-"

The words hit him in his gut.

(He does that, he brings women home, he seduces them, he uses them-)

He nods again.

"But I don't regret it."

His breath catches.

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm glad it happened. Maybe it wasn't the way I saw things going- But I do like you. And I'm glad."

Her last words are much quieter and coyer than the rest. It's sweet, how shy she seems. Yet also he feels an instant lift to his spirit, he forgets his concerns of a moment ago. "I'm glad too," he admits.

There's so much more he wants to say but then, of course, on cue her phone rings. She smiles an apology as she pulls it from her purse. "It's Henry," she explains.

She turns away for a moment and he gives her some privacy, raising his hand to the waitress to ask for the bill. After a minute, she's slipping her phone away again.

"I didn't realize how late it is."

He looks at his watch; five p.m. "Yeah," he sighs, "Well, you know what they say about good company…"

"Yeah," she agrees, the apples of her cheeks rounded and rosy as she smiles.

The bill arrives and he drops a twenty on the table. She reaches for her purse before he stops her, "Please, let me."

They bundle themselves up again against the cold. Stepping outside, the horizon is a dusky salmon pink shade, with flickers of gold rippling over the outstretched ocean beneath. "Red sky at night…" she mutters.

"Sailor's delight?"

He stands beside her, a few feet from the door. "Something like that." Turning, she faces him. "I had fun."

"Me too."

And there doesn't seem much more to say right now, not with words anyway. His eyes search her face, asking permission. She rises up on her toes a little, enough to bring her arms up around his neck and pull him closer.

She smells so good. Like sweet soap and soft floral perfume. His hands circle her waist and he brings his lips down to meet hers.

Slowly, achingly slowly, they come together, pressing into each other with an unexpected tenderness that tugs at his heart as their lips part and tongues entangle. It yearning and needy but soft and gentle all the same. Not the urgent hunger of the night before; instead, a tentative exploration with an undercurrent of burgeoning feeling that leaves him wanting more as she finally pulls away.

"I'd better go."

"Hmmm," he sighs, nuzzling against her face, pressing his nose against her cheek before reluctantly pulling back. He waits a second, before asking, "Would you go out with me? On another date, I mean."

"I'd like that," she smiles and presses a kiss against his cheek. "Goodnight Killian."

She's gone before he's ready. He watches her leave, already calculating how long he can wait before he calls her again.

/

"I'm home," she calls as she closes the door, tossing her keys aside before pulling off her coat. The house is warm and toasty and instantly the chill she is feeling begins to fade.

Wandering into the living room, Henry is where she left him with a pile of hopefully finished homework on the small table in the middle of the room. There are cartoons on the TV and he's playing Minecraft on his iPad (again).

"Hey Mom," he replies, his eyes not leaving the screen. "Did you have a good time?"

She swallows as she thinks. She'd said she was going to meet a friend for coffee, which was true, right?

"Yeah kid, it was fun."

She slumps down beside him, snagging the remote control and flicking through the channels.

A comfortable silence falls. He leans into her, resting his head on her shoulder. She turns and kisses him on top of his unruly hair and for once he doesn't protest.

This, she thinks, this is why I moved.

She thinks back to their old life. Simple quiet moments like these were hard to come by, but now it all seems so much easier.

"How about some cocoa?" she asks, knowing he can't resist.

He nods and she ruffles his hair, going to the kitchen and filling the kettle. It only takes a few minutes to heat the milk and create two steaming mugs of deliciousness that she liberally tops with cinnamon. "It's ready," she calls.

He's there in an instant, eagerly grabbing his mug and blowing on the hot liquid even as she urges him to be careful. "Thanks Mom," he says as he takes a quick sip she smiles and does the same.

These are the moments she cherished. The quiet ones where words weren't needed, where happiness and closeness were a feeling, unspoken and shared.

"Are you happy here, Henry?"

"Of course I am," he responds, as though it was the most absurd question in the world.

"I mean, you can be honest, if you're not I-"

"Mom," he cries, stopping her, "I'm not lying. I like Storybrooke. I like the ocean. I like our house. I even kinda like school." He smiles awkwardly.

"Good," she sighs, "I like it here too."

They finish their cocoa with chatter about what will happen in the next week and Henry asks when they can get a Christmas tree (not till after Thanksgiving, she says). Henry even offers to wash their cups when they are done.

She watches him, sleeves rolled up and arms in the soapy water.

She's glad he is happy. So glad.

And she is too.

Work's good. The air is so much cleaner and fresher here by the ocean. She may have even made a friend today.

And then there is Killian.

She doesn't want to get her hopes up - doesn't want to place too much hope on something that might turn out to be nothing.

But she likes him, a lot.

And she'd be lying if she said she didn't hope for more. Much more.