After their performance that night, Mary Margaret had headed upstairs to wash up, but Emma stayed on in the diner for a bit to hang out with Killian and David. Regardless of her attraction to Killian, the boys were excellent company and great conversation. (But Jones was certainly looking dapper that night in a tailored blue suit that highlighted his eyes, which were already made bright by his constant grin.)

The hour grew late before she knew it and her yawns got closer together. "Well, gentlemen, it's been fun but I should probably call it a night," she announced as she slid out of their booth.

"Allow me to escort you upstairs, milady," Killian insisted, standing as she did with a look on his face not unlike a hopeful puppy.

She blushed a bit; no one had ever offered to escort her anywhere, not even Neal, and she'd definitely never been called milady. "If the kind sir insists," she assented, trying to play coy even though she was secretly thrilled.

He offered his arm and she wrapped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and they bid David good night before falling into step as they exited the diner and headed upstairs.

She'd certainly been this close, physically, to a number of men over the past couple years, but even the most intimate acts had never felt this intimate. It was both exciting and unnerving that he had this effect on her. She had tried—and failed—to block him from her thoughts the past few days, only finally shutting up about him when the threat of Ruby's prying eyes came into play. So she was more than a little captivated by how well they seemed to fit together here and now, and couldn't quite believe that he was so eager to turn his attentions to her.

Which was the exact moment all her past fears and insecurities decided to rear their heads. She knew deep down that he was more genuine in his affection than Neal had ever been, but convincing her heart would take some time.

She sobered a bit as they climbed the last flight of stairs to the third floor, in companionable silence the whole time, and made the short trip to her door.

"I believe this is where I leave you, love," Killian said quietly with a soft smile.

"It appears so."

"I had a lovely time tonight, Emma." Just like after their dance in Florida, he grabbed her hand and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her knuckles; his soft lips against her skin sent a tingle up her spine.

She didn't quite know what possessed her to do it, but when he came back up, she stood on her tiptoes and pecked the apple of his cheek; words had escaped her, and she was always more a girl of action, anyway. He glanced down when she leaned away, but she didn't miss the new pink color on his cheek.

Before she could go any farther (because she knew she wanted to), she turned and opened the door to her and Mary Margaret's room. "'Night, Killian," she softly stated, slipping into the room.

"Good night," he stuttered back, and the last thing she saw before closing the door was the light falling on his too-blue eyes, illuminating the adoration and hope in their depths.

After closing the door, she leaned back on it and released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. I may be in too deep here.

"So how was it?" Her sister's voice startled her. Mary Margaret was staring at her from bed, where she had clearly been reading.

"You're still awake." Emma figured her sister—the embodiment of "early to bed, early to rise"—would have turned in long ago.

"Couldn't sleep. But tell me everything! I heard him out there; did he kiss you goodnight?"

"You're as bad as Ruby! I should have gotten my own room." Despite herself, though, she smiled.

"A-HA! I thought it was too quiet out there!" Now Mary Margaret was sitting up straight with a far-too-eager expression on her face.

Whatever this was, Emma needed to figure it out before she had her sister and friends breathing down her neck. So she did what she did best: deflected.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," she began as she started to take off her jewelry. "What I'm more curious about is why you couldn't sleep."

The smirk on Mary Margaret's face went away quickly. "Oh, you know, you just can't sleep sometimes."

Two can play this game. Emma's mind went to work quickly. "You know, I heard sometimes that eating something before bed can help you fall asleep."

"I'm not hungry."

Maybe not for food, but Emma had seen the starved way her sister looked at David upon their reunion that afternoon. "No, really; it's supposed to take blood flow away from the head and help you relax, especially if you're thinking of anything...or anyone…" (Particularly someone who Emma knew was still in the diner.) "I bet Granny has some food down there."

With an annoyed huff, Mary Margaret threw the covers off. "Fine. I will go get something to eat. But not because I'm hungry; only so you'll stop bugging me."

Emma turned away from her sister, who threw on a robe and marched out the door, to hide the wicked grin that came over her.

Begrudgingly, Mary Margaret headed down to the quiet diner. She highly doubted food would calm her mind, but maybe the short walk would refresh her spirits.

A few lights were still on, and to her surprise, a figure was at a table facing away from her, making her pause. She inwardly groaned when she realized who it was: David. Really, Emma? Of course her sister would send her down here. Alone. With him. (Probably as payback for her attempted interrogation a minute ago.)

She tried to head back up, but the traitorous stair she stepped on creaked, giving her away. David immediately turned in her direction and his initially startled expression quickly gave way to a soft smile.

"Mary Margaret! What brings you down here so late?"

Can't sneak off now. "Couldn't sleep," she told him as she sheepishly headed his way. "Thought I might look for a bite to eat."

He hopped up out of the booth quickly. "Granny told me she left some sandwiches in an icebox before she closed up; let me grab them." He slipped behind the counter like he owned the place, and she could hear him shuffling things around and opening and closing doors as she approached. "Here we go!" Proudly, he popped back up with a tray of finger sandwiches and a bottle of buttermilk. "Grab some glasses and meet me by the fireplace?" He looked as hopeful as she felt earlier, so she silently nodded.

Quickly, she did as was asked and followed him to the stone hearth, where the remains of a fire still crackled and gave off a meager amount of heat. She handed him a glass and he poured them both a generous portion of milk while she inspected the platter.

"Ugh, of course Granny would have liverwurst sandwiches." She crinkled her nose at the unpleasant memory of the few times it was forced on her as a girl, after being told "it will make you grow up strong!"

"Yeah, she's always had an odd affinity for that, hasn't she? She'd always have it during the war." David curiously picked it up, inspecting the offending meat.

"You mean she never forced it on you? I thought she was your mess officer," Mary Margaret asked cheekily, hoping to pry out some more of the story of Agent Lucas.

"Oh, uh, I always managed to avoid it," David deflected. Darn it! "But I guess I'll give it a shot now." She watched as he sniffed it, winced, but took a bit anyway. And winced again.

"I could have told you that would happen," she said with a laugh as he quickly reached for the buttermilk, taking a long drink. "I think I'll stick with ham and turkey."

"Sounds good," he choked out, forcing another giggle out of Mary Margaret. "So," he continued on after a few more gulps of milk, "why is it you can't sleep?"

She looked down, studying the ancient stone of the fireplace—anything but look him in the eyes and give herself away. "Oh, just a lot on mind." You. You on my mind. He'd been nothing but a perfect gentleman since his arrival and it was putting all her fears to rest, which in turn scared her. "Maybe I should try counting sheep."

"I've always found it best to count my blessings," David suggested. "That's a much happier way to fall asleep."

"Oh yeah?" Of course he's full of sweet sentiments like that...

"Yeah. That and my family shepherds; I've counted enough sheep for one lifetime."

She laughed. "I'll have to give that a try. Maybe I just need to switch up my old routine."

"Well, there is something to be said for a tried-and-true routine. Just look at the Navy."

"Yes, but perhaps it's time I let go of some of my old schoolgirl fantasies." Her sudden honesty, both with herself and David, took her by surprise.

"Like what?" Curiosity was written across his features.

I can't believe I'm about to admit this. "I remember when I was little, seeing Snow White for the first time. The whole 'someday, my prince will come' thing sounded pretty good back then. But now that I've grown up, I'm not so sure."

He took another sip of buttermilk, brow furrowed in thought. "You don't think your Prince Charming is somewhere out there?"

"No, I think he is," she stated boldly, looking David in the eye. "I just don't know if I'm ready for him."

Recognition flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Well, when you're ready, I think he'll find you."

She swallowed. "Really?" she breathed.

"Definitely," he replied sincerely. "Did I ever tell you my nickname?"

"No, what is it?"

"Prince Charming."

She gasped. No; no—this is impossibly perfect. But it was real, and he was right there in front of her, smiling back with affection.

Whether it was his words, the romantic fireside setting, the brightness in his blue eyes, or some combination of all those, Mary Margaret was compelled to slowly lean toward him, almost unconsciously. He reciprocated the motion, and gently reached up to cup her face. Her breath hitched at his touch, but she quickly recovered and closed the distance between their lips.

It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the first that rocked her to her core. His soft lips were gentle against hers—never rough or demanding; passionate, yet tender. And there was more meaning behind it than anyone she'd ever kissed before; it wasn't a tangible thing—just a gut feeling—but it was definitely there. It was brief, almost too brief, but perfect.

Too soon, he pulled back and hovered a few inches away; she would have been happy for the moment to have lasted forever. He tentatively glanced up at her with a shy smile, but she couldn't hold back her own grin.

There was still a part of her that was terrified, but the larger part—the part that was singing inside just like Snow White in the forest—was overcome with glee. I think I really did find my Prince Charming.

"Mate, are you sure you're okay?"

David could hardly focus on his breakfast, as delicious as he knew it was; he just kept moving his eggs around on the plate. He was still riding a high from last night and completely in his own world—well, for the most part; he and Mary Margaret kept exchanging surreptitious, knowing glances and smiles across the diner between his booth and her perch at the counter. (It didn't look like she was eating much, either, which got her a scolding from Granny at one point.)

But Killian's concerned tone shook David from his reverie. "Yes, I swear, I'm fine."

"Now, are you going to tell me why you were so late in getting back last night?" Killian inquired with a raised brow.

"Oh, you know, just...couldn't sleep. Was just thinking."

"Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with the lass you've spent the entire meal staring at?" David blushed, earning a chuckle from his best friend. "Thought so. Do tell."

"I, uh…" He sighed. He'd never been one to kiss and tell, but… "We...may have kissed."

Killian started laughing and slapped the table. "Al-right, Dave!" He leaned back and added, "It's about damn time."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." It had been years since David felt so bashful, so he figured he'd turn the tables. "What about you? What happened when you two left?"

The tips of Killian's ears suddenly turned crimson as he slouched down, but his smirk betrayed him as he glanced back up.

"You, too?" David exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down.

Killian scratched behind his ear; Dave had figured out early on that was his nervous tell. "Not a full kiss, per se, but, uh, she did, right here," he stammered out, tapping a finger on his cheek.

"Well, look at us," Dave stated proudly.

"Now aren't you glad we came?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

They both chuckled softly, but the jingle of the bell on the door drowned it out. Killian's face quickly fell when he glanced in its direction. "Oh, bloody hell."

"What?"

"Spoke too soon." He nodded at the door.

All the elation David had felt, as well as the air in the room, was sucked away. Kathryn had just walked in. And she was looking right at him, frozen in place.

"Bloody hell is right," he murmured. The seconds they were staring at each other felt like eternities, but soon, she started moving towards him.

"And that's my cue to leave," Killian quietly announced, slipping out of his seat.

"No, Killian, wait—" David protested; he really didn't want a confrontation with Kathryn, considering how things had been left between them, but it looked like that wasn't an option. As quick as Killian dashed off (rubbing his shoulder the whole way and muttering about aches and pains), Kathryn was there.

"Hi, David."

"Hi." Smooth, David. "Uh, you look good, Kathryn."

"Thanks," she replied tentatively. "So do you. I thought…" She swallowed. "I thought you were going to be in Florida."

"Plans changed," he offered with a shrug. "What happened to Christmas in Boston?"

"My father decided he wanted something more scenic, so…"

"...So his word is law and you all packed up and followed," David finished. His former future father-in-law was kindly, but ruled with something of an iron fist (though some said it was gold, given the family's wealth). "Do...do you want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the now-empty booth.

She answered by sliding in. "I, uh...I'm seeing someone," she blurted out, looking down. He still knew her well enough to read between the lines—she's moved on.

He honestly wasn't surprised; actually, he was more than a bit relieved. "Good; good for you. I trust he's a good guy?" Just because he didn't want to marry her didn't mean he didn't want the best for her.

She smiled shyly. "Yes, he's wonderful. You remember Fred, from my father's office?" David nodded, recalling the lanky, dark-haired guy. "We've been going steady for a few months now."

"That's great, Kath. I wish you both the best."

An awkward silence followed, during which they both ardently stared at the patterns on the tabletop, until she timidly spoke up. "And you?"

He didn't want to speak too soon and jinx whatever he had with Mary Margaret, so he settled for a partial-truth. "There's someone." (The smile that followed couldn't be helped.)

"I hope it works out, David." She smiled and patted his hand, the unsaid I'm happy for you clear to him. Their conversation then fell into general topics—their parents and families, work, gossip, and life as a whole. It was nice to be able to talk with her just as friends; it had been far too long since they had. But it was clear that that was all they were now, and he was more than fine with that.

A glance at the clock behind Granny's counter told him he needed to finish getting ready for the day—Mary Margaret had promised to take him on a horseback ride, something else he hadn't done in ages. He and Kathryn both stood from the table when he excused himself, and he found himself instinctively pulling her into a hug.

"I'll see you around," he farewelled, with a platonic peck on her cheek, and watched as she walked back over to her family with a calm smile on her face.

The book with Kathryn was finally closed, and he couldn't wait to start on one with Mary Margaret.

But a flash of dark hair angrily breezing past his shoulder quickly told him it wouldn't be as easy as that.

"Mary Margaret," he called after her, grabbing her hand in a scene that reminded him far too much of their first encounter.

"Don't," she snapped back, not even looking at him as she pulled her hand away, leaving him confused in her wake.

What happened?