I'm so loving the feedback and hearing how much you are enjoying this story. One guest reviewer was not happy about the way I have written David. While I'm sure your mind is made up, I have reasons for writing him the way I am. I want the characters to grow in this story. So I have placed a bit of an obstacle for him and Mary Margaret – an overbearing father.

I'm glad I was able to get another chapter out today. I'm just as excited as some of you are to see where this story goes as I am writing it with just a vague idea in mind. Thanks for reading!

Just as Emma had instructed, Killian sat on the couch and looked at the flowers she had put in a plastic pitcher with water. He hadn't even thought about a vase, as that seemed like a mundane item to own. Didn't everyone own a vase? He guessed not, since Emma had not even seemed to think it necessary.

"I like your apartment," he called out to her, shaking his head at what a lame comment that was to make. He felt like he should compliment something about her. Since she was behind a closed door, he wasn't really teeming with material. The apartment was cozy, he thought. She had an overly large leather sofa and an upholstered chair that he was quite certain was probably from some thrift store. One of those plywood bookcases stood over in the corner and there was a television sitting on top of a trunk. The kitchen, from what he could tell was small but serviceable, and if she was to be believed, rarely used. There were a few framed photos of her with Ruby and a brunette woman he thought he recognized. Other pictures showed her with an older woman and the sheriff, both of them younger than they were now. A map of the United States hung on the wall with push pins for certain cities. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't cluttered or messy, but she wasn't a neat freak either, he determined. There were a few books here and there and the mail sat half open on a folding table that had four chairs around it.

"I'll be just a minute," she called out, her voice muffled by something that he wasn't even sure he wanted to know about.

He hated that she knew he was nervous, something that he shouldn't be at 29 years of age. He'd been on dates before, plenty of them. He'd even lived with a woman briefly a few years before, but he couldn't silence the horse hoof like rate his heart was beating. He'd never approached that many women in a bar. For one, most of them traveled in packs. Secondly, most women he had met that way were looking for either a one night stand or marriage. There was no in between. So he wasn't really sure what it was that had drawn him to Emma other than the way she ignored the obvious grifters and seemed to be content to drink a cheap tap beer and watch a muted television.

"Sorry about that," Emma said as she entered the room. She had taken his suggestion that he was taking her to just a little hole in the wall place seriously. Wearing a gauzy and deep blue sleeveless dress with a matching cardigan, she looked soft and feminine. Her blonde hair fell over one shoulder in loose waves that made him wonder if her hair was naturally curly or if she had put forth some effort there. She was several inches shorter than him and the ballet flats on her feet did not make up the difference. "I just thought this would be comfortable." Her hands fisted around the cuffs of her cardigan, a nervous habit of hers. He couldn't help but find her own awkwardness endearing as she shifted her weight.

"You look stunning," he managed to say, cumbersomely getting up off the hand me down sofa with some effort. "Perfect for this place."

Her head cocked to one side. "It would help if you told me where we were going," she said with a laugh. "I thought about wearing a different outfit, but I wasn't sure how messy it would be. I'm not exactly the most coordinated when it comes to food in my mouth." Again, she let him in on one of her secrets. She had a stack of shirts and pants that were beyond her laundry capabilities with stains that reminded her of abstract art.

"Sounds like you might be a bit dangerous in that regard," he teased. "I will have to watch myself if I'm in the line of fire."

"I will do my best to not start a food fight," she returned. "I have a good aim."

Considering himself warned, he led her back to the jeep that he owned and drove her past every place she must have assumed they would stop. While he was quite sure she was tough as nails, as her job would require her to be these days, he also found her adorable with her quirky nature and confidence that seemed to know few bounds. She talked about her love of watching medical dramas on television and reading chick lit that she bought through Amazon so that nobody would know unlike the library or local book seller. "If you tell anyone, I'll make sure you get brought in on unpaid parking tickets," she threatened.

As they crossed out of the city limits, she raised an eyebrow, but he attempted to distract her as he admitted a few of his own vices, including the fact that he talked to the television during everything from sports to commercials. "I can't watch horror movies or slasher flicks with people," he said sadly. "I scream at the cast to be logical and test their hypothesis more fully."

When he turned down a street that seemed to have no buildings at all, she shifted in her seat to face him, her lips thinning to a straight line. "I don't need to remind you I'm in law enforcement, right? You're not planning to murder me and leave me out here."

"Asking you on a date only to murder you seems like an illogical plan of attack," he said, his lips naturally turning up. "I'll remind you that you technically asked me out first. Our fake date and whatnot, love?" He felt the coolness of the evening seeping in through the jeep, his dark jeans and black button down with the sleeves pushed up not combatting much of the chill.

"I thought this was just dinner," she said, brushing it off. "It isn't…" he was concentrating on separating her fingers and pushing them back together as she spoke, another sign that maybe that confidence was not as strong as he had interpreted. "Ruby totally bought that, by the way," she said as if she wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. "She was telling another friend of ours all about you today at lunch."

He smirked, pleased at the idea she might have been talking about him today. "Is that so?" he asked, prodding her for more information.

"Don't let the ego get too inflated," she countered. "We were mostly discussing your flaws. You must have some." She eyed him carefully, perhaps guessing which flaw he might make known.

"That's more of a third or fourth date revelation, love," he said, turning the wheel sharply around a curve. "I'm currently trying to be on my best behavior."

She admitted that she was too, saying that she wasn't about to admit to having a sixth toe or a birth mark in the shape of Idaho on her left butt cheek. He appreciated the humor, though he admitted he wasn't opposed to seeing if she was telling the truth about such things. She told him that wasn't a second date proposition either.

***AAA***

"This place is…" she said, searching for the right word to describe the homiest diner she had ever seen. It was something out of a movie with gum chewing waitresses and grease stains on the menus. Emma was about to ask if he picked the place out special when two of the wait staff and one of the short order cooks called to him by name. "I guess you do know about this place."

He chuckled, pulling out a chair for her that stuck to the floor. "It's not impressive for its atmosphere, but the food is wonderful," he told her. "When I first came to the states I worked about a block from here. I came every day at lunch."

"And you thought it would be a good place for a date?" Emma asked suspiciously. "I'm not complaining, only asking."

"The food makes up for it," he said. "You seemed to enjoy your dinner last night. I thought we should go somewhere that had similar fare for you." His stomach clenched as her eyes dropped and whatever progress he had made in brightening her mood seemed lost.

"I eat fast," she said a bit slowly as if she was reluctant to say the words. "My friends are always telling me to slow down. They say I should try to taste the food instead of just swallowing it." She laughed nervously, her eyes still staring down at the menus with the faded photos of food that didn't exactly look appetizing.

"Why should it concern them?" he asked. "I don't think it should matter to your friends one way or another."

"This is crossing that line into not a second date conversation topic," she admitted, holding up the menu so that part of her face was obstructed from his view. "But honest answer? I grew up in foster homes. It wasn't like Annie or one of those kinds of movies with rag wearing pre-teens dancing down the stairs. It was a tough situation most days. There was only so much food. We all pretty much were hoarders with it. You knew that if there was food today that you should eat it because tomorrow there might not be or someone might beat you to it. You learned to eat first and taste later. I ate whatever they offered because it was not like I had a choice. So since then I have always eaten in a hurry." She shrugged. "And now you're going to pay special attention to how I eat and assume I have absolutely no table manners."

"You're assuming I wouldn't understand, love," he said breaking the seal on the paper napkin holder. "I didn't grow up in the land of plenty. My mum was raising me and my brother alone since I was seven years old. It wasn't easy for us or for her. She worked two or three jobs most of the time, including as a waitress in a dump worse than this place. We ate what would have been thrown out. You didn't get special requests. You got rejects. So, love, I hardly can judge you for an issue with food and I hope you don't judge me either. I may not react the same way. My vice is that I pick things I know I like and rarely venture out of my comfort zone."

She sighed, lowering the menu to signal she had chosen something. "Sounds like we could get a group rate for therapy," she said slyly.

"Perhaps we could," he chuckled.

***AAA***

She still had a hard time calling it a date. It was dinner with a friend in a restaurant, she told herself. Okay so Killian was someone new, but it was just dinner. It wasn't a date. That's what she was thinking when he opened the door to his jeep to let her in after they finished a meal that as he had promised was one of the best tasting things ever.

"I hope you didn't have plans beyond this," she said as he joined her in the front seat. "Because seriously…I'm about to fall asleep."

"Your stomach is full and now you want to sleep," he said as he cranked the vehicle back to life. "I'm beginning to think you are more cat like than swan like."

She realized that he was still on his best behavior, cracking jokes and trying ease them both into some sense of comfort though she wasn't sure why. It was just dinner, she repeated to herself as she tried to recall the last person she'd had dinner with who wasn't one of her close friends. He was telling her some story about showing boats and the one he had hoped to sell began to take on water, scaring the prospective owners away from the purchase.

"I've heard they now own an Alpaca farm and won't go near the water," he chuckled. "I certainly didn't get a commission on that one."

Her head lolled back against the head rest of her seat as she studied his profile. "You must like sailing a lot to have moved here to pursue a career in it," Emma mused, thinking that a move across the ocean sounded quite a bit scarier than some of her moving around. "What made you want to come here?"

"I suppose you could say a fresh start," he said. "I tried my hand at New York and Boston first, but I found little success. I've had an easier and more enjoyable time of it in Storybrooke."

"I doubt most people even know Storybrooke exists," she said, pressing a little harder. What tipped you off?"

"I was in sales in Boston, computer networking solutions for municipalities," he explained. "Dreadfully boring and almost impossible to do without losing your mind. But I traveled here to meet with your mayor about them. I didn't make the sale, but I realized this was where I wanted to live. Have you ever just been to a place that felt like home?"

She looked out at the darkened landscape, occasionally dotted with the lights from a house or business. "I guess I'm still searching for that," she admitted. "Before I forget, thank you for dinner. It wasn't what I expected, but it was very good. You should have let me pay though. I thought this was about paying you back for pretending to be my date in front of Ruby."

She could see his smile reflected off the glass of the window. "I only wanted to be paid back with your company, love," he said unaffectedly. "But perhaps we could try again on your terms?"

Emma laughed in a controlled way, her eyes downcast. "Killian, I appreciate the offer, but I don't really do this."

"Do what, love?"

"This," she said, moving her left hand in a semi-circle. "I don't date. I'm not the kind of girl that guys want to date for very long. I'm more of the one time and done girl. I'm more of the…"

"I think you're selling yourself short," he said, pushing the heels of his hands into the steering wheel. "Emma, I think we have established that I have an interest in you. I would like to see you again, but only if you wish to see me. I'm not about to badger you with requests."

She bit the inside of her mouth, feeling that stirring sensation that told her she was being an idiot. "Killian, tonight was fun. I got to go some place new. Your stories were funny and entertaining. You've been great, but I know that it is a bad idea. You see, I'm not lying when I say I'm bad at this. I'm not the girl who is going to call you. I'm not the girl who's going to make sandwiches for you and your friends while you watch some game. I'm not…"

"And you think I'm seeking that kind of woman?" he interrupted. "No offense, love, but I don't think you realize who I am. I'm not interested in that sort of lass at all. If I was, I wouldn't be long for searching. They are a dime a dozen. But you, Emma, seem to be quite different and that intrigues me, but you…You obviously aren't interested in pursuing this so I'll step back. Thank you for a wonderful evening."

She forced herself to raise her head, looking at him curiously and the way the light seemed to have dimmed in his eyes as they drove under the streetlights of the main street in Storybrooke. "Killian, it's not you, okay. I think you're great. I'm just not good at this whole dating thing."

"So you avoid it?" he asked, genuinely confused by her. "You would prefer to not make attachments? Because, love, I hate to tell you that you've failed. You have friends and loved ones. It is not that much different."

"No, I suppose it isn't." she said, blinking back her emotions – a trick she had learned as a child. "Is this where I'm supposed to tell you about the guy that ruined me? The one who broke every promise and left me a shell?"

He gave a sad smile as he checked his mirrors and shifted lanes to make a left turn. "Love, I'm sure there is some prat in your past life that did those things. Just as there was a woman who made me swear I'd never be happy again. But they are in the past. I'm interested in knowing this Emma."

She was interested, she heard that voice inside her say. She wanted to know him. She wanted to know what it was like. It was already a new sort of adventure for her. She had known him for 24 hours and she'd already been on two sort of dates with him. She had experienced conversations via text and even a good morning one that had made her smile while she was in the shower. He had brought her flowers. He remembered things she said. He didn't make her feel like she was that different. "If," she said slowly, "if I said okay to another date, what do you have in mind or do I get to choose?"

That hopeful tinge to his voice, the one that reminded her of Mary Margret returned. "I suppose we would do something a little more interactive. Perhaps dancing?"

"You've been thinking about this?" she asked, not sure if she was flattered or freaked out by that idea. She had been thinking about him too, but her thoughts were more of the variety about what he looked like outside of his clothes and how long it would take to wear down her defenses and kiss him. She didn't think about dates and holiday plans.

She couldn't swear to it, but it looked like he blushed. "Aye, you're a bit irresistible," he said, his voice not sounding as unaffected as before. "I wasn't lying when I told your friend that I had not stopped thinking about you. You are an intriguing woman who I wanted to get to know better."

***AAA***

David sat on the couch in Mary Margaret's loft apartment and grinned as she attempted to serve one of his favorite meals. It appeared that she was bound and determined to appear as domestic as possible, even emphasizing that she had rolled out her own dough for the chicken pot pie that she knew he liked. While he found it endearing, he was also aware that she had experienced the same privileged upbringing that he had. In fact, their stories were similar but opposite in that he had been raised by his mother in a somewhat middle class setting before his father had returned to his life and brought him into the world of privilege and excess. She had been born into that world only to have it pulled away from her after the death of her mother and subsequent death of her father.

"I invited Emma to come get some of this since I made so much," she explained to him, "but she's out on a date tonight so my cooking didn't rate that high for her."

David took a sip of the wine he had brought for them to sample. "A date? Emma?" He was well aware of his deputy's penchant for avoiding anything resembling a social life. He could completely understand the sentiment. "Where on earth did she meet the guy?"

The teacher scooted her chair up to the table in her kitchen. None of the chairs matched, a purposeful decision to be a little eclectic and different. "I think he said they met when she was responding to a call at work," Mary Margaret said, furrowing her brow as she tried to remember the details of her conversation with Ruby. "Something about a disturbance at the docks."

The sheriff swallowed his next sip and tapped his finger thoughtfully on the glass. "Odd," he said, shrugging his shoulders a bit in confusion. "I usually send Robin or John on those calls. They are more intimidating than Emma. Oh well, he must be quite a guy to get her to go out with him."

"Twice," Mary Margaret said with the same enthusiasm she reserved for engagement announcements or babies. "They went out for drinks and a picnic dinner last night. And now they are out again tonight. I think it's fantastic."

"That's…Wow…" He didn't know what to say. Emma was practically a sister to him. He felt odd not knowing such a detail about her life, especially when it was clear that Emma had shared the details with both Mary Margaret and Ruby. "Maybe he's the reason she's not wanting to go on this family weekend thing. I wondered about that. But a new guy in her life explains a lot."

"Was she invited?" Mary Margaret asked, her eyebrows shooting up in a feigned innocence. "I didn't think your father would want her there. He's never really liked her."

David shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a bite of the dinner to give himself a moment before answering. "It's not so much of a pleasure trip anyway," he said, attempting to sound as though his father's intentions were common knowledge. "He's wanting to talk to me about my plans for running for another term as sheriff. Right now there doesn't appear to be any competition for the spot so I feel like I might as well."

Mary Margaret's lips remained on the fork for a moment too long. "I thought we were considering you not running for public office," she said softly as the fork hit the plate. "The more you do those things, the more your father has control." She didn't add that he had already threatened to cut ties with his father several times already and failed to so.

"But I do like the job," he pointed out. "I was also thinking that my father might be ready to hear some of my other plans too."

***AAA***

Emma's back was to him as she jiggled the key in the front door lock, spinning around to face him as it gave way and unfastened the door. "This is where I'm supposed to say I had a nice time, right?" she asked, laughing nervously at herself. She wasn't sued to a guy who walked her to her door unless it was a given that he would be coming inside. This was a bit more complicated. She had already told him that she did not think it was a good idea to do this again, so did that mean this was it. For some reason that seemed quite sad to her.

"As did I," he said, flashing his own somewhat nervous smile. "I suppose if we were planning another such date, I might be endeavoring to kiss you right now." She could see the hopeful search of his eyes on her as he tried to play the statement off as playful and teasing.

"You are trying to convince me I'm wrong, aren't you?" she laughed again. Her left hand on was on the doorknob that pressed against her lower back. "Dancing?"

"Believe it or not, Swan," he said, doing a bit of a side step without music. "I have moves."

"I'm sure you do," she teased. "I might just have to agree to this date to see you in action." She pursed her lips in a thoughtful expression. "When?"

His smile lit up his face. "Friday?"

She sighed as though this was a decision that was weighing her down with its enormity. "Friday." He seemed to like the answer, she assessed from the way he couldn't quit grinning at her. She knew she would probably regret it, but he had not shown her any reason to doubt her decision yet. That same small voice that told her she was not cut out for anything more than an occasional fling spoke back loudly in her head and begged her to take a chance for once.

His right hand rose up to his face, his middle finger tapping against his lips. "Does this mean?" he asked, his cheeks already flushing.

She didn't wait for the rest of the question or for the answer to pop into her head. With both of her hands, she fisted his shirt to pull him toward her. Their mouths crashed together and his stuttering grunt of surprise disappeared upon contact. While she had found him to be sweet and gracious on their date, the kiss did not reflect it as their lips parted as she sought out a solution for her doubts with her tongue. He gripped her hip tightly, seeming to seek out a way for their bodies to be even closer than the way they were currently pressed together. His other hand sought hers out, entwining their fingers as though that might somehow make the experience more intimate. Her breath was warm on his mouth as their tongues danced feverishly. Every sigh and moan was captured and every movement a crisp contrast to the uncertainty of the two people.

Thanks for reading!