Based on spoiler pics for 4x01

Emma is walking with her mother when suddenly he appears at her side. "Do you have a moment, Swan?" he asks and it's unfair how just the sound of his voice can make her heart race.

Trying to hide her reaction as best she can, she turns to her mother and says, "Can you give us a minute?"

"Of course," Mary Margaret responds with a knowing smirk.

He takes her arm and she lets him lead her down a side street. Once they are out of sight of her family, he releases his grip quickly and steps back.

"I, uh..." he scratches behind his ear giving her a small, shy smile and looks anywhere but her eyes as he searches for something to say. "You weren't there when I woke up," he says softly and she can see the hurt in his eyes.

Her heart stutters in her chest.

He looks away from her again. He looks nervous and unsure and absolutely adorable. And how on earth did she resist him for so long?

"I didn't want to wake you... I knew you needed the rest and I was meeting my parents for breakfast," she responds her eyes following his eyes.

She doesn't add that she knew if she woke him, she'd have been late to meet her parents. Hopefully, very late.

She doesn't say that she'd lain next to him debating whether to wake him for at least an hour, watching him sleep, listening to his light snore, running her hands through his hair, remembering how he'd felt the night before buried deep inside her. Remembering how he'd been so tender and sweet, then demanding and intense. How he'd played her body like a well-tuned instrument and just the memory of it makes her warm.

He fidgets again in front of her and wow, she can't believe that after everything, he is suddenly shy, and it makes her want to grin like an idiot because she did this. She, the lost girl, has made this insanely dashing pirate blush.

She looks down at his hand and all she can think about is the way it felt when it squeezed her hip, ran down her arm, fisted in her hair. She can still hear the groan of pleasure he made when she'd raked her fingers down his back. She can still feel his lips on her skin, his tongue drawing lazy circles on her stomach. I mean, really, that tongue should come with a warning label. And the way he'd pulled her body close to his when it was over, possessively wrapping his arm around her waist and burying his face in her hair. The contented sigh that was her name that had escaped his lips as she'd drifted off to sleep. How safe and happy she'd felt when he'd place a soft kiss on her forehead, how content and blissful she'd been when she'd curled up with him, basking in the afterglow.

And, now she's blushing, too. She can feel the color staining her cheeks. She's so lost in her thoughts that she misses his next comment, but she can tell by the way that he keeps his eyes averted that he is still nervous and, suddenly, it's too much. Without any reservation whatsoever, she closes the distance between them, invading his personal space (turnabout is fair play, after all), and his eyes lift to hers, there's a flash of surprise on his face before she's backing him up against the wall and kissing him breathless.

When her mouth breaks from his, she stays close, leaning her forehead against his, a smile gracing her lips as she says, "Good morning, Killian."

"Good morning, Emma," he breathes and he's smiling now, too, his eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent.