A/N: Happy Wednesday! Thank you to those who wrote such kind words in response to the last chapter. Living as an expat means I'm used to saying goodbye to people. It doesn't make it easier but I guess you get used to it. At least I've got the support of my other friends and my amazing readers. Here's your next chapter!

It was just chicken. Chicken. That simple, easy meat which you turn to when the idea of browning some mince seems like too much work. Chicken. It was the first thing she learned to cook. Beyond pasta, at least. Chicken. A simple, inoffensive, relatively bland (when nothing is added) meat which everyone liked. Right?

The pack stared up at her from the work surface. Almost tauntingly. Regina had cooked chicken countless times before. She had taken to adding it to her own dish after it became apparent that Henry wasn't interested in it being a part of the main meal. But today, for some reason, the challenge seemed insurmountable.

It was Sunday evening and she had decided it was time. After Henry's agreement to try some chicken in his therapy session earlier in the week, Regina had wanted to let some time pass by before she presented him with the new food. No, not new. Before his eating habits had changed, the young child had regularly eaten chicken. As Doctor Hopper had reminded her, this wasn't about liking or disliking food. It was about control. And in order for them to make progress, she knew Henry had to be the person making the decisions. So she had waited a few days before taking the next step.

Henry hadn't mentioned the promise he had made the psychologist. Regina had hoped he would but when it came to Sunday afternoon and it didn't come up, she decided to bite the bullet and take matters into her own hand. Which is why she was now stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at a pack of chicken breasts as if it was her arch nemesis.

"Mom, where's my yellow pencil?" Henry asked. As usual, he was sat at the small table while his mother cooked their dinner.

"Have you looked in the box?" Regina asked without turning around, knowing full well that her son would not have searched the crate where his art supplies were kept.

"No," he admitted, sliding off his chair and wandering over to the box tucked on a shelf by the door. "What's for dinner?"

"Pasta with tomato sauce," Regina replied. "With chicken."

There was no reply. Slowly, she rotated on the spot. There was no sign her son had heard her announcement. He was knelt in front of the shelving unit, rummaging through various pens, pencils and crayons. She turned back to the counter and ripped the plastic from the pack of meat before dumping the fillets all out onto the chopping board.

Emma's week had been long. The weekend had been even longer thanks to the presence of her boss. Killian had arrived in the middle of service on Friday evening and hovered around the restaurant ever since. Emma had taken to grabbing the nearest hot pan whenever he appeared in her vicinity and had avoided the majority of his attempts at physical contact. On Sunday evening, she was counting down the minutes until the end of her shift that night as she sat in his office, feigning interest in the reason for his visit; his plan to launch a digital marketing campaign.

"So, I'm going to need you to put together the specials menu a month in advance, to fit in with our advertising plan," Killian finished.

"A month?" Emma exclaimed, sitting up straighter and suddenly taking notice. "I can't do that. The specials I create are based on the day's catches. That's the whole point of a special; they use the best ingredients available at any time. And when it comes to seafood, it's unpredictable."

"Yeah, well, an AdWords campaign needs to be created in advance so that's not going to work."

"Can't you just advertise our set menu?" Emma frowned.

"The specials are what we're known for," Killian replied. "Your unique dishes are what people come here for."

"Yeah, and they're unique because I create them using the best ingredients I am presented with each day. That's why they're always different and unusual. If you make me plan in advance, then you're basically just expanding the set menu. I will have to only use ingredients I am guaranteed to be able to get."

"I'm just telling you what I was told by the marketer I spoke to. They need to know our dishes ahead of time."

"Well, that's not possible," Emma replied.

"Do you want to tell them that?" Killian asked. "This is the top advertising company in the state."

"The top … wait, are you talking about Mills Marketing?" The brunette had mentioned the fact that they had just received the award during a phone call the previous afternoon. Emma had called in between her shifts and spoken to Regina who was out at the park with Henry at the time. The blonde had found herself wishing she could join them.

Killian nodded. "Yeah. A group of them came in for that dinner a few weeks ago. I had a phone call with one of their account managers last week and I have a meeting with the company director tomorrow."

Emma balked. Regina hadn't said anything about being in contact with Killian. That said, her calendar was probably so busy she wasn't even aware of upcoming appointments until it was time to attend them. "Oh, right." She wasn't sure how she felt about Killian and Regina meeting and working together. No, she knew exactly how she felt. She wanted to keep that lecherous man as far away from the beautiful woman as possible.

"So, unless you're going to call them and explain to them why they can't have your menu in advance, can I expect your plans for May by the end of next week?"

"Um, fine, if that's what you really want," Emma sighed, already trying to think of a few new recipes she could jazz up as specials while guaranteeing she'd always be able to get the ingredients. She knew it wouldn't allow her to serve the best food possible but if that was what her boss wanted and her agreement would end the meeting, so be it.

"Great. Now, you'd better get back to work. The rush is going to be starting soon," Killian said.

Emma nodded and stood up, her heart sinking as her boss did the same. Before she could stop him, he circled his desk and wrapped his arms around her. She grimaced and tried to keep her distance as much as possible, stepping away as soon as his grip lessened.

"Safe journey back to New York," Emma muttered as she stepped out of the room.

Regina stared at the bubbling water, fusilli pasta cooking merrily away below the surface. In her right hand, she absent-mindedly stirred the simple tomato sauce she had made. She'd left out the capsicum. The cooked chicken pieces, cut into small strips, had been taken off the heat and now rested in the pan on the side. She was trying to decide whether to mix the meat in with the tomato sauce or place the pieces on the side. What would be less intimidating to Henry?

Let him decide, she reasoned. Two plates, presented differently, and he could choose. She drained the pasta and separated the servings into the waiting bowls. Pouring half of the tomato sauce onto one dish, she then placed half of the chicken pieces on the side. The remaining meat, she added to the second half of the sauce. A quick stir, and that too was added to the other bowl.

"Henry, did you wash your hands?" she asked as her son re-entered the kitchen after being tasked with that exact activity.

"Yes," he said, holding up dripping wet fingers as if to prove a point.

Nodded her acceptance, Regina picked up both bowls and crossed to put them on the table which had been cleared of Henry's colouring tools. As she put the dishes down, Henry climbed back up into his chair.

"Which one would you like?" Regina asked.

"They're different?"

"I put the chicken in the sauce on this one," Regina explained, pointing to the bowl on the right, "and the chicken is on the side for this one."

"But they both have chicken?"

"Yes," Regina said. "And you've eaten chicken before."

"Have I?" Henry asked, frowning up at his mother with a sceptical look. Surely he would have remembered such an event.

"Yes, you have," Regina nodded. "You ate it … when you were younger."

Henry wasn't listening and didn't seem to notice the pause Regina had fumbled through. He was already staring at the dishes, sizing them up. On the one hand, he could eat from a bowl which looked a lot like his usual dinner. He could just make out the lumps of chicken in amongst the tomato sauce but it didn't really seem very different. On the other hand, he could eat the bowl which had this new food pushed to one side. If he picked that bowl, he could avoid eating the chicken easily. But then his mom would be mad. If he picked the first bowl, maybe he wouldn't taste the chicken because of all the yummy tomato. It was, he decided, a dilemma.

"This one," he said at last, pulling the chosen bowl towards him.

Regina silently drew her own meal towards her and picked up a fork. Much as she wanted to watch her son, she and Emma had talked about how important it was that this was not made into a big deal for Henry. The blonde had suggested not doing anything fancy with the chicken. Just cooking it in a pan with a little salt and oil. Strong flavours may put Henry off. So too would his mother's pressure. This had to be Henry's decision but it also had to be muted, nothing special, nothing important. If the boy sensed the worry and stress throbbing through his mother, surely he would refuse to try the new food.

Spearing her own dinner with a little more force than necessary, Regina placed the first mouthful onto her tongue. It was good, she decided. In fact, the traditional tomato sauce that she made multiple times every week had certainly been enhanced by the addition of chicken. She was just waiting to see if Henry felt the same.

Across the table, Henry was prodding a naked chicken strip with his fork. He had come to the conclusion that if he was really going to try this food, it was not going to be allowed to hide behind anything. He glanced up through his long lashes at the woman opposite him. Regina wasn't looking at him. She had pulled out her cell. Strange, he thought. She never used her phone at the table and whenever Aunty Zelena did that, Mom got mad. Eyes dropped back down to the chicken, fork hovering. And then it plunged. A single fusilli spiral, coated with tomato, was placed in his mouth. The chicken lay untouched.

"Who are you waiting to hear from?"

Emma jumped and turned towards her sous chef. "What?" she asked, distractedly, slipping her cell back into the front pocket of her apron and continuing to stir the clam chowder she was making.

"You've checked your phone three times in five minutes," August pointed out. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Emma said, ladling a portion of the food out into the bowl and calling for service.

"Yeah right, it's your new girlfriend isn't it?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Emma muttered, turning to see which order she needed to start preparing next. Pan-fried salmon with saffron, local spring vegetables and a creamed parsley reduction.

"But you are waiting for her to contact you," August prompted, grinning at his friend.

Emma blushed. There was no need to answer the man. It was obvious to everyone who knew her that she was completely smitten with Regina. What they didn't know was that she was currently anxious to receive a reply to her own message. Regina had texted to say that Henry wasn't yet eating the chicken. Emma's response had been to encourage the brunette to engage Henry in conversation, about anything other than the meal, and see if he tried the new food on his own.

Before she transferred the seasoned salmon pieces to the sizzling skillet, Emma checked her cell one more time.

"What did you learn in maths with Mrs Davis?" Regina asked, after Henry had finished telling her about his P.E. lesson where he and Roland had run races.

"We're doing the five times table," Henry announced. "It's really easy. See: one times five is five. Two times five is ten. Three times five is fifteen. Four times five is twenty."

"Great," Regina smiled. "What's eight times five?"

Henry opened his mouth to answer but then faltered. Regina could see the cogs turning in his brain as he went through the chant silently, not yet able to complete the mental arithmetic without the pattern. "Eight times five is forty," he announced triumphantly after several seconds.

"Excellent," Regina grinned. "Well done."

Henry beamed back proudly and stabbed his fork into his bowl and stuffed the next load into his mouthful. Regina's eyes went wide. It took Henry a couple of chews to realise that a piece of chicken had been caught up with his pasta. Desperate not to make a big deal of it, Regina blundered on.

"So, the five times table is great because every answer ends in either a zero or a five. It's nearly as fun as the ten times table where they all end in a zero. Do you remember that one?"

Henry swallowed thickly before answering. "Yeah. One times ten is ten. Two times ten is twenty. Three times ten is thirty. Four times ten is..."

The rest of Henry's chanting faded into the background as Regina forced the tears which had formed not to fall. He had done it. He had eaten something new, something different. More than that, he had eaten something which provided important nutrition. She didn't dare hope he would eat more. That piece had been a fluke; she could tell by his face that he had not realised what he was eating. But somehow, for some reason, he had decided to go with it and chew rather than spit it out. She doubted he would go for a second piece, however.

Emma was scolding a new addition to her kitchen staff for being about to send out a plate of subpar food when her phone rang. The heat of the kitchen often transferred to her temper. Chefs weren't known for being level-headed. She shooed the red-faced youngster away, telling her to redo the entire dish and reached into her pocket.

"What?" she snapped, answering without looking at the screen.

"Sorry, is this a bad time?"

"Regina," Emma said, mellowing at once when she recognised the voice. "Sorry, no, it's fine. We're just a little busy here."

"I can call back," the woman said at once.

"No, no, just give me a minute," Emma insisted. She held the phone away from her ear and called across the kitchen, instructing August that he was in charge for the next five minutes. The man winked at her as she retreated into the back hallway, off which her office was located. "Hey, sorry. I can talk now. What happened? How did it go?"

"He ate it," Regina said.

"He did? Regina, that's amazing," Emma exclaimed, sitting down in her chair, a grin blossoming on her lips.

"Well, he ate two pieces," Regina said. "Not all of it."

"That's still massive. He tried something new and not something similar to the things he does eat. Chicken is a whole new food group. And he ate not one but two pieces. I think that means he's genuinely trying. If he'll agree to eat chicken regularly, he really will be improving his nutritional intake."

"I know, I know. It's a breakthrough. I can't believe we've made an improvement after only two sessions as well."

"You must have found a great psychologist," Emma said. "It took me months before I started to improve my eating habits. The sooner the better, especially when it comes to nutrition."

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Regina spoke again. "Your recovery, the fact that you learned so much about nutrition, what prompted it?"

Emma froze. Regina hadn't asked her anything about her anorexia or recovery. Any information which had been shared was offered by the blonde and only in relation to Henry. It wasn't that she didn't talk about what she went through. She did. Ruby knew all about it, aside from the trigger which caused the disorder. Elsa had known the details too. Even August knew bits and pieces. Anyone who had seen Emma prepare or eat a meal knew the woman was unorthodox when it came to food and she didn't mind telling them why.

She planned to share her story with Regina in the future; hopeful it would help her understand what Henry went through. The problem was, Regina's question was related to one of the biggest events of her life and she wasn't sure she was quite ready to dive into that painful part of her past.

"Can I tell you tomorrow night? We're still going for dinner, right?"

"Yes we are and of course," Regina said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was just curious."

"You have every right to be curious," Emma assured her. "And I will tell you. I just think it's a conversation best had face to face rather than over the phone."

"I understand," Regina said. "I've got to go. Henry's in the bath and he'll need help washing his hair. I just wanted to let you know how it went."

"I appreciate that, thank you," Emma said. "I've been thinking of you both all evening."

"You have?" Regina voice suddenly softened.

Emma couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I have. I think about you a lot, actually."

"I think about you too," Regina said.

"Good," Emma said. "Look, I wish I could talk to you all night but I have to get back to the kitchen and you have to go and wash your chicken-eating son."

Regina laughed. "That's the weirdest nickname ever but yes I do. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I can't wait. I'll pick you up at seven."

"See you then. Have a great night, Emma."

"You too. Bye."

"Bye."

There was a pause and then the line went dead. Emma slid the phone back into her apron and returned to the kitchen, an unwavering grin in place for the rest of the evening.

A/N: next up, you're all finally going to find out more about Emma's past …