It's been one hell of a day. It wasn't supposed to be this exhausting, but of course my ex, Neal, had to complicate things.

I was looking forward to going wedding dress shopping with my future sister-in-law Mary Margaret and her other bridesmaids, sipping champagne and giving my input on each of the possibilities. It was going to be so much fun.

And then Neal happened. Remember the saying that was popular many years ago - shit happens? Well, Neal can be used interchangeably with shit - they're one and the same.

It was his scheduled weekend with our three-year-old, Henry, which was one reason why Mary Margaret chose this day. Then on Friday, almost an hour after Neal was supposed to pick Henry up at my apartment, he sent me a text: Something came up. Can't make it this weekend. Tell Henry I'm sorry.

Apparently he turned off his phone after sending it, because he didn't answer any of my increasingly volatile texts - eighteen of them, to be exact - or phone calls. I had to sit Henry in front of the television so I could go into my bedroom to leave some choice words on Neal's voicemail.

Fortunately (or unfortunately for my sweet little boy) Henry is used to being let down by his father. In the eighteen months since we called it quits, Neal has skipped out on more weekend visits than he's kept. I guess being a lying piece of shit takes up way too much of his time and he can't spare any for his son.

Also unfortunately, all of the people who usually babysit for Henry were unable to watch him. Most of them were included in the shopping trip, my brother David was busy because he was painting the living room of the house he and his fiancée just bought, and Ruby's Granny was off bowhunting with her new beau. (Bowhunting with her beau has been a running joke ever since she left a week ago.)

So instead of enjoying a carefree day of shopping with Mary Margaret, Belle, Ruby and Elsa, I had to keep an active, inquisitive toddler entertained in one bridal shop after another. We were all relieved when he finally fell asleep in the third shop, until the manager woke him up by screeching about how he was going to drool on the green velvet upholstery. That cost her any business she might have had from us (though in all honesty, her gowns were all hideous and looked like something only the Wicked Witch of the West might wear.)

Eventually, Mary Margaret said 'yes to the dress' in the fifth shop late in the afternoon, then we all decided to get an early dinner at a nearby restaurant that serves kids' meals and has outdoor seating. If Henry has to spend one more minute inside today, I think he might have a complete meltdown.

After placing my order and getting Henry situated with the provided coloring sheet and obligatory four crayons, I hear someone speaking into a microphone and look over to see a guy standing on a small stage with a guitar. A very, VERY attractive guy.

"Good evening, everyone," he says, and my jaw drops at the sound of his British accent. "My name is Killian and I hope you enjoy the music tonight. I do take requests. Feel free to sing along or dance in this nice, open area in front of me."

"Oh, wow!" Belle gasps. "He's very handsome, isn't he, Emma?"

My jaw snaps shut and I turn to look at her. Seeing her sly smile, I teasingly say, "Why are you asking me? We all have eyes, you know."

"Yes, but we all have significant others, too," Ruby adds, which is completely unnecessary but, sadly, also completely true.

While my self pity begins to set in, the guy - Killian - strums his guitar and launches into the Eagles classic "Take it Easy". Henry, who by this point has scribbled all over the coloring sheet, somehow managed to break his crayon into at least four pieces and, judging by the color of his teeth, took a bite of it as well, looks up with bright eyes. Since I allowed him to kneel on a chair instead of trying to strap him into a booster seat, he takes advantage of it and hops down.

Before I can chase after him, he makes a beeline for the open space in front of the admittedly gorgeous singer and begins jumping around in what passes for a three-year-old's version of dancing. I sigh and start to get up, but Mary Margaret stops me with a hand on my arm. "Let him go. He's been very good all day and deserves to burn off some energy. Besides, he's only a few feet away and we can see him clearly from here."

It doesn't take much convincing for me to heed her advice. If someone else can entertain Henry for a while, I'm not going to complain.

When the song comes to an end, Killian acknowledges the smattering of applause and plays the extremely recognizable first chords of "All Right Now". Henry doesn't miss a beat, throwing himself around like a rag doll while all of us at our table, as well as most of the other diners, laugh delightedly at his exuberance.

By the time Killian is in the middle of his third song, "Old Time Rock and Roll", our food arrives and I face the dreaded task of dragging my son back to the table to eat. I nibble at my fish and chips until the song ends, then dash to the makeshift dance floor to cajole Henry. When he shows the expected resistance, Killian chuckles and helpfully says, "Go with your mum, lad. I'll play a slow song that's not as much fun for dancing."

True to his word, he croons the song "Everything I Do, I Do It For You" as Henry acquiesces and comes back to his seat to shove French fries into his mouth as fast as possible. It might not be a good song for Henry's style of dancing, but Killian's smooth voice singing the beautiful lyrics is sending pleasant chills down my spine.

Another song with a slow tempo follows, during which my little man polishes off his fries. But when Killian starts "Footloose", all bets are off and Henry is back on the dance floor with a chicken nugget squeezed into both of his chubby fists.

After we finish our meals, Belle, Ruby and Elsa leave to spend the rest of the evening with their boyfriends. Mary Margaret lingers, telling me she'll stay to keep me company, because she'd rather not have to help David clean up his painting mess. We don't want to take up a table, so we move to some empty seats along the edge of the patio from where we can still see my little dancing king.

"You'd think his battery would run down soon," Mary Margaret comments.

"Are you serious? That kid is like the Energizer bunny, plus he's been cooped up in stuffy dress shops all day. My money is on the singer wearing out before Henry."

She's uncharacteristically quiet for several minutes. When she finally speaks, she says quietly, "He really is very handsome and seems like a nice guy."

Her statement is out of left field and I'm confused. "Who?"

"The singer - Killian," she clarifies.

I narrow my eyes at her. "What's your point?"

"No point. I was just making a comment," she shrugs, all innocence.

I don't believe her. Mary Margaret is the queen of set-ups and wears the crown proudly. She introduced Belle to Will, Ruby to Jefferson and Elsa, well, she introduced Elsa to Victor, but that didn't work out very well. Elsa met Graham on her own.

"I'm not looking for someone to date, Mary Margaret. I'm still dealing with my idiot ex and trying to concentrate on raising my son not to follow in his father's footsteps."

"I understand, but…"

And it's at this point I resign myself to the fact she's going to spout some argument that's going to weaken my resolve not to date.

"If Henry had a really good male role model in his life, it would help you in raising him to be a gentleman."

"Seems to me David does a pretty good job of that, in case you haven't noticed."

"I know," she sighs, "but between working, getting the house ready and planning the wedding, his time with Henry is very limited."

"The house will be ready before you get married and the wedding is in less than five months. After the honeymoon, he'll have more time."

"Oh, but then we'll have children of our own, and you know how much time that takes."

"Is this your way of telling me you're pregnant, Mary Margaret?"

''What?" she gasps. "No! I'm just saying…"

"I know what you're saying and I hear you. If the right guy comes along, I wouldn't be opposed to dating him, but I'm not gonna try to force something to happen."

"Wouldn't it be nice to have a date for the wedding, though?" she presses.

"Henry will be my date. He'll be very dapper in his little tux."

"But…"

"No buts, Mary Margaret. I don't want to be set up with someone just so I don't look pathetic at your wedding."

We both fall silent as we watch Henry continue to dance in front of the bemused musician. Glancing at the time on my phone, I realize he's been at it for well over an hour and isn't showing any signs of slowing down. It's beginning to get dark and I know I'll have to wrangle him into the car before too much longer for his bath and bedtime.

I feel a little sorry for Killian, though. Nobody else has taken him up on his offer to dance, despite his repeated invitations. In fact, most of the diners aren't paying attention to him at all. I hate to take his number one fan home, especially when I'm able to sit back and relax while listening to some seriously good music.

"I'm going to take a little break and then I'll be back," Killian announces, lifting the guitar strap over his head.

"Well, I guess that's my cue to take Henry home," I say to Mary Margaret.

"I suppose so," she agrees. "Let me say goodbye to him and then I have to be on my way, too. According to his text, David is anxious for me to see how the living room turned out."

We both stand up and move toward the stage, but I stop in my tracks. Killian is squatting down in front of Henry, listening to him with a huge smile on his face. I don't know what Henry is saying, and I'm not sure Killian will be able to understand it anyway. Henry has an extensive vocabulary for a three-year-old, but I listen to him with 'mom ears', which means I can actually decipher what he's trying to say.

When we reach them, Killian looks up at us and whatever I was going to say flies right out of my head. From a distance, the man is handsome. Close up, he's nothing short of breathtaking. Carefully trimmed scruff covers a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, his cheekbones would put every male model to shame, and his dark hair is swept back from his forehead with a few rogue strands hanging down enticingly. Even his slightly pointed ears are adorable.

But it's his eyes that shut down the functioning part of my brain. To say they are blue is like saying the sun is a tad bit warm, and the way the waning light catches them makes them shine like sapphires. I'm aware that my mouth is hanging open like a fish on dry land, but I can't seem to make it form actual words.

"Hello, Killian. We've been thoroughly enjoying your music tonight, even if we haven't been showing it as much as this little guy."

Thank God for the natural chattiness of Mary Margaret.

Killian reaches out to ruffle Henry's sweaty hair, then stands up. "I'm very happy to hear that," he says in that beautiful, lilting accent. "I was just telling young Henry here that I'll play some special songs for him after the break."

I finally find my tongue. "Oh, but I was coming to tell Henry it's time to go home."

My little con artist turns his baby browns on me. "Please, Mommy. I be a good boy, I pwomise."

That's just great. Now if I take him home, I'll have to forfeit my Mom of the Year award.

Mary Margaret laughs. "Well, Henry and Emma may be able to stay, but I really have to go."

Why did she emphasize my name so much? As if I don't already know.

She hugs Henry and me, tells Killian goodbye, and winks at me as she passes by. Even without trying to set me up, she's setting me up.

I look back at Killian, who finishes chugging a bottle of water and grins at me. Reaching out to take my hand, he shakes it and says, "It's nice to meet you, Emma, and little Henry."

"Nice to meet you, too, Killian. Thanks for entertaining my son tonight."

"It's been my pleasure. I love how uninhibited kids are, and how joyful."

"Well, his day certainly didn't start out joyfully at all." I shouldn't have said it, but I'm still boiling about what Neal did to his own son, especially when this stranger seems so happy to spend time with him.

"No?" Killian questions. "May I ask what happened?"

I glance down at Henry, not wanting to bash his no-good father in front of him. He's happily lining up little stones he collected along the edge of the patio, oblivious to the conversation going on above him.

"He was supposed to be with his dad this weekend, but he canceled. Again. So Henry was stuck shopping for wedding dresses with us all day."

"I see." He ponders for a second. "Would that wedding dress be for the lovely lass who just left…or someone else?"

"Yeah, it's for Mary Margaret. She's engaged to my brother."

"I'm very glad I was able to make Henry's day better, because his dancing did the same for me." We watch Henry play, babbling to himself. "He seems like a happy little lad," Killian observes.

"I do my best, but as a single mom, I make a lot of mistakes."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Love. All parents make mistakes. It's a good thing kids have perfect aunts and uncles," he says with a smirk.

"So, are you an imperfect father or a perfect uncle?" Am I really flirting with him right now?

"I have two nieces, so that would make me the latter."

"Do you get to see them very often?"

"Aye, they live just a few miles from me, so I spoil them as often as possible. They're my brother Liam's girls."

"Doesn't sound like you're originally from the U.S., if you don't mind me saying."

He chuckles again, rubbing his finger behind his right ear. "We were born in England and lived there until I was fourteen, then my father took a job here so we moved across the pond."

"That explains the accent."

He nods and checks his watch, blowing out a breath. "I should probably get back to my set. Will you allow young Henry to stay for a few more songs?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Sure. What's another fifteen minutes in the grand scheme of things?"

A genuine smile splits his face. "Excellent! I think he'll particularly like the next three or four songs I play." He looks around and grabs a nearby chair from an empty table, setting it down beside me. "Won't you please have a seat, Emma?"

"Such a gentleman," I say, sinking onto the offered chair.

"Oh, I'm always a gentleman."

Somehow I don't mind him flirting with me.

He steps back on the stage, slips his guitar into place, and positions himself in front of the microphone. After giving me a wink, he announces in an overly accented, squeaky voice, "And now it's time for Silly Songs with Killian. The part of the show where Killian comes out and sings…a silly song."

I burst out laughing at the very familiar words. Henry is addicted to Veggie Tales, the wacky shows featuring talking fruits and vegetables. I love them because they teach good moral values; he loves them because they're hilarious. His favorite part of every video is Silly Songs with Larry the Cucumber, which we watch over and over and over again. Apparently he conveyed this obsession to Killian.

Killian closes his eyes, somberly strums his guitar, and sings, "Oh, where is my hairbrush? Oh, where is my hairbrush? Oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh wherrrrrrrre…is my hairbrush?"

Henry is jumping up and down like a kangaroo on a pogo stick, shouting, "Mommy! Mommy! It's the Lawwy song! Keeyin is singin' the Lawwy song!"

Wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, I look around at the half-dozen people at the tables, who are looking at the musician like he's lost his damn mind. Bunch of sticks in the mud. Lighten up.

But Killian isn't bothered by their response, or lack thereof. He smoothly transitions to another of Henry's favorite silly songs. "Oh, everybody's got a water buffalo. Yours is fast, but mine is slow. Oh, where'd we get them, I don't know. But everybody's got a water buffalo, oooooo."

Henry is beside himself with excitement. He's running around in a circle, waving his arms in the air in his best impression of a rabid chimpanzee.

Killian moves on to sing a few lines of "I Love My Lips" (I can't help thinking I'm quite fond of them, too), followed by "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything".

By this time, the diners have relaxed, laughing and clapping along with the crazy tunes. Meanwhile, my son has finally worn himself out, collapsing in a small heap in front of the stage, looking up at Killian adoringly.

"...and we've never been to Boston in the falllllll," Killian concludes with a flourish and takes a deep, dramatic bow.

I dig into my purse and pull out a twenty dollar bill. I always try to watch my budget, but I'll skip getting a chocolate caramel latte for a few days to compensate. It's worth it for what Killian did for Henry tonight.

Walking up to the stage, I drop the bill into the tip jar, smiling up at the singer. He's between songs, so I say, "Thank you so much, Killian. You're my hero for entertaining Henry tonight. It was great and he loved it, didn't you, kid?"

Henry jumps to his feet. "I weally did, Keeyin! I love Lawwy songs!"

"What do you tell him?" I prompt.

"Thank you, Keeyin," he says obediently.

"You're very welcome, lad. I play here again in three weeks. Perhaps you can stop in and see me again?" He's talking to Henry, but he's looking at me.

"Can we, Mommy?" Henry pleads.

I know we probably can't. This restaurant is all the way across the city from where we live, plus it's pretty expensive. Mary Margaret footed the bill today, but twelve bucks for a kid's meal is a little steep and I won't pay it. I don't want to say any of this though, because my tired son is walking a thin line between lingering happiness and an emotional collapse. So I use the parental standard, "We'll see."

Taking Henry's hand, I say, "Thanks, again, Killian. Have a good evening."

Something that looks like slight panic flashes through those gorgeous eyes of his and he speaks into the microphone, "I'll be back in five, folks." He slides his guitar around to his back and steps off the stage, placing himself directly in front of me. "Emma, if I may be so bold, and if you're not already dating someone, would you consider going out with me?"

"Wh-what?" Apparently, getting asked out by the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on renders me a bit stupid.

He lightly wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me further toward the side of the patio for some privacy. "Even though we just met, I would really like to get to know you better."

"But…but you don't even know my last name."

"What is it?"

"Cassidy."

"Mine is Jones, so now we know each other a little better already."

I stare at him, trying to think of a single reason why I should say no to him. "I…we…um…Henry and I, we…uh…we come as a packaged set." That's the way, Emma. Use your kid to try to scare him off. And you did it so gracefully, too.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm really quite fond of your son. That's not a deal breaker," he states firmly. He still hasn't let go of my wrist and now he's rubbing his thumb over it. I find I don't mind at all.

"I…"

"Mommy, potty!" Henry announces.

Oh, geez. Killian has to get back to his set and Henry has to pee. I'm running out of time.

Dropping Henry's hand, I rummage through my purse, trying to find a pen. "Got a piece of paper?" I ask, mid-rummage.

Killian dashes to his guitar case and pulls out a piece of sheet music, returning with it just as I locate the elusive pen. He plants his foot on a chair and slaps the paper down on his knee so I can scribble my number on it.

When I finish, I lift Henry into my arms and take off to find a bathroom. Before disappearing inside the restaurant, I glance back at Killian. He's still standing where I left him, a broad smile on his face as he grips the paper in his hand. Raising my free hand, I give him a little wave and he returns it.

After I've had time to think about it, I might regret giving him my number. Right now I just have to keep my kid from peeing down the front of my dress.

xxxxxxxxx

A year ago, Killian Jones was my hero for giving me a chance to relax while he entertained my son. Five months later, he was once again my hero by being my date to Mary Margaret and David's wedding. Today, he's still my hero because he's continuously proving that not all men are incomparable asses.

On the contrary, he's everything I dreamed a man should be, once upon a time. Killian Jones is talented, intelligent, funny, considerate, masculine, caring, loving, passionate, and a great conversationalist, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous (if I didn't mention that, it would be a crime.) He's the total package and I'm head-over-heels in love with him.

Oh, and he's a fantastic role model for my little boy. I usually hate to admit when Mary Margaret is right, but in this case, she was unequivocally correct. He and Henry absolutely adore each other and it makes my heart so happy. They do everything together - read books, play Star Wars with lightsabers, build block towers, climb trees, ride bikes, you name it.

And Henry loves singing silly songs with his soon-to-be stepfather. What more could a mother want for her son? Except, perhaps, a sibling.

Killian and I are working on that…and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

xxxxxxxxx