You guys are making me smile so big with the comments, reviews, etc. I'm glad so many of you are seeing the humor in this story. That is a goal of mine with this so I love that people are finding that humor.

Just to clear up a few questions.

1. Killian isn't an idiot. He just kind of assumed that Emma was hinting at him taking Henry home instead. He'll find out in this chapter that was wrong.

2. Liam is still in the talking stages of putting the band back together. So Emma was at the club where Liam was to see another group. Just a coincidence.

3. Anna is with Kristof in this. You won't see them too much because Anna is hard for me to write well. Plus we have plenty of characters to play with. This is a different kind of story for her and for Elsa since there are no magical powers and I needed a reason that Elsa would be a little broken too so she fits better with this Liam.

I'll be posting an update on Sunday when I get back in town. I'll also be posting an update to Illusions of Another Life then too.

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Hope you find plenty of Irish Pirates out there.

The breakfast nook in Killian's kitchen was just big enough for a small round table and four chairs. Plantation shutters covered the windows that she knew from their placement overlooked the small bay area where many of the fishing ships were kept nestled in their slips. The house was small and cozy, but Emma could see its charms and could picture him reading a book on the overstuffed chair where her son was currently sleeping. It would be a perfect place to spend a rainy afternoon with a fire in the fireplace and some of her favorite songs humming lowly in the background. Shaking her head as she followed him to the chairs, she wondered why she was having such thoughts. Hadn't she just decided that his rejection and confusion of her impromptu invitation was the universe's way of telling her that she was not meant to be anything more than a parent in one of his classes?

"I'm afraid my bar is not as well stocked as my brother would have you believe," Killian said, ducking to the under cabinet and pulling out a bottle or two. "I've taken to hiding the good stuff that I had, but he and those miscreants we call friends have found it."

"I'll take whatever you're having," she declared, averting her eyes so that he did not think she was studying his profile as he debated silently over the contents. "I don't think I've ever had a parent teacher conference with drinks before. Unless you count Mary Margaret."

"You're expecting some sort of progress report?"

Returning a few moments later with two tumblers with amber liquid in them, he waited for her to take the one from his hand before settling the on that rested in the crook of his arm on the table. She looked at him curiously and then to his gloved hand. Keeping her face emotionless, she gave a barely perceptible nod. "I know you said I didn't have to thank you, but I really do appreciate your watching Henry. Usually I have a whole network of people who jump in to help. Yet they all seemed to be too busy today."

"He's no bother at all. I rather enjoyed getting to know him a little better. He's…He's a big fan of yours. Bragged about you a few times this evening." He lifted the glass to his mouth without sipping and then put it down again. "I must admit that sitting here with you after his descriptions of you and Granny Lucas's words to the same effect is a bit like coming face to face with a celebrity."

Shelling out a nervous laugh, Emma looked at the liquid. "It is a bit awkward knowing that she is so bound and determined."

"Aye, as is your son," he added. "He was encouraging me to invite you sailing." The dark haired man leaned forward on the table, his bad arm folded in front of him. "But don't be too hard on the lad. I'd imagine he's going to be embarrassed enough if he thought you knew."

Gazing toward the dim light of the living room, she shook her head from side to side. "I should be mortified that my son is trying to ingratiate himself into my social life. Or maybe I should worry that he's becoming a pimp. So I'll settle for embarrassed and thank you for the head's up. He's been listening to Granny and Ruby so long that he is convinced I'm wasting away for want of a man." Like him, she lifted the glass and returned it before drinking. "I'll admit to being out of practice, but I'm not wasting away."

He was clearly watching her as she looked at the uncovered part of the window between the shutters and the valances. The stars were peeking out from behind the clouds that seemed to be rolling by and appeared to be winking back at her from that vantage point. Turning her head back to him, she lifted the glass again. "So what do we drink to?"

"To matchmakers who won't take no for an answer," he offered, holding his glass out.

"That's what you're going with? Stubbornness?" She cocked her eyebrow at him in a way that mimicked his own expression at the moment. "How about to late night drinks orchestrated by your brother?"

"To family and friends who think they know what is best for us," he said with a smirk, tapping her glass with his own before gulping down the liquid. He called it impressive when she did the same and did not flinch at the burn of the drink. "So…I suppose we should try to get to know each other. Perhaps have another drink in a public place?"

The tip of her tongue ran over her lips. "I might could agree to that," she said slowly. "But I'm not sure. Do we really want them thinking that we folded that easily. I do have a reputation to uphold, you know."

"There are things to consider. Your son is my student. You're a busy executive and I'm a teacher. We are relying upon the expertise of a woman who bases her matchmaking opinions on side items and eating patterns for the telltale signs of compatibility. From my take on it, neither of us were even considering any sort of dating until she began to wave each other's presence in front of us. What could possibly go wrong?"

"And why weren't you looking to date anyone?" Emma asked, her hand wrapped around the glass and her pinky pointing at him. "Bad break up?"

"Something like that," he said. His smile did not falter exactly, but it became tighter. "And yourself?"

"Other than the single parent thing? I'm just not much for it, I guess. I don't have good luck with people in general. So I spend most of the time waiting on that other shoe to drop. After a while you just get tired of it. You get tired of waiting for the inevitable and decide to fill your life with other things – work, Henry, my friends, music. It isn't as sad as some people assume, but I get the feeling you know that."

"Aye, perhaps I do. I suppose I am the same. I fill my time helping my students and trying to get my brother on his feet at least financially."

"And music? Where does that fit in?" She knew from what Liam had said that he had some interest in it outside of the classroom of students butchering classics.

"You've heard that old adage that if you find a job that is your passion you'll never work a day in your life?"

"Sure. I've heard something like that."

"Well, sometimes it is the opposite. I pour my love of music into teaching. I want my students to love it and love making music just as much as I always have. But then you come home and it isn't the same any more. You are like the house painter who doesn't want to pick up the brush or the reporter who can't write another word. You've given everything to that passion and it offers nothing at the end of the day."

"That might be sadder than my story," she admitted after a pause. "But I really should go before we turn this into a contest."

She could see the conflict in his eyes as he contemplated inviting her to stay the night there with Henry. However, it was way too soon for those kinds of offers and he quickly rid himself of it. "Aye, I don't mean to keep you from your sleep," Killian said, standing up offering his hand to help her to her feet. "I hope I wasn't too morose for your liking. I truly would like to share a drink with you. And I can at least drive you and your boy home since you are without transportation at the moment."

She knew that she'd have to do something about her car in the morning, already planning on calling Mary Margaret for the company and a drive. They could be there and back in a few hours, probably getting in some good gossip time while they were at it. Slowly she nodded her head yes. "I'll say yes to both," she agreed, not realizing at first that his hand was still lightly holding hers.

***AAA***

Liam pressed the buttons on Robin's coffee maker absently, trying to brew up something for the man would be screaming in a loud whisper for it in the morning. He was hardly going to begrudge his friend having a good time and a few drinks, but he had to admit that it was a bit sad and irresponsible to drink in such a way by himself. Laughing lightly, he considered approaching Granny about the situation and asking her to fix his friend up as well.

Determining that he had set the timer on the coffee machine to wake his friend up with the scent of the freshly brewed beverage, Liam threw himself onto the sofa with a grunt. He could walk back to Killian's later, but he was trying to be optimistic that perhaps his brother was in need of a little privacy at that moment. Emma, was a bit tough to get to know, he admitted to himself. Still he had an unshakable feeling that his brother would more than benefit from her charms. Killian would not take much convincing if the way he had stared at her coming out of the jeep was any indication.

He was lost in the thought of his brother's potential romance when he saw the familiar jeep pass by Robin's window. "Ever the gentleman," he said to the air around him.

***AAA***

Killian returned home that night to find his brother returned to his spot on the couch, the television streaming some movie with a car chase, and the remote control dangling out of Liam's hand. Kicking off his shoes, he considered letting his brother sleep in the awkward position with his head bobbing over the arm of the couch and coming within centimeters of hitting the reclaimed wood of the end table. However, that would mean that he would have to listen to his brother complain of sore muscles and headaches over their Saturday morning breakfast. Still, that might be better than the questions that would come regarding Emma and how that drink had gone.

"Can you at least admire me from afar, brother?" Liam asked, lifting his head up off its awkward perch. "I'm sure that I look quite stunning – even with my lack of sleep – but the effect of you standing silently in that doorway is the thing that horror movies are made out of."

"I was trying to decide how best to murder you," Killian bantered back, grabbing one of the pillows from the chair sitting next to him. "Suffocation might be best so that I don't have to hear that mouth of yours. I feel sorry for anyone who has to listen to it for more than a minute."

"You're all talk and no action, you prat. And Emma didn't seem to mind my company too much. Can the same be said for you? I notice you already ran her off. Care to explain?" Liam pulled himself up to sitting, grabbing the pillow from his brother, punching it twice and then folding it behind his back. "Come on with you."

"I drove her and the lad home," Killian admitted, the dour expression on his face not changing. "It's hardly that interesting of a tale. We had a drink and talked. That's it."

"And any plans for future talking or were you too busy chatting it up that you forgot to ask?" Liam blinked his eyes. "Or maybe busy isn't the right word. Coward might be more fitting a description."

Killian just shook his head, leaning down to pick up his brother's shoes and put them neatly under the table. "I'll not have you analyzing each detail. We've got enough nosey biddies with their focus on us. Liam, I'm going to tell you what I told Henry and what I plan to tell Granny too. I'm his teacher. While I suppose nobody would fire me for dating his mother, it certainly would not add any points to my reputation at the school. Emma is a lovely woman, but I'm hardly going to dive head first into anything with her until I at least know her a bit better first. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Liam yawned loudly, covering his open mouth with the palm of his hand. "Valid reasons, brother, but if I may ask one more question…"

"What is it?"

"When are you planning to see her again? I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."

***AAA***

Emma had woken up for approximately 15 minutes when Henry had pounded on her door and said he was heading to his dad's for the day. If she thought hard about it, she could remember calling out to him about bringing a change of clothes with him and making sure he had breakfast. After that, she wasn't sure and at almost 1:30 in the afternoon, she was swatting at her cell phone to delay the beeping noise of text messages.

"I guess someone isn't taking no answer as an I don't want to talk right now," Emma mumbled under the pillow she was using to block out the sun coming in from around her curtains. Her phone was ringing and vibrating incessantly, stopping, and then starting over again. "Hello?"

"Ok I get that you had to work yesterday and could just put in an appearance when we recorded that song, but you haven't bothered to call and tell me what you thought. Then I find out that you're off on some adventure with the man I'm supposed to have a Granny date with tonight. I'm thinking that you probably have things to tell me. Important things to tell me."

Pulling her hair off her face from where it had been matted in her sleep, Emma squinted against the afternoon sun. "You sound annoyingly like your sister right now."

"If I was my sister, I would have called you last night or asked to Facetime with this guy you were out with. Was that a date? Did you just…"

"Calm down, Elsa," Emma said, throwing back the comforter and wondering just when had she changed into flannel pajama pants and a camisole. "He gave me a ride to get my son after my car got blocked in. I have nothing to tell you about him other than he is a gentleman and is into music. He even liked some of the test tracks I played him of your singing."

Elsa let out a little gasp. "You let him listen to my music?" It was clear from the tight cadence of the words that she had locked her jaw. Emma prepared herself for the wrath that would be the woman's anger. "Seriously?"

"We were in a car together with a passed out drunk man. It was either that or play the license plate game. There weren't enough cars." Emma held the phone at her chest, pulling her knees up and running a hand over her face. "It was just a couple of songs."

"But it's my music. Mine and Anna's. I'm not ready for this." Elsa truly sounded panicked, which made Emma wonder if the woman was going to have issues in performing. She knew that Elsa did not have her younger sister's sparkling and natural stage presence, but still it was worrisome to think that the blonde woman was this worried about people hearing her sing.

"You do realize that is pretty much the point of recording the demo and the test marketing, right?" Emma cleared her throat, suddenly feeling parched. "In order for you to make money at this, people have to hear your music. It kind of goes hand in hand."

Even with the phone between them, Emma could imagine Elsa rolling her eyes. "I do realize that," she deadpanned. "I just don't like the idea of someone hearing it before it's ready. You've said something is missing."

"Yes, and I still think that," Emma scooted back against the headboard of her bed. "I think Liam Jones knows enough about music that he could provide a little help pinpointing what that is exactly. I wasn't playing it for some stranger. I was trying to get feedback and fill the time on a very long drive."

Elsa stayed silent from the rebuke. "Sorry," she said eventually. "I'm kind of nervous about this whole date thing. I guess I was hoping you'd understand."

Emma's free arm wrapped around her bent legs, pulling them in toward her. "I think I understand better than you think. And I also know that you have nothing to worry about. Liam was just as nice as he could be. He's funny and not bad to look at. I think you'll have a good time." She tried to come up with a few tidbits of the man's personality that she thought Elsa would appreciate. After a few she could feel her friend's tension releasing.

"You know, Killian is a hot guy," Elsa said. The very fact that her subdued friend and client was using that word made Emma cringe. "I swear he even looked good playing some kind of space invader game with Henry and that other little boy. It was pretty adorable actually."

Closing her eyes tight against the imagined image of him doing such a thing, Emma let out a little groan. "You know I don't want to hear this. I need reasons to avoid him. That's what a friend would provide me right now."

"Sorry, Emma, but I don't have any of those for you. Maybe try…well, I don't know who. Most everyone agrees he is pretty darn perfect for you. So what's troubling you about him?"

"Nuh uh," Emma said. "I'm not having this conversation with you. You called to freak out about your date. You don't get to talk me into mine."

Elsa laughed heartily, at least for her. "Fine, one crisis per call. Should I call back though? Are you having a crisis? I could get Anna. She's good with these kinds of things. Though I think she's busy in my closet right now picking out what I'm going to wear tonight. She's even postponing her date with Kris so that she can be with me until he picks me up."

"Wait! He's picking you up? Isn't that kind of old fashioned? I thought you'd meet him at the restaurant or whatever. Is he borrowing Killian's jeep again?"

There was a loud crunch as Elsa bit into her carrot stick. "Now who is sounding like Anna? You're bordering on perky with all the questions. Stop it. I don't like it. It's not you at all."

***AAA***

Killian tapped the pen against the page he was grading, frowning at the obvious mistakes. It was hard to remain objective when grading a subjective topic such as music. Still there were right and wrong answers that should be looked at and used to determine correctness.

Making an X next to the question, Killian's flourishing handwriting offered an explanation. His supervisor would probably chastise him for being that thorough, but he felt the need to at least correct with information rather than a single mark. He made it through another four questions before he looked at his phone again.

He was weak, he admitted that. Or maybe he was just sensitive to rejection. That morning, as he drank tea since it was Saturday and watched his brother scour through the reviews for all eight restaurants in Storybrooke for the best one, Killian had with way too much thought and second guessing texted Emma. Or maybe he had done it three times. The first time he had told her that he had enjoyed their drink and chat the night before and hoped that she had too. Adding a carefully optimistic emoticon, he sent it. After 20 minutes and no reply, he went for another asking if she might be interested in that second drink that night. Still no reply. The third text had taken the longest to craft after he erased and started over four different times, showed it to Liam and started over again. It simply said, "another time perhaps."

Now it was three and half hours later and there was not a single reply from her. In fact the only text he had received was one from Robin asking him to thank Liam for the coffee and someone texting him about cheap Viagra. He deleted both.

Lifting the phone and swiping the screen with his thumb, he looked to see if perhaps he had somehow missed the telltale tone of a new message. He hadn't.

"Three times was a bit worrisome but four would be grounds for a restraining order, brother," Liam said, sitting down at the table across from him. "Stop batting this about in your head. She's probably sleeping in or busy with that son of hers. Plus she's got Elsa and Anna's work she's trying to get recorded. The woman's too busy to hold your hand and tell you that she fancies you after the way you have behaved."

Like a child caught with his hand reaching for a sweet, Killian dropped the phone with a thud on the table. "You sound pretty sure of yourself. Had such a good chat on the way back from Boston that you know her now?"

"It was quite enlightening I'll have you know. I hesitate to share this with you, but since you're going to wear down your phone battery waiting on a reply and go grey headed with worry, I'll spill. Emma wasn't planning on asking you to babysit her son. She was asking you to join her at that club in Boston. She was asking you on a date, little brother. You jumped in to volunteer to babysit and she assumed you were rejecting her and being polite about it at the same time."

"Bloody hell," he muttered, slapping his hand to his face. "I'm a true git."

"Aye, but she seems to like you a smidge anyway. So wait on her to reply or do something drastic. I have my own lass to woo."

***AAA***

Liam had to admit that the tip Granny had given him about Elsa preferring classic and simple had come in handy. That was how they ended up at the little Italian restaurant, sitting in a corner booth, watching the subdued crowd of diners in the dim lighting.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, saw the way she swirled the red wine in her glass, wondered if she had any idea just how sexy that move was. Probably not, he decided, since she was doing it so absently.

"So, Liam, tell me all about yourself," she surprised him by asking. It wasn't so much the question as it was the fact that she was speaking first. So far their conversation had been a bit one sided.

"All…," he hesitated a moment, took a drink of his beer, then continued. "I was born, I grew up, I moved here and became the man you see today."

Elsa gave him an annoyed but elegant snort, softening her displeasure with a smile.

"Cute, Jones, real cute. I'm serious; tell me something about yourself."

She wasn't sure why, but she'd suddenly developed an overwhelming need to know more about him beyond favorite colors and where he went to school before. Not that she hadn't been curious before, it just hadn't been something she'd thought to ask about on the drive over. But after she had seen him call his brother and encourage him to just do something to get Emma's attention, she'd begun to feel that prickly urge to question him.

They stared at each other, gazes locked as Elsa waited for him to begin. Finally, he gave in with a deep sigh.

"Fine, fine, fine, everything you ever wanted or needed to know about Liam Jones in two paragraphs or less," he said. "I was born in a town just outside of London, my mother died of cancer a few months after my brother's 14th birthday. My father must not have liked his role as a single father too much, as he left my brother and me not too long after. I have not seen him again, but my brother has and tells me that he became ill and married a woman who helped nurse him back to health. I guess he saw it as a second chance, as they named my new brother Liam, which feels a bit odd I must say. I went to a year to at the university and then joined the navy where Killian followed when he was of age. A few months ago after my latest tour ended, I decided it was time for a change and I ended up here."

Elsa raised her eyebrow and studied him, knowing there was more to his story than he was telling her. Normally she wouldn't have pushed, but tonight she was feeling reckless.

"Your father doesn't sound like much of a father," she said, watching his reaction.

Liam took a deep drink of beer, then looked away from her to stare blankly out at the restaurant. This was a bit of a heavy conversation for a first date, but for some reason the words were coming faster than he could bat them away.

"No, he doesn't, and I don't think he has since I started crawling," he answered. "I think that was always the case with me. Even when I was a young lad and not even in school yet, he didn't quite trust me. Don't ask me why my dad doesn't trust me; hell, he doesn't even really like me. I stopped trying to figure out what his problem was a long time ago."

Probably too damn much like his old man, Elsa thought, but kept her mouth shut. Liam was one of those stubborn, willful people who didn't give up control easily, and if his father was the same way, then the house would have been a battleground. And a war zone for a home was something she understood all too well.

"What about you, Elsa? What's your story?" Liam questioned, pinning her with his bright blue eyes.

"My, curious tonight, aren't you?" she asked, taking a sip of wine while she stalled.

"Hey, I'm just returning the favor."

The waiter stopped at the table, giving her another moment of reprieve while he placed their dinner in front of them. They ate in silence for a moment, enjoying the heavy sauces and spicy fillings of their dishes.

"So, I'm open for dissection, but you're not," Liam stated, studying her. "That's not very fair, Elsa."

She gave a soft, quick sigh, then laid her fork across her plate. She knew there was no way out of this, short of ignoring him, or trying to change the subject. Neither tact would work with Liam, and she knew it.

"All right, everything you ever wanted to know about me in two paragraphs or less," she said, returning his phrase. "I was born nine months to the day of my parents wedding. They never really had time together without being thrust into being parents. So I spent most of my time in boarding schools and special camps and classes while they worked on their marriage. By the time my little sister came along it must have been easier for them, but the damage was already done. They passed away a few years ago and my sister begged me to come live here with her. So home I came with a degree in musical theatre performance and no plan for what to do next."

Liam watched her tightly controlled expression, his mind quickly conjuring up the image he'd had of her as a child in pigtails. She must have been a damn cute kid; why she had not felt that her parents wanted her was a mystery to him.

"And where did you go to school?" he asked, lofting up one of the easier questions of the night.

"Tulane," she said, breaking off a piece of bread that she dunked into her sauce. "I arrived in Louisiana during a great time to check it out."

"Mardi Gras," he concluded. "Was Louisiana a conscious choice, or did you just run out of gas there?"

"I don't run out of gas. I'm more of a planner than that," she said with a smile. "Not that I wouldn't have stayed any way; I mean, come on, it is Mardi Gras."

"A time to sin and be forgiven for it," Liam commented, scooping up another cannelloni as he watched her.

***AAA***

"I don't mind," David Nolan said to Emma an hour later. "Mary Margaret was wanting to try that new restaurant she saw on television and so we took a little trip to Boston. Henry swiped your key and gave it to me."

"My kid is getting pretty good at that," Emma laughed, dumping a bit of salt into the pot with the boiling water and pasta. "I don't know who he gets that from me or Neal."

"Either way he comes by it honestly," David assured her. "So we're going to have dinner, maybe go dancing or catch a movie, spend the night at this bed and breakfast that she found, and then we'll have the car back to you by late morning. You're okay without it? Mary Margaret said she left her spare keys in that plant by the steps. You can use her car if you need to so." He always sounded so protective and fatherly that Emma had on occasion almost called him dad. It was nice to have someone look out for her.

"I appreciate it," Emma said, giving the pasta another stir. "Now go and enjoy yourself. I've got a Netflix marathon and some fattening carbs planned for the evening. Maybe even a large glass of wine."

She had no sooner dropped the phone back to the counter when she heard the incessant buzz of her doorbell. Her first reaction was to ignore it, as it was probably someone looking for one of her neighbors. She had few friends who wouldn't call first and none who would just drop by on a Saturday night. Blaming it on curiosity, she grabbed her phone and headed to the door with the thought that she could always call 911 if things got too rough with whoever it was.

Killian stood there in front of her. A canvas bag looped over his left elbow and his right hand had just left the door buzzer to scratch behind his ear. His smile was a bit crooked, but widened as he saw her.

"I didn't want to text again since you didn't seem to be answering," he said with a sheepish expression. "Bloody impersonal technology to be honest."

"I was sleeping when you texted me," she answered, not moving to let him in or push him away. "I was ignoring everyone and then it seemed rude to jump in a conversation that was over hours ago."

"Aye, you appear to overthink things as I do." Lifting his left arm higher, he gestured to the bag. "I brought a bottle of wine so we could have that drink. I know I said I would take you out for it, but I thought after you didn't answer that maybe you didn't wish to be seen with me."

Shifting from one foot to the other, she finally stepped backwards and waved him inside. "Maybe we can do the out in public thing later," she suggested. "I was just finishing up some spaghetti. Could I get you some?"

He was trying not to be obvious as he looked about the main room of her apartment, at last settling his eyes on her. Gone were her heels and skater dress. She was gorgeous, her long hair now tucked up in a ponytail, her round ass tight in her jeans, her ample breasts outlined by the clinging material of her shirt. "I was hoping for a drink, but lucked into a dinner invitation," he mused. "I should let you ignore my texts more often."

"Don't count your lucky stars until you taste it," she said, walking toward the kitchen. "But I will say that I don't do jarred sauces."

She wondered if he would follow her into the narrow room where she stood inspecting the bubbling pot of red sauce. It only took him a moment to follow suit, offering to pour them both a glass of wine while they waited for dinner to be complete. She thanked him for the offer, as she admitted she usually shredded the cork and ended up ruining the taste and look of the drink.

He was in the midst of holding the bottle with his left arm and stabbing the cork with the opener in his right hand when she approached him. "I have a better idea," she said, removing the bottle from his grip and setting it on the black and white counter. "I hold and you unscrew it."

He followed her lead and then poured the liquid into the two glasses that she fished out and held up for him. "Most people either think I can't do things with only one hand or they ignore it all together and let me struggle."

She held her glass near her chest and lifted her shoulders casually. "I guess I don't know that I've ever thought about it, but I also didn't want you to have to see a chiropractor because I refused to offer to hold the bottle. We can all use a teammate sometimes."

He held his glass up and peered at her over the rim. "I think we might make quite a good team at that," he said.

The aroma of the sauce that she had learned from Granny filled the air and told her that it was almost time to eat. Backing away from him, she turned her attention back to the stove and was busily mixing the pasta and sauce together in a bowl before pulling out a loaf of bread to slice. When she turned to tell him it was ready, she giggled at his stance. His denim clad hip was resting against the counter and he held a plate in his hand for her to place the food upon. "Thanks, Swan," he said, adding that sports people always referred to each other by last names. "If we're going to be teammates, it is more than appropriate."

She sighed as if annoyed, lowered her eyes and shook her head. "Alrighty then, Jones, let's see the other plate. We'll do this together."

Forgoing the dining room table, which was currently covered by the pieces to Henry's science project and her notes on several new song choices, they both sat cross legged on the floor, using the front of the sofa as their back rests and the coffee table to place their food. By the second glass of wine, Emma was talking more freely about her own musical tastes and Killian admitted that he was tempted by his brother's offer to reform the band that had been so much a part of their younger days.

By the time the plates were empty and they had rejected the idea of watching a movie – too hard to get to know you during the down moments, he had said – they were both pretty content. She asked after his brother, learning that they were really the only family they had, which led to her thoughts that as adults you build your own family with friends and others that you choose.

That turned out to be the light part of the conversation, as Emma admitted she was worried about starting anything with him.

"You're Henry's teacher. I know how things work at that school. If you and I were to get involved, we would both be facing so many rumors and so much gossip."

"That bothers you?" he asked. "Truly?"

"I wish I could say that it didn't," Emma said, drawing a star pattern on the carpet with her finger. "Maybe after Henry's out of your class. Or maybe…"

"Perhaps we should just try to be friends," Killian suggested. "As you said, friends are as close as we have to family." He took a final gulp of the wine and emptied his glass. "So tell me one thing that your other friends don't know about you, Emma."

"One thing you don't know about me is that I'm an expert at Trivial Pursuit. Want to try your luck against the champ?" she asked in a taunting voice. She watched him tuck his hand into the pocket on his jeans, his eyebrows raising as he pinned her with those bright blue eyes.

"You may be the champ in your little world, lass, but here in Storybrooke, I'm the bloke to beat."

"Challenge accepted," she said, running to the bedroom closet to get the game out.

Killian watched her leave, cursing himself a thousand times. He shouldn't have come over unannounced and expected her to entertain him. He'd spent more than hour deciding to do it and even more time picking a bottle of wine. All to be relegated to the friend zone. It had started to rain with light taps of the water against the windows. While he was grateful it was rain and not snow, the one halogen lamp in the corner of the living room made the setting a little too intimate. But he certainly couldn't go now, not after he had promised to stay. He would just have to grin and bear it, he thought. She moved back into the room, a blue box in her hands.

"Okay, Killian Jones, prepare to have your butt kicked!"

Returning to her seat on the floor, they broke out the game and got to it with taunting banter that made them both laugh. An hour and a half later, Emma had to admit that Killian was indeed an excellent player. Each lacked only one color piece, and they were playfully battling like pros. "

History, for my final piece," Killian said, turning an amused sneer to his opponent. His wine glass was long empty.

"Okay," she answered, reaching for a card. She laughed, covering her mouth to prevent a giggle fit.

"What?" Killian asked in a demanding voice. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she replied, waggling her eyebrows with less grace than he displayed. "Here's your question. Which was the final country to agree to the Geneva Convention?

Killian sat back, disbelieving the question. "Bloody hell, you made that up," he accused.

"I most certainly did not," she said, trying to sound indignant, her free hand curling around the back of the card.

Killian shot his hand out, wiggling his fingers. "Let me see the question, love," he said.

"No way," she responded, pulling the card closer to her chest, "the answers right underneath it. You'll cheat.

He gave her a mockingly hurt look. "You don't trust me not to cheat?"

"Nope, she said, grinning in triumph.

"That's it," he said, bounding up. "You're the one who's cheating, Emma Swan. Give me that bloody card!"

Emma jumped up, too, the card still in her hand. "No way!" she laughed, taking off behind her couch. Killian pursued her, chasing around the dining area and back around the couch, each hopping over the game board. He finally caught her on the other side of the sofa, leaping on her and pushing her over the armrest.

"Give it over, Swan!"

"Uh-uh!" She stretched her hands over her head, trying to keep the card out of his reach. They locked eyes, at the same moment both realizing their position.

God, she was so warm underneath him, Killian thought. Her body felt magnificent, her face was glowing from their chase, her breath coming in deep spurts. Her mouth trembled, her tongue shot out to wet her lips. There were a thousand reasons not to do it, but he couldn't remember even one of them right now. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, giving her a chance to turn away. She didn't.

She watched as he moved closer, her heart racing with feelings she didn't even know she had. When his lips closed on hers, she simply imploded. The kiss, for all its gentleness, bumped her world off its axis, spinning her into oblivion. There was only Killian, the feel of his muscular body, the touch of his lips, then, shockingly, the abrasive touch of his tongue on hers. She felt herself open to him, knew her body was quickly melting into his, and she gladly gave control over to the emotions swimming through her body.

Killian didn't even try to control the kiss, he let Emma lead him, let her body and mouth tell him where to go. And where she took him was paradise. The fire that had started burning with that first look burst into electric flames, the heat coursing through his blood. He felt his body quicken, knew they would both lose control if he didn't stop this sweet torture. Slowly, carefully, he pulled away from her, watching her clouded eyes open and focus on him.

"Oh," she said on an exhaled breath.

He stroked her face softly, needing to keep her mind on him. "Emma," he said quietly, "I didn't mean to do that."

Emma watched him, felt his gentle touch. She should be offended by what he just said, she thought vaguely, but she was not. He had said it with caring and ease, with no malice. She responded in kind. "Maybe not, but I don't regret it." Her voice had been just as quiet as his.

He bent down and gave her a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he answered, "no regrets. We had a wonderful evening together, and we ended it in a mutually pleasing way even if it is a bit more than I planned. It was…"

"A one time thing."

He gave her a tender smile, then pulled them both off the couch. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and delicately traced her jaw line. "I'll concede the game, this time, love," he said with a smile, "but next time I won't go so easy on you."

She looked up at him, grateful for the reassurance of their continued friendship if nothing else. "You're on, Killian," she answered, her voice still soft. She watched him walk out of the door, then plopped down on the sofa. It was going to be a long night.

Killian stood on the other side of the door, his heart hammering in his chest. It hadn't been easy, God knew, but he had walked away. What he had felt when he touched her wasn't just lust; no, that would have been simple. There was something more, something there he couldn't quite name, something that scared the hell out of him. If he were a smart man, he'd just stay away from her. But she had looked at him with those wounded eyes, needing to know she hadn't lost a friend, and, just like every other time, he couldn't say no. He had left as quickly as he could, with her taste and smell still surrounding him, cruelly taunting him.