Happy Father's Day! We're going to do a little bit of a time jump from late March to June in our story right now. Here's hoping that will make sense as the story continues. Thanks so much for reading and enjoying this little tale.

Fair warning…Neal's not really likeable in this fic. He rarely is in any of my stories, as he reminds me too much of my ex. When I write dialogue for him it always comes out like my ex used to say things. I don't have enough therapy to do that often so just fair warning. Neal will always come off like a jerk when written by me. No offense meant to anyone who likes the character or to the actor who I have liked in other things.

"Lift your wrists a bit higher," Killian instructed there in the living room of the cottage that he owned. "It will help your reach tremendously."

The windows in the great room were open to allow the cool breeze from the sea to trickle in and mix with the scent of leather and old wood that made the place home. It was just the start of summer in the sleepy little Maine town, leaving behind the bitterness of the winter chill and not yet the heat of the year. Henry was sitting on the piano bench, chewing at his bottom lip as he again spread his fingers across the keys and tried to implement his teacher's suggestions.

School was out for the year, which had resulted in a few arguments and compromises for Henry and Emma. Piano lessons from Killian (something his teacher had offered) were a respite for days spent with Granny while Emma was working. There were weekly visits and getaways with Neal too, but Henry had not been as anxious to begin those as he knew that many would involve wedding plans with Tamara. There were only so many tuxedo fittings that a kid could take before he was begging for other activities. He had his honor band practice too, having achieved the rank of second chair in the trumpet section. There was creative writing camp at the library and his math tutoring sessions too. All in all Henry was a busy young man.

"Sounding much better," Liam said, entering the house with a chipper smile on his face. Balancing two bags of groceries on his arm and a stack of mail in his hand, he kicked the door shut and shattered Henry's concentration. That earned him a frown from his brother, who squeezed Henry's shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially toward his student.

"Liam wouldn't know the difference in a right note and a wrong one on the piano. The bloke often skipped out on our piano lessons as a child."

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Liam dropped the bags on the counter. "The old lass was just keeping us out of mum's hair. She drank like a sailor on leave and smelled of moth balls and lineament. She was half deaf and most definitely blind. She mixed the two of us up and called us by the names of children who had long since grown up and moved away." He shook his head at the memory. "I would go down to the store at the corner and buy candy. When mum asked after my lessons, the woman couldn't remember that I hadn't been there and said I was performing brilliantly."

"He could barely manage to pound out a few scales," Killian interceded. "Even with more practice he would have been terrible."

Henry's hands were still hovered over the piano keys, but he watched the two brothers argue with interest. They exchanged tough words with one another, but there was still a soft affection between the two that was clearly visible. Liam called his brother a name, but still poured sodas for both him and Henry and carried them over. He also affectionately bumped up against Killian and noted that his brother was always the more serious one when it came to music and performing.

"He has a gift for it," Liam mused to the young boy as if Killian wasn't there. "Bloody shame he wastes it on being a teacher." With that Liam disappeared into the room that was now his, his phone in his hand and the items he had procured at the store still sitting on the counter. Rather than call him back to put the frozen and cold items away, Killian stood and began the task himself.

"Do you regret it?" Henry asked, his chin resting on his folded hands and arms. "Being a teacher rather than a musician."

"I rather think I am still a musician," Killian answered. "Just because I teach others doesn't mean I'm not capable of it." He looked over his shoulder to see that Henry seemed to be chewing on that answer. "My brother hasn't always been chasing this dream of performing. He was in the navy and served quite a while. The thing about music or any passion or dream is that you must temper it with reality. When I lost my hand, I couldn't play the guitar or even the piano in the same way. I realized that if I wanted music to be a part of my life that I had to go about it another way. Your mum doesn't perform or write music, but she's certainly very involved in it. So what I'm trying to say, lad, is that careers and passion for something don't always look the way we think they will. That is neither good nor bad."

Henry continued to think about that. "I bet if you wanted to sing professionally, my mom could find a way to make that happen. She's got this one guy who sucked at playing the guitar but he could sing. She finally told him that it was give up the guitar or no contract." More on reflex, Henry dropped a coin into the cup that Killian extended. Emma had been on him to give up such language as the word sucked, but it was a hard habit to break.

"I think your mother has enough fledglings to worry over without me making a fool out of myself with that," Killian remarked. His features softened considerably as he took a seat on the stool next to Henry. "I'm not unhappy with my career or life. Is that what this is about?"

Henry didn't answer right away, looking off toward the windows and sighing. "I guess I just wondered. Your brother is working on recording. My mom is always busy with one of the acts she is helping. I just wondered if maybe you thought about doing some of that instead of being just a teacher."

Killian felt a pain in his stomach as though he had been punched. There was no real way to describe how utterly useless he felt in that moment, remembering similar conversations when he had told his brother of his plans. He wanted to be careful though, as Henry was his student. "I enjoy teaching, Henry. It isn't about me settling or hoping to do something else. I enjoy it. And that is what matters."

"I just thought that maybe…"

"Henry, is there some reason you think that I don't?"

That must be it, he thought as he watched Henry shift on the stool. Something had made the boy think that this was just a temporary or placeholder type job for him. "Well, my dad said that most people who teach for a living are wanting to do something else. They are just afraid to do it. I thought if you were afraid that my mom could help you because she's good at that sort of thing. And she knows about music and talent and stuff. It's okay to ask her."

That was probably the kindest thing that Killian had ever had a student want to do for him. However, he also felt anger toward Neal for suggesting that Killian's whole heart wasn't with his students. The man's father ran a school. Did he really think that all teachers were aching for more? "You don't have to worry about that. Henry, I'm happy being a teacher. I enjoy getting to know my students. I love watching them grow and become musicians or whatever it is they want to be. When you made second chair in the honor band, I was so happy for you and proud because maybe I had a little to do with your success. That's more important to me than playing music in night clubs and recording music for the internet. I promise you that I am not bored with teaching or my students in the slightest. It's not an either or proposition for me. I simply have my life and my brother has his. We are not similar in that way."

Considering that, Henry looked down at the fine grain on the wood floors. "That's good," he finally conceded with a reluctant glance back at the piano. "I like having you as a teacher. I guess we better get back to it."

Killian raised his hand to his right jaw and scratched at the junction where his stubble met the smoothness of his neck. "I think we may have had enough practice for today. Perhaps we should take a stroll for some ice cream. Your mother mentioned having me over for dinner with the two of you and I thought we might pick up a pint of her favorite. What do you say?"

There was no hesitation before Henry agreed, leaving behind the piano and talk of settling for a discussion of rocky road versus turtle tracks.

***AAA***

"Elsa I need you not to look at the camera," the news producer instructed with a bored tone. "You look like a shifty politician when you do that. Look right at the reporter who asked you the question, okay?" The woman was wearing a black suit with bright orange lipstick, giving off the impression that she was an overly made up duck. It was all that the blonde could do not to quack her acceptance of the instructions.

"You're doing fine," Emma said a little more gently from behind the woman, making a funny face for a split second. "Just pretend the camera isn't there. It's a conversation between you and this reporter."

The producer snorted and leaned back toward the cameraman, whispering something that Elsa couldn't here. "Okay, we're going to try this again. If we can't get it, I think we'll have to move on."

Even Anna looked uncomfortable and darted her eyes away from the blinking lights of the camera that seemed much closer than the bored looking reporter. She smoothed her hair and gave a thumbs up sign to Emma that she was ready despite her wavering smile. Elsa was another story, appearing colder and much more closed off than her sister. The producer had started counting the reporter down when Emma brushed past her with a tissue in hand and pretended to blot a bit of Elsa's makeup.

"Just a conversation about the music, okay?" she whispered, squatting next to the woman. "Let Anna take most of the questions. That's fine. You talk about the duet with Liam and the upcoming show at the Palladium. Everything else is gravy."

Drawing in a shaking breath and letting it out slowly, Elsa nodded her head and let some of the color return to her cheeks. "I hate this," she hissed to Emma as the woman stood to head back to the corner.

"No, you don't," Emma returned without even looking over her shoulder.

Later that evening with the bottle of red wine that he had brought over nearing completion and the townhome that the sisters shared quiet from a lack of Anna, Elsa sighed loudly as he rewound the dvr again to watch the interview. "I look fat," she complained, slapping her hand on her stomach that showed no excess of weight at all. "And my nose looks too long."

"I won't have you insulting my taste in women," Liam protested as he pressed play. "I think you look beautiful, sexy as hell in that outfit, and adorable when you give Anna that look." He pressed pause and the picture on the screen froze with Anna's mouth wide open and Elsa looking like a cross between interested and homicidal as she gazed at her sister. "Okay maybe not that moment, but there were some adorable moments, darling. And you spoke very highly of working with me." He smiled broadly, folding his free arm behind his head with pride. "All in all I think you did brilliantly."

Elsa reached over and snatched the remote with 1,200 buttons away from him. "Liam, I can't believe you can say that. I forgot the name of the song we sang. It just flew right out of my head. Did you hear me stutter? I was like a child at the spelling bee without a clue. It was awful."

"If I was the judge, I would have given you the benefit of the doubt, darling. You would have been an adorable little speller." Lifting his head off the back of the couch, he swung himself over to kiss her, only to be stopped by her hand. "I've done something?" he asked against her splayed fingers on his lips.

"Guilty conscience?" She gave him a sort of snorting laugh. "No, I just wanted to apologize. I'm kind of hard on you when I feel insecure. If I was alone right now there would be ice cream with the wine and I'd be watching this through my fingers over my eyes or with my mouth covered by a pillow. So before I dissect it again, I just wanted to say thank you. Not only are you a fantastic duet partner, but you're kind of a great cheerleader."

"I'd say that was a compliment," he told her, sounding fake in his disbelief. "You're surely not…"

Pulling her hand away from his mouth, she tugged on his collar. "Oh quit the teasing and just kiss me."

***AAA***

"It was Killian's idea," Henry said in between enthusiastic licks of the spoon. "He said we should get you ice cream."

"Was it?" Emma asked, knowing full well that while her son was caring and loving, he would not have thought of such a thing. These twice weekly dinners had become quite a thing for the trio, sharing a meal on the floor in the living room instead of the dining table. Since it was summer they had added movies to the list of activities or sometimes a board game. But lately it had been the series of Star Wars movies, which Henry had thought Killian should see. Nobody had the heart to tell Henry that everyone already had seen them. On one evening when such a dinner was planned Emma had been called away for a work emergency. She'd come back to find that her son and Killian were enjoying the Empire Strikes Back and handed her a bowl of popcorn to join them.

"Mutual decision," Killian supplied with a wink that left Henry wondering.

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Emma said, settling herself against Killian's shoulder so that they could begin the movie while there was still ice cream to be had, "you both thought of it together."

"Oh."

"Aye, we came to an accord. I suggested ice cream and you supplied the right flavor information. It was a two man job after all." Killian had to explain the meaning of accord, but the movie was starting a few minutes after that.

When Emma asked as the opening credits rolled what they would be watching after the Star Wars movies had all be played, Henry suggested the Pirates of Caribbean franchise, earning a groan from the two adults who felt that his new obsession with all things sea related after a few trips out on Killian's boat was too much. Henry even suggested that Killian could pass as a pirate with the stubble he had and encouraged his teacher and mother's friend to give it a go with an eye patch or a hook for a hand, who in turn threw a pillow at his young student. Emma tried to miss the pillow fight and protect her bowl of melting ice cream only to get smacked right next to her pony tail with a throw pillow from a laughing Killian.

"Are you 12?" she asked incredulously, feeling the cold as a bit of the melted ice cream sloshed out and hit her chest. "Picking a pillow fight with an actual 12 year old?"

Killian's answer was cut off by Henry bombarding them with the body pillow that Emma had lined the back of a wooden bench with for comfort. Giving a sort of kamikaze yell, the boy gave Killian enough time to defend himself and Emma and sent them all tumbling to the ground with laughter.

"I'm sure my neighbors are loving this," Emma said, trying her best not to show too much approval at her son's breathless and endless giggles and the way that Killian's hair was sticking out on end and his smile was bigger than ever. He gave her a suggestive eyebrow waggle to indicate he could remember times when Henry wasn't there that they had been plenty loud, but she ignored it and snapped the remote up off the floor. "Alright, children, we're having movie time. Everyone keep your hands to yourself."

There were still a few gasps of laughter from Henry as he settled back and watched the opening credits restarted anew. And a bit of a grunt from Killian when Emma leaned against him and tugged his arm over her shoulders so she was more comfortable. "I thought we were keeping our hands to ourselves," he whispered, not pulling away in the slightest.

"Shut up, pirate."

***AAA***

Liam sighed with an exaggerated groan, his guitar resting on his legs as he arched his back and threw his hands and arms over his head with the effort. To his dismay Killian was not paying attention to him, instead reading from some thick book that seemed to have the tiniest print he'd ever seen. It was a bit childish, but Liam threw out another embellished groan of displeasure and half collapsed against the cushions.

"Anything the matter?" Killian asked indulgently, not even looking up from the page. "Because it seems to me that you aren't getting much writing done."

"I'm having a moment over here," Liam groused. "And you aren't paying attention."

Rolling his eyes, Killian moved at a glacial pace as he stuffed a long leather book mark in between where he was reading and smoothed the cover over with his hand. "I didn't mean to ignore you, brother, but you failed to tell me this was a bit of performance art. I was simply trying to do a bit of reading. Something I would be doing in my office if it still existed."

The guitar hit the rug with a dull thud. "Bloody hell, Killian. Are you going to hold that over my head for eternity? I got a job at the Rabbit Hole serving bar a few nights a week. The band is making progress. If I'd known you had qualms about my living here, I'd have found another place weeks ago."

Not appearing sorry in the least, Killian rested an ankle on his knee and waited patiently for his brother to quit grumbling and get to the point. When he didn't, Killian gave his own sigh in retribution. "Have I asked for a bit of rent money? No. I know that you wish to pursue this career. I have done all I can to welcome you. I didn't even kill you when you walked in on Emma and me the other night."

"You didn't need to. She nearly took my head off with that punch she threw," Liam countered, rubbing the side of his face where the dark bruise had turned a greenish brown. "Regina right nearly killed her after she saw the damage. Some mess about photos and make up costs."

"And that has you throwing your tantrum? I mean moment."

Ignoring the fact he had been trying to get his brother's attention, Liam gestured toward the chicken scratch handwritten page of notes on the table. "I can't get these lyrics to gel correctly," he said. "I've tried it half a dozen ways, but it all sounds forced and doesn't flow like it should."

Killian made no effort to move toward the notes, barely glancing at them in interest. "And I am being allowed the privilege of witnessing this little tantrum because…"

"I need your help, brother. Okay? I admit it. I need your assistance right now."

He could have snapped back with some comment about sneaking into his private journal and stealing, but he didn't. There was no joking on such matters, as the wounds were still pretty raw. "Where is it failing?"

It took nearly three hours before the chorus was what Liam had been hoping it would be, both brothers reasonably satisfied with the result. Liam would strum the guitar and Killian sing a few bars before making more notes and trying a section again. Each of them seemed stunned that there was little fighting. As they sat there in the waning light of the day, beers open and the guitar sitting between them, Killian frowned and inspected the instrument more carefully.

"Is this…is this mine?" he asked, confused since Liam's guitar was much newer and more expensive. "What the hell?"

Grimacing under his brother's wary scrutiny, Liam gingerly fingered the strap. "I borrowed it," he explained, not forgetting how he had borrowed other things over the years. "See, Robin borrowed mine and I needed to finish this song. If I had asked Elsa…well, I would never have finished. And you don't play any longer so I thought…"

"I didn't realize it was still here," Killian said. His hand was pulled back in an effort not to even touch the wooden instrument or strings. The familiar vibration of it had called to him, but he had ignored it until just that moment. "Wait! Why did Robin need yours? He doesn't play."

"He's been learning. Seems he wanted to show off a bit and serenade Reg…his girlfriend."

"I'm guessing that Reg would be Regina Mills. Either that or we have been wrong about Robin all these years and he's seeing Reginald?" He laughed when his brother reddened at being caught divulging what had been a secret for weeks.

"You can't tell Emma," Liam implored. "Regina made Robin promise, as she has a bit of an issue with her staff shagging the talent. I was told in confidence. Don't make me look like more of an arse than I already do."

"I'm not sure I can stop a speeding train, brother, but we'll see. Now run and tell Elsa you've finished after you've email Emma your new creation. She's likely waiting for it."

Looking a bit tired from the ordeal of writing, Liam nodded. "Should I tell her that you…"

"I wouldn't expect that," Killian answered. "I helped my brother. There is no professional courtesy expected or needed."

***AAA***

Henry threw the balled up socks into the bag on his bed and waited as his mother thumbed through the clothes hanging in his closet. He'd already heard the lecture that he was letting the room get way too messy and didn't want to hear more.

"It's just a weekend camping trip with your dad," she repeated to him, throwing a shirt in his direction that he didn't bother to catch. When she eyed him with that silent mother stare, he grumbled a bit and picked it up off the floor. "You've been avoiding him pretty well so far this summer, but it's father's day weekend. So no more excuses."

"You said hanging out with her was my choice." Emma had understood when her son explained that Tamara's words had hurt deep. Though she had encouraged him to talk to his father about the issue and setting the record straight, he'd not yet done it. She had even offered to have Neal over so that the three of them could discuss it together.

"She's not exactly the camping type. I doubt she'll be there, but we can call your dad and see." That was something that Emma could understand – feeling rejected or left out. She hurt inside to think that her son felt that even a little. It was Killian who had pointed out that while the words Tamara had used were hurtful, Henry was still a lucky boy to have so many people who adored and loved him. Emma stepped back from the closet with a pair of jeans in her hands. Softening her expression from lecturing mom, she smiled sympathetically. "Henry, I promise you that if Tamara is there or if Neal says anything that makes you angry, just call me. I'll come pick you up in a heartbeat. I promise."

Henry didn't smile back at his mother, stuffing one of his new comic books in his bag. "You'll be spending the weekend with Killian. I don't think you want me to crash that."

"I don't think of it that way at all," Emma said, taking two strides to be in front of him. Lifting his chin up with her fingers, she waited until he blinked at her. "Killian is a pretty big fan of yours. You know he prefers watching movies with you over me. You know what's going on during them and it takes me a minute to catch on."

One side of Henry's mouth lifted up incredulously. "Mom, he's my teacher. He's supposed to be nice to kids. It's his job."

"Maybe so, but it doesn't stop the fact that the other day when he and I were out at a theater he refused to see one of the shows because he thought you would enjoy it if we brought you along. I still say you've got a big fan there." She placed a kiss to his forehead. "So you'll be off in the woods with your dad and I'll be here trying to find things to do with Killian that he wouldn't rather include you in on. We'll both have a great time."

Okay so she exaggerated a bit. She was looking forward to a whole weekend with Killian and no child. But she wasn't about to scar her son with that information or itinerary. There was certainly a concern about Henry being away with Neal for a couple of days, especially with the unspoken issue of rejection still in the air.

"Can I call and check in?" Henry asked, his voice cracking a bit from emotion. "I don't mean a lot. I just mean…"

"I would like that. But I promise, you're going to have a great time." She didn't add that she would kick Neal's butt if he didn't.

***AAA***

To his credit he didn't bring Tamara when he picked Henry up, wrapping his son in a bear hug and asking if he had remembered everything. There was the standard lecture that there were no stores where they were going to which Emma and Henry rolled their eyes simultaneously. The Storybrooke Campgrounds were exactly two miles outside of town. Granny was known to have the staff deliver there if called.

"You brought your game?" Neal asked. "Henry we're doing the primitive site. There's no charger."

Looking a little embarrassed, Henry gave a shrug and ran back up the stairs.

"Don't be hard on him this weekend, okay?" Emma asked, folding her arms over her chest. "He's a little sensitive about things lately."

"Emma, I'm great with the kid. I don't know what you've been saying to him though. He seems almost scared of me. Did you tell him something that I need to combat?" He was leaning up against a late model sedan that looked more like something his father would own than him. She almost asked if that was supposed to be a sign of his maturity, but she resisted.

"Henry's not coping with the whole you getting married thing. He feels a little left out." She didn't want to divulge all of Henry's reasons, but she also knew that Neal's strength was not his sense of perception. "Just be careful, okay?"

Neal huffed and stuck out his chest a little. "My son is a part of my life. A big part. I don't think I need a lecture about balancing that from you when you are sneaking around with his teacher."

"Nobody is sneaking around, Neal. And that is different. I'm not talking about marrying…"

"Oh that's what this is. You think that I moved on too fast. You think that Henry is resenting the time I'm spending with Tamara. I'll have you know, Emma, that Tamara's great. We really click and she's going to be a great mother to Henry." His cheeks sucked in as if he had tasted something sour. "This isn't the time, but I thought maybe we should have a talk about visitation. Henry should be with me more. My dad and Tamara agree."

Emma was glad that she had crossed her arms, as it gave her a bit of support for not punching Neal in the jaw. "You're right about one thing. This isn't the time to talk about it. And don't go dragging Henry into that discussion either this weekend. He doesn't need that stress of knowing we still can't agree on anything." The words had barely left her mouth when the door sounded and Henry rejoined them on the sidewalk. In an uncharacteristically affectionate move for a 12 year old he threw his arms around his mother and buried his face in her shoulder.

"I'll miss you."

She smiled, peeling him off of her and cupping his cheek that felt warm and soft to her fingers. "You're going to have a great time. And you're going to call if you don't. Nothing to worry about."

***AAA***

"I have to admit that I miss the lad myself," Killian said over dinner that night. "But being alone with you isn't bad either." The mischievous glint in his eyes was indicative of his teasing nature, but it was met with a blank stare from Emma. "Are you okay, Emma?"

She sort of shrugged, dragging her fork across her plate. Lifting it to her mouth, she realized that it was empty and frowned at it as though the fork had done something wrong. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not, he said, sliding his chair a bit closer to hers. "Love, you can tell me. This is more than missing Henry. He's not more than a few miles away. If you would like we could take a little hike in the woods and see him."

She shook her head, looking at the plate that was still piled high with lobster and saffron risotto and baked fish so tender that it flaked off with a mere touch of her fork. It had been her idea that they have dinner some place she wouldn't normally taken Henry. There were no greasy bags or arcade games in the corner. People didn't seat themselves and there were no napkin dispensers. The menu had no kids' section. "I'm sorry. I'm ruining our night."

"No, you're fine, love. I am just concerned about you. A man's ego is a fragile thing. I sort of hoped that you might be as happy as I am to be sharing this meal with you." He touched his fork to his plate and waited for her. "Talk to me, Swan."

"Neal said something that got to me," she admitted, hating to even bring up his name. "He basically said I was jealous that he was moving on with Tamara."

Killian didn't flinch at the idea like she thought he might. The memory of him meeting August and the audible sigh when her author friend had taken off that night with a side hug and a promise to email and call more often was still fresh in her. The way he had kissed her that night after August had left, a desperate and restrained sort of thing that seemed to indicate he didn't want to come on too strong and didn't want to scare her away. However, it had been raw and exposed a truth to his feelings that they had not really spoken of yet. "You don't strike me as the jealous type."

"I should hope not. It's been more than a decade since he and I…"

"I have no doubt that you are hard to forget, love. But I do think that it is simply wishful thinking on his part that you might have any interest in his engagement other than out of concern for your son. Unless you have a secret side to you that I have yet to uncover, I would call his claims to the contrary groundless."

She smiled back almost shyly as he lifted his glass in a mock salute toward her and took another sip. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I think Neal might be right in some ways. I'm not jealous in a way that I want to be back with him. That ship has sailed and sunk. No, I think it is a bit that I'm jealous he gets to lead that life. He gets a fiancé and soon to be wife who hates kids. Yet he has no problem with that because he only sees Henry occasionally. I have never doubted that Neal loves Henry, but he's not exactly the most involved father ever. And now he is doing it again. He wants his new wife and their life to be just as they want and to hell with the rest of us. Henry's supposed to adapt because he's a kid without a choice. And I'm supposed to sit back and watch my son feel like he is being overlooked because Neal wants to be happy with Tamara."

"It is a rotten situation," Killian agreed.

"And yes, I'm jealous. I'm jealous that while Neal and Tamara plan their dream wedding and complain that I won't cancel Henry's school related plans for him to attend on their first choice of a date, I'm at home with a son who feels like an afterthought to his father. I'm the one who has to raise him. I have help. I'm grateful for the help, but sometimes it feels unfair. And then Neal tries to turn it around on me. It's like he expects me to be this mom robot, knowing I'm going to fail at it. And when I do fail he seems all too pleased with himself." She swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "I know that nobody can 'make' you feel anything that you aren't already feeling, but I feel guilty. I feel like I should concentrate on being Henry's mom and not try to be happy in other ways. Then I feel guilty for telling you that because you make me happy and don't deserve to have me whining about it."

He let her take a sip of her wine and dab at her mouth with the napkin before he reached out to her hand, caressing it softly in a way that almost tickled with the light touch. "You're hardly whining about it, love. And truthfully I would be more shocked if you said you weren't feeling guilty about having a life outside of Henry. Why do you think that offer to spend time with the both of you? I adore Henry and am very fond of you, but love, I don't want to take you away from him. I am only hoping that you make some room for me in your life if I do make you happy."

She stared a bit sadly into the glass of wine, the remnants barely rising above its curved bottom. "You do, Killian. And maybe I make you happy too?"

"More than I have been in a long time, perhaps ever, love," he assured her, lifting up her hand to touch his lips to the flesh beneath her thumb. "I can't quite imagine my life without you."

***AAA***

Ruby carried the last of the plates over to the shelf and dropped them with a clatter, rousting out a reaction from her grandmother for the first time in over an hour. "Well at least I know you're still alive," the dark haired woman said, breathing out a puff of air aimed at the hair that had fallen over her left eye. "You've been staring at that spreadsheet for an hour."

"It's called keeping the books," the woman reminded her. "You should be paying attention instead of complaining about not having a night off to go off with that little sheriff friend of yours with the funny accent."

"Graham happens to be working tonight," Ruby informed. "And I don't want to know about the books. I told you. When you decide to retire then I'll hire a manager for this place. It's not that I don't want it. I do. I just want a life too."

Granny's glasses were hanging from a beaded chain around her neck, dangling near her bosom as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "You always think it is so black and white and easy. Life isn't about either or. It's a balancing act, Ruby. You can have your fun and meet your responsibilities too."

Ruby's hands fiddled with the knot on her apron as she collapsed into the chair across from the older woman. "You say that like it's possible. You don't seem to be doing a good job of balancing it, Granny. You haven't been on a date in ages. What about Doc?"

The woman lifted her head from the grip of her extended fingers and glared at her granddaughter, forgoing the usual lectures about too much makeup and not enough material covering her body. "Doc? I'm guessing you mean that short guy who comes in here with an asinine nickname when he probably didn't even finish high school. Or do you mean that lecherous creep at the hospital who you've hooked up with a few too many times. He's not my style, especially since he bleached his hair lighter than most women. No, your grandfather and I had a good time while married but I have no interest in trying to recreate it. Not at this age."

Ruby crossed her legs, the heels she had changed into for later dangling off one foot as she scrutinized her grandmother's determined expression. When the old woman got no response, she pulled a pencil out from behind her ear and drew another line on the page. "I think you haven't met the right guy."

Huffing out a grunt of superiority, Granny lifted her glasses to her eyes and kept averted from the woman across from her. "I did and he died decades ago, missy."

"So you think Doc is too short and not educated," Ruby said as if making a list to herself. "And Leroy? No, same problem with the height thing. Plus he has sort of an icky personality. Too grumpy." She grabbed her own pencil and tapped it on the table in a soft rhythm. "What about Marco? He's a widower. He's tall. He's got an accent."

Granny braced her hands on the table and for a moment Ruby thought she might stand up and walk out. "That's a lesson for you," the older woman said looking over the rims of her glasses. "Never mistake an accent for a personality."

"You are kidding, right? Fine. No accents. This is really limiting me here, Granny."