Later that morning Emma sat at her desk with her travel cup of coffee balanced precariously in her hand as she flipped through the contract for Elsa's upcoming appearances. It seemed relatively standard and without some of the caveats that she had thought might cause an issue when she mentally considered options in the shower that morning. While Elsa had yet to say definitively if she was reneging from the obligation of the tour, Emma felt it necessary to arm herself fully in the pending discussion with Regina.

Stretching her boot covered feet under the desk, Emma took another sip from her travel mug and managed to place it next to her phone without spilling it everywhere. The office was relatively quiet, everyone out on assignments or in the studio that morning. A few people were answering calls – mostly unsolicited artists trying to break through into the business by making pests of themselves. She ignored those and stuffed the contract back into the folder.

She was part way through an email to the tour manager about security provision cost estimates when she heard the familiar and foreboding clack of high heels on the hallway floor. Without even looking, Emma knew them to be Regina's. While Zelena wore such heels too, her steps were usually more gliding compared to the determined march of the younger sister. Sure enough Regina's dark head poked into the office after a preceding knock.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, her arms folded and hands tucked as she stared into the much smaller office. "Are you finally going to explain this concern about Elsa? I was at the Rabbit Hole on Saturday. She can't be that upset that some fan spent a fortune on flowers for her."

"It's a bit more complicated than some flowers," Emma said, motioning for her boss to come in and sit. It would not do to cower to the woman's sense of propriety and seem weak or wishy washy. No, she had to present herself confidently and as a woman who was not going to cower. It wasn't that foreign of a concept to Emma, but one she found herself losing ground on with Regina. "Here's the sheriff's findings. He's still investigating, but you'll see there was an incident yesterday at the condo involving Liam's car."

Barely glancing at the neatly typed form from Graham, Regina held it between her finger and thumb as if it might somehow stain her double button blazer and creamy blouse. Her dark red lips pursed out. "And we're sure this is all legitimate? I know sometimes women can like to garner attention for themselves. It wouldn't be unheard of for a woman to stage such things to get the renewed affections of a wayward boyfriend."

"I doubt Graham would have missed that kind of clue," Emma insisted, not taking the document back as Regina waved it vaguely. She knew the thinly veiled comment to Regina about Graham would sting somewhat. "He's a pretty good judge of character and whatnot. And Elsa was with Liam the whole time. She couldn't have slashed his tires without his knowing."

"Maybe she had help. Her sister maybe?" Regina crossed her legs, the material of her skirt stretching tightly along the split at midthigh. "That's plausible."

Pressing a finger to where he nose met her forehead, Emma sighed. "You think that she had her pregnant sister sneak into a garage and slash three tires on a car. The same pregnant sister who has decreased her work load and schedule because of wanting to do everything right for her baby."

"I'm simply throwing possibilities out there, Ms. Swan. No need to get defensive. So you and the sheriff are sure it isn't self inflicted. What about an old boyfriend? That's not unheard of, you know. Elsa has reached a certain level of celebrity and some would assume independent wealth. I could see some man from her past hoping to benefit from a rekindled relationship." She shifted in the rounded chair, the silvery heel of her left shoe digging into the carpet enough to create an depression. "Did the sheriff not see anything odd about the fact that Elsa is receiving flowers and notes while her boyfriend gets his tires slashed. I'm not an investigator, but that just screams jealous ex to me."

Emma gave a placating smile, leaning back in her chair. "I don't know that it matters at this point. Elsa said she does not know anyone who would do such a thing. And I believe her. Graham agreed that it is most likely an obsessed fan of some kind. So that leads us to discussing security issues. I'm about to ask our IT guys and girls to take a look at the blog, social media, and message boards for anything that stands out. I was also thinking that we need to prepare our front line staff to answer questions without providing personal information that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. I also want to look at our own procedures for divulging information like travel details and dates."

The dark haired woman's chin rose slightly. "And this extra security will be coming out of the general budget?"

Expecting such a protest, Emma passed over the spreadsheet she had already printed. "There will probably be extras but this is a good estimate on the start of it. That doesn't include measures for Elsa's safety if we continue on course with the tour dates. I was also thinking…"

"Of what? Hiring a cook and housekeeping help for her? Maybe a masseuse to deal with all those pesky issues of stress from all this? A decorator so this stalker has a better looking place to wait?" Regina threw the unread report and spreadsheet on the floor. "I run a music label, Ms. Swan. This isn't a charity."

Emma was prepared for that too, knowing that Regina hated to part with money or control. "The final details will be up to you, but I just put together some numbers. I also looked at whether it might make more sense economically to pull out of the upcoming performance dates." She smiled as she held another estimate in her hands, hoping that her idea of concentrating on the monetary aspects were more likely to sway the fiscally conservative woman than simply asking permission. This would give everyone enough time to book another act if that is how we decide to go."

"She wants to back out on performances that will bring more attention to her and her music?" the woman asked coldly. "Why not? Let's not ever record, promote, or otherwise do anything that would make people think we were a label. We could make sand art and sell it at craft fairs or crochet little hats and scarfs. Would that make you happy?"

"Regina, I'm not suggesting anything. I am just presenting the possibilities." She hoped that her face was not betraying her calm voice that she was trying to keep stoic. "Elsa has a good reason to be concerned. And I'm not saying we're responsible, but a fan who is bordering on stalking is something we should be prepared to handle. I realize I haven't yet, but surely you have with your experience."

Pushing off the arms of the chair, Regina was quickly on her feet and back at the door. "Fine, we'll do something. I'll make my decision by the end of the day. I want to see the reports from these security people as soon as they come in. No editing them, Ms. Swan. I want it unfiltered."

"If you think that's best," Emma said, turning back to her computer screen. "You're the boss."

***AAA***

Mr. French's shirt was a crisp white with traces of moss and the floral scent of a man who worked all day with flowers. His calloused hand gripped Liam's tightly as he eyed the man and frowned just enough to let everyone know that he was not used to having his business interrupted by people asking questions and buying nothing.

"I don't know what else I can tell you. The guy came in here and bought the flowers, wrote the card himself. He used your name, but having never met you…"

"I've been here before," Liam groused with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. "So this guy just claims to be me and you don't question it?"

"You think he should have asked for identification? He was buying flowers not a hand gun," Graham said, tilting his head back to check out the two security cameras placed strategically. One was trained on the cash register and the other on the door. It seemed a bit much for the 14'X16' show room that was crowded with floral displays. "I know you gave us the tape, but is there anything else you remember? Did he have a limp? A tattoo? A scar? Something that would distinguish him in any way?"

Liam grumbled at the questions, his mind immediately thinking of different movies where the bad guy seemed to have such a trait. He certainly hoped that Graham's training went beyond watching movies and trying to imitate the men in them.

"Nothing really, the grayed man said as he brushed a bit of the cut greenery off the counter from the last sale. "Well, he did have an accent. English I guess. I don't know much about those things myself. Can't usually tell the difference, but he sounded like this guy here."

Graham wrote that down, flipping back through the worn notebook as if he was looking for something. "If you had to guess his age, what would you think?"

"Maybe 20? Maybe a little older or younger? I don't know really. I appreciate my customers but I don't typically get to know them that well. I remember his name only because he emphasized the first part and I wrote down Lee at first. He corrected me and then said that she would know who they were from so no need to use his name." He chuckled to himself, the first sign of humor in the old man. "You wouldn't believe the number of men who don't want the woman to know they are sending flowers. It's a bit like a white flag. See if she shoots or if she accepts. Most of the time women like the attention. I like to think I have a part in that."

"You're a regular cupid," Graham said with a smirk. "And so you or one or you guys dropped off the flowers at the Rabbit Hole? That afternoon?"

"I only have one guy who works for me. He dropped them off about closing time. It was the last delivery of the day."

Graham talked for a few more minutes, asking questions and even gathering information about everything from the cost of the flowers to the fact that the man had seemed oddly confused about paying cash. "He had to look at each bill two times at least," the proprietor said. "It was like he'd never seen them before."

"That was worthless," Liam muttered, sliding into the passenger seat of the cruiser. He was aware that as a private resident he had no right to tag along on the investigation. However, Graham had afforded him that privilege and seemed to not mind his doubts and concerns. "So we know the price and that he used my name."

"We know a bit more than that," Graham said, turning the wheel of the car and pointing it in the direction of the docks. "French said the guy used your name, yes, but where did he learn it? The stories I've read on Elsa don't include your name. Even when you manage to make it in a photo with her, you're identified as a companion. That would say that either, a – the guy works with Elsa and knows you, b – the guy has done his research, or c – this is about you or Elsa personally and not just a fan who has stepped over the line."

Liam could see his face reflected back in the glass as he stared at the passing landscape. His eyes were heavy and his mouth in a firm line. The stubble of his face was more in line with what Killian would wear, but he had not shaved that morning. "And how do we figure that out?"

"We find the guy and that's when we'll know."

***AAA***

"I could get used to this," Emma said when Killian arrived at her office that afternoon. She had just gotten back herself, having visited with Anna and Kris along with Elsa. Regina had yet to make any announcement of a decision, but she knew that her earlier meeting had gotten under her skin and bored its way into her head. She had just dropped her jacket on the hook at the back of the door when she heard the family lilt of his voice calling her beautiful. She'd called him on her way back to town to tell him that he and Henry were on their own for dinner. Her contract study, meeting with Regina and then the two sisters had kept her from the pending negotiation of another act and a call that she needed to make on travel arrangements for Liam and the guys. It would be late before she got home.

He had wrapped her up in a big hug, his arms around her waist and lifting her up off the ground as she smiled against his lips. Her legs kicked playfully, the leather of her boots heavy.

"If I can't convince you to leave at a reasonable hour, I can at least prevent you from starving to death," he said after another peck. "You probably have nothing in that desk other than a stick of gum and maybe a candy bar that isn't even a brand made any more."

If he had been wrong she might have pulled open the drawers to show him. Instead she pointed to the single cup maker outside the door to her office. "There's coffee."

"Hardly a sustaining meal for my love," he said, setting her down and lifting bag from Granny's up high. "This isn't the most substantial either, but you seem to appreciate the simpler things. Grilled cheese, onion rings, and a slice of pie for dessert."

She ran her tongue over her pink lips. "You know me well. You know me well." Relieving him of the bag so he could pull off his coat, she frowned and shook the bag again. "This is pretty heavy. Sure you don't have a meal for yourself in there?"

"I believe I picked up a burger and cheese fries for me. After all, your boy is currently keeping Granny company and probably being fed every greasy and fattening concoction known to man." She raised an eyebrow at him before peering into the bag. "Moderation, Swan. I can have some treats. I simply try to keep it in moderation."

"Right, right, right, you're a regular health nut." She placed the items on the small glass table that sat in front of a love seat over in the corner. "I think I'll just enjoy the treat and ignore the surgeon general warning. Besides I don't want to spend this chance to be with you on calorie counts and carbs."

It took them no time to find a comfortable position on the not so comfortable furniture. She stole cheese and bacon covered fries from him while he only managed to threaten to steal onion rings from her. Each time he mentioned it, she pulled them out of his reach defensively. The meal took a bit longer than strictly necessary, as they both managed kisses and caresses between bites.

"This won't get me out of here any earlier," she said, her stomach full and her legs stretched over his as she slumped against the cushions. "Right now I need a nap."

"You would not have accomplished much with a growling stomach either, love. And besides we needed the chance to replenish before the next crisis hits our lives. I gather Liam and Elsa will be back at the house tonight."

She nodded, her fingers smoothing the soft flannel of his shirt sleeve in an absentminded pattern. "Graham said the contractors made some suggestions for security but it has to go before the board. So I think we have guests for a few more nights at least. As competitive as you and your brother can get, I think he's more comfortable with us than at Anna's. And nobody else has the room. So we're it." She yawned slightly. "You don't mind too much, do you?"

"They are both family as far as I'm concerned. And so long as we have a door we can shut, I would estimate that we will have happy moments together." Reaching out his hand, she assumed he was about to caress the side of her face. She even tilted her head slightly to receive the affectionate gesture. Instead he pushed some of the blonde hair behind her ear. "Perhaps it will do us some good to have a house full. Might be good practice." His eyebrows raised of seemingly their own volition and her cheeks felt warm under his gaze.

"Slow down, Romeo. You do have one good idea though."

"Just one, love?"

She tilted her head coyly at him. "Maybe I can get out of here for a few minutes and pick up Henry. You've been doing the heavy lifting on his social agenda lately. I owe you more than a few."

"You know I don't mind helping you scuttle the lad back and forth. He's good company and a fine conversationalist if someone steals the batteries to that bloody handheld game of his." He smiled. "And for the record, I'm not keeping score on that any more than I noticed how many of my French fries you commandeered."

***AAA***

Emma's boots crunched the gravel beneath her as she walked from her car to the fenced area where a few other parents were waiting for their children. Appreciating for a moment that this was not currently one of Henry's more frequent after school activities, she noted the familiar comradery of the parents there and the way they all pointed to each other's children with a shared pride. When she thought about it, she was grateful that Henry's interests tended to be more in line with music, writing, and even art. She was not all that sure she wanted or was suited to the sports mom phenomenon where she would sit on bleachers and yell at umpires, referees, and even other children in support of her son. However, the men and women at the horse farm were not all that competitive and seemed much more in tune with being caring toward the growing and maturing of their children.

"You're Henry's mom?" a plump woman asked, her with her coat over her shoulders and a steaming disposable cup in her hands. "He's a cutie. You should bring him here more often."

Emma smiled her thanks, taking a spot near the wood fence and looking toward the ring where about half a dozen young teens were astride their horses. She'd never considered that as an activity for him, but Violet seemed to be a big influence in it. The young girl sat in her riding habit with perfect posture on a velvety black mare. From what Emma had learned, she was quite the horse woman and had started competing at dressage with promising results. Henry had ridden a few times, mostly at camp or on field trips, but he was nowhere as accomplished as his friend.

Henry's helmet was falling forward as he turned his head in her direction, noticing her just seconds before it covered his eyes. He pushed back on it clumsily and then seemingly realized both hands were not on the reins. Jolting a bit in the saddle, he gave her a weak smile before turning his attention to the instructor who was giving direction for Henry to lead the horse around the field in a slow walk. She could see his ribcage expand as he breathed out a sigh of relief at not being required to ride the horse in a strong gallop or trot that might have made him feel even more off balance.

She pulled out her phone and readied the camera to snap a couple of pictures as he rounded the corner nearest to her. Flashing her a nervous but toothy grin, she waved at him enthusiastically until he was past.

"They grow up so fast, don't they?" Tamara asked, startling Emma. "That's what Neal always says."

Emma nearly dropped the phone, sourness taking root in her stomach. "Did we get our wires crossed? Is Neal…"

The petite woman smiled brightly, waving her hand before her. "No, I was coming to meet him. He wanted to watch Henry ride. But he got held up at work. I was about to leave when I saw you so I thought I'd say hello." She adjusted the collar on her caramel colored jacket and squinted into the late afternoon sun. "So hello."

"Hi. I guess I owe you a thank you for watching Henry the night of my birthday." She wasn't sure what to say to the woman, knowing that she was having to share her time with her son was bad enough. "I'm sure you had other plans."

"No problem. He's great. I know we didn't get off to the best start…"

Over Tamara's shoulder Emma could see a few of the parents pretending not to listen. It was the curse of small towns that everyone knew everyone's business. "Everyone deserves a second chance. And I think he's enjoying his time more at Neal's now that you two have talked. Each time he comes back he's telling us about your wedding plans. Sounds like those are coming along well." She gripped the phone tighter, hoping it might ring and give her an excuse to answer.

"Yeah, it's all a balancing act. I've been meaning to ask. I know Neal was concerned that with the reception at the vineyard tasting room that Henry won't be allowed in because of his age. But I didn't think he'd want to attend that part. I mean, dancing, eating, and all that. I thought you and your fiancé might could take him back to the hotel or something." Her bag slipped down her shoulder and she quickly lifted the strap back in place. "I mean if you don't mind. It would solve a lot of problems."

"We'd be happy to do that," Emma said with her own flash of a smile to match the other woman. "I'm happy to spend time with my son." She knew that the arrangement would probably place doubt in Henry's head about his father's love, but she hoped it wouldn't last long.

Tamara didn't get the insult and smiled more brightly. "Awesome. I knew you'd handle it. I told Neal that you two have one of the most cooperative custody things ever. So you let us know if we can take Henry off your hands for your wedding. I know Neal wants him there and you probably do too, but you have to admit that fitting a 13 year old into a ceremony is hard work. He's shorter than the other groomsmen so it will look funny. And boys that age always look so gangly and unkempt. You're going to take him for a haircut before my wedding right? I don't want him to look bad in the photos. My parents have already worked out deals with a few newspapers to put the wedding in the style section so those photos matter. And the minister keeps asking if we want to have him as part of the vows." She groaned. "You know what I mean?"

She could feel her muscles stiffen and then pulse with anger. "You realize that 13 year old is Neal's son right? He's my son too. No matter how funny it looks, my son belongs in my wedding. Because that day isn't going to be about me in a pretty dress. It's not about Killian becoming my husband. It's not even about me adding a piece of jewelry or changing my name. It's about the fact that we are officially becoming a family. And while Neal and I have agreed on precious little over the past few years, I assure you that Neal feels the same about Henry. You're not just a bride that day. You're going to become his stepmother. You may not like that. You may want fewer strings and less baggage. But that boy…that 13 year old…he's going to become your stepson and your responsibility too. Maybe that's what you should be concentrating on rather than the style section of a newspaper."