A/N: This is is, the epilogue. thank you very much for reading this!

(The only one who could ever reach me)
He was the sweet-talkin' brother of a preacher man

A few months later

The summer was bleeding out, only a few weeks left before school started again. The weather had been slightly chilly, the summer breeze feeling stronger in the evenings. But it was nice that day, the perfect temperature for a barbeque in the backyard to celebrate a housewarming.

In reality, there had already been a housewarming. Emma and Henry had moved out of the farm and into a little cottage with a front and a backyard on the outskirts of the town at the beginning of the summer. Killian had helped moved their belongings into the house, stealing kisses from Emma whenever he could and making innuendo-laced comments about how she could pay him later with certain attentions. His goofy smile and waggling eyebrows had been so over the top that Emma had burst out laughing before she stole a quick kiss from him and sent him on his merry way to assembly Henry's new desk.

They'd come a long way since that Sunday afternoon when he'd begged her to stay, but it wasn't until Emma was settled into her new house and several more weeks passed that it suddenly hit Killian how much had happened without them even noticing.

It still felt like yesterday when Emma had whispered her first I love you against his skin. It was the first time she'd officially spent the night at his place and they were laying on the couch together after going to Sherwood for dinner, a night spent holding hands and exchanging soft kisses. He'd smiled in contentment, reaching to tilt her chin up and meet her wide green eyes, and whispering the words back as his lips brushed hers. He repeated them the next morning over breakfast, and then took his time with her over the kitchen counter just to prove his point.

Today, months later, he found himself entering Emma's cottage and being greeted with her warm smile as she chopped some vegetables on the kitchen counter.

"Hey," she said softly, a calm smile gracing her lips, "Henry is playing in the backyard and dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. How was your day?" Emma seemed to notice his hesitation because her smile dropped from her lips and she looked at him in concern. "Killian, is everything ok?"

"Swan," his throat was suddenly dry, apprehension invading him before he took a deep breath and the words left his mouth. "Love, correct me if I'm wrong, but we didn't make arrangements for me to come here this evening, did we?"

Emma froze, her head tilted in confusion, "I don't know, I don't recall. But Killian, if you have other plans, if you don't want to be here with us, then-"

He didn't let her finish the sentence, knowing she was misinterpreting his meaning and desperate to tell his truth. "No, love," he said as he reached for her, his arms pulling her to him, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's quite the opposite, Swan. As far as I recall, we hadn't talked about me coming over today. Yet, when it was time to close shop, I simply locked down the place, got in my car, and I drove here. I - I didn't realize until I was halfway here..." he trailed off, his hand playing with her hair.

"Didn't realize what?" Emma asked breathlessly.

"When the day was over and I thought of home, I thought of coming here." His lips curved into a smile. "To you. To Henry."

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in, realization coming into her green eyes and widening them. She tilted her head to the side and Killian followed her stare to where the kitchen table was. It was already set with three plates on it.

"I didn't even think-" Emma said, her eyes back to his, her lips curving in a soft smile of her own, "but whenever I picture being at home, I picture you being here with us."

He swallowed, his heart beating against his chest as he leaned in. "Does this mean-?"

"Killian, would you move in with us?" Emma finished his train of thought for him.

He simply smiled, brushing his lips against hers as his answer.

And as it was, as summer ended, there was a second housewarming celebration, one in which Killian mastered the grill and welcomed his friends and family into their home. It had been a small gathering, filled with laughter and good food. As the day wore on, Liam was next to Mary Margaret by the dessert table, his wandering gaze finding his brother playing ball animatedly with Henry.

"He's happy," Liam marveled as he witnessed Killian stealing a kiss from Emma when Henry was busy retrieving the ball. "I never thought I'd see him like this again."

"It was so good to see them finally get together officially," Mary Margaret said, tracing patterns with her fork on her dessert.

"I thought you were rooting for Graham," Liam said confused, his eyes darting to where the prior deputy of Storybrooke was busy talking with Regina and Robin, his hand interlaced with Ruby's.

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes as if she'd heard the most nonsensical thing. "Graham is too much of a boy scout for Emma. It would never have worked," she shrugged, pointing at the scene in the backyard with her fork. "Whereas Killian is just the exact mix of bad boy on the outside and absolute gentleman on the inside that was going to get to her. They just needed to meet and set everything in motion."

There was something in her voice as she pronounced the last line that raised goosebumps in Liam. He turned to face Mary Margaret and saw the proud smile on her features.

"You orchestrated all this," he said, surprised.

Mary Margaret leaned back and forth on her feet. "Well, I could have waited until Sunday and tried to introduce them in church. Or invite Killian over for dinner. And you and I both know that they would have fought against it, no matter how perfect they are for each other." She tilted her head, a mischievous smile coming to her lips. "So I got a little, creative, and who would ever think that Mary Margaret Blanchard, Elementary School teacher and voice of reason on the pew would ever think of such things?" She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Sometimes I get the feeling this town thinks I'm a sixty year old prude. I'm thirty, Liam. I still know what it is to have the hots for someone," she scoffed.

Liam chuckled, bowing his head in reverence as if she were a queen. "You are a mastermind."

"I know," she beamed.