Emma had needed a vacation—it was long overdue. Somewhere warm, with white sand, hot men, and drinks fruity enough to cover the taste of cheap rum.

Yeah, that would be perfect right now, she thought as she stared out at the grey clouds hanging low over the lush green hillside below her. Hell, even water would be nice.

Because instead of St. Somewhere, Emma's sentimental side had been swayed into coming to Ireland to visit Granny, the woman who pretty much raised her, and Ruby Lucas, her best friend. The two ladies had moved to a little town on the Irish Sea a year ago—citing the need for a change of scenery and a long-lost relative leaving them a property—and hadn't seen Emma since, so it was probably only fair that she use her first vacation in a long time to go see them.

And she was so happy to be with them; she really was. But the tiny seaside town had little to offer in the way of sand (more like rocks), and while Granny never skimped on the rum, the only hot guy in town had already (unsurprisingly) been claimed by Ruby.

From where she was at the top of one of the hills nearby, she could just pick out the green roof of Granny's diner-slash-inn in the little hamlet, though it looked like a dollhouse from here. Because, on the advice of Ruby's boyfriend-slash-town sheriff Graham, she'd gone on a hike.

"Oh, it's a beautiful day," he'd said. "Perfect for hiking. Not too hot, not too cool. All the trails are marked!"

Ha. Yeah. Marked. Which was exactly why she was standing up here, on some narrow footpath that probably hadn't been used since Saint Patrick drove the snakes out (which was bull, actually, because she totally saw one—or at least something that looked like one), unable to discern a way back to the village. And what little she could see of the sun was making its way down toward the horizon. To top it all off, she was not only parched, having ran out of water a few hours ago, but damn, was she hungry.

I really should have listened to Granny this morning.

The fierce old woman hadn't just told her to bring food and water—no, she told her to stay out of the hills altogether.

"There's gancanagh out there," she warned. "Just waiting for a hot little thing like you."

One of her fondest memories growing up was Granny's stories of mythology, but especially the fae folk. Emma and Ruby had spent hours searching the woods near their home in Maine for the wee creatures—or the big creatures; Granny had said some could blend right in with the rest of us, and the only way to tell was their pointed ears (which led to two little girls squealing when they saw Mr. Spock on TV). For years, she had fallen asleep to the grand, magical tales Granny wove, even when she got big enough to realize they were literally fairy tales.

So when Granny warned her of the gancanagh, the fae known for seducing human women, she just rolled her eyes and reverted back to her rebellious teenage ways, deciding that a hike was exactly what she'd do. Besides, she'd be 28 in a few days; she was more than a full-grown adult.

Which meant she could totally figure a way out of this. And she'd totally ignore those long-buried feelings of abandonment; that was all behind her, even if she was pretty sure she was so lost that even if someone came looking, they'd have a hard time finding her.

Not knowing what else to do, she attempted to backtrack down the way she'd came, until there was a fork and she couldn't remember which way to go. Then she hit another one, and another, until I'm pretty sure I've seen that tree three times.

Of course, Granny's warning was ringing in her ears now; every rustle was some demon Cù-Sìth coming to eat her, or maybe that bear from Brave (her Celtic mythologies had kind of melted together over the years).

It was when she was convinced she was permanently lost and nearly seeing stars from thirst that the rustling picked up; it was definitely something. And it was getting closer. She said a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening as the footfalls of whatever beast drew nearer, until it finally broke through the tree line...and her heart stopped.

Standing in front of her was easily the most attractive man she'd ever seen. Bright blue eyes laughed at her from underneath dark, tousled hair that hung a bit over his forehead. He was a bit taller than her, trim, and wearing an oddly old-fashioned outfit of a red brocade vest, a loose black tunic, and leather pants and boots, despite the mugginess.

"Are you lost, love?" he asked, followed with a smirk that cut a dimple into his perfectly manicured scruff. "I might be able to help you find your way back."

Emma realized her jaw had dropped—literally dropped, who even does that?—and closed it so as not to be rude, but still found herself speechless. Where the hell did he come from? Did he follow her? Was he some crazy forest man? (An oddly well-groomed, attractive forest man, but a forest man nonetheless.)

"Or perhaps you need food? Or water?" He seemed honestly eager to help her; she wasn't used to that from guys. He didn't seem to have an ulterior motive, either, even if he was wandering around the woods. Plus, damn, that accent of his—vaguely British-Irish-something—was doing things to her...or maybe it was just the dehydration? Whichever it was, she took a surprising leap of faith.

"Yeah, I could really go for some water."

"Follow me, lass!" He barely absorbed her answer before he was heading back through the trees; she had to run to catch up.

Every normal-person alarm bell was going off, but she was so desperate for something to drink, that even if he was leading her back to some religious cult in the woods, she was willing to risk it.

Much to her surprise, they broke into a little clearing after only a few minute's walk. To her left was a medium-sized grouping of a pretty pink flower, and dead ahead was an honest-to-god bubbling spring with the clearest water she'd ever seen.

"Oh my God, thank you!" she shouted, dashing forward to the edge of the small pond. Thoughts of brain-eating bacteria briefly entered her head, but were quickly dashed by the best, cleanest water she'd tasted. She took a few more handfuls of it before sitting back and catching her breath. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face, until she got that feeling you get when someone is watching you. Cracking open an eye, she could see her mysterious savior watching her from the edge of the flowers with a curious but pleased expression.

"What are you, my fairy godpirate or something?" she joked, gesturing to his wardrobe and hoping to ease the awkwardness that was quickly settling over them. Seriously, where did he come from?

He blushed and looked away, adorably scratching behind his ear. "Erm, no, but you got part of that right."

What? Hold up! She took another look at his ears, now that his hand had moved away; the outer shell of it was almost folded over, so the very top of it made a point. Pointed ears...holy shit! "Gancanagh," she breathed out, not even believing what she was saying.

"Ah, so you've heard of me?" The sideways grin was back, but she couldn't tell if it was self-satisfied, shit-eating, or...proud?

Okay, time to leave. Either he was crazy, or...or all those stories Granny had told her growing up were true, and he was really here trying to seduce her. She'd been down that road before and no thank you, not again.

(She didn't want to think about all the other implications of that thought, either; fairy tales weren't true—they weren't.)

(But...she was really good at spotting a lie, and he wasn't lying. So he at least believed what he was saying.)

"Uh, you wouldn't know how to get back into town, would you?" she asked, standing back up.

His face fell a little; some of the humor left his eyes. "Aye, I can show you the path. Are you sure you don't need any food, though?"

"No, I'm good; but thank you."

"Well…" he started, but then trailed off, before bending down and plucking one of the flowers. "At least let me give you this."

He walked—more like swaggered, actually—toward her, though she noticed now that his confidence was covering something up; being a bail bondsperson, she knew a little something about putting on an act.

He nearly invaded her personal space, but backed off a few inches away from an indecently close distance, and held up the rose-like flower to her. Its sweet perfume reached her nose as she gingerly took it from his grasp. Then, she made the hugest mistake of her life: she looked up at him. There was something sad in his gaze, despite the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that accompanied his smile. Not just sad—something familiar, but she couldn't put a finger on it.

No. Stop sympathizing with the crazy man! She shook her head, murmured a "thanks" before carefully putting the flower through a loop on her messenger bag, and then asked again. "So, a way out?"

He blinked a few times, shook his head, too, and seemed to recover as if from a trance. I don't know if that's reassuring or not. "Right, this way," he said, waving a hand toward the trees, and, having no other option, she followed him.

Sure enough, he quickly got her right to the start of the path, at the cobbled walkway that led back into town. In fact, it seemed too fast—she couldn't recall seeing that path at all earlier.

"Wow, thanks; was that a shortcut or something?" she blurted out, impressed.

"Eh, something like that. I have an accord with the trees."

Okay, more of the fae stuff. At least he's committed. "Well, thanks a bunch for getting me back here, um…" She reached out to shake his hand and realized she didn't know his name.

"Killian." Killian; an appropriately exotic name for a mysterious, possibly insane guy. Regardless, she liked it. "And you are…?"

"Emma, Emma Swan." She rarely gave her real name; so why had she just now?

Oh, right: because he's staring at you like you put the stars in the sky. His intense gaze never left hers as he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles that sent sparks through her.

He released her hand and gave another one of his brilliant grins. "Well, don't be a stranger, Swan. Take care."

"You, too," she replied breathily, trying to wrap her brain around whatever the hell just happened as he disappeared back into the forest.

On the short walk back to Granny's, she mulled over the whole exchange in her head. Was that real? Had that actually happened, or was it some kind of dehydration-induced hallucination?

She had just managed to convince herself of that when she got back to the diner—because what else could it have been? There was something so dreamy and surreal about the whole thing, and honestly, believing that she hallucinated a handsome, charming fae was much easier to deal with than the alternative: realizing that she let a forest-dweller help her.

Yup, just a hallucination, she told herself as she sat down at a stool and placed her bag on the counter.

"Emma, is that you? Where have you been all day?" Granny asked, concerned, while barging her way out from the back.

"I was hiking and I got lost; sorry!" She felt like a kid again; she hated making Granny worry.

"Okay...and just where did you get a middlemist flower?"

"Huh?" Granny was staring at the flower on her bag. "Oh; I, uh, found it in the woods." Right?

The look on the older woman's face was somewhere, oddly, between concern and relief. "Don't you remember the stories I told you about those?"

Emma was surprised that she didn't—she thought she had all the stories memorized by now. "No; what about them?"

"They're favorites of the fae folk, and they're the only ones who can pick 'em."

Oh.

So maybe it was real.

Emma made a point to avoid the forest the next few days. She went on a boat ride; checked out some books from the tiny local library; and Ruby took her to the pub down the street each night, where they danced and drank with the guys in town, but none of them caught her eye.

Because, she realized, she kept searching for the bright blue eyes of the man she had tried to convince herself wasn't real.

But that was getting harder and harder to do when the middlemist flower she'd stuck in a bud vase in her room was somehow blooming more instead of withering. (And harder still when she saw him in her dreams.)

On a whim, she'd borrowed a book on local fae mythology, trying to learn more about them and finding that most stories aligned perfectly with the ones Granny told.

She was reading it on the diner's patio one rare sunny afternoon, soaking it up with Ruby (hey, she could at least try to get a tan; who cares if it's October?).

"Hey, Rubes?"

"Yeah, Em?"

"Remember all those old fairy stories Granny told us?"

She scoffed. "The ones you were obsessed with? Yeah."

"You don't think they're real, do you?"

"Is this because of that flower? Don't listen to Granny; it's just a rose."

Emma didn't dare bring up Killian; Ruby would pounce on any mention of a boy. So she avoided it and gestured to the book. "It's just, these stories are the same as hers." She giggled at her next thought. "Maybe Granny moved here because she wanted to see if they were real?"

Ruby went oddly silent; Emma couldn't see what was going on behind her bright red sunglasses, but it felt like one of Ruby's rare dead-serious moments. But just as quickly as it came, it passed.

"She still believes in her horoscope, crazy old bat. And those are definitely fake."

They shared a chuckle, but Ruby's lack of refutal was kind of a big deal, as her friend never beat around the bush.

Emma turned back to the book. Conveniently, the next passage was the one she'd been looking forward to most:

A gancanagh(/ɡænˈkænə/) (from Irish gean cánach, meaning "love talker") is a male fairy in Irish mythology that is known for seducing human women. [x]

Nothing else was written, but wait a minute—if he was actually trying to get in her pants, wouldn't he have? He was bigger and stronger than her, for sure, so it wouldn't have been hard.

That was when she realized what was so familiar about his expression: he was lonely. It was the look you got when you'd been left behind; one she'd seen in the mirror as a small child, before she went to live with Ruby and Granny, then again as a teenager, and every so often in the past few months when she was really missing the Lucases.

Fae or not, he was probably just looking for a friend—and she really wasn't anyone to scoff at one of those.

(That, and, as ridiculous as it sounded, she was starting to lean toward the first option as to what he was, and her curiosity needed to be sated.)

Four days after her first misadventure in the woods, she decided she had to go back out there; her mind wouldn't rest until she did.

So she packed a few sandwiches in her bag, along with a jug of water, and was just about to leave when Granny called out to her.

"Just where are you off to, missy?"

"I'm going to take a hike again." It took everything she could to be casual about it.

Granny narrowed her eyes for a moment, before giving up and shaking her head. "Alright, but don't complain to me when the gancanagh carries you off."

"Okay, Granny, I won't," she laughed, and then dashed off.

She looked for the path that Killian had taken from the spring to the entrance of the woods, but there was nothing there. Just some close-set trees and mossy rocks she really didn't want to slip on. It had rained overnight, so everything had an almost magical wet sheen to it, and seemed impossibly greener. Emerald Isle is right, she thought, as she started her ascent up one of the trails.

She was glad she'd remembered her raincoat, as the dense trees were still dripping. Which meant that, more than once, she'd slipped on the slick of dirt and fallen leaves that comprised the forest floor. At least I wore my grubby leggings.

At every fork, she searched for the glint of sun on water, or a hint of pink blossom. But at each turn, she came up empty, until she was hopelessly lost again. This damn thing is like Brigadoon. Oh, wait, that was Scotland, though, wasn't it? Ugh, it's all the same; the damn Celts and their damn—uf! She was so busy cursing out all of the British Isles that she didn't notice the slimy tree stump in her path, and went flying as soon as her muddy rainboot connected with it.

But this time, instead of becoming re-acquainted with the ground, a pair of strong arms grabbed her.

"Do you make a habit of getting lost in the forest, Swan?" She looked up; Killian was grinning at her with amusement.

His bright blue eyes were better in person than her imagination, and she lost her entire train of thought as he helped her to her feet. It's him! It's really him!

"Well, maybe your forest shouldn't be so confusing," she retorted when she finally got her voice back. It wasn't a great comeback, but it was something.

"I'd say I know what you mean, but like I told you: I have an accord with the trees." Before she had a chance to ask about that, he continued. "What brought you back to the woods today?"

"I was looking for you." He seemed just as shocked as she was at the admission; way to lay all your cards on the table, Emma. But then he smiled at her again, and those fears that always lie at the back of her brain—warning her not to reveal too much or get too close—went away.

"I see you've brought food, Emma; would you like to have a picnic?" The request surprised her, but hey, potentially mythological creatures gotta eat, too.

"Okay. Where?"

"Follow me." Just like before, there was a path through the woods that hadn't been there a second ago; ahead, she could see the trees moving—actually moving—out of their way.

She could tell she was open-mouth staring but the trees are moving. Am I in Narnia? Or Middle Earth?

He started down the new path, pausing for a moment to glance back at her with a smirk and a chuckle, and then kept going.

Emma found herself following him without even thinking (partly because she didn't want to get lost again; partly because this was why she was out here in the first place; and partly because those leather pants were doing the work of a higher being on his backside). A rustle behind her made her jump; she turned to see that as soon as she passed, the trees moved back to where they had been, gliding effortlessly through the soil.

Killian was a bit ahead of her, so she jogged to catch up. "How did you do that?" she asked, not trying at all to hide the wonder in her voice.

"I asked them."

"You asked them," she parroted back, incredulous.

"Aye. When you've spent as many years with them as I have, you become more than just acquaintances."

"Well, it can't have been that long." He looked like he was barely older than her.

"No; I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, 200 years isn't that long, but—"

"Wait, what?" She nearly ran into his back, because he had suddenly stopped; they were at the meadow from the other day, flowers just as pink and spring just as bubbly, and she was distracted again. "You found it! I was trying to; that's how I got lost."

He blushed, his sharp cheekbones now matching the color of the middlemist. "I, ah, may have put an enchantment on it so only I can find it." Despite his bashfulness, there was something melancholy in how he stared into space after that admission. But he visibly changed topics, shaking his head and putting on an almost fake smile (definitely a move she'd used before). "Now, how about that picnic?" In the blink of an eye, he was spreading a blanket on the ground right in the middle of the flowers, which he seemed to have an accord with, too, as they'd also moved out of the way. When she sat down on it, she noticed that it was quite plush, and woven from moss and clover.

For some reason, that was what finally confirmed it for her. "You're really fae."

"Aye; I thought we covered that already?" he said quizzically as he knelt down.

"I know, but...I didn't realize it was real until just now."

He had started taking sandwiches out of her bag, which were somehow un-smushed. "You seemed to be aware of my other identity the other day," he stated confidently, not breaking concentration from his task.

"Well, yeah, but I thought it was just a bedtime story I grew up with. I heard about all kinds of fae, but I thought they were just that. Just...fairy tales." She'd certainly wished they were real; many, many times, because they usually ended happy, and so much of her life hadn't been.

"I hate to disappoint, Emma, but we fae, and magic, are very much real."

She'd seen enough to know that now, and something in her gut told her that her life would never be the same with that knowledge. Not after moving trees, floral quilts, and the inhumanly, impossibly good-looking man who seemed to take a liking to her as much a she had to him.

What was that line from Pirates of the Caribbean? "You'd best start believin' in ghost stories...you're in one."

Just like that Swann, Emma got the feeling she was just at the precipice of her adventure, only she was about to embark on a real-life fairy tale.