Full Summary: Miracle worker. Relationship Guru. Savior.

Those are just a few of her monikers, but most people have taken to call her Miss Fix-It. Helping broken-hearted women get back together with their former boyfriends is her specialty. How does she do it, you ask? Simple—she becomes his date from hell so he'll realize what a catch he had before he let her go.

Emma Swan is an expert at fixing relationships, it's just too bad she'll never have one of her own.

Her particular set of talents is tested, however, when a cheating ex-girlfriend requests her services. Emma's reluctant at first. It's not an easy task to make someone seem like a catch when they've cheated, but the potential client is an emotional wreck desperate to get her former boyfriend back before he heads back to England. Besides, Emma Swan never backs down from a challenge. They don't call her Miss Fix-It for nothing. She'll find a way to make him wish he was back in his ex-girlfriend's arms, no matter what it takes. If only she can squash the feelings she develops for him and stops breaking her rules.

A/N: I know, I know, I shouldn't be starting any more stories, but I was rewatching a movie I saw a long time ago, starring David Boreanaz, called Mr. Fix-It and I had to write my own version of it. I also did a gender swap because David's character was just too Emma Swan to not write it that way. So this is pretty much Mr. Fix-It meets How to Lose a Guy in 10 days. I was originally going to write this for Captain Swan Movie Marathon, but I just couldn't help myself or wait to share it!

Some of the ideas in the story regarding relationships and love may seem stretched or would never happen in real-life situations, so please keep in mind, this is pure fiction, meant for entertainment purposes only.

A big shout out to ultraluckcatnd for beta reading and to onceuponaprincessworld for letting me share my ideas with her!

"Thank you." There's a rare appreciation in Emma's tone as she steps inside, offering up a slight smile at the stranger holding the door open for her.

"You're welcome," he replies with a downward nod, his smile mirroring hers.

He's easy on the eyes and evidently a gentleman, doting on the pretty brunette attached at his arm who's neither surprised nor offended by the polite gesture he's offering another woman. Or at least, she doesn't appear to be.

Emma looks back, peering through the glass doors to admire the happy couple as they make their way down the sidewalk. The man places his hand on his date's back as he kisses her temple, and the woman leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Emma smiles at the palpable love and affection they show each other before disappearing from her view.

Sometimes Emma wonders what it would be like to have something like that. But then the reality bomb explodes in her face, reminding her of the love she'd lost, the love that ruined her life. She's reminded that she's just a lonely twenty-eight-year-old who's never truly been happy. Well, she was once, but it was too short-lived to count for anything. The memories make her stomach churn, her smile quickly fading into a frown.

Shaking the thoughts away, she spins around on her heels, her bright, fire red stilettos clicking on the floor, golden curls bouncing around her shoulders as she looks around, searching for the dining area. She doesn't need the hard work, the sacrifice or the baggage that tends to accompany relationships. She doesn't need the heartache. Which is why she's here at Juliet. The name of the restaurant is a bit ironic, though, considering she's no Juliet, nor is she looking for her Romeo.

Her eyes circle around the dining area until she spots the man she immediately recognizes from the photo. His face is buried in his phone but he has the same brown, curly hair and handsome profile.

Emma approaches his table with slow, uncertain steps, an apprehensive expression etched in her features. "Graham?"

He peers up from his phone, his eyes immediately lighting up when he sees her. He springs up from his seat to greet her and sticks out his hand, flashing an easy smile. "Emma…"

His cologne is a little too strong and she almost chokes on the vapors as she slips on a smile and slides her palm in his. "Hi."

"Hi," he greets in a warm tone as he shakes her hand. His grip is timid and shaky, and his palm is a bit sweaty, but she can tell he's nervous, so it's par for the course. "Wow, you look..." his words trail off when he releases her hand, his eyes moving up and down to appreciate her form, "...much prettier than I expected."

"And you're more handsome than I expected," she compliments with a cheeky grin. "Photos from the internet can often be—"

"Fake? Outdated? Photoshopped?" he says, pulling out a chair for her.

"Exactly," she laughs and sits down, scooting her chair up to the table as he reclaims the seat across from her. She sets her clutch purse on the table and can't help but notice the booth to the right, where a couple is sitting on the same side of their table. She hates when couples sit on the same side of the table at a restaurant; it's just sketchy and weird. The only time this should be acceptable or appropriate is if they were on a double date. But this couple is clearly not. The man is cozied up comfortably with his date—who, not to mention, appears to be half his age—with his right arm wrapped around her as he whispers in her ear, the wedding band on his left hand resting on the table, glinting in the soft, luminous light. Emma can't tell if his date is also wearing a ring or not, because she's sitting on the other side of him, but it's highly unlikely. She looks too young to be married, but then again Emma was only eighteen when she eloped. That's a different story for another time though.

"What would you like to drink?" the waitress asks, pulling Emma from her reverie.

Feeling a desperate need for some liquid courage, she peels her eyes from the couple to address the waitress. "I'd love some Moscato, please." Even in her early twenties, she never drank wine or any alcohol really, but then she discovered its value as a social lubricant and how much easier it is to perform her job when she drinks, so she forced herself to develop a taste for it.

When the waitress leaves to fetch the bottle, Emma rests her hands in her lap as she kicks off the conversation. "So, tell me, what do you do for a living, Graham?"

Graham places his arms on the table and joins his hands together, his nervous demeanor melting away. "I'm a police officer, hoping to be a detective someday."

"Hm," Emma hums in genuine interest. "A detective, huh? So, you must be good at solving crimes, then? What can you tell me about the couple at the table next to us?" she asks, nodding toward them.

"I said, someday," Graham chuckles. "I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but I'll humor you. The man is either cheating or just recently divorced," he says, without even glancing at the other table.

"How can you tell?"

"For one, spouses don't sit next to each other at a restaurant, they sit across from each other and gaze into each other's eyes and wait to cuddle up on the sofa in the privacy of their own home like normal people. And two, he has a ring on his finger, but she doesn't."

Emma turns her head and stretches her neck, trying to see over the man. "How can you tell she's not wearing a ring?"

"I noticed when they sat down. Besides, she looks young enough to be his daughter, she's way too young to be married."

"I know, right?" Emma agrees with a strained laugh, pointing a finger at him. "You're going to make a fine detective one day, Officer Graham."

He blushes, a nervous laugh escaping his throat as the waitress returns. After she drops off the requested bottle of wine, Emma brings the wine glass to her lips, appreciating the heady fragrance and the well-balanced mixture of sweetness and bitterness on her tongue as the liquid glides down her throat. "What about you, Emma? What do you do for a living?"

"I fix up houses," she answers simply, setting her glass on the table.

"Ah, so you're like a handyman, then?"

"Handywoman," she corrects. "My dream is to start my own reality show like the Property Brothers."

He lifts a flirty brow. "A woman who's good with her hands? I like that."

Emma blushes and holds up her open palms, a sly grin curving her lips. "Believe me, I've worked wonders with these things."

"I don't doubt that," he says with a smirk, shifting in his seat. "So, how did you get into that line of work?"

"When I was eight, I got bored one day, so my grandpa gave me a hammer and told me to go play."

Graham looks at her, wide-eyed, his jaw falling open.

Emma laughs. "I'm joking. My grandparents were house flippers long before house flipping became popular and they're the ones who raised me, so handiwork sort of became second nature to me."

"Ah, I see," he says before taking a sip of what she determines is whiskey, based on its distinct, yeasty smell and amber-brown liquid.

"So, tell me, Graham, if you don't mind me asking—how is a guy like you single?"

He chuckles and sets down the tumbler, rejoining his hands on the table. "Well. I'll be honest, Emma, I have a fear of commitment."

Emma raises a brow toward her hairline. "Oh really? I have to say, based on your Zoosk profile, you strike me as a guy who's into something more than a casual fling."

Graham reaches for his drink again and curls his hand around the glass as he stares vacantly into the tumbler. "Well, I used to think I could be in a serious relationship. I was dating this woman I really liked, but things just went way too fast." He glances at Emma, guilt clouding his face. "She talked about getting married and having kids, and I'm just not ready for all that yet. I'm still young, you know?" he says before taking a sip of his drink.

Emma nods in understanding and crosses her arms on the table, leaning toward him. "Well, since you felt comfortable sharing that with me, can I let you in on a little secret?"

Setting his drink down, he mirrors her position and leans over the table so their faces are only a few inches apart. "Of course."

"I don't do commitments either. I don't like to be tied down…" a cheeky grin overtakes her face as she adds, "well unless I'm being tied down in bed. I like to live in the moment."

He smirks, discernibly aroused by her confession. "Well, then we want the same thing."

Emma nods in agreement, even though she's not buying it, and throws back her wine like it's hard liquor, gulping it down quickly before setting the glass down on the table and wiping off her mouth. "So, what do you say… wanna get outta here?"

She doesn't have to ask him twice before he's tossing some cash on the table to pay for their drinks, before he's rising from his chair and offering his hand. "My place?"

She glances at his hand briefly before lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. "Perfect." She grabs her purse and slips her hand in his, rising from the table. She's feeling warm and slightly buzzed as they head toward the exit doors, his hand resting on her back. Alcohol always makes this so much easier.

Once outside, his arms are around her and his lips are on the shell of her ear while they're moving quickly but clumsily, and she's giggling when his beard tickles her skin. Before they make it to his vehicle parked in front of the restaurant, she tugs on his sleeve to stop him in his tracks.

He removes his lips from her ear and pulls away slightly, lifting a questioning brow, resting his hands on her hips.

"Before we go to your place, I have to be upfront with you about something."

"Okay," he nods, waiting for her to continue.

"I failed to mention this in my profile, but... I only do one night stands."

"Oh, uh… that's cool," he says, but she can tell by the way he removes a hand from her hip and scratches his head and the uncertainty in his eyes that he's not being completely honest with her. Or himself. "I'm totally down for a one-nighter."

Emma's shoulders rise and slump with relief as she flashes a toothy grin. "Okay, well now that I know we're on the same page, I do have a few rules you should know about."

He nods, urging her to go on. She hasn't scared him off yet, and instead, he seems to be intrigued.

"I don't do any type of intimacy. So no kissing or cuddling, no foreplay," she pauses when he furrows his brows in disappointment, his smile quickly dimming, "and this next rule is very important…"

"What's that?" he asks, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"You have to wear a pillowcase over your head as you fuck me. I can't risk getting attached to anyone." Emma has to suppress a smirk when she sees the doubt clouding his eyes. "Oh and one more thing…"

He forces a small smile. "I'm afraid to ask…"

She can tell he's not nearly as interested as he was before, so what she's about to say will definitely push him over the edge. She's sure of it.

She leans in closer, whispering in his ear. "You're my second date tonight, so if I'm already leaking cum before you enter me, that's why."

Graham quickly removes his hand from her hip to cover his fake coughs. "I'm sorry, I'm feeling a cold coming on and I don't want to get you sick, so I'll have to take a rain check."

She waves off his words with a flick of her hand. "Oh, it's okay, I don't mind. Who knows what other ailments—or diseases for that matter—I contracted from the other guy anyway," she laughs. "I don't believe in condoms."

Emma has never seen a man hightail away from her so fast in her entire life. Not even that one time when she told a guy she was on a first date with that she would cut off his balls if he ever so much as looked at another woman.

She smirks as she watches Graham jump into his car, the tires squealing as he peels away from the curb, racing down the street.

Emma turns on her heels and casually strides over to her car, thoroughly satisfied with how the date ended as she digs into her purse for her phone. She gets in her car and waits for her screen to light up.

Three... Two... One…

Like clockwork, her phone buzzes and she answers it, bringing the phone to her ear. "Emma Swan."

"You're a freaking genius! I don't know what you did or said to Graham, but he just texted me and wants to get back together!"

Emma looks at her fingernails, admiring the manicure she'd gotten earlier after receiving a paycheck from her newest client. "I didn't do anything. He just needed a little reminder of how hard it is to find someone like you, that's all. Remember, Kaitlyn, you're a catch. I just helped him realize that."

"Oh, Emma, thank you, thank you, thank you! A million times thank you!" she cries into the phone.

"Well now that he's reaching out to you, remember to dial down the intensity, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Kaitlin asks, confusion evident in her tone.

"I mean, he told me the reason why he broke up with you is because you were moving too fast for him. You have to give him time to catch up with you. But don't worry, he'll get there eventually. You just need to move at a slower, more natural pace to get him where you want him to be. Otherwise, you'll be calling me up a month from now, asking for my help again, but I never do the same job twice, got it?"

"I got it, but you have nothing to worry about. I won't screw this up again, I promise."

Emma hopes so both for their sakes. All of her first attempts have so far proven to be successful, with the exception of one case (it's not Emma's fault the guy turned out to be gay), but a second attempt would just be wasting her time. If a relationship doesn't work out the second time around, that usually means it wasn't meant to be.

"Okay, just remember what I told you and you'll be fine."

"Okay, I will," Kaitlyn says before there's a brief pause. "Oh, I'm sorry, I have to go. Graham's calling me. Thanks again!"

After the call ends, Emma tosses the phone in her purse and inserts the key in the ignition. When the engine roars to life, she turns on the radio and pulls out of her parking spot, looking forward to changing into pajamas, lounging on the couch and watching Point Blank. She looks forward to sleeping in her bed all alone and pleasuring herself with her battery-operated friend without worrying about having to impress anyone in the sack. And the next morning she'll wake up refreshed and trot off work like she does every day, waiting for the next distressed woman to show up at her office in a mess of tears, begging Emma to help get her man back.

And she'll agree to it because it'll take her mind off of her own lonely, depressing life and allow her to focus on someone else's problems. She not only helps women repair their broken relationships but, unlike broken pipes, she fixes them quickly and efficiently with no clean up required. She does it with a smile on her face and her heart locked up tight because she's a professional and she's amazing at what she does.

But hey, they don't call her Miss Fix-It for nothing, right?