She blinked a few times, swiping back tears, attempting to adjust her eyes to the dimness of the room. From the pounding at the back of her brain, she hadn't realized that Will had stopped shouting back at her. Above them a naked lightbulb buzzed through their silence, casting enough light for Emma to make out the dozens and dozens of dusty shelves that cradled metal trays of uncovered, crusty breadsticks. If she weren't so emotionally spent, she would have been quite nauseated by the unsanitary conditions. She watched Will take a step backwards and ease himself onto a wooden crate, resting a shoulder back against the shelves.

"You're right," he exhaled, rubbing his knees with the palms of his hands.

"I'm sorry?"

"You were right. What you said. I deserved to lose you."

"No," she muttered to herself. He didn't look up.

"NO," she insisted, a little louder. "That's not what I meant. You didn't-"

"It's just that, I had no idea that you could be so. . ." He paused, squinting up at her almost as if he were trying to dig through her brain.

She sniffed and smiled weakly. "Filled with blind rage?"

He shook his head, standing up. "No. I had no idea that you could feel jealous. About me. And Emma that's what made me so angry at you. I was starting to really fool myself into thinking that I was going to be okay. That seeing someone else could be good for me."

"Jealous?" Her gaze shifted downward, latching itself onto one of his shirt buttons, something, anything, except his discerning stare as he moved closer to her. "I'm not jealous," she sniffed at the button, freezing mid gulp as he rested a finger under her chin to read her eyes.

"Sensing you feel something, anything, resembling the way you used to, well, it makes me hope. And you can't do that to me." He wiped her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "It's just not fair, Em. You can't keep making me hope like that."

She nodded, leaning her wet face into his collarbone. Suddenly, she felt very small and pathetic. After only tasting just a tiny portion of the pain she had brought on him.

"Emma, just tell me what you want. Do you want me to say that I took you for granted from day one? Of course I did. And for every single day of the past year, I have regretted, hated, that there is another good man out there who was smart enough not to."

She allowed her eyelids to close, exhaling as he pulled her tighter against him and rested his back slightly against the exit door before he continued.

"Do you want me to admit that I will never truly be happy unless you're in my life? Done."

Emma stomach lurched at the sudden thought of the pain she had caused both Will and Carl in one evening. She could feel herself shaking as his arm squeezed even tighter around her waist. She tried to fight off the wave of guilt that had washed over her, and just enjoy the feel of him. The smell of him. The warmth that had taken her months and mountains of effort to exile to the recesses of her brain. But regrets, and guilt, and broken promises sprouted up faster in her thoughts than she could bury them.

"Just tell me what I'm supposed to do, Emma. And I'll do it. Please."

"Will," she swallowed, the panic rising in her stomach. "I think you need to move."

"Excuse me?" She felt his grip loosen.

"Move!" she shouted, propelling him out of the doorway with an urgent jab of her elbow.

Falling through the doorway, Emma stumbled into the alley. And she took a frightened gulp of air before emptying the contents of her stomach in a series of desperate, heaving coughs. Balancing her hands on her knees, she bent her shaking frame closer to the pavement, sniffing and choking back sobs, as she felt the cool pressure of his palm on the back of her neck.

"Please, go away," she whimpered unconvincingly, as he knelt onto the ground beside her, his other hand sweeping her hair out of her face, bundling it at the base of her neck as she unleashed that evening's appetizer onto the sidewalk. After a few minutes of helpless coughing, she felt her face grow red as her mind surveyed their situation.

"You know what I love most about you Emma?" He began to rub small circles around her back as she wiped at her mouth, attempting unsuccessfully to slow her rapid breathing and embarrassed sniffs. "You always surprise me. When I thought of what it would be like for us to spend an evening together again, I couldn't have imagined this in my wildest dreams."

She choked out a laugh, wiping at the streaks around her eyes. "Well, the reality is always more entertaining," she replied, standing up to brush the pebbles off of her knees. "Nothing says end an evening with Emma Pillsbury more than hosing off the sidewalk."

He chuckled, rising with her. "You know you're pretty funny for a drunk." Tugging at her fingers, he coaxed her away from the mess and towards the curb.

"Sit down for a second. I want to make sure you're done before we go back in."

She fell down next to him a little too quickly, the sidewalk jamming into her tailbone as she flopped her head onto his shoulder in exhaustion. Suddenly feeling the chill from night air settling over her, she shifting her hips closer to his own. They sat in silence as the looping accordion music from the restaurant blared from the back windows, her breaths slowing to match his own rhythm.

She paused, waiting for him to speak first. Either the evenings events left him truly spent as far as words were concerned, or he seemed content just to sit for the time being.

"You realize how insane we are right?" she mumbled against his shoulder. "We had two perfect lovely people who were dumb enough to actually want to spend a nice evening with the two of us. I bet when you were getting ready tonight you didn't imagine yourself holding my hair in a dark alley while I sprayed pesto and Chianti all over the sidewalk."

"I don't know," he mused, looping his fingers through hers. "I think it's kind of romantic."

She laughed. "I look, and feel, disgusting. Well at least now I won't do something stupid. Like kiss you."

He laughed. "You okay now?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Suddenly standing, he pulled her up with him. "What are the odds that they're still in there waiting for us?"

Attempting to walk as casually and covertly as possible into the dining room, they looked at each other in confusion as they were met with thunderous applause. One patron even stood, slapping Will on the back. Emma winced from the simultaneous piercing sprinkle of knives tinging against wine glasses. Another wave of nausea hit her as she spotted a family of four seated at their table.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Will tugged at the sleeve of the waitress who had been serving them. "What's going on? And do you know what happened to the gentleman and the blonde woman who were seated with us?"

"The crazy woman?" Will nodded slowly. "Look, I don't know how they let you jokers in here. But somehow she managed to convince everyone in the restaurant that you were part of some traveling jackass dinner theater group."

"What about the other gentleman?" Emma asked, her eyes still searching frantically around the room for any sight of her husband.

"Uh, he told me to tell you he called a cab for you to take you home. Because clearly," she smirked, "you need one."

After leaving a very generous tip with the waitress, they gathered their coats and her purse from the front desk and stood outside on the curb, waiting for her cab.

Emma shivered a little from the wind, but distanced herself from Will for fear of giving into the residue of dangerous emotions.

"Will," she started, biting her lip as she willed herself not to cry. "You know I love him."

"I know you do."

She stared down at the toes of her shoes. "So what am I supposed to do now?"

"Just go home Emma." She nodded at her feet as he continued. "Just promise me, that once the ceiling stops spinning, that you'll ask yourself why you felt the way you did tonight."

She looked up at him, noticing his gaze was following the taxi winding its way through the parking lot. "And really ask yourself if this is just you being angry about me being an idiot, or if it's more than that. If you're angry at yourself for feeling something you thought you'd gotten over."

"And then what?" she whispered.

"Just do what makes you happy, Emma."

"And you'll do the same?"

"Well, I'd like to, as long as it doesn't make you want to jam a fork into my forehead."

She poked at the arm of his coat, half-smiling. "I think I can do that."

"But I definitely need to commit every moment of this evening to memory," she raised her voice as he stepped off the curb to wave down the cab. "You know, in case you and I want to laugh about this chapter of life with our kids someday."

He turned back to meet her grin, raising an eyebrow. "Even the part where you called me an emotional slut?"

"Except that. Censored version."

"And the part where you got drunk and threw up in an alley?" He opened the cab door for her.

"You know what, getting together stories are overrated." Climbing into the back, she set down her purse and shifted her coat out of the way as he slowly shut the door. As Emma was giving the driver her and Carl's address, she heard a tap on the window. Frowning in confusion, she rolled it down for him.

"So does that mean we're getting together?"

"Good night Will," she smiled.

"What about the part where you told me you were madly in love with me. You can't leave that out."

"I don't remember that part," she replied, scrunching her forehead in mock confusion.

"Oops, sorry. You're right. Wrong chapter," he grinned, stepping back from the window.

Emma watched him wave to her as the cab pulled away. And when they turned the corner, leaving Breadsticks out of sight, she rested her head against the back seat and closed her eyes. After tonight, she certainly didn't deserve it. But Emma allowed herself just the tiniest smile from just the briefest thought of another chapter.