"Calm down, girl," Shira said as she prepared for the day. Her mind was racing with the thought of having dinner with Mr. Gold. She didn't know what had come over when she asked. It just came out. But, now that he had agreed, there was no going back. Now, it was a matter of getting herself to calm down and stop thinking of it as a date. "It's not a date, Shira," she told herself over and over. "It's not. A date." No matter how many times she said it though, her mind responded with 'Yeah, right. You just keep telling yourself that.'

Getting ready was hard without Shira being able to focus, but she managed with just enough time just swing by the diner and grab some coffee to go before heading over to the pawnshop. Once there, she saw Mr. Gold walk out and lock the door the behind him. She raised an eyebrow and walked over to him. "Something wrong?" She asked.

Mr. Gold looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Ms. Roberts," he said, tucking the key away into his pocket. "Forgive me for not calling. I'm still getting used to having an employee."

Shira laughed a little. "No worries. Is everything okay?"

He nodded. "Everything's just fine. I'm closing the shop for today. I've other things I need to attend to."

"Oh, I see," she said, fiddling with the sleeve around her drink. "Okay, well I'll just be going if you don't need me." With that, she smiled and turned to walk away.

"Just a moment, Ms. Roberts," Mr. Gold said, walking around to face her. "There's the little matter about that dinner you asked me to have with you."

Shira felt a slight blush rise in her cheeks. "Ah, yes," she muttered, half-hoping that he had forgotten. "Instead of going out, I could cook for you. I'm a pretty fair cook."

Mr. Gold regarded her a moment before smirking. "Don't really want to be seen out in public with me, eh?"

Her eyes widened, thinking she had offended him. "Oh, God! That's not what I meant at all! No, no, no!" She said, feeling foolish. "It's just that I live alone so I rarely get to cook for anyone. I swear I didn't mean it that way at all!"

The pawnbroker couldn't help but laugh a little at her reaction. "Calm down, Ms. Roberts. I know you didn't," he said, smiling at her. "If you wish to cook for me, then I think it's a wonderful idea. If you want, we could have this dinner at my house. I have a big kitchen that you could use."

Shira relaxed a little and smiled back. "Okay. I'll bring some ingredients over. When is a good time for you for me to come over?"

"I'll be free tomorrow evening considering it's a Saturday."

"Okay, I'll be there around seven."

Mr. Gold smiled. "Very well. It's a date."

Shira's voice caught in her throat before she awkwardly smiled. "Yeah, so it is."

"Until then," he bowed his head slightly at her. "Good day, Ms. Roberts." Then, he turned and walked away.

Shira stood there staring at the empty space where Mr. Gold had been standing, pursing her lips. "He said it's a date," she said to herself. "You have a date. Tomorrow night. With your boss. Shira Roberts, you are a grade 'A' moron."

Hours passed and Shira had found herself sitting under a tree in the park with her sketchbook. She had to get her mind off of the anxiety she was feeling about Saturday night's event, so she sat there and sketched. The park was empty until school had gotten out, now there were children running around and playing while their parents sat on nearby benches to keep an eye out for them. The air was filled with the shouts and laughter of the children and it brightened Shira's spirits.

She never really was a child because of the death of her parents. Her earliest memory was being passed off to a family friend to be taken care of until she was older. She often spent her free time in her room to be alone. Waiting for her parents to come back and take her back. It wasn't until she was sixteen that she became aware that they were never coming home. And that's when her drinking started. Watching the children play in the park sparked a hint of jealousy in Shira. If only she had come out of her room and went to the park with her guardian, maybe she wouldn't be known as the town drunk.

The sound of feet walking up to her broke Shira's concentration and she looked up to see Paige Grace standing over her, looking at her drawing. "Hello, Paige," Shira greeted with a smile.

"Hi!" Paige smiled back, sitting down next to her. "Whatcha doing?"

"Oh, just sketching a bit," Shira answered.

"Can I see?" Paige asked. Shira nodded and handed her the drawing. Paige inspected it closely, glancing up and down to compare the drawing to the scenery. "You forgot to add the lighthouse in the distance," she commented, handing the drawing back to Shira.

"Everyone's a critic," Shira said with a smirk, taking the drawing back and adding the lighthouse. "Are you here alone?"

"No," Paige answered, watching her. "My mom's here with me."

"Are you sure she'd want you talking to me?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't. You're a good person. There's no reason to treat you differently."

Shira finished the lighthouse and looked up, smiling at Paige. "If only the rest of Storybrooke saw me how you see me," she said, holding the edited drawing up. "Better?"

"Much," Paige said. "I wish I could draw."

"Pick up a pencil and a sketchbook. It's never too late to learn, kiddo."

"I don't think I'd be very good at it."

"No one is when they first start a new hobby," Shira told her, gently pulling the picture out of her sketchbook. "But you'll get better with practice. Here, you keep this one." She handed the drawing to Paige.

Paige's face lit up as she took it. "Thank you so much!"

Shira smiled. "You're welcome," she said.

Paige smiled back and stood. "I better go before my mom comes looking for me. Have a good day, Shira!"

"You too, Paige!" Shira said, waving as Paige walked away.

Shira watched her leave with a smile before turning to the next empty page in her sketchbook and looking for her next drawing project. She had settled on drawing the playground when a shadow covered her page. She looked up to see who or what it was and a shiver ran through her once she did. The man who had been watching her from outside the pawnshop was standing over, looking down at her. Once they made eye contact, he smiled at her. Shira didn't return the gesture.

"Can I help you?" she asked, closing her sketchbook.

The man shook his head. "I just figured I'd wander over and see why you were sitting alone."

"I prefer solitude," she replied quickly.

"Do you?" He asked, moving to sit down. "May I sit with you?"

"Actually," Shira said, scooting away from him and picking up her things. "I was just leaving. But feel free to sit here without me."

"Oh? Where are you headed? I could escort you there."

"Look, buddy," she said, turning to glare at him. "I don't know what you're playing at but you're invading my personal space and frankly, you're creeping me out. So could you cut it out?"

The man regarded her for a moment before smiling softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted a friend."

"Yeah, well, stalking someone isn't the best way to make friends," Shira said harshly, standing up.

"Wait," the man said, holding his hand up as if to stop her. "I just… Can I start over? It's just been while since… Since I really had a friend."

Shira stared down at him, a pang of guilt hitting her heart. The man seemed to genuinely want a friend and if there was anyone in Storybrooke who understood that feeling, it was her. With a soft sigh, she nodded. "Okay. Only if you promise to stop stalking me."

The man smiled. "I promise."

Shira smiled back, albeit a nervous smile, and sat back down. "What's your name?"

"Jefferson," he answered. "And yours?"

"Shira."

Jefferson frowned and scrutinized her. "You don't look much like a 'Shira' to me," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't. You kinda look like… Hmm…" He thought as he stared. "Rayna. You look like a 'Rayna'." The moment he said the other name, Shira saw something spark in his eyes. It was as if he was waiting for something. A reaction, maybe?

Shira raised an eyebrow. She wasn't sure what to say. This Jefferson guy was really an interesting character. "Well… That's not my name," she said with a small shrug. "It's Shira."

Jefferson let out a short and soft scoff. Apparently, that wasn't the reaction he wanted from her. But he soon brushed it off and smiled. "Shira, then," he said. "By the way, you're pretty brave."

"For what?" Shira inquired.

"For working in Gold's pawnshop," he elaborated. "Most wouldn't want to work for the man, let alone step foot in that place."

Shira rolled her eyes. "Mr. Gold isn't a bad guy. He's been perfectly pleasant the entire time I've been there."

"Because, in general, he seems to like you," Jefferson added. "If he didn't, then you'd have cause to be afraid of him just like everyone else is."

"He isn't dangerous or scary like everyone says!" Shira growled, glaring at Jefferson. "He's not at all what he's been made out to be. People just need to pull the sticks out of their asses."

"You're pretty quick to defend him," he stated.

"Don't get any ideas," she said quickly. "I just don't like seeing people judge other for no damn reason."

There was a brief silence before Jefferson said "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or insult your employer."

Shira looked away, shaking her head slightly. "It's whatever."

Jefferson watched her a moment longer before standing. "I suppose I'll leave you be. Before I go, can I ask if you're good with sewing or anything of that sort?"

She looked back up at him. "I'm fair, I guess. Why?"

"Well, I make hats for a living and there's one in particular that I…" He looked frustrated for a moment and Shira's expression became confused. "I can't get it just right," he finally blurted out before collecting himself. "I was maybe wondering if you could help."

Shira's face still held its confused expression as she shrugged. "I don't know the first thing about making hats, Jefferson."

"Oh, don't worry about that part," he said, waving his hand. "I'll make it. It's just some minor sewing."

She ran her hand through her honey-blonde hair, flustered. "Okay. I'll, um… I'll think about it."

Jefferson smiled brightly. "Good," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card. "Here's my number. Give me a call if you decide you want to."

"Okay," she said, taking the card and putting it between the pages of her sketchbook. "I will. Have a good day."

"You too, Shira," he replied and turned, walking away.

Shira watched him with a quizzical look before getting up. "Now I know why the expression is 'Mad as a hatter,'" she said to herself, making her way back home.