Emma couldn't really remember what she'd ordered. Not the duck, she knew that. Partially out of rebellion for his recommendation, but also because she just wasn't a big fan. Lamb, probably. She was too busy focusing on the man in front of her. He was prying at her, like a lid he couldn't quite get off the jar when he knew there was something he wanted inside. Emma suddenly felt all of seventeen again, being played like a fiddle and answering to the wrong sort of man just for the attention they provided.
But Jim was rather remarkable with words. She didn't trust people and yet, she wanted to trust him. He wanted her to have what she wanted to have. Not what she needed, not what was required. He found her fascinating. That was incredibly new and different. And...damn her for it, but she liked it. Swallowing hard, she picked up her wine glass but didn't quite sip at it just yet. Instead, she stared back at him just as intently as he was staring at her.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've had twenty-eight years to decide and I still have no idea." What did she want? A purpose, maybe, but what else? Her parents to know her as she truly was. But that couldn't work, and it especially wouldn't work here. To turn back time and try and raise Henry herself. Or at least arrange an open adoption and make sure he didn't end up with that bitch, Regina. But that wasn't even in the great Jim Moriarty's power.
She sipped at the wine, then, taking just that moment to wonder, not for the first time, what the hell she was even doing there. "Why me?" she finally asked, looking up at him curiously. Emma was an expressive woman. She could do a poker face when it was called for, but she didn't usually bother. And at that moment, she simply looked open and vulnerable, blue eyes wide, chin tilted up just slightly. If he ever planned on killing her, then would be the most opportune time.