The Secrets Her Heart Keeps

Chapter Eleven

Henry's cheeks are extra rosy this evening and she knows it has nothing to do with the flames burning brightly in front of him. His goofy grin has turned lopsided sometime during this evening. His olive green eyes are glossy and somewhat squinted as he chuckles to every statement that sweeps through the space between them.

He's drunk.

"I mean, ma, he was kinda a goofy looking fellow, don't you think?" He inquires playfully, leaning his elbows lazily onto his knees with that permanent crooked grin.

"He wasn't that bad," his birth mother defends, rolling her eyes before she sips her hard cider as a distraction. "If I recall, you really liked him at the time."

"Who names their kid Walsh?" Henry chuckles, provoking Regina's teeth to suck in her lips to keep her smile at bay.

"I don't know. I mean wasn't he technically from Oz? Maybe he inherited his name from a member of the lollipop guild," Emma chuckles along with their son, while Regina snickers inwardly.

They both finish up the last of their beverages, tossing their bottles into a bag they have for garbage. Henry awkwardly clambers off his stump, like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, wobbly knees and all.

"Henry, where are you going?" Regina softly questions his motives for standing and watches as he stumbles toward the cooler.

"Another round," he cheers while Emma quickly jumps up from her log and rushes over to his side for support.

"I don't know, kid, I think you're good. You're feeling warm and bubbly, correct?" She interrogates, her hand slipping around his waist to keep him steady while Regina leans forward in her seat, ready to help if need be.

"Yeah, I'm feeling good," he slurs the slightest.

"Then this is the point where you stop, because one more and you'll spend the rest of the evening with your head in a toilet and the next day hating life with a splitting headache," Emma explains through a gentle smile while Henry beams at her and hangs on every word.

"There are no toilets," he rebuttals, gesturing widely around them.

"Well then, my dear, you will spend the night freezing outside your tent with your head in a bush with a suspicious raccoon eyeing you," Regina chimes in, standing tall from her seat and shuffling closer to the duo.

Henry barks out a carefree laugh, the kind that makes his eyes all squinty and his cheeks burn red and all Regina sees is a four-year-old version of her baby, giggling so hard when she would ruthlessly attack him with tickles and playful kisses.

"You're funny, mom, you should let other people see your silly side," he suggests between his fit of laughter.

Brown eyes immediately shift to Emma, who is watching her already with a soft smile and a twinkle of...maybe adoration in her eyes. So, Regina quickly averts her eyes and cups Henry's chin.

"Honey, I think it's time to call it a night," she gently recommends, caressing his chin with her thumb to express her love and concern.

"I know, I know," he winks dramatically, causing her to flinch from the action that she knows holds some sort of hidden meaning behind it. "Alone time for Henry's moms," he laughs innocently.

"Don't ever refer to yourself in third person, girls don't like that," Emma playfully reprimands him, inspiring him to mime zipping his lips shut and locking them before tossing away his imaginary key.