Daphne sighed with relief as she stepped into her motel room. Her mind ran a mile a minute as she mentally relived the startling encounter with Buck. Although he had shown the group his softer side prior to their departure from Scorpion Ridge, she knew not to cross him.

She turned on the TV and settled on a local news station at a low volume. The redhead tossed her backpack onto the ed and meandered into the bathroom. After a brief shower, she decided it was time for some nice, theraputic writing to close out her day. She crossed the room, now wearing a loose T-shirt and boxers, and flopped down on the bed.

Some of the backpack's contents had spilled out onto the top of the sheets, including her notebook. As Daphne thumbed through everything, she eagerly snapped up her pen and the small journal in which lay her coverted thoughts and mental ramblings.

There was one particular ramblng that she'd wanted to expand on. Daphne wasn't one hundred perect clear on what exactly it was, but that it had to do with how it felt to be seperated from the gang for the first time in years. Something to that effect. But before she started, Daphne decided that she would read off of the brief notes she'd taken down while at the diner. Whistling a bit to herself, she started to flip though the beat-up journal in search of the page in question.

"Huh. I coulda sworn I'd written it inb this one," she murmured after the search for the page turned up unsuccessful.

She thumbed through a couple other notebooks. Nothing.

She sighed and looked down at her books and strewn papers, drumming her fingers in a bout of light irritance. Not that the page contained any vital information or anything, but she really wanted to write about that particular thing! The stupid thing probably came out while she had been in town. Driving back to retrace her steps would be going a bit too far for a stupid journal page. But Daphne was a writer. She'd loved chronicling her thoughts on any and everything. This type of thing would easily haunt her.

She returned to the diner thr next morning, looking relatively frazzled. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and decided that some coffee would be the perfect pick-me-up to start her day. It would at least render her concious.

Daphne slid into a booth and Dottie was swift to approach the table.

"Hey, darlin'! You're the first customer of the day. Sergio's cooking hadn't scared ya off yet?" she added and bumped Daphne's arm. This earned a sarcastic laugh from the kitchen.

Daphne smiled. "I need some coffee before anything. After the night I had, it'll be vital to keep me functioning."

Bringing her the steaming brew in seconds, Dottie couldn't help but ask, "Aw. Something gotcha down?"

"I lost a page of my journal," Daphne guffawed, taking a few long pulls from the mug, "but it's nothing important, just me being silly."

Dottie snapped her fingers, making the drowsy redhead jump. "Ah-ha! I was right!"

"Excuse me?" Daphne wasn't sure if she was the subject of an injoke at this point.

"That's what Buck found on your seat. He's got your journal page."

Daphne pulled a slight face, clenching her jaw and pressing her lips tighter against her teeth. "Ohh, well. He did, huh.."

Dottie nodded. "He wants to bring it back to ya. He's a bit of a grump, but he's quite a gentleman. When he's not being a grouch."

"When who's not being a grouch?"

This made the pink-clad waitress stiffen up and turn her head. Daphne followed suit. Both sets of eyes widened as they found themselves in Buck's shadow.

"In for your usual?" Dottie asked, holding up her tablet and pencil.

"Of course," he rumbled. As Dottie scurried away, his eyes shifted back to Daphne. He recognized her and gave her a nod. "Morning, Red. I... Think I found something of yours." The mechanic reached into the pocket of his coveralls and produced a sheet of paper, neatly folded in his massive hand. He extended it to her, and a wave of relief washed over Daphne's face. She gently took it and opened it, skimming the familiar scrawl.

"Oh, thank you! Now I can write up that idea!"

Buck furrowed his brow and tilted his head a bit. "Idea...? Pardon me if I'm a bit too nosy."

"I'm a, uh... I'm a writer." she says with a blush.

"Really, now." Buck's voice is a little softer as he attempts to show some level of friendliness. Usually he doesn't particularly care about who thinks what about him, but she DOES know about his pressed flower collection. "If... You don't mind telling me."

"Well, she might tell ya more if ya stop taking up room in the middle of my diner," came Dottie's snarky drawl, as she approached the booth with a platter. "You ain't gonna eat standing up."

Daphne gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit down and I'll tell you about my story."