December 7th

Emily stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the dress she was trying on over her belly. She hummed a note of frustration. It was the seventh dress she'd tried on and she was getting nowhere.

That morning, she'd realized that she had no formal dress to wear to the ballet that evening that fit over her almost full-term pregnant belly, leaving her no choice but to scramble to find something appropriate to wear.

She hadn't realized that was such an enormous ask, though...

She turned to get a view of the dress from the back and was startled when she came face to face with Derek. He let out a low wolf whistle, looking her up and down. "Whoa, Princess!" he exclaimed, "That dress... Wow."

Her cheeks pinked as she looked down at the floor, suddenly shy. "What... What are you doing in a women's clothing store?" she asked.

"Picking out a nice blouse," he joked, winking at her. "I'm kidding. They have scarves and gloves, which is what Mama wants for Christmas."

"Ah. So, your ogling was just happenstance?"

He shrugged. "Guess I just got lucky. What's the fancy get up for anyway?" he asked. Without thought, he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

She cleared her throat. "I'm going to see The Nutcracker tonight," she explained. "But I've outgrown all my maternity dresses. I didn't realize they don't make maternity dresses for whales, though..."

"You're not a whale, Em," he insisted. "You're glowing."

She rolled her eyes. "You're sweet. You're a liar, but you're sweet."

"What's wrong with this dress?" he asked. "It's cute."

She shrugged, not quite sure how to explain the problem.

He raised a brow. "Is there actually a problem or are you just looking for a problem so you won't have to go tonight?"

She sputtered for a few moments, indignant.

When she couldn't seem to find a response, he smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "Listen, I haven't been to the ballet alone since, well... Since I met Clyde."

"Oh, umm..." He winced, suddenly feeling guilty for bringing up the touchy subject. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."

She nodded, sniffled. "I know. You're always trying to help – you have a saviour complex, Derek Morgan."

"Let me save you one more time," he coaxed. When she raised a questioning brow, he explained, "Let me join you at the ballet tonight."

She scoffed. "Why would you offer to go to the ballet?" she asked. "Unless you were trying to show off how cultured you are to some girl whose pants you want to get into...and I know that isn't me because I doubt you're into maternity pants."

"Because I want to help a friend."

"A friend?" she repeated. "Since when are we friends? I thought we hated each other..."

He chuckled. "That's your opinion," he teased. "I always just thought you were playing hard to get."

"You wish."

"So, can I take you to the ballet tonight or not?" he persisted.

She sighed. "Fine. But only if I can find a dress that doesn't make me feel like a house..."

He looked like he wanted to make a joke, but instead, he reached for a nearby red velvet dress. "What about this one?"

"Hmm..." She took the dress, examining it. "I guess it's not terrible," she conceded.

"Not terrible? I'll have you know I have a very sharp eye for fashion – I have two sisters afterall..." She didn't seem convinced, so he made a shooing motion toward the change room. "Try it on, Princess."

When she emerged in the dress, he couldn't help but grin.

"What?" she asked, pouting.

"Nothing...it's just... You look amazing," he said, eyes wide as he stared.

She obviously didn't believe him, but her cheeks pinked anyway.

As they drove home after the ballet, Derek kept glancing at Emily, watching as she stared vacantly out the window. "I can feel you staring at me," she said eventually.

"Not staring," he insisted. "Just...wondering what you're thinking."

She turned her head to give him a pointed look. "Really? So, you're not staring at my breasts?"

"They started it," he joked. "But seriously, are you okay?"

She shrugged. "Just thinking about how all the traditions Clyde and I spent years creating – traditions like going to the ballet together, like picking out the perfect Christmas tree and decorating it in our pyjamas, like watching It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve... I never knew it was the last time we'd ever do them together, I didn't appreciate how precious those moments were at the time."

He reached across the centre console to squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry, Em, I know this must be incredibly difficult for you...and if there's anything I can do for you..."

She smiled faintly. "Thank you, Derek. You really don't have to..."

"Well, I want to," he insisted, pulling the car to the curb.

Glancing out the window, she frowned. "Where are we?"

He handed her a box. "First, open this."

Trepidatiously, she lifted the lid off the box. "Is this...a key?" she stammered, brow rising. "For what?"

He nodded toward the nearest house.

Dear Silver Belle;

I have to admit, you might be onto something with the ballet... Just don't tell anyone I said that – I've got a tough guy reputation to uphold. (Though, I may have to rethink just how tough I am, having seen those male dancers. I swear some of them had twenty-four packs!)

I think the best part was that I got to share it with a friend. I came into town feeling like I had no one, but I'm starting to realize I've got more people in my corner than I even realized.

To answer your question: I used to watch Diehard with my dad when I was a kid. We'd have a guy's night together – no girls allowed – and we'd watch the movie and eat junk food my mom didn't like us to have and stay up late together. It's one of my favourite memories of spending time together. And even though he's passed, I still make time for Diehard and know that he's there with me.

And as far as your other question goes... I hadn't really expected anything going into this, since it wasn't exactly my idea. But now...I'm not sure what to think. I know that I feel an inexplicable kinship between us and, maybe, there's a chance it could turn into something more. I'm certainly not about to discount the possibility.

Afterall, stranger things have happened.

- Pilgrim