When Emily arrived home after her shift, JJ wasn't passed out in front of the TV for a change – rather she was seated at the coffee table with an array of books splayed across the surface. Her hair was in a messy bun, pinned back by a pencil, with a highlighter perched behind her ear.

"Got a test coming up?" Emily asked in a quiet voice as she kicked off her shoes and tiptoed into the living room.

She nodded, but didn't comment as she reached for the highlighter and marked something in the book in front of her. When she was finished, she looked up, offered Emily a tired smile. "How was your shift?" she asked.

She shrugged. "The usual." A beat. "Oh! Except...guess who showed up?"

"Who?" she inquired, clearly not all that interested, but playing along anyway.

"Andrew."

Suddenly, she was very interested. "What!?" she hissed, brows leaping up her forehead. "Please tell me you're joking..."

She shook her head. "He wanted me to refresh his memory as to what happened the night before..."

JJ groaned. "I knew this was a bad idea," she insisted. "I knew something like this would happen."

"Would you relax?" Emily scoffed. "I just told him we all got a little drunk, so no one really remembered. I think he bought it...based on the way he then bought a bottle of champagne and a lap dance." When JJ still seemed skeptical, she said, "He's got a young daughter, he's not going to go to the cops and risk everyone finding out what he does in his spare time."

That, though, was the wrong thing to say, based on the way JJ's eyes went wide. "He's got a kid!?" she hissed. "We robbed a single parent?"

"Hey," Emily said, holding her hands up in self-defence, "He was your target, it's not my fault if you didn't do your research beforehand."

JJ rolled her eyes. "This was your idea, though," she pointed out.

"And you went along with it..."

Before their argument could unravel any further, though, Henry padded out of his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Mama, I haves a nightmare..."

La Gioielleria, as Dave had so wittily named the club, was a different place before it opened. When the lights were on and sunlight was still streaming in through the windows, the place was bright, even airy and without the pounding music, it was possible to carry on a conversation.

Dancers were stretching on stage or trying out moves on the poles while others sat around the tables and chatted with each other as if it were a coffee shop instead of a strip club. It was almost pleasant...or it would have been if Emily didn't have so many unpleasant memories of the place.

As a general rule, she never arrived at the club more than twenty minutes before her shift started. She was pretty certain that if she spent too much time there, the depressing reality that this was, in fact, her life would set in...

Besides, being a single parent made it all the harder to part with her daughter. Every time she left the apartment without Jayde, she felt a surge of guilt build in her chest, wishing she didn't have leave her. Wishing she were doing a job she didn't have to use euphemisms to explain to her daughter where she went every night. But she knew that it was better than nothing because it allowed her to feed and clothe her...albeit just barely.

Her luck was about to change, though...

Which was part of the reason she was there so early in the first place.

Approaching behind Derek who was seated at the bar alone and sipping a beer, she tapped on his shoulder, startling him. When he whirled around to see who had interrupted what appeared to be sullen solitude, she slid a wrapped package across the bar, trying to resist the anticipatory smile from crossing her lips.

He glanced from the package, up to Emily, then back, brow wrinkled in confusion.

"It's a gift," she explained as if he were particularly slow. She climbed onto the barstool beside him and flagged down the bartender to signal that she'd have a drink as well.

"A gift?" he repeated slowly, eyeing the package as if anticipating it exploding at any moment.

She laughed softly at his quasi-alarm. "You know, a gift? Something one person gives another, often as a gesture of gratefulness?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ha ha, smartass. I'm familiar with the concept...I'm just confused as to why you're giving it to me."

"Just open it," she said, shaking her head at his smart aleck attitude. A beat. "And before you go getting any ideas, this doesn't mean I like you," she added, "And it certainly doesn't mean we're friends."

"And yet..." he said with a little wink as he peeled off the newspaper in which she'd wrapped it. He opened his mouth to utter further teasing, but the words stalled as the paper fell away, revealing the gift beneath: a football signed by one of the Chicago Bears. "Holy shit!" he breathed, in awe. "This is Walter Payton's autograph! Did you know he..."

Finishing the sentence for him, she said, "He played running back for the Bears for thirteen seasons." At his surprised expression, she explained, "Google."

He just laughed because, for a moment, she'd actually had him believing she was a football fan.

"Well?" she asked. "Do you like it? You mentioned you like football and, since you're from Chicago, I assumed you're a fan of the Bears..."

"I love it," he insisted. "I'm just wondering... I mean... Well, why?"

She shrugged as if it were nothing. "I just wanted to thank you. For helping with the drywall. And for the self-defence lessons."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "You could have found easier – and less expensive – ways to thank me..."

"It was nothing," she insisted. When he still seemed dubious, though, she pressed, "Seriously. I just came into a little money and I wanted to thank you properly."

"Well, in that case...thank you," he said. "Even if I think you went way overboard."