"Piece of fucking junk!" Emily muttered darkly, slamming her palms against the steering wheel of her car when the engine refused to turn over. (She'd had the car longer than all her relationships combined, so it wasn't exactly a surprise that it was on the verge of crapping out completely, but that didn't mean she had to be pleased about it.)

She turned the key in the ignition again, murmuring a quiet plea to the vehicle, but to no avail. The engine sputtered a few times, whined shrilly, then thudded with finality.

A knock on the window startled her and she whipped her head around to find Derek standing there, one brow quirked in silent question. Huffing, she climbed back out of the car, none too thrilled about the prospect of further conversation after their little squabble earlier, but she knew she needed him to either give her a jump or a ride, so she swallowed her pride and plastered on a smile.

"Having trouble?" Derek asked, as if the answer weren't incredibly obvious.

She shrugged in reply because, well, duh...

"Want a ride?" he asked because he was nothing if not a gentleman. Most of the time.

Reluctantly nodding, she mumbled her thanks as he held open the door to his truck.

"Where are you going?" Derek asked around a yawn as Emily slipped out from under his arm where it had been wrapped around her waist as they lay together in bed, enjoying the post-coital glow. (How they'd ended up there after their earlier argument, he didn't quite know, but he certainly wasn't about to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.)

She glanced over her shoulder at him as she grabbed his button-down off the floor where it had landed in the throes of ecstasy, shot him a mischievous little grin. "Afraid I'm going to run away?" she teased.

He quirked a brow in response. "Well, it does seem to be your signature move..." he replied.

She pouted, but couldn't manage to form a retort because it was a fair hit. "I'm thirsty," she answered his question. "And before you make some smart-ass remark, I'm not going to walk around naked so you can ogle me."

He just chuckled at that because it was hardly a secret that his gaze was raking along her naked body.

As she pulled on his shirt, something crinkled in the pocket and, curiosity piqued, she reached in and pulled out a folded square of paper. Shooting him a quizzical look, she unfolded it to reveal a crayon drawing that she immediately recognized as her daughter's artistic stylings. "What's this?" she asked, studying the drawing.

He suddenly seemed reticent to tell her, as if afraid he might frighten her off. Which was, in fact, a fair assessment of her flightiness, given...well, everything. At length, he said, "It's... It's a picture of our wedding. I was supposed to give it to you earlier, but I forgot."

A beat.

"Our... Our wedding?" Emily stammered, obviously taken aback. "As in you and me? Getting married?"

"Is it that surprising after today?" he asked.

It wasn't, but that didn't make it any easier to make sense of... She settled on the edge of the bed, still staring at the drawing – two stick figures holding hands (her and Derek, of course) with a third smaller stick figure beside them (obviously Jayde), accompanied by approximately ten thousand hearts. "She really wants us to be together, huh?" Emily whispered at length.

"Maybe it's just a little kid phase?" he suggested, seeming to sense that Emily was about to take an emotional nose-dive off a cliff.

"Maybe," she said, obviously unconvinced, "Or maybe I'm not doing a very good job of being a single mom... Maybe this is a cry for a father figure that I haven't been able to give her."

In the next moment, Derek was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "That absolutely is not the case," he insisted.

"Then why?" she demanded.

He sighed, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. "I think she's just really perceptive..."

She raised a brow though he couldn't see it. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning, she obviously senses that there's something between us, even if we can't – or won't – address it. Maybe she knows something we're not willing to admit."

She pursed her lips, hummed a thoughtful note. "You really are a dog with a bone, aren't you?" she grumbled at length.

He laughed. "I have a feeling you didn't intend that as a double entendre?"

She rolled her eyes. "We already had sex three times tonight..." she pointed out. "I'm starting to think you somehow manufactured my car breaking down so you had an excuse to give me a ride home."

He smirked, but said nothing.

Turning in his grasp, she studied his face in silence. "You really do want this, don't you?" she asked quietly. "You want us to be together?"

"Of course, I do," he said firmly. "And I think that's what you want too, you're just too afraid to let yourself admit to wanting it because you don't trust people. And you've been hurt before, which I get, but if you never let your walls down for fear of getting hurt, you'll never get close to anyone. And that's no way to live."

Another beat.

"And you really think it's just that easy?"

He shook his head. "Hell no. I have no delusions, Em. This is going to be hard and we'll fight and you'll hate me sometimes because I'm not afraid to call you on your bullshit, but I'll never ever stop caring about you or your daughter. And isn't that what matters?"

She sighed heavily, but said nothing. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

Derek, for his part, seemed to understand perfectly, even without words. He tightened his grip on her waist, nuzzled into her neck and pressed a kiss there.