December 4th

"What the hell have you done to my kitchen?" JJ demanded, stopping at the threshold to stare dumbstruck at the chaos Emily had created in the short time she'd been left unsupervised. Not that she tended to treat Emily like a four year old, but she was pretty sure that when it came to cooking, based on past experience, it was warranted.

She had been called away on a work emergency and, considering the fact that she'd left Emily napping on the couch in front of the TV playing some Christmas movie that Emily claimed to hate but secretly loved, had thought nothing of it. As it turned out, though, she really should have been concerned...

"I woke up craving cookies," Emily said sheepishly. "You weren't here and I didn't want to walk to the store in the snow...I figured what could it hurt?"

"So you...mixed TNT with a bag of flour?" she asked, gesturing at the coating of flour on every surface, not least of which was Emily's entire outfit, featuring a powdery handprint on her belly.

Emily pouted. "Look, I'm not exactly Julia Child, okay? I did my best..." A beat. "At least nothing is on fire," she added petulantly.

In an attempt to pacify her, JJ tentatively took a bite from one of the nearby cooling gingerbread men, chewing slowly, thoughtfully for a moment. At first, it seemed that maybe Emily was better than JJ gave her credit for... Suddenly, though, she stopped, eyes going wide. She gagged, spit the cookie in her palm. "Are you trying to kill me?" she asked.

She pouted, mumbled, "I don't know what happened... I followed the recipe!"

"I'm sure you did your best," JJ murmured; feeling bad for her teasing she pulled her into a one-armed embrace. Then, under her breath, she added, "I'm just thankful for Alex's sake you weren't trying to enter the cookie contest."

Emily pursed her lips in thought. "Cookie contest?" she repeated.

She nodded. "You know, the town's annual contest to find the best amateur baker in town? The woman who runs the bakery judges it." She trailed off, frowning at the expression that was working its way across Emily's face. "What?"

"Nothing. You've just given me an idea..."

Dear Pilgrim;

I took your advice and went ice skating... How did it go, you ask? Well...I daresay you'll easily identify me by my limp, given how many times I landed on my ass.

I'm kidding...though I probably do have bruises all over.

Either way, I'm glad I did it. I hadn't been skating in a very long time. I'm not sure I felt like a kid again, but I did find joy in the experience. If only briefly.

Now, though, I present to you, a challenge of my own: enter the cookie contest. I'll enter as well, though I doubt I'll bring anyone joy with my entery...

My family never baked together – at Christmas, nor any other time. But maybe there's nothing that says you can't start anew, unburdened by what has been... And I'm starting to sound like a Charles Dickens character...

Anyway, maybe I'll see you at the contest.

Good luck.

~ Silver Belle

"Derek, what did I tell you about snacking before dinner?" Fran scolded, batting his hands away from the pantry door.

"Mama!" he whined, withdrawing his hand with a whimper and a pout. "I'm a grown man..."

"You'll spoil your appetite," she maintained.

He reached for the pantry door again. "I'm not snacking, I'm baking cookies," he defended.

That seemed to surprise and possibly alarm Fran. "Baking cookies?" she repeated dumbly. "Why?"

"For the contest."

That didn't appear to make the situation any better for her. "Since when do you enter baking contests? I mean, you do remember the time you set my kitchen aflame baking my birthday cake?"

"Mama...that was one time," he groaned. At her continued look of skepticism, he explained, "My pen pal kind of challenged me to enter the contest."

She nodded knowingly. "I've never known you to bake for a girl before..."

He shrugged, refusing to admit to anything. "Mama, don't let your imagination get the best of you. It's only December fourth afterall."

She maintained her smile, though. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy, Mama, 'cause I've got the best mother in the world," he said, kissing her temple.

She raised a brow. "You want my help making those cookies, don't you?"

"You're a three time winner... Of course, I do."

She winked. "Sorry, dear, but you're on your own. Wouldn't want to taint your victory."

Rolling his eyes, he reached for a cookbook, flipping through the pages in search of a recipe.

"Not that one," Fran hinted over his shoulder when his finger stopped on one of the recipes.

"Get out of my kitchen," he chastized, donning an apron.

She laughed as she scuttled off. "Just... Try not to start any fires, okay? I love you, but the fire department really doesn't..."

In the margins of the cookbook, Derek found a little note scrawled in familiar childish handwriting. 'Emily Loves!' it said, featuring a little heart with a smiley face. (Beside that, he'd written the word BUTTS because he'd been ten and a jerk.)

Chuckling to himself, he couldn't help but remember the day they'd written that. Elizabeth had left Emily in Fran's care for the weekend to attend some kind of conference after having berated the latest nanny to the point of quitting on the spot. Emily had been sullen and sulky...but that had quickly changed when Fran promised her chocolate cookies.

(Emily hadn't said so, but Derek was pretty sure it was less the cookies she'd been eager for than it was some kind of maternal presence. Not that he'd known at the time...back then, he'd mostly been concerned with annoying the ever-living shit out of Emily, considering the fact that he'd had an all-consuming crush on her. Emily, on the other hand, hated his guts.)

He supposed, not that much had changed. Especially the fact that he could never have her.