December 5th

Emily set her plate of cookies on the judging table, suddenly feeling rather inadequate as she looked at all the beautifully decorated entries.

"How'd you get roped into this baking debacle?" a voice asked from nearby.

She looked up sharply, startled. She attempted a polite smile at the man she found depositing his own entry on the table. "Someone told me I'm not a good baker," she said ominously.

He laughed good-naturedly. "Ah, a fellow retaliation baker..." At her raised brow, he explained, "My daughter told me I'm a terrible cook."

"Maybe we should start a club," she deadpanned. She turned then and saw his eyes widen as he noticed her belly.

He hid his surprise well, though. "So, you got a bossy little bean calling the shots in there?"

She glanced down, stroked her belly. "Takes after their father," she murmured. "He never liked my cooking either."

"Oh," he stammered. "Is... Is he here cheering you on?"

She cleared her throat. "He passed away."

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

But before he could say anything more, a little girl came bounding up. "Daddy, they're going to start judging soon..." She came to a sudden stop upon spotting Emily. "Who's your friend, Daddy?"

He paused, looking expectantly at her until she realized she hadn't introduced herself. "I'm Emily," she said with a gentle smile at the girl.

"Keely," she replied, reaching to shake her hand. "And that's my dad, Andrew." Then, a pause. "Can I?" she asked, pointing at her belly.

"Keely!" Andrew scolded, "That's not polite – she's a stranger and..."

Emily shook her head. "It's fine." She moved her coat aside so Keely could press a hand to her belly.

The girl giggled. "The baby's kicking!" she exclaimed to her father.

At that moment, Derek came sidling up to wrap his arm around her shoulder. "Hey, Princess," he greeted brightly, "Making friends?"

"Hello, Derek," she said darkly. "What are you doing here?"

"Hoping to get the leftovers," he joked. Then, his eyes went wide. "Wait...don't tell me you entered the contest!?"

She quirked a brow. "Is that a problem?" she asked, unamused.

"Well, I just didn't see the ambulance here, so..."

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're very funny... I'll have you know I've improved since I was ten."

"You two are old friends?" Andrew asked.

Still glowering, she said firmly, "If that..."

Derek interrupted, gently tugging her away, "If you'll excuse me, I need to steal her away for a moment."

"What are you doing?" she hissed, snatching her arm away from his grip. "I was having a nice conversation and you so rudely interrupted..."

"Rudely? I saved you," he insisted.

She scoffed. "Saved me from the nice man and his daughter?"

He rolled his eyes. "You are so naive – he was looking at you like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to eat you or f-..."

She held up one hand to interrupt. "I'm almost eight months pregnant, you think I'm just going to jump the bones of any guy who comes along?" she snapped. "Boy, you must not think very much of me..."

"It's not you, it's him," he insisted. "Guys are only after one thing."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Sorry, Mom...want to give me a lecture on birth control too?"

"Emily, I'm trying to help you."

"Well, you know what, Derek? I don't need your help. I'm a grown woman, I can look after myself!" she said, trying to keep her voice level to avoid attracting stares.

Their squabbling was cut short when Fran joined them, smiling up at her son like he'd hung the moon. Then, teasingly, she asked, "Derek, why haven't you introduced me to your pretty friend?"

Smiling down at his mother, then glancing back up at Emily, he said, "Mama, you know Little Em...she's all grown up now."

Fran pulled Emily into an embrace without warning. "All grown up and expecting a little one of her own..." She extended her out to arms' reach to get a better look at her. "Oh, Emily, you're glowing. How far along are you?"

"Almost thirty-six weeks," she murmured. "I'm almost ready for this to be over..."

Fran nodded knowingly. "I know exactly what you're going through. It gets pretty uncomfortable near the end." A beat. "But it's all worth it in the end."

She nodded. "It will be nice not to have my feet hurt every time I stand for more than five minutes," she joked.

"Well, you absolutely must join us for dinner," Fran declared, "I bet you haven't had a real home-cooked meal in months."

Emily laughed softly. "JJ's a good cook, but not as good as you, Mrs. Morgan."

"Please, Dear, call me Fran."

Dear Silver Belle;

I can't say the world – or Alex – is better off for my attempts at baking cookies, judging by the expression on her face when she tasted them... I can, though, say that I'm better off for having attempted it.

Baking used to be a part of my family's Christmas traditions, but...well, with time, I guess I drifted away from my family and our traditions. This was a nice reminder. For a long time, I've felt like maybe I didn't have room for old traditions in my new life, but I'm starting to think that maybe I need them more than I realized.

The clean up the kitchen required afterwards, though...not quite as fun. I think I still have flour in places flour should never ever be...

So, tell me a story. The story of why you love The Nutcracker so much. I've never actually seen it before... Is that weird? Maybe you'll convince me to check it out.

Honestly, I'm more of a watch Diehard and eat junk food kind of guy. Maybe we can swap – I'll check out the ballet, you watch Bruce Willis kill some terrorists.

It's weird, but I feel like you're one of the closest friends I have right now. It's been a long time since I've really connected with someone. Maybe I'm imagining things, but I'm glad I did this. I'm glad to get to know you.

- Pilgrim