December 13th

Dear Pilgrim;

There's a very real part of me that went into this feeling like my heart was too shattered to hold any love in it, like water leaking out a sieve. And I was okay with that because so long as no one else could worm their way into my heart, I wasn't disrespecting what I had with the person who came before.

But there's just something about you that's so familiar – things just feel so easy with you, like I don't have to try to hold up my walls because you see right through them anyway. And I want to hate that you see me – the real me – through words alone...but it's so hard to hate someone who just feels like home.

I don't know what's going to happen on December 25th – whether we'll see each other for the first time and there will be a spark or whether what we have is destined to stay in words and words alone. But I think I'm ready to find out...

~ Silver Belle

Fran shuffled into the living room to find Derek sitting in her armchair, holding her knitting needles, and apparently trying very hard to tangle a ball of yarn into knots. "What are you doing?" she asked hesitantly, almost as if afraid of the answer.

He looked up sharply like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Oh, umm...nothing!" He attempted to hide his project.

"Really? Because it looks like you're knitting. I think..."

He sighed in defeat. "I need your help, Mama," he admitted, embarrassed.

"With?" she prompted, wanting to hear him say it.

He held up the tangle of yarn. "I'm making a hat. For Emily's baby," he explained. "And you're such a talented knitter. Please help me..."

Fran laughed. "I've never seen you so domestic," she teased. "Is my baby boy starting to think about settling down?"

He shrugged. "I'm just making a gift, Mama, from one friend to another – no need to read into it."

"Derek, sooner or later, you're going to have to face your feelings for Emily," she said gently, but serious enough that he wouldn't dare make a joke. "I know you're a little intimidated by all the trauma she went through with Clyde's death – and that's fair, you saw what I went through when I lost your father – but I think you need to at least admit to yourself how you feel."

"Mama..." he whispered, sighed, shook his head. There was nothing he could say.

She just patted his shoulder, gentle and understanding in a way only a mother could be.

Derek sat in the cafe, knitting. He hadn't planned on knitting publicly, but Fran had had her book club over, so he'd need to find somewhere else to go. He was getting a few odd stares, but Derek Morgan didn't care what other people thought.

At least, not until JJ joined him, grinning with mischief. "What are you up to?" she asked.

"I'm making a tuque for Emily's baby," he admitted.

Her brows leapt up her forehead.

"Don't look at me like that," he muttered. "It's a gift."

She rolled her eyes. "Just ask her out already."

His eyes went wide. "Jayje..."" he groaned.

She refused to listen to his protests. "She's more ready than you might think," she insisted. "And you and her have a history."

He gave her a pointed look. "A history of being enemies..."

"She never hated you," JJ maintained. "And she certainly doesn't hate you now."

"That doesn't mean she wants me to date her," he argued.

She shook her head. "You're making excuses."

At that moment, the bell above the door chimed as it opened to admit Emily...and Andrew Mendoza.

Derek's jaw hung open slightly. "What... What are they doing here?"

JJ shrugged. "No idea."

"Is it a date?" her persisted.

"I don't know," she said again.

"Hey, umm... Hi, Emily. It's Andrew. Andrew Mendoza. I was just calling because, well, I saw you at the choir's concert. And Keely – and I guess me too – wanted to see if you wanted to get a coffee or something?"

Emily wasn't entirely sure why she'd decided to respond to the voicemail, why she'd agreed to meet for coffee when – to be entirely honest – she'd wanted nothing more than to stay home and sleep.

But she'd said yes all the same. Mostly because she was sick of being cooped up at home, waiting for labour to start. And Andrew was nice, his daughter was cute...they were harmless.

That didn't mean she didn't feel a little weird about it, though. Especially when he showed up alone...

"Where's Keely?" she asked when they met up outside the cafe.

"Grounded," he said with a dismissive wave. "Guess it's just you and me."

Emily chewed her lip. She was looking for a way to politely end the conversation, but not quite able to find one. "Listen, Andrew," she started.

He didn't let her finish. "I know you're probably not ready to start anything right now – at least, not before the baby is born, but..."

She grimaced. "Listen, Andrew," she tried again.

Derek approached at that moment, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Hey, Princess," he greeted. "Sorry I'm late." He settled in the chair next to her. "Who's your friend?"

Brow raised in confusion, she glanced from Derek to Andrew and back. "What are you doing?" she mouthed to him.

He winked. "Do you want to go pick out nursery paint, babe?"

Looking just as confused as Emily, if not more, Andrew stammered, "Oh... I didn't realize you two were..."

Realization dawning on her, Emily plastered on a smile, leaned against Derek and glanced up at him with adoration in her eyes. "Oh, sure, honey. I just have to say goodbye to my friend – you remember Andrew Mendoza, from the cookie contest?"

"Right." He reached over to shake his hand. "Andy. How's it going?"

"It's Andrew," he corrected. "I guess I'll just..." He gestured over his shoulder. "...go."