Every Friday over the next month, Sandra spends the night in Willow's dorm room. There are no parties to attend in the summer with just a few residence halls housing students because of less demand due to a shorter term. It's an opportunity for the two best friends to hang out, play games, talk about life. Amazingly, Willow has no roommate. It's very suspicious since she had been given a name and some basic information about a girl that would room with her, but when she moved in, she was told she was reassigned to a single because there was an odd number of students requesting rooms in that dorm. Sandra suspects it may have to do with the phone call she overheard her father make to the director of housing after finding out about her friend's difficult home life. She always assumed the secrets he kept from her were bad ones, but now she has learned not to underestimate him. He's a good man.

Dave had taken Willow to the doctor the first day she spent with them. She was diagnosed with a mild concussion which was causing her headaches and contributing to her sleepiness. She stayed with Sandra until the first day of classes, allowing her brain to heal and her soul to recover, as much as a wounded soul can after such an ordeal. It wasn't just that her dad beat her, it was that she was finally walking away, closing a chapter of her life, and striking out on her own. While Sandra may have been frightened and distressed in her friend's shoes, Willow was…relieved. She has a new sense of purpose, a calmness about her.

Sandra's painting class is first thing each morning, and she spends the time immediately afterwards in the university art studio working on various projects. Discovering a love for this medium, she experiments with new things to uncover her talent.

At noon every day she walks to her father's office and joins him for lunch. Sometimes you must witness the cruelties of life to appreciate what's in front of you. Never again will she take having a good father for granted, not after what she saw Willow's father was capable of. In fact, guilt has begun to manifest in her for all she's put him through over the past few years. It's like a heavy wet blanket, weighing her down so much she's determined to try and make it up to him every day. It's embarrassing for her to admit, but nearing the end of her sixteenth year, she has become quite clingy with him, often wanting to spend time with him. She never misses an opportunity for a hug, always says "I love you" when saying goodbye, recognizes that he's not perfect but pretty damn close, and has stopped judging him. Not that there's anything to judge right now. After she unloaded on him about his threesome, he hasn't dated anyone to her knowledge.

Two or three times a week, Dave sees Jen. Whether it's helping her out at the restaurant during a busy shift, attending the junior pyramid tournament where Cheryl's team is closing in on the championship game, dinner with the Dean and his wife, or a work-related social event – he finds a reason to spend time with her. Walking her to her door at night is easy, saying goodbye and walking away has become…increasingly difficult. They never spoke of what happened at Cheryl's athletic banquet, nor have they flirted again. He finds himself reflecting on that evening more than he probably should.

"Can I help you with anything, daddy?" Sandra asks after lunch in his office. "Any literature searches I can do for you? Find some books in the library?"

"You must be incredibly bored if you're asking to help with my research. That's what I have Jeff for, but if you really want to put a smile on my face, maybe you could bring me some ice cream from the union," he says, waving some cash in front of her. "And get something for yourself, too."

"Something vanilla?"

Staring past her with a thoughtful expression for several seconds, he eventually answers. "How about strawberry with chunks of dark chocolate?"

This isn't the response she's expecting, so she backs away from him, her palms held up before her. "Really? Did I accidentally wander into the wrong office today? Are you my dad?"

"I've decided to become more adventurous in my old age," he explains. "I thought you'd approve."

"I do approve. I just don't know why you waited so long to try something different."

The truth is he never would have tried anything else if Jen hadn't held her spoon in front of him, tempting him into a bite of her strawberry-dark chocolate-chunk ice cream sundae last weekend when she took him out after working the lunch hour at her restaurant. He refused to accept money from her but after glaring at him and demanding that she be allowed to thank him in some way, they settled on ice cream. It also meant spending more time with her, which was the real treat in his opinion. From her fiery gaze when she insisted on paying for the cold delicacies instead of him, to the way her mouth moved as she savored every bite of the delicious sundae, he's ready to revisit these fond memories this afternoon, hoping they don't become too much of a distraction while he reads over grant proposals.

"I've decided it's time to try to new things."

"Great," Sandra says, curious about the faraway look in his eye. "I'll be back soon."

Jogging down the steps, she turns the corner and almost bumps into someone looking at their phone coming up the steps. "Excuse me," he mumbles without looking up.

"New girlfriend?" she asks.

"Huh? Oh, hi, Sandra," Jeff replies with a surprised look on his face.

"Where've you been, stranger? I haven't seen you all summer."

"I picked up a second class, so I don't start my research until later in the day. You're usually gone by then." He stares blankly at her and seems a little standoffish.

"So," she says looking him over, trying to figure out why this is such an awkward conversation. "New girlfriend?"

"No, just checking my test grade. Looks like it's not posted yet."

"I'm sure you did great."

"I hope so. What about you? You still seeing that guy from the library?"

"Huh? What guy?" she asks before it dawns on her he's talking about Kyle. "Ohhh, nooo, that was never anything. I mean, we never went out. It wasn't what it looked like. He's the type that thinks he can come onto girls and stick his hands all over them."

"I hope you told him that wasn't okay," he replies with a troubled look.

"He got the message alright. I handled it and it's safe to say he'll never try that with me again."

"Good for you! So…you aren't seeing anyone?"

"Not unless you count my therapist, and if you ever meet him, you'll understand why there could never be anything romantic between us. What about you? Did you meet someone when you went camping?"

"Just my brother's girlfriend and he would beat the crap out of me if I hit on her, not that I would. She complained a lot during the camping trip."

"Kinda the type that doesn't like the outdoors?"

"Exactly the opposite. She's a very experienced camper, criticized our gear, laughed at me a few times. It was a humbling experience. She sorta ruined the trip for me."

"I'm sorry, I know how much you were looking forward to it," she says reaching for his hand, then pulling him into a hug. "I've really missed you, Jeff. I've missed our daily talks, our texts, our hugs." She sighs in his arms before realizing she's holding him tighter than he's holding her. "What's wrong?" she asks, pulling back to look at his face.

"Nothing. It's just that…this whole time I assumed you were seeing someone else, and that you forgot about me."

Her heart breaks a little at the realization that he thinks she could toss him aside so easily. It's time to tell him exactly how she feels. "I could never forget about you. You're one of my closest friends, and I feel bad for giving you the wrong impression. Are you doing anything right now? I'm on my way to get ice cream for me and my dad. I have enough money for you to join me if you want."

"I have a little free time. But first, I need to do this," he says, grabbing her and giving her a squeeze.

"There's that trademark hug I love so much," she giggles.

Packing for the trip to Picon is proving to be an enormous chore. While it's fairly simple for Bill, just needing his uniform, a few pairs of tanks, underwear, socks, and one casual outfit, Laura has to pack nursing bras, a couple of dressy blouses in case Emilee spits up on one, a gorgeous skirt she got on sale at the department store, two different pairs of shoes, a new sexy chemise she hasn't told Bill about yet, and a breast pump. They already have three bags packed for a short two-night stay and they haven't even begun to pack baby items yet. Diapers, wipes, bottles, pacifiers, a cute outfit for the ceremony, another cute outfit in case Emilee soils the first one, some onesies, tights, two blankets, a soft brush for her unruly curls, diaper cream for the rash that keeps flaring up on her bottom, pajamas, car seat carrier – those are just a few of the things Laura can think of off the top of her head.

"I'm glad we're doing this a few days early because…wow," she says, glancing around the room at all the items that still need to be packed.

"We'll get it all," he assures her. "How about we take a little break?"

"What kind of break?" she asks in a flirtatious tone.

"What kind of break do you want to take?" The smoldering look in his eyes indicates the kind of break he wants will involve being naked, sweaty, and flushed. And she is not opposed to it at all.

"Em will probably be asleep for another thirty minutes or so." She trails her hand down his chest until it lands on his belt buckle. "Here in the living room? Kitchen? Bedroom?"

"Your choice." He nuzzles her ear with his nose, sending a wave of warmth straight to her core.

"Kitchen island."

"One of my favorites."

"You have favorites?" she giggles.

"True. They're all my favorites."

It's the quarter finals of the junior pyramid tournament and Cheryl's opponent is a team they beat easily twice during the regular season.

"Daddy, how much do you think we'll win by?" she asks from the backseat as they drive to the arena.

"That's not a question you should be asking. You need to think about how you're going to defeat this other team. It's not easy beating someone three times. They've learned your schemes and your defense, and they'll play you a lot tougher this time."

"I understand your concerns, daddy. We'll win by scoring more points than they do," she giggles.

"Alright, smarty pants, don't get too overconfident. Focus on the game, then you can celebrate afterwards."

"Ooookayyyy," she replies, unconvinced. "Is JJ coming?"

"She'll be there if she doesn't have to work." He, of course, knows for certain she'll be there, but he suspects Cheryl has been fishing for information about him and JJ ever since she accompanied them to the athletic banquet. He finally has gotten Sandra off his back regarding his dating life, now Cheryl is on the case. She's like a little bloodhound on a mission, sniffing out any clue she can find.

"I love JJ."

"That's nice, sweetheart, I'm sure she loves you, too."

"Sandra loves her. So does Laurie. And Bill. And I think when Emilee is older, she will love her, too. Eeeevvverrrybody loves JJ."

When he glances at her in the rearview mirror, he finds her staring back with a crooked grin and one eyebrow cocked at him.

"You look just like Laurie when you do that."

"Why are you changing the subject, daddy?"

"And you sound just like Sandra. Please focus on the game tonight and quit worrying about JJ being there."

"Mmmm, okay, daddy."

They had flirted again last night at the quarterfinals of the tournament. Jen was getting irritated with the rough play by the opposing team and had expressed her frustration to Dave. He had agreed with her, but also pointed out that it might be a good lesson for Cheryl to learn that the best team doesn't always win. Then to try and put a smile on Jen's face or, better yet, hear her laugh, he leaned into her and whispered in her ear that she's smokin' hot when she's mad. This prompted an eyeroll, then a sweet laugh from her. Turning her face to his, their mouths just a few inches apart, she then warned him to be careful because they never finished what they started in that dark hallway last month.

It was another 'safe' flirtation since they were at a game, a close one that Cheryl's team won with some last second heroics. A few heated looks were exchanged between them as they walked with Cheryl to the parking lot afterwards, but that was the extent of it. Still, it was enough to give him that flutter in his chest that springs up whenever he considers the possibility of something more than friendship.

Today, like many other days recently, Jen has dominated his thoughts. He considers what it would be like to drop this act of fake dating and accept it for what it is. He considers what it would mean to not only him but his daughters to have a woman like her in their lives again. He considers how good they are together, how they support one another, how they confide in each other, how they agree to disagree sometimes, respectfully of course. He considers her his equal, his dearest friend. And then there are other considerations that any red-blooded man has when confronted with a woman like her. Instead of walking her to her door and saying goodnight, he considers the deep emotions he would feel if he pressed his lips on hers, how his body would ache if he held her in his arms, feel her hum with desire, hear her whisper in his ear as they make love. He considers telling her all of these things.

"Dad? Daaaadddd?" Sandra says snapping her fingers in front of him as he stares blankly over the top of his desk. "You in there? I've been talking for five minutes but you're totally spaced out."

"Yup," he says, shaking thoughts of Jen from his mind. "I'm sorry, honey, I'm a little distracted today. What were you saying?"

"I was telling you that I'm two months pregnant and I'm not sure who the father is."

"WHAT?!"

"That got your attention! I'm kidding, I'm not pregnant. Not even close." She mumbles the last part so he cannot hear her.

"You about gave me a heart attack, Sandra!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, running behind him and slipping her arms around his neck as he sits at his desk. "Can you forgive me?"

"Once my heart rate returns to normal," he replies, breathing heavily at the thought of Sandra's words being true. Thank the Lords of Kobol they aren't.

"Please forgive me? I'll get you ice cream. I feel bad for upsetting you."

"Well, you're right, you got my attention. I suppose I can forgive you in exchange for some ice cream."

"Strawberry with chunks of dark chocolate?"

He considers the distractions that come with that combination of flavors. "Better make it vanilla. I have a lot to get done before the faculty social tonight."

"Okay," she replies, giving him a puzzled look, returning to her chair to get her backpack. She wonders why the flavor would make any difference in the amount of work he gets done. "Can you give me enough money to take Jeff with me?"

"Is he the father of your imaginary baby?"

"Ahhhhh!" she gasps, glaring at him for bringing up the possibility of Jeff as her baby-daddy. "You play dirty. Frankly, I don't think it would be a good idea to frak one of my best friends."

"Now I got your attention," he chortles with a smug smile, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

"What was your dad yelling about?" Jeff asks as he and Sandra walk together across the commons area to the student union.

"I told him I'm pregnant and not sure who the father is."

"Sandra!" Jeff exclaims, grabbing her and pulling her into a firm embrace. "I don't even know what to say! What're you gonna do?"

"Um," she stammers, standing stiff in his arms, "I'm going to tell you the same thing I told him. I'm kidding. Geez, why's it so believable that something like that would happen to me?"

"Because it happens to lots of beautiful young women like you, and the thought of you trying to raise a child by yourself…I can't even imagine. I wouldn't want you to be alone."

"Jeff," she says carefully, pulling away from him so that she can get a clear look at his worried face. "First, I want to reiterate that I'm joking. I am NOT pregnant. Second, you really think I'm beautiful? And third, were you considering asking me to marry you?"

Cradling her face in his hands, he replies, "Sandra, I'm relieved you're not pregnant, I think you're beautiful, and I'd be willing to do the honorable thing if you needed me to."

"Awww," she coos at him, placing a hand over her heart. "That's really old fashioned, but it's kinda sweet that you'd do that. Almost makes me wanna marry you for real. I'm sure daddy would approve because he did ask me if you were the father."

"Wait, what?!"

"C'mon," she laughs, pulling him along by the hand. "I'll explain on the way there."

Every summer a gala is held for faculty and administrators that remain on campus for the shortened semester. The dress code is casual compared to other events, with most of the men wearing lighter weight dress slacks and short-sleeved polos or button shirts, and women wearing sundresses and sandals, not afraid to show a little skin in the warm months. A live band provides the music and part of the banquet hall is converted to a dance floor.

Sandra approves of her father's attire – light khaki-colored slacks with a dark blue polo, and she busies herself with running the lint brush over him as he fusses with his hair in the mirror.

"Oh, let me help you," she grouses when she sees how flustered he's becoming. "It might be time for a haircut." She fiddles with a lock of his hair on the side that insists on sticking out and trying to curl upward.

"I probably should have done that earlier in the week. Do you think anyone will notice?"

"Maybe the woman that'll be running her fingers through your hair later. But none of the men will notice."

He gives her a disapproving look. "You're kind of pale. Are you feeling alright?" Her forehead is clammy to his touch.

"I have a little bit of a headache but I'm sure it's not pregnancy related," she jokes.

"I'm serious, Sandra, you look peaked. Maybe I better stay home tonight."

"I'll be fine. You go have fun. I don't wanna be responsible for ruining your evening," she says while yawning.

Jen answers the door dressed in a red halter-style sundress and brown leather sandals, her tanned skin glowing from her moisturizer. Her hair is swept up into a messy ponytail with a few tendrils hanging down to frame her face, the kind that will tempt Dave's fingers to brush them aside all night. She smells good, too, like sunshine and fresh air. He feels like a pubescent boy with a massive crush, his tongue half wagging as his eyes roam over her. She takes his breath away.

"Am I too casual?" she asks.

"No," he replies, gulping back the urge to tell her she looks smokin' hot for the second time this week.

Like the last few times he's come to her house, she senses he isn't revealing what's really on his mind. "Is there something you need to say to me?"

A long list comes to his mind. All those things he considered earlier in the day would be first, then he'd follow with how incredibly beautiful she is to him, how he cherishes moments like this, how he feels about her.

Instead, he says, "You look really tan." A true, but benign statement, the safest thing he can come up with. He's flabbergasted at how unsettled he feels in her presence, how his brain is at odds with his heart.

"Yeah, I am," she replies, giving him a thorough sweep with her eyes. "I worked in the garden all afternoon. I tan easily."

"You're very tan." If there was any doubt about his awkwardness after stating the obvious the first time, repeating it clears up any confusion.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling great. Why?"

"Because you're acting kind of weird."

"I think Sandra might be coming down with something. I'm worried about her. You know what, give me a second." He closes his eyes while taking a deep breath, releases it slowly, repeats the process, and settles himself.

"Better now?" she asks with her eyebrows raised, half-amused by his antics.

"Yes, much better. I've had a lot on my mind lately - I needed to clear my head. As always, you look lovely tonight, Jen." Her loveliness will be on his mind even more after tonight – every time he sees a red dress, every time it's sunny outside, every time he breathes in the fresh air…

"Thank you, Dave. Blue is your color," she says fixing the edge of his collar that has bunched up. Her eyes land on the lock of hair sticking out from the side of his head. Wetting her fingers with her tongue, she smooths it down, pushing it back into place, before smiling in satisfaction at his appearance. "We should get going." Stepping past him, she decides a compliment is in order. "You look smokin' hot tonight, hun."

They're seated at the same table with Dean Gregory Stockwell, his wife Sharon, Laura's former adviser Dr. Carol Galloway, and her husband Elmer. Dave and Jen are happy to show off photos of baby Emilee during the meal and fill Carol in on what Laura has been doing in her position at Campbell Elementary. Shortly after the meal, the band begins to play, and couples take to the dance floor.

"Shall we?" Dave inquires, offering his arm to Jen.

"I'd love to," she replies, hooking her arm around his.

Their first dance is to an upbeat song, allowing Dave to work off some of his nervous energy. Finally able to relax, he spins Jen around the dance floor, and is all smiles as he hears her laughter. Three dances later, they decide to take a break and get something to drink, the banquet room having grown very warm from the increase in activity level of the partygoers.

Two ice cold lemonades are delivered to their table. "Mmm, this is good," she says after taking a long drink.

"I think the lemonade at your restaurant is better," he replies, feeling more like himself.

"You think so?" she asks before tilting her head to the side and pressing the cold glass against the space beneath her earlobe on her neck. "What's better about mine?"

A bead of sweat trickles down her slender neck from her jawline, disappearing beneath the fabric of her halter-dress before reappearing in the hollow where her collar bones meet below her neck. It then leaves a trail as it travels down between her breasts before disappearing again. As his eyes follow it, he's nearly overcome by an urge to pull her to the nearest dark hallway, tell her everything that has been on his mind lately, and finally place a kiss to her lips. But his brain tells him this is not the time nor the place for that to happen. "It tastes good."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that's what you meant. What's gotten into you tonight?" she laughs.

His internal struggle is getting the best of him, making it difficult for him to focus, communicate, and behave like a normal person. He decides to put an end to it. "Excuse me. I'll be right back."

Staring at himself in the mirror of the empty men's room for several seconds, he repeats the breathing technique he used earlier at Jen's house. In his entire life there's been one other time he's behaved like this around a woman, and that was when he was working up the courage to ask Betty out for the first time. That was nearly 30 years ago. He was thoroughly captivated by the woman that would become his wife and the mother of his children, the woman he was supposed to grow old with. He chalked up his ineptitude to his youth.

This time he can't use that excuse. Jen has made it clear that there's too much at risk for her to start a romantic relationship with him. He understands her reasoning, respects her decision on the matter, but the more time he spends with her, the stronger his feelings. The stronger his feelings get, the more excuses he makes to spend time with her. It's reached a tipping point this evening, one he's afraid he may never recover from without taking drastic measures.

A text notification pulls him back to reality. It's from Sandra: "I'm really sick. Stomachache. Fever."

His reply: "I'll be home soon. Hang in there."

"Jen, I have to apologize - I need to go home. Sandra's sick with a fever and stomachache."

"Oh, that poor girl. Are you feeling okay?" she asks, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. "You've seemed sort of off tonight."

"I'm fine. I've had a lot on my mind lately. I'm going to say goodbye to Greg and Sharon, then we can go."

It's a quiet drive to her house, his thoughts partly weighed down with Sandra's illness, but mostly with how he's going to handle saying goodnight to the woman seated next to him.

"Dave, there's something you're not telling me. I've been sensing this for about a month now. I want you to know that whatever it is, you can talk to me when you're ready." Her hand moves to rest on top of his on the center console, where they intertwine their fingers.

"Thank you. There is something I need to speak with you about, but it would be better if I did it when we get to your place."

Ten minutes later, he pulls into her driveway, helps her from the car, then walks her to the door. "Would you like to talk inside for a few minutes?" she asks.

"Sure, but I can't stay long," he replies before following her inside.

The concerned look on her face makes it difficult for him to begin. "Jen, come here." Stepping toward her, he pulls her into his arms, holding her close and resting his cheek near the top of her head.

The pounding of his heart troubles her. He has never acted this way around her, has never kept something from her for this long. Whatever's bothering him has shaken him in a way she's never seen before. Suddenly he turns his head and places a lingering kiss on her temple, making her catch her breath.

"Jen…I can't do this anymore," he sighs.

The fear of what he's going to say next causes her body to stiffen and her breath to catch in her throat. But then he places another lingering kiss, this time to her forehead.

"I can't pretend these are fake dates. For me, they're very real and I hope you feel the same way."

His lips land on her other temple, gently kissing her there. "We're so damn good together - we can be ourselves around each other, joke together, flirt with one another, and we support each other. Even when we disagree about something, we can be passionate without being disrespectful."

He can feel her head nod in agreement as a barely audible hum escapes from her throat.

"My girls adore you…they love you." He pauses, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm in love with you, Jen. I love you. If you tell me to stop kissing you, I'll stop. I'll get in my car…drive home…I won't bother you again. But I needed to tell you what's been on my mind." He places another kiss to her forehead, and again to her temple. "Should I stop?"

Cupping his cheek with her hand, she pulls back to gaze into his eyes. He's sincere but restless, hopeful but torn about what she may say. Pulling her palm to his mouth, he closes his eyes and kisses it tenderly. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

"Don't."

Releasing her hand, he stares at her, searching for the meaning of her response.

From that first dance at Laura and Bill's wedding, she had a feeling about him. Besides the fact that he was tall, handsome, and genuinely kind, he was intelligent, thoughtful, caring. When he helped her out at the restaurant the evening they were getting slammed, she knew she could fall for him. It's one thing to say you support someone, but it's entirely different to roll up your sleeves and prove it and not expect anything in return. He's the reason she decided to seek therapy, to finally set some boundaries in her dating life, and work to overcome the disappointment of her failed marriage. Accept the past, then move forward, trust someone, learn to love again, and let that person love you – these are among the things her therapist emphasized in their sessions. The first four have been accomplished, she's confident about that. The last one is the most difficult because she has always felt it would entail giving up her independence, becoming vulnerable again, and losing part of her identity. Now she knows those assumptions are wrong.

There are no feelings of dread, vulnerability, or loss of control as she gazes at him. She considers the next chapter of her life – moving forward with him, trusting him, loving him, and allowing herself to be loved by him. A warm smile spreads across her face. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop. I love you, too."

The words are barely out of her mouth when he presses his lips to hers, discovering her in a way he has only dreamed about. It's a passionate kiss, only broken when their lungs start burning for air.

"I wish I could stay," he confesses.

"I know," she replies, brushing her lips against his. "Call me later – let me know how Sandra's doing. Give my love to everyone."

"I will. I'll make this evening up to you, I promise. I love you. Goodnight, Jen."