I had the hardest time with this update. Seriously. I do have to thank merderluvr and judempeo for being just absolutely lovely. Both send me messages of encouragement, which really helped me focus. And while I love all my readers equally, you two are the rock stars for this week and I'm dedicating this to you :)

Happy (almost) weekend!

A strange thing is happening to me. A strange feeling of lightness. A strange urge to whistle while I cook breakfast. It's irrational and probably irritating to anyone who isn't me, but the lightness and the whistling make me grin. I'm happy. Like really, really happy.

Last night happened. Of course it happened, but usually, when something really good happens, I've only dreamt it. But Mark's party, and the beach, and kissing Meredith all happened. I grin into my omelet pan. I should be hungover and drowsy from booze, but I can't feel anything but true unabashed happiness.

Meredith sleeps in her room and I woke up alone in mine. That's how it should be for now. Temptations are too high and we're still at the beginning phase. We need a few days to figure out how to be around one another once we've broken through the steel wall of friendship. I don't really know how to act around her now; should I greet her with a hug and a kiss, or will we just stand awkwardly across the room? Can I run my hands down along her ass as I kiss her or will that be pushing it too far?

I must admit though, for all my stress, I'm excited to take each step with Meredith.

The day is shaping up to be a beautiful one. The humidity is way down and big, fluffy clouds drift across the perfectly blue sky. The trees have been thriving in the intermitted rain and blazing sun, so a stroll along the streets of downtown provides a nice change between the warm sun and the leafy branches. It's a perfect day for a walk and a nice meal outside. It's the perfect day for a first real date.

My phone rings on the counter. Mom. I'm too happy to be annoyed that she's calling so early on a Sunday. "Hi Mom."

"Good morning, Derek. I'm surprised you're awake."

"Then why are you calling me so early?" I tease.

Mom laughs, "Touché. What are your plans for today?"

I want to shout my news from the rooftops. I want to tell my mom and my sisters and my father about Meredith. I want them to understand how happy I am, but I know—above all else—I have to keep Meredith a secret from everyone, especially my nosey family. If they dig too much into her story, they'll be lead right into Ellis's trap.

So I lie, "I'm not doing anything. Just hanging out."

"Perfect. Your dad and I were thinking of coming down today. Can we take you out to dinner?"

My stomach flips and I practically knock the pan off my stove. "I can't. I have plans."

"You just told me you're not doing anything."

"Well yeah, right now, but I have plans with Mark tonight."

"Derek," she sighs, and I feel a lecture coming on, "don't you think you've been spending an awful lot of time with Mark? Maybe you should meet some new people."

My mom is seriously ruining my morning buzz. In fact, I feel my hangover coming on. "That's why we go out, Mom, to meet other people."

"And I'm guessing you're busy for lunch, too."

Her tone reflects her disappointment. I can't tell her I'm seeing someone or she'll jump me for every ounce of information she can get. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to sound as disappointed as I can with the prospect of not meeting them for lunch. "I wish I could, but Mark has tickets to this show and I don't think I would have enough time to give you guys."

"You're almost as bad of a liar as your father. Fine, we won't see you today, but I expect to see you next weekend, okay? We'll take you out. Celebrate school starting in a few weeks."

I cringe at the thought of going back to school. "Sounds perfect, Mom. Hey, have you heard from Sophia?" If there's anything I'm good at, it's distracting my mom from topics I don't want to get into.

For the first few minutes, I listen intently. Sophia has returned to London and both Brynn and Max are well. Sophia apparently has a new job and is making almost double what she was before. But after that, I can't focus because Meredith opens her door and steps into my living room in blue and white striped shorts and a pale pink tank top. Her hair is a wreck and tangled along her shoulders, and she looks miserably tired, but she's beautiful just the same. A sleepy smile graces her lips as she crosses the room towards me.

We stand for just a moment assessing one another, but after more than a few seconds without touching her, I feel a familiar pull and wrap my free arm around her waist. Meredith smiles and reaches one hand up to my neck, while the other she wraps around my bicep as I give my mom a few encouraging "hmms," "oh reallys," and "yeahs" to keep her at bay.

"Who?" Meredith mouths.

"My mom," I whisper as quietly as possible.

I run my hand up the back of her shirt to feel her soft skin. She presses the entire length of her body to mine and I forget about my mom and Sophia and the eggs cooking on the stove. I lean down and press my mouth to Meredith's. Her eyes flutter closed just as I make contact. Her mouth is especially soft in the morning. Her hand falls from my arm to my waist, as she draws me nearer. I open my mouth to hers and taste her. Kissing Meredith solidifies that last night wasn't a dream.

"Derek? Derek?" my mom asks frantically in my ear.

I tear myself away from Meredith—from her lips and out of her arms—and wipe my mouth. Meredith grins at me. "Yeah, I'm here." I narrow my eyes at her and turn off burner beneath the now blackened omelets.

"Where were you?"

"I dropped my phone." Meredith snorts a laugh behind me. I turn to face her and lean back against the sink. It's a beautiful sight to see her so early in the morning. "Mom, I should go."

She sighs on the other line. "Oh alright. I can tell you're distracted. Call me later?"

"I'll call you tomorrow, Mom. I promise. Love you."

"I love you, too. And Derek—"

I hang up before she can continue prattling on about Nancy or Amelia or Sophia some more and I slide my phone into my back pocket on silent. Meredith crosses the kitchen and stands in front of me again. "You're really mean," I accuse of her.

"You kissed me if I remember correctly."

"Well then," I reach forward and wrap my arms around her again, "I guess I should kiss you again, shouldn't I?"

Meredith tips her face up to me. I push the hair away from her face, making sure to not actually thread my fingers through her knotted hair, and I lean down to kiss her. We're already so domesticated, kissing in the kitchen while our burnt breakfast sizzles in the cooling pan. It feels like we should have been this way forever. It feels natural to be kissing Meredith—as if any other contact, a whisper or a touch, pales in comparison to the simple, gratifying feeling of her mouth pressed upon mine. A desperate, sexy sound bubbles up through her throat and her grip on my waist tightens.

I turn us so Meredith is pressed against the sink. She bends her back and I follow, holding her up in my arms. My hands travel across her back and butt, no longer afraid of pushing her too far. If anything, she'll push me too far. But in this moment, the heat, the want, the passion is allowed to overwhelm us and I bask in the feeling of kissing Meredith silly.

I don't know how long we kiss, but when I finally pull away, my mouth is hot and hers is red. I keep her against me and suddenly feel like my apartment might be hotter than I previously thought.

"You're a very good kisser," Meredith plays with the hem of my shirt.

"Likewise, Grey. How'd you sleep?"

Meredith runs her fingers along the edge of my sweatpants—which I never wore before taking Meredith in—and the feeling is driving me crazy. "Bad, but I blame all the drinking. It probably would have been better if I slept in your room," she says in the sexiest way. It's like she's changed into a whole different—drastically confident and hot—person. I never expected this side of Meredith to exist, but I'm enjoying seeing the new her.

I smirk at her. "Maybe that can be arranged tonight."

She leans in and kisses me again and if it's meant to be chaste, it quickly transforms into something needy once again.

By the time we finally untangle ourselves from one another, my stomach is growling. I consult the cold, burnt eggs with a sigh. "I was distracted," I offer as an explanation.

"I'm not hungry anyway," Meredith claims as she pours herself a cup of coffee I had made earlier.

"You're hungover. The best food to beat a hangover is an egg sandwich." She scrunches her nose over the brim of her coffee cup. "I know the best place to get them."

Meredith shakes her head. "I really don't want food."

"Humor me, then. I'm starving. We'll go for a walk and then if you need to lie around and watch bad movies all day, that's what we'll do. But tonight, I need you awake and ready."

"Ready for what?" she quirks an eyebrow.

I cup her cheek, finding her completely overwhelming. "We're going on a date."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Go get dressed. I'll buy you a great cup of coffee on the way."

Meredith walks off to her room with a grin on her face, mirroring my own mood as I walk off to mine. Within minutes, we're both decent. I grab my wallet, phone, and keys, and Meredith follows me out the door and into a beautiful Sunday morning. As we reach Hudson Street, I take her hand. Meredith squeezes my palm in response.

It seems the Village has come alive with the sun. For weeks we've been overpowered by heat and humidity and having a beautiful day without the weight of moisture in the air has seriously changed my stomping ground into a busy, lively place. Children walk hand-in-hand with their parents, heading off to museums, beaches, and parks. Couples walk their dogs, street performers scream into megaphones and jam on the drums, and food carts roll into place. Right around Houston Street, I steer Meredith towards the best coffee in the city: Jacque Torres' chocolate shop.

The scent of chocolate in the dimly lit dual storefront and factory lingers in every corner. The walls are glass, showcasing the factory behind, and metal shelves display all the confections. I head to the coffee counter, though, and allow Meredith to place her order before I place mine.

"I can't tell if the smell of chocolate is making me hungry or nauseous."

"With a hangover, it's always a very fine line."

Meredith scoots out of someone's way and snuggles up next to me. "I haven't drank in a long time."

"Technically, you shouldn't be drinking at all," I smile.

"Promise you won't tell on me?"

I grab our coffees, handing one to Meredith. "I promise," which I seal with a kiss.

Our morning continues with egg sandwiches—which Meredith eats with me—at Pier 42 overlooking the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Jersey City and Hoboken. A few times, Meredith turns green and I think she's going to lose her breakfast, but we make it through without reliving the stale alcohol of the previous evening. Meredith talks on about school in the fall and her plans, and I listen carefully. I give insight when she seems to want it, but I keep my mouth shut to anything else. Meredith needs to figure out her life on her own and she has to know I'm supportive of anything she wants to do.

The rest of our afternoon is spent on the couch. We watch a marathon of the first season of Lost, which Meredith hates, and our limbs remain tangled together. We both sleep for a while. We drink lots of water and swear to never eat again.

But around five her hangover begins to clear. Meredith gets up to shower and I call in a reservation to my favorite restaurant Centro Vinotecca. I shower after her and my bathroom smells like flowers. I have to take a few deep breaths before sliding out of the steamy room; the scent is intoxicating.

"I have nothing to wear!" Meredith calls from her open door. I slide into my own room to avoid toeing over any imaginary lines.

"Wear the dress from last night."

"It smells like beer, Derek."

I pull on a clean pair of simple black boxers and towel dry my hair. "It'll be fine."

Meredith says nothing and all I can assume is she's listened to me. I dress in gray pants, a black button up shirt, and shiny black shoes. It's too hot for a jacket or tie, and the restaurant doesn't really call for it. I glance at the clock; we still have almost an hour.

"I'll be right back," Meredith calls and I slip into the living room just as she steps out the front door.

"Meredith!" I yell after her. In the stairwell, I hear her flip flops smacking the steps on her way down. "Where are you going?"

Meredith looks up the stairwell with a grin on her face. "I can't wear that dress. I need to buy a new one."

"Let me give you money."

"I'll see you in a few," she winks and disappears.

While Meredith's gone, I finally clean up the kitchen from the breakfast fiasco of the morning. Everything has a stale scent and I left the milk out, but besides that, the kitchen isn't all that much worse for the wear than it was before. I also rearrange the spice cabinet, so I can actually find more than just Italian seasoning every time I open the door and I check all the food in the refrigerator for expiration. I notice my tile floor is littered with crumbs, so I break out my Swiffer and clean. As I put the mop away, I check the time and we only have twenty minutes until our reservation; Meredith has been gone for forty.

I pace the living room and call her phone. It rings from the next room.

I curse and chuck my phone onto the couch. I pace some more. I check Meredith's room—for what, I have no idea—and I notice the dress from the night before laid carefully over the comforter. It really does smell like beer and smoke. Her shoes are tipped over, but look perfectly presentable for our night out. Her makeup and other products are strewn across the desk. I noticed earlier I now have tampons under my sink. Strangely enough, it didn't freak me out too much. The bed is unmade and on the night stand is a destroyed paperback. I'm about to pick it up when the front door swings open.

"Meredith?"

She stands in her doorway wearing a red dress. I stare unabashedly down her body, taking in the delicate straps that slide across her shoulders and the way the dress lays flat against her torso and flares at her hips into a full, pretty skirt. She wears skin colored heels and her hair falls in waves over her shoulders. Her lips are painted pale pink and her eyes are dark with makeup. My stomach twists with desire.

"Sorry I'm late. The guy at the store put me in a million dresses."

"You look beautiful."

She breaks into a wide smile. "You look good," her voice is quiet. She steps into her room. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you were snooping." Her arms wrap around my waist. "You smell good," she whispers and lays her head against my shoulder.

I hold her by the waist and kiss her beneath her ear, right on her pulse. She sighs. "I wanted to see what you were reading."

"The Grapes of Wrath. It was the last book I was assigned in school," she says as an explanation.

Meredith's hands slide down into my back pockets. I sigh. "We should go."

"I just want another second like this, okay?"

I say nothing, but grant Meredith—and me—another moment wrapped around each other. Her body is so close I can feel her heartbeat coming through my chest. Her hair is soft against my face and her breath is warm on my neck. The intimacy is palpable. I feel equal parts her protector and the person to finally allow her to live freely. I feel responsible for giving her the best life I can. I want to fulfill the role her mother never did and her father could never take on. I want to make her feel safe and wanted.

But at the same time as I desire to never let anything happen to her, I know Meredith is protecting me. She's protecting me from the poisons of my lifestyle. From the animosity of having more money than I should and the privilege I feel for growing up as I did. She's keeping me humble and down-to-earth. She's changing me from a person who believes everything is owed to me, to a man who knows when to count my blessing. And on my long list of blessings, Meredith is currently number one.

"Okay," she kisses my neck. "Let's go."

I follow Meredith down the steps out of my apartment and try not to stare at her ass the entire way. I fail, miserably.

The restaurant is busy, but with our reservation, we sit immediately. Our table is right next to the open windows to the street, tucked away in a corner. The table is outfitted with a white table cloth and a red candle. Meredith looks beautiful with candlelight glowing against her skin. I order a glass of red wine, while she orders a club soda—probably just to feel a little bit older.

"I like this place."

"I thought you might."

"How many first dates have you brought here?" she jokes.

I reach across the table and link my fingers through hers. "None, actually. I've always wanted to come here, though."

Meredith smiles and only tugs her hand away when the waiter returns with our drinks. We place our orders, hand over the menus, and I raise my glass to Meredith. "To you," I say.

She clinks her glass to mine. "Why me?"

"Why not?" I shrug and sip my wine.

"There's something insanely sexy about you drinking wine right now," she whispers across the table.

I laugh and set down my glass. "You're rocking that club soda, yourself." I add a wink.

In the time between ordering and our food actually arriving, we laugh and joke and flirt. Nothing has changed much, except the need to be touching Meredith and the desire to be kissing her. The conversation is just as honest as ever, with a bit more flirtation sprinkled throughout. It feels good to spend a lot of time with someone other than Mark and my family. They know me on a completely different level than Meredith, but it's beginning to feel like Meredith knows me more honestly than anyone else.

Our food arrives and silence ensues—which is always a sign of a good meal. "Try this," I say across the table and feed Meredith a bite of steak. She smiles and her eyes close.

"I have never tasted anything so good," she says and offers me a bite of her lamb chop.

When we finish, I sit back full and happy.

"I want dessert," she announces.

"Of course you do."

We browse the menu, but with every suggestion I make to split a dessert, she glares at me. We end up ordering a chocolate cake and a gelato with fresh fruit. Meredith eats both and licks the spoon and fork clean. I just watch her.

As the waiter clears the plates, I regale Meredith with the story of our trip to Australia right after the deal was struck with IKEA, and go into detail about being lost in the Outback. "My dad had no idea where we were going. He had refused to hire an actual tour guide, so there we are five kids and two adults absolutely lost in the desert. My dad seriously considered peeing into a bottle and trying to turn it to water because he thought we'd never be found."

"But you were."

"Yeah, like twenty minutes after he peed into a bottle. Still, to this day, we won't let him live it down."

"It must have been nice growing up with so many siblings."

"Most days it was, but the best part was I was the only son. My dad and I did a lot together—fishing, hiking, swimming, weekend trips away. He did it all with my sisters too, but it was always just the two of us, roasting hot dogs under the stars and telling the crudest jokes we could. I miss it."

"Why don't you do that now?"

I shrug, "I don't know. We just stopped. After the Ikea thing, he didn't have much time and I was a teenager. Naturally, being a teenager, I didn't care about spending time with my dad."

"You should spend more time with him. You never know when time will run out."

And then I remember Meredith's dad taking his own line. "Oh Meredith, I'm sorry." I take her hand.

"I wasn't talking about me," she shakes her head. "Not really. I probably would have been the same way if my dad had lived until I was a teenager, but even so, I think it's important to at least see him. Even if you don't want to fish or hike—go for a drive somewhere. Spend a night at a baseball game. You never know how the two of you might reconnect."

I grin, "How is my girlfriend so smart?"

"Girlfriend?" her eyes widen.

"Too soon?"

Meredith thinks for a second and then shakes her head. "No. Actually, it's kind of perfect."

I can't help but feel elated. "Would you like to go on a walk with me?"

Meredith nods, finishes the last bite of cake, and we exit the restaurant. We walk toward the Hudson, her arm looped through mine. I walk slowly since she's wearing heels, but if her feet hurt she doesn't complain.

"Would it upset you if I asked you something about your dad?"

"No."

We wait at a crosswalk and I smile at her. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I was curious. Do you know why your dad…"

Meredith finishes for me, "Killed himself?" I smile sadly. "I have theories, but nothing solid." We cross the street and she continues, "I think my mom had a big part in his death. It was something she did or said. She didn't mean for him to die because of what she said, I'm sure, but she pushed him to that. I can't think of anything else that would have that kind of effect on him."

"And there was no note?"

"Not that I saw, but I was young. If there was one, my mom probably has it. Before I left, I would sneak through her things, but I could never find it."

"Where do you think she'd keep it?"

Meredith shrugs. "In a lockbox somewhere. Knowing my mom, it's in a bank safe or somewhere else that only she has a key to."

"And she'd probably keep the key on her at all times."

"Ellis Grey is many things and being protective of her good name is probably number one." We reach the waterfront and Meredith leans across the railing. "The very worst part of it is that I deserve a right to know what happened to my father, but no one will tell me anything—least of all my mother. Once I'm eighteen I have a right to his personal files—medical files, police records—everything, but all it'll do is confirm he died from an overdose of pain meds and booze. I still won't know why."

"Maybe one day you can ask your mother."

Meredith reluctantly nods, "Maybe." She shifts her body and sides up next to me. "Let's talk about something else."

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. "What do you want to talk about?"

Each time she blinks, I feel her eyelashes slide down along my neck. "Nothing, actually. Can we just stand for a while?"

I nod and stare out along the water. "Of course. We can stand as long as you like."

And we do. Meredith remains pressed against me as we stare out along the Hudson River. All I can think about is her father taking his own life while knowing his daughter would be home in only a few hours. It doesn't seem right. If Meredith's father was as standup as she says, he would have never compromised his daughter's childhood by allowing her to find his body. Something has to be going on.

Ellis Grey had more of a hand in her husband's death than Meredith thinks.

I'm sure of it.

Follow me (for no reason at all because I'm not that exciting) on tumblr (joctober)!

:)