They caught up over dinner, talking about things other than the fact that his marriage had just broken down or that they hadn't seen each other in two years. Derek told her about the stuff that hadn't made it into the paper and gossip magazines, Casey told him a few bits of news about her writing and the dancing she taught on the side. She had opted to live in Toronto the same as Derek and in reality they lived only fifteen miles apart. There really was no excuse for the fact they hadn't seen each other.

Except for the obvious.

.

Casey's third novel was about to be published and she was feeling a sense of relief about the whole process. The first novel, ideas had fallen onto the page like rain in a storm. The second, more aware of what made a decent novel and what didn't work, the ideas came less easily but she was more confident that what she wrote would be liked. For the third novel, it had been like getting blood from a stone and she had spent long days and nights writing page after page only to hit the delete button on her laptop at 11:59pm the same night.

But finally, the novel had survived the editing process – hers and the publisher's, and they were now onto the more glamorous side of writing, the choosing of artwork and publicity photos. Casey was no stranger to the limelight, but the life of a novelist was less newsworthy than that of arguably the most famous hockey player in the world.

At least, it had been until today. Somehow, Derek thought, it wouldn't take the photographers long to find out that Casey was Casey McDonald the novelist and Derek's step-sister.

"You think they are going to follow me?" Casey said as they took their coffees through to the den.

Derek chuckled. "Remember when you turned up at the Booker award ceremony? All the flashy lights and catcalls? That was nothing to a morning trip to the grocery store."

"Oh." Casey said.

Derek folded himself into his favourite part of the couch and smirked. "Yeah…oh. Still, I'm sure you'll cope. Just do me a favour. Stop covering your head and making it look as though you have something to hide or they'll start to thinking we're sleeping together."

Casey glanced at him as he said that, and noted his eyes were watching her carefully. She coughed and looked away.

"Do you mind if we don't put the news on?" He said quietly changing the subject. "I'd rather not see my ex-wife's face for a while."

"Let's watch a movie. What are you in the mood for?" Casey asked falsely bright. Derek shrugged, mentally applauding himself for not answering that truthfully.

"Something where an ex-wife gets murdered in a gory manner?"

The girl beside him on the couch grinned.

"So no Rom-coms then?"

"Remind me again why I haven't chucked you out."

"Because, fighting with me takes your mind off everything else."

"Okay. Pick a fight." He turned towards her expectantly. "What shall we do? My man-whoring ways or your criminal taste in men?"
She smiled. "Since you've been monogamous for the past two years and I've not dated anyone in a very long time that would be a very short argument."

"How do you know I've been monogamous?"

"Because, dear brother, you actually believe in the sanctity of marriage." Casey explained.

"Sanctity nothing. Chloe would have had my balls if I'd strayed."

"See. I told you. Sanctity." Casey was smug.

"So exactly how long has it been since the last loser?" Derek asked, resting his elbow against the back of the couch and then his head on his hand."

"None of your business."

"That long huh? When was the last time you had sex, Casey?"

"Absolutely none of your business."

"What? No one-night stands?"

"Derek…" Casey warned.

"I forgot. Casey McDonald doesn't do one-night stands. Sex is part of her idea of the sanctity of marriage…" he raised his eyebrows at her. "…or not."

There was a pause as they both registered the shift in topic. It had landed them in dangerous territory. Casey and Derek talking about sex was dangerous in so many ways.

"Are we seriously going to have this conversation?" She asked, looking at him with apprehension. He met her gaze for a long minute.

Derek looked away. "Nah. Too much water under the bridge." He said, and she thought for a second there was a hint of regret.

Casey shook herself. He was probably only thinking about his marriage.

Whatever he was thinking of, he disliked the way her whole body relaxed when she realised they weren't going to re-visit their past.

They picked a pay movie and sprawled out on the couch to watch it. Casey produced popcorn from some where and Derek was pleased to see that it was plain. He had no intention of waking up in a sticky mess again.

Much later on as the movie was in full swing, he glanced across the short distance between them. It wasn't just the absence of the sticky popcorn mess, today had been better for him than last night – period; better for him than getting drunk with Sam, calling Ralph back and asking for his cousin's phone number or watching Ed fawn over his own wife.

Sitting here on the sofa with Casey was the best Derek had felt in a long time.

It was funny how Casey always appeared when life was at its most shit, and, despite what he said and did, somehow it felt less shit by the time she had gone.

"I'm not sleeping in your bedroom, Derek."

"I know. This isn't my bedroom."

Casey gave him a look that was sleepy and accusatory at the same time.

"It's the master bedroom Derek. I do remember, you know."

Her step-brother shrugged. "Yeah well, Chloe didn't like the view from this room. She said it was too close to the gardens and filled the room with bugs, so she had us move into the guest room down the hall."

"But this is the nicest room in the entire house!"

Derek hid a smile. Personally, he preferred this room too, but he wasn't about to say that.

"If it's the nicest room in the house then you won't mind sleeping here." He said, with the infuriating smugness that got on her nerves.

"Fine!" She sniffed in a huff. "Now go away and let me sleep."
Derek leaned against the doorway and smirked.

"What?" She asked, defensively.

"I missed you." He said honestly, and slung an arm around her shoulders, forcing her to move closer into him. "Thanks…for not trying to make it better with alcohol or stupid words of wisdom, or even worse the phone number of your single friend."

Casey chuckled and settled back against him. "Anyone with half a brain knows the only way to get through to you is through your stomach. I just thought you'd feel better if I fed you."
"Well I do. So thank you." He kissed her temple and paused. "But this doesn't give you the right to start interfering. I'm still having words with Security about letting you in."

"I've got two words for you, Derek…Chicken Casserole. It works on security details too!"

As the door closed on his step-sister, and one phase of his past, Derek was suddenly hopeful about the future again.

"Where's the bacon?" He asked, coming into the kitchen the following morning dressed but still towelling his hair.

"Ew! Der-ek! That's unhygienic! Get rid of the towel!" She protested. He rolled his eyes and chucked the towel into the adjacent laundry room, moving back to pester her as she chopped onions.

"I need breakfast." He complained.

"And this affects me because…?" She asked. He pouted.

"What happened to you healing me through my stomach?" he moaned.

Casey laughed. "There's pain au chocolat in the oven." She said, relenting and then when she saw the confusion on Derek's face, elaborated. "Chocolate croissants." Casey used the correct pronunciation.

Derek's eyes lit up. "Okay. I'll forgive you the lack of meat. What are you cooking?" He moved to the oven and using the mittens removed the hot tray containing his breakfast.

"Coq au Vin." She paused. "Chicken…"

"In wine, yeah…I can speak some French you know." He placed his plate on the breakfast bar and sat down. "What's with all the French cuisine?"
The beauty in front of him shrugged. "Coincidence. Did you sleep well?"

"Better, thanks. You?"
"Eventually." She said, distractedly.

"Why only eventually?"

"Too many memories." She said truthfully. "The room."

Derek stopped his hand mid-way to his mouth. "Sorry." He said honestly.

"It was a long time ago." She said wistfully, her voice breaking slightly and for the first time, Derek wondered if she was really as detached about the events of that time as she had made out. He stood up and crossed the floor to her, sliding his arms around her when he reached her side.

"I'm sorry." He said. "It should…"

"Don't Derek. I don't want to talk about it." Casey pulled away. "We made decisions. Stupid, immature decisions." Her voice trailed away at the end as though there was no conviction in her words.

Derek wondered if he was interpreting things too much…Wishful thinking was a bad move. He coughed and stepped away, back to his breakfast.

"What are you going to do today?" He asked.

"More of the same." She said. "And then I thought I'd go and have a wander round and see if Sheila listened the last time I spoke to her about under the beds."

"What about under the beds?" Derek sounded amused.

Casey sighed and shook her head. "The dust…seriously. It's a relief you don't have a dust allergy, the state she keeps this place in. I've had to talk to her several times about it."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Let me get this straight. Not only have you been sneaking in here to load my freezer up with food for the past two years, but you've also been haranguing the cleaning staff about dust bunnies?"

His step-sister had the decency to look abashed. "I'm sorry. It's just you know me and cleaning."
Yes. He did. He remembered how Casey thought it was therapeutic to clean just before exams and during times of stress. Evidently, these days she didn't clean herself, just press-ganged the domestics into achieving her high standards. Then he looked down at her jeans and recognised they were of the "planning on doing manual tasks" variety that he was used to seeing her in. Maybe, she would be getting down and dirty too.

"My wife is supposed to be in charge of running the house, Casey." Then he remembered that he didn't have a wife.

Casey watched as the realisation hit. "Exactly!" She announced cheerfully. "Supposed to, but she wasn't…and now you don't have a wife."

"I appreciate we all know differently now, but you've been doing this for the past two years, Casey most of which we all thought I did have a wife. Jeez! Thank god you never bumped into Chloe. That would have been a catfight in hell. You two hated each other."

Casey was silent for a moment. Derek glanced up. "Why do I get the feeling there is something you aren't telling me?" He asked.

She moved away from the hob and started chopping vegetables. "We did bump into each other, once."

"Did she throw you out?"

"Not exactly."

Derek pushed his empty plate away from him. "Give, McDonald. What happened?"
"She laughed at me."

"She what?"

"She laughed at me." Deep breath. "She said I was a sad bitch who couldn't tell when the object of her affections was obsessed with someone else. She said it was time I grew a pair, went out and found a husband of my own rather than following hers around like a drooling puppy dog. Apparently, she felt – I quote- "sorry" for me because I would never know what it was like to be kissed by you, to be loved by you to be made love to by you. Then she proceeded to list all the amazing skills you had in the bedroom."

Derek looked stunned. "What did you say?"

Casey snorted, but she had to lay down the vegetable knife because her hands were shaking so much. She moved to the sink and began to wash up where her hands were hidden from his view and he couldn't see the tremors.

"I thanked her for making me want to re-visit my lunch and asked her when my brother was coming home."