I said I'd update with "part two" of the last update by Tuesday. I almost made it - I missed it by 20 or so minutes. But its the longest chapter to date and I think those of you eager for more "Delena" will be satisfied. I hope you will, at least. I've been hard at work, writing away later chapters - this is turning in to one of my favorite things I've written in a while.

As I've said before, this story is just as much, if not more, about Damon's personal journey as it is about Damon and Elena falling for one another. Elena has been through a lot and came out the other side. Damon... He's got a ways to go. And I'm really enjoying writing his journey, some of which is seen below.

Thank you for being a part of it and for being so supportive - I appreciate you all!

Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries.

Elena nervously wandered through her house, adjusting a photo here, a knickknack there. She had spent the day cleaning, vacuuming and dusting in between a trip to the grocery store and baking a peach cobbler for dessert. She loved her home, but it wasn't remotely as elegant or elaborate as the Salvatore Boarding House. She had remodeled when she'd moved in, breathing new life into the home which had remained largely unchanged since her parents' death. She had purged their rustic country motif, opting for a shabby chic, French cottage-inspired look with mismatched flea market pieces refurbished during afternoons on the dock with Caroline and Bonnie. It was comfortable and light and as far away from the dark woods and deep reds of the Salvatore Boarding House as it could be. The view, though, she thought as she glanced out a window in passing, was hard to compete with.

Damon Salvatore had snuck up on her. It had been two weeks since their first date, three since she'd turned him down minutes after his father's coffin had been lowered into the ground. Somehow in those two weeks, he'd gotten under her skin, wormed his way into her thoughts and even interrupted her dreams with his piercing blue eyes and playful smirk. She almost hated him for it.

In her very core, she knew Damon. She couldn't explain it. She actually knew very little about him. She knew about his career and that he was a voracious reader, a fact she still couldn't quite comprehend as a love of literature went against the grain of the playboy façade he presented. She knew a bit about his family, more because of her time dating Stefan than from what Damon had told her, although there were still gaping holes she couldn't fill in. She knew about Damon's rebellious teen years and that he had an affinity for aged liquor.

But she didn't know how he took his coffee. She had no idea who his favorite football team was or if he left the top off the toothpaste. Did he prefer cats or dogs? Would he eat cold pizza for breakfast or pancakes for dinner? She didn't know how many times he hit the snooze button in the morning or if he liked driving or flying better. Did he drink milk straight from the carton, eat peanut butter straight from the jar? Own any clothing that wasn't black, navy or a white undershirt?

Then there were the big things, the mysteries that surrounded him. He kept his family at a distance, saw his father's death as nothing more than an inconvenience. He'd had his heart broken, a fact he wasn't aware that she knew about, and according to Stefan, didn't let anyone get too close. She'd seen flashes of the Damon everyone else seemed to know. He was the guy who so boldly suggested she join him in the coat closet at his father's funeral and who had been downright rude to his brother over breakfast. But she'd also seen flashes of another side of him. Somewhere in Damon was the man who shared cotton candy with her niece and held her in his arms during the thunderstorm. She liked that Damon, but she needed to reconcile him with his other half, the slick, fast-talking sports agent who boldly stated he always got what he wanted.

She had more questions than answers. She liked him and if he weren't leaving town, she would be sure about pursuing a relationship with him, seeing where things went between them. But his life was in New York. It would likely be best to cut ties now and save herself from the heartache that would come when he left Mystic Falls. She couldn't though. Because deep down, something nagged her, told her she needed to know Damon Salvatore. According to Bonnie whom she'd confided in earlier that day, that something was her very soul. And just as she couldn't prove Bonnie was right, she couldn't prove she was wrong, either.

The rumble of a car weaved its way through the trees and passed through the screens of the open windows letting in the comfortably warm late summer air. Elena glanced at herself in a hallway mirror one last time, ran a hand through her hair, and made her way outside, suddenly nervous. Damon was just pulling his Camaro to a stop next to her SUV. She stood at the top of the porch stairs, barefoot in a casual skirt and one of her favorite tops, and waited.

She had to remind herself to breathe when he stepped out of his car.

Her question of whether he owned an article of clothing in something besides black or navy was answered. His dark wash jeans hugged his hips, but it was the sky blue long sleeve shirt pushed up to his elbows that made Elena's breath hitch. The color made his vivid eyes pop all that much more, a stark contrast between his fair skin and raven-colored hair. He was aware of the affect he was having on her as he approached, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin.

"You look stunning," he said. He was equally as taken with her, with the whole scene playing out before him. She looked so comfortable standing there on her porch, as integral to the landscape of the lake as the lake itself. She had invited him into her world, offered him a chance to get closer to her. He was going to take it, his heart be damned.

"So do you," she replied, stepping down one stair. "I'm relieved to learn you have at least one other shade of blue in your wardrobe." He chuckled, not bothering to mention he'd bought the shirt earlier that day during a spur of the moment trip to Charlottesville in search of the perfect bottle of wine for their evening. He'd realized he had packed a number of dress shirts and white undershirts, but few things that were casual, comfortable. Those weren't typical adjectives that he would use to describe his wardrobe – or his life. He'd ducked into a shop to pick up a couple of things and the brighter color had seemed like the right choice. And, given Elena's reaction, it was.

"I'm breaking out of my color palette comfort zone," he told her seriously. He leaned down and kissed her briefly. "For you," he said, offering her the bottle of wine in his hand. She took it and studied the label. It was a fine red, made locally.

"This will go perfectly with dinner," she told him. "It's as if you knew I'm making Italian." Damon raised an eyebrow.

"You're making Italian for an Italian?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That may not have been one of my better choices," she said, biting her lip as she realized he was right. She would essentially be trying to beat him at his own game.

"It's a good thing I can cook," he told her. "I may need to show you a thing or two."

"Well, then. Follow me. I've only just started water to boil for the noodles." She'd started dinner late on purpose, buying herself more time with Damon. She led him inside, pretended not to notice how he observed everything around him, particularly her. Elena put the wine in the fridge to chill and just as she turned to Damon to ask him if he wanted something to drink, she was met with him reaching for her.

"You're really bad at these proper hellos," he said before pulling her into a deep kiss. She sighed happily against his lips, wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. When they parted for a breath, Elena shook her head.

"You have to stop doing that," she said.

"Doing what?" Damon asked innocently.

"Taking my breath away," Elena replied before turning back to the fridge to remove a few ingredients she'd need for dinner, embarrassed that she'd let her thoughts become spoken word. She didn't see Damon's eyes widen in surprise before he settled into a smile. He took a few of the items in her hands from her as she turned back to him.

"What are we making?" he asked.

"Cannelloni," Elena answered.

"I make a mean béchamel sauce," Damon told her. She looked at him skeptically. "And you don't believe me."

"Forgive me, but judging by the number of restaurants you've mentioned since we met, I have a hard time believing you know your way around the kitchen."

"Just because I don't cook, doesn't mean I can't," Damon quipped. He pulled out a bar stool from under her kitchen island. "Sit down."

"Excuse me?"

"Sit down," Damon said again. "I'm in charge now."

"No," Elena said firmly. "I invited you out here so I could cook you dinner…"

"And then you assumed that I can't cook," Damon cut her off. "I took that as a challenge. And I don't back down from a challenge. It's a nasty habit of mine." Elena still wasn't appeased. "Fine," Damon relented. "You make the filling, I'll make the sauce."

"Deal," Elena said although she looked skeptical. She started pulling out pots and pans while Damon opened the containers she'd removed from the fridge. Elena poured them each a glass of white wine, leaving enough in the bottle to make up what was called for in their recipe. Or at least in her recipe. Watching Damon, he seemed to have his own ideas for how the sauce was supposed to turn out. She shook her head and started melting butter to brown the ground beef.

They easily settled into organized chaos, talking about their days and the need to finish Fight Club as they worked on their respective parts of the meal. While Elena meticulously measured out everything down to the last fourth of a teaspoon, Damon haphazardly added ingredients to the sauce forming in his pan, pouring in generous amounts of white wine, shaking in spices and stirring the mixture as it thickened. He seemed just as comfortable in the kitchen as he did behind the wheel of his Camaro while she was tenser. She'd learned to cook over the years, but still relied heavily on recipes and measuring cups to avoid disaster.

Slowly, the kitchen started to smell of Italian. Elena removed the pasta from where she'd dropped it into cold water after boiling to cool down and lined the tubes along a cookie tray to be stuffed. She gasped when Damon came up behind her and pulled her against him. He didn't say anything, just kissed her cheek, let her go, and went back to his sauce. She smiled to herself at the simple gesture that she somehow knew was very un-Damon-like.

"Taste this," Damon said a few minutes later, bringing a spoon of his sauce to Elena, blowing it gently to cool it down. Elena opened her mouth and Damon carefully fed her, smiling brilliantly when she groaned audibly.

"That's amazing," she informed him.

"I know," he said proudly. "Told you I knew what I was doing."

"I do stand corrected," Elena agreed. "Where did you learn to cook?" From what she knew about Damon, he'd spent most of his time hopping from city to city until somewhat settling in New York. Even settled, she had the impression he ate out often. She doubted he even had groceries.

"My mom's recipes," he answered, leaving it at that. He mixed Elena's meat filling, which he taste-tested and approved beforehand, in with his sauce while Elena pre-heated the oven and started removing items to chop for a salad. They worked together to stuff the cannelloni noodles, both hyper aware of the other's proximity. Elena took over lining the stuffed cannelloni into a baking dish and Damon finished it off by pouring the remainder of the sauce the noodles and sprinkling it with cheese.

"I'll let you put it in the oven, so you can feel like you made it all by yourself," Damon said, his eyes sparkling.

"You're hilarious," Elena retorted. She transferred the dish into the oven, set a timer and perched on the barstool across the kitchen island from where Damon was seated, nursing his glass of wine. She picked up a knife, pulled a cutting board towards her, and started chopping romaine for their salad.

"You really do live in the middle of nowhere," Damon commented. "But I will say, it's beautiful up here." He looked at her. "The view isn't so bad either." To his delight, she blushed deeply.

"It's really not that far out of Mystic Falls," she told him. "There's a little town about 15 minutes away that has a grocery store and a pizza place that will deliver to the lake. And there are some chain retailers and restaurants, a couple of gas station, a laundry mat. It's not like I'm living in the mountains with no connection to society. People vacation here. It's a destination."

"Still, you're out here by yourself. You have to understand why people worry."

"People worry?" she asked innocently. She knew her family and friends weren't crazy about her living "so far way," but they had understood her reason for choosing to live at the lake house. When Damon said "people," she was pretty sure she meant him and she wanted him to say it.

"Yeah, people," Damon said. "Your family, friends."

"And you," Elena stated, fixing him with a knowing look. He looked uncomfortable, but shrugged his shoulders.

"Think about it," Damon said. "Like you said, people vacation here. Strangers. They could be the nicest people in the entire world. Or they could be a serial killer, looking for their next victim. The pretty girl living all by her lonesome without a neighbor visible for miles? Perfect target."

"You've thought this through," Elena quipped.

"I've watched a lot of Law & Order," he shot back. Elena shook her head.

"I'm perfectly safe out here, Damon. And on the McIntire Greenway."

"Agree to disagree," Damon said, using a phrase he'd heard Elena use with him a couple times. He finished his wine and noticed Elena's glass was empty as well. "More wine? The bottle I bought is probably chilled by now."

"Please," Elena confirmed. "The corkscrew is by the sink."

She watched openly as Damon retrieved the wine bottle from the fridge. She bit her lip as she observed his biceps move as he worked the corkscrew and uncorked the bottle of wine. He poured two glasses a third of the way full each and returned to her.

"For the lady," he said, placing the glass in front of her.

"Thank you," she replied, smiling up at him. He winked at her and returned to his barstool across from her.

"Why did you choose to live out here?" he asked. "As beautiful as it is, it's a complete one-eighty from New York. Not that Mystic Falls isn't, but it at least has a decent coffee shop and a police department."

"The lake has a security team," she told him, earning an eye roll. "I loved my time in New York. But when I was ready to move back, I needed space. I stayed with Jenna and Ric for a few weeks, but there were always people around. Caroline and Bonnie would just drop by when they felt like it. Matt would show up wherever I was to hang out or ask me to dinner. Jeremy was constantly around.

"I knew I wanted to be in Mystic Falls, but I also knew I wanted my own life, privacy. I realized the lake house was the perfect solution. I'd be close to my family and friends, but I'd also have my own life, time to myself to write, read, sit around in my pajamas and stream a whole season of a TV show without interruption. And some of my best memories of my parents are here. It helps me feel closer to them."

Damon was silent for longer than she thought he'd be. He absentmindedly swirled the wine in his glass, taking his time to digest Elena's words.

"How did everyone else end up here?" he asked finally. "Your friends, I mean? I'm assuming they left? All of them seem to have decent careers, ones that would require an education or at least experience they couldn't get here. I know Stefan's story – he's wanted to be a doctor and go to UVA since he could talk – but what about everyone else?"

He was asking as much for himself as he was to learn more about Elena. His mind had been wrestling with thoughts and ideas he couldn't sort out and he needed to understand how – why – others had ended up back in their hometown when there was so much more to experience outside of Mystic Falls.

"Matt is the only one who stuck around after high school," Elena told him. "He mowed lawns in the summer, raked leaves in the fall and shoveled driveways in the spring all through high school to earn some extra money. That's how he ended up with his landscaping business." A thought hit Damon.

"Wait. Donovan. He's our landscaper. Donovan Landscapes." Elena nodded.

"He has a monopoly on Mystic Falls and the surrounding area. He turned those lawns and driveways into a full blown business, does really well for himself. Caroline took off to the west coast. She went to USC, got a degree in business. She hated it out there almost from the beginning. I think it was because people made fun of her small town upbringing, but she'll say it was the 'vibe' she didn't like. She moved back the day after her graduation.

"Tyler, he went to UVA with Stefan. He had offers to play football at some smaller schools, but at some point during our senior year, he decided he wanted to be a lawyer. He just passed the bar exam a few weeks ago, works for a firm in Charlottesville. He'll probably follow in his mother's footsteps and be the mayor someday.

"Bonnie, she beat to her own path. She didn't go to college. She traveled around Europe for a while, spent a summer with me in New York. Caroline came too. That was a great summer." She paused to smile as she thought back on memories that Damon was sure were less that innocent. "She eventually ended up taking a position as the art teacher at the high school. She's brilliant, just left of center enough that the kids think she's the coolest teacher in the world – just don't tell Ric, because he thinks he's their favorite. It's an ongoing debate." She waved her hand dismissively, making Damon chuckle.

"And then Jeremy came back after college. He teaches too, physical education at the middle school. He coaches their baseball team and helps with the high school's J.V. football team. We all got a taste of life outside of here, for the most part, got to experience something bigger than Mystic Falls. But at the end of the day, this is where we belong. Caroline and Tyler and Jeremy and Bonnie will raise their kids here, grow old here. Matt will too, whenever he finds the right girl. Stefan, who knows what will happen when he finishes his residency, but if he's offered an attending position at the hospital, I don't see him turning it down. I don't see him without Rebekah, either."

"And what about you?" Damon asked, his eyes on hers. She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I guess we'll see," she said.

She finished dicing a cucumber and added it to her bowl. She opened her mouth to turn the tables, intending to outright ask Damon if he ever saw himself returning to Mystic Falls. She was interrupted before she could speak by the sound of Damon's cell phone blaring out the same obnoxious rap song she remembered from the coffee shop. He quickly pulled it from his pocket and frowned as he read the display.

"That's weird," he mumbled as he stood and pressed his finger to the screen to answer the call. "Sorry, Elena, I need to take this." She nodded in understanding. "Salvatore," he said into the phone as he left the room. She listened to him walk through the house and out onto the front porch.

Minutes passed. She finished the salad and moved on to prep the breadsticks she'd purchased while in Charlottesville the day before, the idea of inviting to Damon to dinner just starting to take shape. More time passed and the timer sounded, signaling the cannelloni was finished. She removed it from the oven and placed the breadsticks in to warm. She was just pulling them out of the oven again when Damon reappeared almost a full half hour later.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice dripping with sincerity. Elena only had to look at him to know he had never intended to take so long. "That was one of my clients. He's been struggling with some stuff lately and apparently, he's checking himself into rehab."

"Oh," Elena said, surprised. "Is he okay? I mean, he's obviously not okay, but is he okay right now?"

"He's a good guy. Great athlete. But he has a habit of falling into things he shouldn't. Last year, it was alcohol. This year, it's drugs."

"It sounds like he's getting the help he needs," Elena said, not really sure what else to say in the situation. Damon nodded.

"To his credit, this is the first time he's taken it upon himself to seek treatment. Usually there's an ultimatum or a court order involved. I'm not sure how many more chances he's going to get." He shook his head. "Anyway, it looks like I have to fly back to New York tomorrow, deal with a few things." Elena nodded in understanding.

"If you need to go…," she started. Damon cut her off.

"Oh no," he said with a shake of his head. "Tonight, I'm all yours. My plane leaves late tomorrow morning and I'll be back late the day after. It'll be a quick trip, nothing to worry over." He had crossed the kitchen to her as he talked and placed his hands on either side of her waist. "Now, I didn't drive all the way out here or slave over that béchamel sauce for nothing." Elena smiled.

"Well, if you're not running off just yet, dinner is ready." She waved her hand at the stove. "You top off our wine glasses. It's beautiful out so I thought we could eat on the patio. Meet you out there?"

"Yes ma'am," Damon confirmed. He gave her a playful salute and in almost one motion, picked up both wine glasses and the wine bottle and departed the kitchen.

Elena let out a breath when she heard the front door shut behind him. He was going back to New York. Even though it was for a total of 36 hours, he was still going back. She'd known he would. What she hadn't know is that it would bother her this much.

The pair ate dinner in relative peace, the sun set over the lake providing them with a near perfect background. Before she'd joined Damon on the patio with their dinner, she'd made a valiant effort to shove aside any feelings she had about him going back to New York – now or later – and focus on being in the here and now. She'd pulled it off, the task made easy simply by how easy it was to be with Damon who told her more about his client. She found herself feeling sympathy for the young man who had been through a number of ups and downs over his relatively short life. She also found herself attracted to the fact that Damon seemed to genuinely care about the guy and was willing to fight for him.

When dinner was over, they cleared the patio table and Damon, at his assistance, handled the dishes, rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher which Elena had to start because despite his confidence in the kitchen, it seemed he wasn't as domestic as he thought. They returned to the patio, each with another glass of wine, but at the last second, Elena took his hand and led him down the path to the dock where two Adirondack chairs sat at the end.

"Now this is a view," Damon said appreciatively, settling into one of the chairs. He placed his glass of wine on the small table between the two chairs.

"When I was a teenager, I'd spread out a towel, grab a book and stay out here for hours," Elena told him. "When I moved out here, I did that a few times, then decided I needed something a little more grown up."

"Good choice," Damon said. He leaned his head back on his chair and breathed in. The mountain air was fresh, clean. He'd forgotten what it was like to breathe unpolluted air. It cleared his mind, brought about a sense of peace. He opened his eyes and looked over to Elena. "You're quite the view too." She blushed deeply, sure Damon had complimented her more in one evening than everyone else combined in the last year.

"You're good with words," she said. "Which explains why you're so good at your job." He winked at her and reached over to take her hand. Resting their clasped hands on the table between them, Damon idly rubbed his thumb back and forth across her skin. Thinking of what Stefan had told her and her own need to learn more about Damon, Elena decided it was as good of time as any, their bellies full and a couple of glasses of wine down each, to ask him a few questions. "Damon?"

"Hmm?" he replied, pulling himself out of his thoughts to look at Elena. She'd caught him doing that a few times over the course of the evening and wondered what it was all about.

"How are you doing?" she asked. He frowned.

"Right now?" he replied. He quickly turned his frown into a smirk and squeezed her hand. "Oh, I'm just fine, Elena." She gave him a smile but shook her head.

"Don't play that game with me," she said. "I invented that game. Your father just died. How are you doing with all of that?" Her words were tough, but her tone was gentle and the combination of the two was enough to break through Damon's layer of wit and sarcasm.

"I'm fine," he said. "My father and I didn't have a relationship. We haven't since I was a kid. His death was nothing more than an ending." Elena frowned at the way Damon so casually talked about his father's passing.

"Stefan is pretty tore up over it," she ventured. "He's doing well enough, going to work, focusing on Rebekah. But he was devastated." She hadn't realized until just then that Damon hadn't, at least to her knowledge, visited his father as he lay dying from cancer. She added that to the list of mysteries about Damon.

"I think it's pretty clear that I'm not Stefan," Damon said, his tone short. He didn't release Elena's hand, but he stopped moving his thumb, his grip loosening. "My little brother is flawless. Me? Not so much."

"Damon," Elena said in an appeasing tone. She squeezed his hand. "I know you're not Stefan. It's just… I've lost my parents, you know? I understand that it's hard. You can talk to me."

"There's no need," Damon said. "I'm fine, Elena. I lost my only parent when I was six years old. That's the death that still haunts me. Not my father's."

Elena didn't know what to say. There was so much bitterness in his voice, anger he'd clearly held on to for a long time. She let go of his hand and stood. "Elena…," he questioned, realizing he'd been harsh. He didn't talk about feelings and all that went along with them, but he was also bothered by Elena moving away from him. But instead of moving away, he found her settling into his lap.

"I'm sorry," she said as Damon's arms automatically encircled her. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," he assured her. "I get it, Elena. I'm supposed to be grieving or whatever. But Giuseppe Salvatore – he was a good dad. To one of his sons. You can figure out which one of us that was." Elena didn't say anything for a few moments as her fingers lightly trailed along his chest. She'd remembered something about Damon after Stefan had left her cabin, something she couldn't believe she'd forgotten until then, especially since it had happened just six months ago.

"Your dad thought I'd be good for you," she told him. Damon looked at her sharply.

"What?"

Elena took a deep breath, not sure how he would take what she was about to tell him. Of the things she did know about Damon, she knew he was unpredictable.

"About six months ago, when Giuseppe's cancer came back, I stopped by to see him. I brought Chinese food and we sat around eating from containers, talking about anything besides the fact that Giuseppe's doctors had just told him his cancer not only back, but was terminal. Stefan was there. Rebekah called and he left the room to talk to her.

"Giuseppe and I were talking about something completely unrelated when he suddenly changed the topic. He started talking about Stefan and Rebekah and how she was good for him. He liked her." She felt Damon tense slightly and remembered what Stefan had said about Giuseppe not liking Katherine. She dismissed the thought and continued her story.

"He told me he'd always like me and Stefan together…"

"Elena…," Damon groaned. She gave him a look as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Let me finish," she told him. He nodded, clearly uninterested. There was something about her and Stefan, she realized, that Damon hated. They had been nothing more for friends for nearly a decade, but it seemed the idea of them as anything other than acquaintances set Damon on edge.

"He told me that he'd liked Stefan and I together, but always thought we were too safe for one another," she continued. "Then he chuckled and said 'I wish you'd run into my son, Damon, while you were in New York.'" That got Damon's attention.

"He said what?" he asked sharply.

"He said he wished we'd ran into each other in New York," she repeated. "Apparently, he thought I could give you a run for your money – to quote him. He said you needed a good woman to settle you down. I laughed, shook my head and Stefan walked in. We went back to talking about whatever we were talking about. I'd forgotten all about it until just the other day."

Damon remained quiet after she finished her story. He'd idly started running his fingers up and down her bare arm, tracing a pattern only he knew. Elena let him be. She knew intuitively that he didn't need her to push him right then. He'd talk – whether about what she'd just told him or something else – when he was ready. So instead, she gazed over the lake and up at the sky which was filling with the first of the evening's stars as the sun sunk below the horizon.

"You think you would have liked me if we'd met in New York?" he finally asked. It wasn't that he'd asked her a question that made her tear her eyes away from the scene nature was unfolding before her to look at him. It was the tone of his voice, the undertone of self-doubt, that grabbed her attention.

"Would you have hit on me like you did at the repass?"

"Probably," Damon admitted. "Actually, I would have probably been worse. At the repass, there were witnesses, people who knew you, knew me. In New York, no one gives a damn about anyone else. I would have been a lot more brazen."

"And I would have probably told you to go to hell." That earned her a small grin from Damon.

"Like you did at the repass."

"I didn't tell you to go to hell at the repass," she reminded him. "I told you I wasn't interested."

"And yet, here you are," Damon said. He tightened his grip around her waist and pulled her towards him. "Sitting in my lap, kissing me."

"I'm not kissing you," she said in an almost whisper, even as he brought her still closer.

"You are now," he muttered, just before his lips landed on hers.

For the second time that night, things got heated, quickly. This time, Damon's hand crept further up her leg, sliding just under the hem of her skirt. She only pulled away when she had to, in desperate need of catching her breath. Damon moved around in the chair to readjust himself and then used his free hand to coax Elena's head to his shoulder, content just to hold her for a while. He left his hand under her skirt hem, however, idly brushing his fingertips back and forth across her skin.

"You're a hard one to figure out, Damon Salvatore," Elena said.

"Why do you say that?" He drew circles on her thigh with his fingertips, forcing Elena to do her best to ignore the sensation.

"You show up here, guns blazing, no regard for what you say or who you say it to. And then you turn around and tell me Gone With The Wind is your favorite novel and go all gourmet chef in the kitchen. It's like there are two Damon's in the same body."

"Don't be fooled by the literary knowledge and culinary skills," Damon replied. He nuzzled her cheek briefly. "The guy with guns blazing and no regard for others is a lot more like me."

"I don't believe that," Elena told him sincerely, boldly.

"Then you're setting yourself up for disappointment."

"Maybe," Elena agreed. She fell silent again, her gaze back over the lake. The sun had all but disappeared, leaving just a sliver of orange visible over the horizon.

Damon rested his cheek against Elena's head, the scent of her shampoo – lavender and vanilla – filling his senses. He tightened her hold on her so slightly he doubted she felt it, but he felt a physical need to have her closer. He hoped she couldn't feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He hated this. The metaphorical angel was on one shoulder, the devil on the other. The angel whispered words of hope, encouragement. It told him he could have something with Elena. He could trust her. He could possibly even fall in love with her, if he gave himself permission. He could have her in his arms like this whenever he wanted. He could let go of some of his worst habits and try to make Elena happy.

But the devil was there too, reminding him of the string of women he'd bedded in New York and the nights he'd spent drinking bourbon, waking up the next morning to not remember where he was or how he got there. It whispered about how his job took him all over the country, provided him with a lifestyle that would make most bachelors jealous. It whispered too about how he'd had his heart broken the one time he'd tried to love someone besides himself, reminded him that anyone he'd ever loved had let him down. Why even bother to fall for Elena, given his track record?

She shifted around slightly, trying to get comfortable again.

"You good?" he asked. It was growing chilly now that the sun had set and while he had long sleeves, she was wearing a sleeveless top and this time, he didn't have a jacket to drape around her shoulders.

"I'm good," she replied with a soft smile, tilting her head up to look at him briefly.

They remained like that for a while longer, Elena curled up in Damon's lap, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her. Neither of them were in a hurry to move. As it always seemed to, the scenery quieted Elena's busy mind, leaving her to just be. Damon, tired of once again struggling over what he was feeling for Elena, had changed his line of thinking, pondering what he needed to pack for his quick trip to New York and what he needed to accomplish while he was there. He tipped his head back, intending to rest his eyes, only to have them fall on something else.

"There are so many stars," he said. Elena looked up to the sky as well. It was an especially clear night and the black sky looked like someone had dumped a jar of silver glitter across it. She smiled.

"You don't see that in New York, do you?" she asked, remembering her early days in the city when she'd strained her eyes just for a glimpse of the moon. Damon shook his head, his eyes still on the stars.

"You don't," he confirmed. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen so many stars, but fell short. He couldn't explain why he was so mesmerized, but the scene hit somewhere down in his very soul. He drew in a deep breath and let it out before turning his attention to Elena. He removed an arm from her waist and rubbed his hand up and down her bare arm.

"We haven't had dessert," she told him. "You up for some peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream?"

"I could be convinced," Damon said. Elena slid from his lap, causing him to miss her warmth almost immediately, and then held out her hand. He took it and stood and together, they walked back to her house. They made small talk as Elena cut two pieces of cobbler and heated them to just warm in the microwave. With ice cream scooped on top, they sat at her kitchen island and ate, the conversation easy as ever.

It wasn't just the conversation that flowed. They had an easy way together, a comfortable routine they settled into when they were together. While cooking dinner, they had wordlessly passed utensils and spices back and forth, neither having to break their conversation to ask the other to pass the rosemary. They cleaned the kitchen in synchronicity and even while Elena cut and warmed the cobbler, Damon fetched two forks from a drawer before he sat down.

"This is incredible," Damon said between forkfuls. "It's almost as good as my sauce."

"Almost?" Elena asked. "Try better."

"Never."

"Those peaches are so fresh I practically picked them off the tree," Elena retorted.

"Practically?"

"Technically, I bought them from a roadside stand between here and Mystic Falls, but they were freshly picked at a local orchard. You don't get them that fresh in New York." Damon studied her.

"You're really throwing New York under the bus tonight," he said. "No stars, no fresh peaches… What do you have against the Big Apple all of a sudden?" Elena shook her head.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm just making observations. They happen to all be coming at once." Damon continued to study her.

"You're sad I'm leaving," he said, a slow grin forming. "You're going to miss me."

"I never said that," Elena said with a shake of her head. Damon's grin was full now.

"Don't worry, Princess. Two days from now, I'll be sitting right back here, with you. Or you'll be sitting across from me when I take you on another date, but the idea is the same."

"You're taking me on another date?" Elena asked with a small smile. Damon nodded.

"If I'm going to be in town, I may as well spend my time with the most beautiful woman the town has to offer."

'And there it is,' Elena thought. Her first sign that Damon saw her as a fling, a way to fill the time he was being forced to spend in his hometown. She arranged her features into a smile.

"And who would that be?" she asked.

"You." They traded a smile and Elena noticed the dollop of ice cream on Damon's lip.

"You have…," she reached across the island and ran her thumb across Damon's lip, wiping away the ice cream. He reached up and caught her wrist, his eyes locking with hers. Wordlessly, he stood and tugged her toward him gently, pulling her from her stool. She met him at the end of the island, their lips smashing together.

One hand buried in her hair to hold her to him, Damon kissed he with everything he could muster, a war of emotions raging on in his chest. Her hands slid along his abs, over his shoulders and into his hair, pulling him to her even as she pressed every inch of her body against his. He moved, taking her with him, pushing her up against the refrigerator. Tearing his lips away from her, he kissed along her throat, his hands starting to explore. Her sighs encouraged him, her own hands, still in his hair, holding him to her.

"Damon…," she breathed. He kissed her lips again and pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

"I want you," he told her, throwing out any notion he had of being a gentleman. She leaned up and kissed him, took his hand.

Wordlessly, she gave him a look and led him to her bedroom. They had barely passed through the doorway before he spun her around and pulled her back into a kiss. He wrapped an arm around her and lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around him. He laid her down on her bed, hovered over her as she deftly removed his shirt.

All of her good senses had gone out the window. A small voice tried to tell her to slow down, to put the brakes on before it was too late. But as Damon slipped her shirt over her head and immediately lowered his lips to her sternum, she shut that voice down and focused on the feeling of his skin against hers, his hands touching her. She closed her eyes as her name slipped from his lips.

Whew! That was a dinner date. I think its safe to say - given that I'm several chapters ahead in the writing process - that there is a fair amount of foreshadowing in the above.

If I find the time, I may write a one-shot of where things left off, but given the rating on this story, I kept it PG. I'll see what I can do there. :)

Please let me know what you thought - and I love reading your speculations about where the story is going, even though I have the plot laid out from start to finish!

Thanks for reading!