CHAPTER 10: WE'VE GONE PLAID

As soon as the driver opened the door, the salty smell of the ocean hit me. Breathing it in deeply, I gathered my belongings, slipping my camera around my shoulder as I stepped out of the car.

I had to steel myself not to physically swoon at the sight before me.

EN was leaning against his Corvette with one knee bent, the foot propped up against the car. The dark-wash jeans looked like they had been designed just for him—clinging ever-so-deliciously to all the right spots. And daaayumn. Those spots. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to remember my Southern manners and not stare. At those spots. Gulp.

Looking up, I noticed that he had on that adorkable plaid shirt he seemed to be so fond of, judging by the amount of photos that were circulating around the internets of him wearing it. I bit back a shy smile as I met his eyes.

Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea. It seriously should be a crime for someone to look so damn good. In farmer flannel, no less.

And then—he smiled. Not that smug, sly smirk that I had gotten used to seeing. No, a genuine, sweet, full-on smile. It sparkled like goddamn sunshine in his eyes, and revealed the most perfect set of white, even teeth. It made me think of a million mushy clichés, yet somehow, they didn't trigger the gag reflex that they usually did. Dear lord. His smile was even more dangerous than that rakish smirk of his. I found myself wishing that there really was a Department of Panty-land Security. If there was, I would most definitely program its hotline into the number one slot on my speed dial.

I snapped out of my haze when he pushed away from his perch and started walking toward me. Forcing as much nervous out of my smile as I could manage, I commanded my own feet to get to stepping.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said in that smooth, husky sex-god voice as he handed me a cup of what I could only assume (and hope) involved a good dose of caffeine.

I eagerly took the proffered cup, trying not to lose myself in those sparkling blues of his. "Mornin' Eric. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"Not at all," he replied.

When I brought the cup to my lips, the unmistakable aroma washed over me. A gasp escaped my lips as my eyes widened. "Is this ..." I couldn't complete the thought, as my eyes almost crossed. I was overwhelmed by the mouthwatering smell of Nutella, mixed with the even more intoxicating scent of EN, with Nutella on his breath.

He shot me another one of those knee-buckling smiles, and lifted his cup up in a toasting gesture. "Oh, yeah."

I took a sip of heaven. "But ... but how?"

"Oh, I make the best Nutella lattes in town," he said with a wink. "I have been assured of this."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, it is ... amazing."

"Glad you like it."

We remained where we were, the only noise that we made was the sipping and occasional appreciative groans/moans as we enjoyed the Northman house special.

Until a loud horn blasted.

"What was that?"

"That's our cue. Come on, we'd better get going." He started walking toward the building without even waiting to see if I would follow, and I almost had to run to catch up with him.

He led me through the crowd, until we stopped at some sort of line.

"So, are you gonna tell me where we're going?"

"I suppose I could indulge your curiosity," he said as he extracted two tickets from his pocket. "We're going to Catalina Island."

Catalina Island? I'd never heard of the place, but I had to admit—just the name sounded so beautiful. Wait, there was an island near L.A.? I thought the closest one was Hawaii, and that definitely wasn't a daytrip.

"It should only take about an hour to get there." I smiled at him with relief. It was almost like he could read my mind, but I was still glad to know that it wouldn't be a very long ride.

As we shuffled forward with the line I focused my attention on the delicious Nutella latte, and tried not to focus on the even more delicious EN beside me, and what kind of illegal activities every fangirl out there would be willing to commit in order to spend the day like I was about to.

Hold it together girl. Geesh, you can't melt into a pile of squeeing goo. I took a deep breath and pulled myself together—to the best of my ability, anyways. "So, any particular reason you chose this Catalina Island place?"

"Oh, you mean aside from it being the original Hollywood Riviera, and a popular filming location?"

"Uh, yeah. Aside from that."

"Well, there are a couple of amazing pieces of American architecture that could be great backdrops to our photo shoot."

"Oh." Oh? Oh, absolutely brilliant, Sookie! Not only was I unable to come up with a more intelligent response, I was now being reduced to monosyllables. Just great.

I mulled over my utter loss for words in embarrassed silence, and just followed close behind EN as we made our way through the line, and then onto the boat and up the stairs to the second level. I was so busy staring at my feet that I almost bumped into him when he stopped in front of me. As I walked around him, I noticed that he was holding a door open, waiting for me to go into the galley ahead of him. I nodded and mouthed a nearly silent thanks, returning my gaze to the ground as I moved past him.

I froze after a few steps, staring at my surroundings. It seemed that he had purchased us tickets for some sort of private room—seeing as the deck below had been quite crowded, yet this room was totally empty. A soft-cushioned bench wrapped around the walls of one side of the room. The other side of the room featured a kitchenette, complete with a mini-fridge.

The door clicked shut behind us, and he walked past me, flopping down on the seat and flicking his wrist to expose his watch. "We still have a good fifteen minutes before takeoff."

"Oh."

I seated myself across from him, hoping he wouldn't notice that my entire vocabulary had seemed to have dwindled down to that one syllable. Even though I was painfully aware of it—hell, my knuckles were practically piercing through the skin—I still couldn't help myself from gripping the seat so tightly.

He looked from my hands to my face and back again, before scooting over in the seat closer to me. "There's nothing to be nervous about, Sookie. I promised I'd be the perfect gentleman, and I meant every word."

I let out a nervous laugh, and waved him away. "Oh, no, it's not that."

"What is it then?" the look of concern in his eyes seemed genuine. "You're obviously nervous about something."

I stuck my hands in my lap, to avoid the excessive and almost painful clutching of the seat. Keeping my eyes averted, I admitted that I wasn't crazy about the idea of a boat ride. While I'd never actually been on a boat before, it creeped me out just like airplanes did. "I guess there's just something about traveling so fast without actually moving your own feet. It just seems unnatural, y'know?" I mumbled.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find a way to distract you then, huh?"

I smiled at his playful suggestion, feeling the muscles of shoulders relax, even if just by a minuscule degree. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

His concerned smile broke into the most adorable grin—like a child who'd just gotten permission to go out and play with his friends. I was struck by how young it made him look, while still somehow upping the devastating hunko-meter quotient.

"Well, we could start with some liquid courage," he said with an eyebrow wiggle. He walked over to the kitchenette, returning with a carafe and two glasses. Sitting down beside me, he set the items down on the table and began to pour a glass of the orange-colored liquid. I swallowed hard as I watched him, his hand enveloping and dwarfing the carafe.

"Uh, orange juice?" I asked, accepting the extended glass.

"No, much yummier than that."

He said yummier! I tried not to bounce around and giggle like a schoolgirl at a slumber party. As I took a small sniff, my mouth watered and eyes widened. It smelled like yet another sinfully delicious concoction, and my senses went on overdrive as I tried to place the blend of flavors.

"It's a mimosa with a twist," he explained as he poured some for himself. "Mimosas are classically made with just plain orange juice, but this is a mixture of peach and pineapple juice. The orange slices add just enough of an orange flavor to remind you of your mother's mimosa, without overpowering the more exotic flavors."

I clamped my mouth shut. Was this guy a closet gourmet chef? Like he needed anything else to make him perfect. "Sounds and smells incredible," I gushed, raising my glass in a toasting gesture. "But … did your mother really make you mimosas?"

I took a large sip of the drink, hoping that if my mouth was full it would at least slow down the bout of verbal diarrhea that seemed to have suddenly infected me. It was just a saying, of course. Still, I couldn't shake the image of a young and adorable EN, sitting at the breakfast table holding up a fork and knife, about to dig in to a mile-high stack of pancakes, with a doting mother topping off his mimosa.

But when that heavenly concoction filled my mouth, I was powerless to stop the deep moan of pure pleasure that escaped my lips.

He leaned back with his arm resting against the back of the seat, satisfaction tugging his lips into a lopsided grin. "Glad you like it."

At that point, the horn blasted again, making the floor practically rumble with the vibrations of the ship's engine, before beginning to move. My free hand flew back to the seat, clutching at the edge with almost homicidal force. I downed the rest of the drink with one gulp.

He reached for the carafe and refilled my glass with practiced ease. "Relax, Sookie." His glance fluttered down to my hand, before returning to my face. "I mean, these seats are made of superior materials and construction, as they were made in Norway, but there's only so much abuse even the strongest can take."

I laughed and loosened my grip just a tiny bit. "Really? They were made in Norway?"

"Yeah, the seating for this entire vessel were commissioned from a company called Eknes. They make the highest quality airline seats in the world." He delivered this last of this statement with a significant eyebrow waggle.

I was beginning to wonder if the man did special exercises to keep up the strength of his eyebrow muscles. If they had Olympics for eyebrow waggles and raises, he'd win hands down.

"Is that so?" I teased. My grip was loosening by the second, and I couldn't be entirely certain if it was that I was getting used to the movement of the ferry, or if it was the highly distracting company. "But, wait a minute, aren't you from Sweden?"

He grinned. "Yes, well … I can still have brotherly love for our Scandinavian neighbors. And I can appreciate a good thing when I see it."

I snorted, and let go of my security blanket, letting my hand rest beside me on the seat. We both watched the water glide past us as we sipped on our drinks.

The rest of the ride passed very quickly. It was certainly the shortest hour I could ever remember experiencing.

After docking, Eric led me along the harbor. As we walked, I noticed a massive, round building that we seemed to be heading toward. Well, it was hard not to notice it—it dominated the entire area, as it sat at the point where the bay stretched the farthest into the ocean, surround by water on three sides.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

His words awoke me from my reverie, and I found myself facing a soft, dreamy smile that matched my own.

"Is that where we're going?" I breathed as I returned my gaze to the building.

"Yes. It's the casino. Just wait till you get to see the view from the top. It's breathtaking"

We started walking again. As we rounded the bend of the coastline, my fingers twitched where they grasped the camera. I cocked my head and looked up at EN, trying to assess him. I really wanted to stop and take a few shots, but, as much as he may have tried to assure me otherwise, I couldn't quite buy the fact that he wouldn't be bored, standing around and waiting for me to finish.

His gaze shifted to mine. He halted in mid-step, and just stood in silence, waiting.

"What?" I asked.

"Go ahead. I know you want to." He said with a wink.

I snickered as I reached for my camera, and peeked at the scene in front of me through the viewfinder. After I got my shot, I turned to him to indicate that we could continue on our way, but he crossed his arms and practically dug his heels in.

"Oh, come on, that couldn't have possibly been it."

I stared at him with disbelief. "You really don't mind just standing around waiting?"

"But I'm not just standing around waiting, I get to watch." He said with another wink. I swear, the man could not complete a sentence without some sort of sexual innuendo. "But, if you'd like to sweeten the deal for me, maybe we could make a deal."

"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"Tell me what you see."

A tiny frisson shimmered down my spine as I struggled not to fall into his intense gaze. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"When your hand reaches for your camera, just tell me what you see that makes you click that shutter."

I stared at him for what seemed like an eternity. I was puzzled by the emotion that crossed his face; I just couldn't place it. All sound dropped away except the loud hammering of my own heart, as I tried to figure it out. If I had to put my finger on it, I would almost say it was longing, or … even wistfulness. I smiled and agreed with a nod of my head and mumbled an "Okay."

Walking through the casino with my own personal Viking tour guide was pretty darn great. His knowledge of the building's history was impressive, but even more so was his understanding of the finer points of art deco design and architecture. He allowed me absolute control of the pace as we explored the theater and mezzanine levels. I lost myself behind my camera, becoming fully absorbed in the brilliant marriage of architectural space with the vivid color and pattern that was classic deco style. As I snapped away, EN seemed to sense exactly what had captured my attention, so that he told me about the mural surrounding the theater screen as I was focusing on it, prompting me then to explain what, in particular, drew my eye to it. I was both surprised and grateful, because I would never have been able to articulate my vision as well as I did without his lead.

"So, is the actual casino upstairs?" I asked as we made our way to the top level.

"Actually, no," he chuckled. "This is probably the only casino in the U.S. without gambling. It is actually derived from the Italian word for place of gathering. The last level is a ballroom."

Any embarrassment that I had felt disappeared when we entered the ballroom. The sun streamed in through the windows that lined the walls, filling the room with dramatic light, from the gleaming wood floors all the way up to what had to be at least a fifty foot ceiling. The perfectly circular shape of the building was accentuated here, more than in any of the other rooms we'd visited.

I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding and spun around to face Eric, who was grinning from ear to ear. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me with him, leading us out to the balcony.

"Wow." There really were no other words. The ocean below stretched in all directions, the line where it met the blue of the sky almost indistinguishable. The bright white of the building stood out in perfect contrast to the blue that surrounded us.

"Indeed," he answered.

As we began our trek inland to find a good spot for lunch, he looked back at the casino one last time. He met my gaze for a brief moment before turning away, staring straight ahead. "It is too bad we had to leave."

I examined his profile, puzzled at the sheer disappointment in his tone. "Why, is there a good band playing tonight or somethin'?"

"No," he breathed. "It's just that I laid eyes on the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on that balcony."

"Oh, yeah … the ocean?"

"No, not the ocean." I was almost knocked back by the stunning, genuine smile that covered his face. It made his eyes somehow bluer.

When the words finally sunk in, I blushed so deeply that I thought my cheeks might literally burn off. I was relieved when he looked away with a chuckle and quickened his step.

After a quick lunch, he led me through the bustling town, now teeming with throngs of eager tourists to the nearest golf cart rental. When we stopped in front of a bench, he put his hand to the small of my back and gently guided me toward it. "Why don't you wait here for me? I'm going to go rent us that cart."

I settled myself on the bench, stifling a giggle as I imagined how he was going to fit his very large frame into one of those golf carts that we'd seen as we walked through town, wondering if they come in special big and tall sizes.

As I looked around, I noticed an elderly couple standing a few feet away. The man accepted the white furry bundle which the woman handed to him with great care, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. "Okay, we'll be right here, dear," he said in a voice weathered by decades of happiness. She gave him a light peck on the cheek before pulling away, with one last glance. As she turned around, he gave her a light love smack, and she practically skipped away with a grin on her face.

I watched her until she disappeared into a store front on the other side of the street. When my eyes returned to the man, he winked at me. I couldn't help but smile.

He moved toward the bench and motioned with his hand, asking for permission to sit. I nodded my head in silent agreement, and scooted over a little to give him plenty of room.

"Your dog is adorable," I said as I busied my hands with my camera.

"She is a sweetheart," he replied, scratching the floppy little ear of the poodle. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Oh?" I was thinking the man could not be more adorable.

He grabbed the little pooch and placed her on his lap. "Yes, I get to sit outside in the warm sun while the missus goes off and does the shopping. Ever since this little lady came into my life," he paused to rub the belly of the very appreciative 'little lady', "I haven't had to hold my wife's purse once."

We both laughed. A few minutes later, I felt him straighten next to me. I glanced over and saw him pick up the dog so that she was eye level with him. "Well that was quick," he cooed to her. She gave him an excited bark before he put her down, and rose to his feet just his wife reached our side of the street.

The dog bounced around their feet, wagging its tail with enthusiasm as the wife complained about the store being sorely lacking in anything worthy of even trying on. But the way he looked at her as she went on—it was clear that these two ladies were his world. I discreetly snapped a few shots, hoping they wouldn't mind that I wanted to capture this intimate scene.

They both looked in my direction, blinking as they realized that I had stolen their moment. I usually didn't have the guts to take pictures of strangers like this—I felt like it was an intrusion of some sorts. But as I held my breath, anticipating the woman to yell at me for my rudeness, I was shocked when she just nodded and smiled. Then, she reached her hand up to cup her husband's cheek, and he returned his full attention to her. Her smile was the picture of contentment and bliss, and I snapped one last, quick shot.

I almost jumped when I felt a very large hand grasp my shoulder.

"Ready?" EN asked, his voice coming from somewhere just above and behind me. I twisted my head, and was glad to be sitting down. He looked like an angel with his golden mane silhouetted by the blue sky, the sun behind him making it look like a halo floating around his perfect face, a broad smile making his piercing blue eyes sparkle.

Blink. Gape. Swallow. "Uh, yeah. Sure." I jumped to my feet as he moved around the bench to my side and motioned with his head to where I could only assume our chariot awaited. As I followed him, I heard the couple call out a goodbye behind us.

I looked back and smiled at them, waving.

They both waved back, like the most adorable doting grandparents.

When I turned back to Eric, he was staring at me with an amused smirk. "Making friends already?"

I snickered. "Yeah, that old man was very friendly."

"I don't blame him," he said with a wink, before leading me to our ride.

He helped me into my seat and then walked over to his side. When he got in, he produced a pair of leather driving gloves. I stared with a mixture of shock and amusement as he slipped them on, his knuckles poking through four perfectly spaced holes as he fastened the buttons across his wrists.

I thought he was ready after he flexed his fingers, testing out the fit, but no. Next, he reached took out a hat. As he placed it on his head, I noticed that it was a beret in a blue and black plaid that should have totally clashed with the red and black combo of the plaid on his shirt, yet somehow it didn't. Maybe it was the fuzzy ball on top that distracted from the fashion faux pas. I guess it was so wrong, that it was right.

He threaded his fingers together and extended them, cracking his knuckles, as he turned the full power of the EN gaze onto me. "Ready?"

I snorted. "Are you?"

He didn't say a word. Just gave me his trademark wink, and placed his arm behind my seat, twisting around in his seat as he backed out of the parking space.

As soon as we got onto the main road—if you could call it that—Eric started huffing impatiently and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. And then, all hell broke loose. He revved the engine (I wasn't even aware golf carts had enough of an engine to rev) and began to weave through the traffic, like some sort of possessed race car driver. Except, he wasn't driving a race car, he was driving a golf cart, which didn't even qualify as a backwoods inbred cousin of any race car. I felt like I had fallen down the rabbit hole, and had ended up in some bizarre real-life Mario Kart, gone way, way wrong.

I asked him to cool his engine (very politely I might add!), but he just gave me a devious grin and sped up. Well, at least it was Mario Kart and not Grand Theft Auto, I mused as I grabbed for anything I could lay my hands on to steady myself.

The ocean soon disappeared from our sight, and we were surrounded by mountains. We parked on the side of the road right before it tapered off into a dirt path. Picking our way through the botanical garden—with my knowledgeable tour guide pointing out items of interest, of course—we headed toward the Wrigley monument, which towered over the garden, like some sort of mystical Mayan temple, complete with vine-encrusted walls surrounding it.

When we reached the terrace, I was once again blown away, not only by the breathtaking view of the bay, but also by the beautiful structure which, in its own unique way, complimented and stood against its surroundings.

There were plenty of angles and lines, patterns and textures that caught my eye, and I lost track of time as I snapped away, pausing only to explain to EN what had caught my interest.

When I was done, we found a spot on the terrace to rest before heading back. I leaned back on my palms and shut my eyes, enjoying the warm but weak sunshine on my face.

EN interrupted the silence after a few very short moments. "So, can I ask you something?"

I opened my eyes halfway and looked at him. "Go ahead, shoot."

"Do you enjoy taking photos of places or people more?"

"Hmm," I tapped my finger to my lips. "I like both for different reasons I guess, but people definitely hold my interest longer."

"Why?"

"Well, I guess if I had to put my finger on it, what really catches my attention is light, and the way it leads your eye."

I paused for a moment as I considered. "I mean, take landscapes, for example: it's the movement that certain lines or patterns create that attracts the eye, but it's the light that actually creates all those lines and patterns. So, I can definitely find plenty of interesting shots of places, but with people—well, it's just different."

I sat in silence for a moment, pondering how to put it to explain it better, and EN sat beside me patiently. I very much appreciated the fact that it was pretty clear he was interested in a more detailed explanation, but he wasn't going to push for it, either. It made me search for those words even harder.

"Okay, I guess the only way I can think of explaining it is that with places, it's like the light illuminates the subject, but with people the light is in them, it reflects from them." I smacked my forehead and then buried my face in my hands, mumbling more to myself than to him. "Ugh. I can't explain it."

He chuckled beside me. "No, no. You're doing fine. I totally know what you mean."

I raised my head to look at him. While the corner of his mouth was still turned up with the remnants of a smile, his eyes held an intensity that told me that he wasn't just humoring me.

I straightened up, and turned the tables on him with my own question.

"What catches your attention about a photograph, Eric? Or, I guess, any piece of art for that matter?"

His answer came with a speed and sureness that surprised me. "Life."

I raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

He smiled and his eyes went somewhere else for a minute. "When the artist manages to capture the pulse, you know, when you stand in front of it and feel, not just see."

"Wow. Deep." I said with a shy smile, playfully clutching at my chest. I was relieved when he broke out into laughter, and was only too happy to join him.

When we got back to the golf cart, he turned to face me with an expectant look. "So, where to now? We still have a couple of hours until our ferry ride back."

"Oh, I don't know, what are our options?"

"Hmm, let's see. Well, we could go to the zoo."

I did a double take. "Uh, the zoo?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yeah. There's a bison farm we could go check out. Or, we could head back into town, maybe grab some ice cream before catching the ferry back."

"Isn't it a little cold for ice cream, Eric?"

He mock gasped. "Blasphemy! It is never too cold for ice cream!"

I grinned back at him. I'd never admit that that was totally a test, and he had just passed with flying colors. Although it was a sunny spring day, the air did still have a chilly edge to it, especially now in the late afternoon. But, I myself had always been of the strict belief that it can never be too cold for ice cream. Heck, I'd bundle up with mittens and a wool scarf before I would say no to some ice cream.

The drive back down was a lot more relaxed, even though he still drove like a bat out of hell—well, as much as possible for a golf cart, that is.

After settling on sharing a banana split, we were able to find a fairly private seat. He set the massive sundae on the table between us, and we both dug in. After a few moments of silent eating, punctuated only by appreciative moans, he spoke. "So, do you think either of those spots would work well as a backdrop for our photo shoot?"

"Hmm?" I looked at him, trying to figure out what exactly he was talking about as the exquisite ice cream occupied the majority of my senses.

"The casino and Wrigley monument—did you get any good shots?"

"Oh! Yeah, I think I did …." I trailed off, taking the camera off my neck and switching it on so we could take a look at the photos I'd taken. "But, honestly, Eric, I thought they were really beautiful, but I just don't know …."

He stuck his spoon in the ice cream pitchfork-style, and turned his full attention to me. "What?"

"Do you want me to take a picture of you, or the place?" When I saw his crestfallen face, I tried another avenue. "Uh, well, what I mean is, you know my portraits are not these stylized, glamour photo shoot types. It's about the person, it's where they're home."

His eyes glinted with mischief. "Oh, I see. I see. Well, I normally don't allow people into my inner sanctum. Only a very select few. But, if you wanted to see my home so much, all you had to do was ask, Sookie." He added a trademark wink.

I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't necessarily have to be your home, Eric, just where you feel at home."

He scooped up a heaping spoonful of ice cream. "Hmm, okay. I do see your point."

I gaped as he opened his mouth entirely too wide, before closing it around the spoon. I had to force my attention back to my own spoon. Damn lucky spoon.

After we polished off the ice cream, I stared in disbelief at the empty dish. It didn't seem quite as large without the ice cream in it, but I remembered just how high that ice cream was piled on, only a short while ago. I slowly raised my eyes, and when I met Eric's gaze we both burst into peals of laughter.

We headed back toward the ferry dock on foot. Somehow, the walk seemed much shorter than before.

"Oh!" I said, just as we reached the boarding area. "I should probably call the driver now, so he'll know to pick me up soon."

I reached for my purse, but was startled when Eric's hand reached out to cover both of mine, stilling them. I glanced up at him with a questioning look.

He let go and laughed nervously. EN nervous? Huh? "Uh, well, I was wondering if you had any dinner plans?"

I could feel the sheepish almost-painful grin that stretched my lips from ear to ear, but was powerless to stop it. "Uh, dinner?" I squirmed. "Oh, uh … I think I've already eaten enough today for about a week!"

Now it was my turn to laugh nervously. When he didn't say anything back, and the silence crept into awkward territory, I tried desperately to find something to fill it. "Well, uh—" I stammered, "I was just gonna relax back at the apartment, maybe have a frozen pizza, or something."

His eyes brightened. "Well, since we both have to eat … we may as well do it together, right?"

Narrowing my eyes, I studied him. I had really enjoyed the day with him, and not just because he was hotter-than-hell EN. No, I found that I actually enjoyed the (platonic!) company of Eric. But I wondered if he was now asking for a dinner companion or a date?

"We are going to have to hammer out the details of our arrangement, anyways."

I snorted. That EN, he did seem to have a gift for word choice. But, his statement did put an abrupt halt to my hemming and hawing. "Yeah, I guess we do."

A/N: Ginormous hugs n' smooches to my amazing betas — nycsnowbird and youbettago. I heart you. HAAAAARD. Any mistakes remaining are purely my own ;p Oh, and a special thanks to Suki59 for pre-reading from an L.A. point of view. *blows Nutella kissies*

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters in SVM or the HBO series True Blood. However, the original content and ideas below are mine all mine.