I twirl my hair around my finger and reposition myself on the couch in Damon's office. As I tuck my legs underneath me, I watch him read from the red binder I gave him an hour ago. It holds the last three chapters in my novel. I wrote them in my bedroom this past weekend. When I typed the last word of the story, I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders I exhaled air from my lungs. This story is by far the most ambitious academic project I've ever worked on; I've spent the better part of this year researching and writing it. I know that I have to revise the story a lot before I submit it to the University of Atlanta Graduate Academic Board and to various publishing companies, but it's such a relief to have finally completed the novel's working draft.

The nervousness I feel as I watch Damon's eyes scrutinize every word on all seventy-eight pages I handed him is a far cry from that earlier relief. He holds a red pen in his hand and makes liberal use of it, circling words and underlining sentences and writing so many notes in the margins that I can barely see the original text.

When he reaches the final pages, however, his pen falls to the carpeted floor. He looks up at me with wide eyes. "This isn't the right ending!"

I cross my arms, irritated with what I feel is a hasty conclusion. "Read the rest of the story before you judge the ending, okay? Please?" A scowl forms on his lips but he turns his narrowed eyes back to the page. The scowl doesn't leave his face as he continues to read, and when he closes the binder with a harsh slam, I brace myself for his reaction.

"You still don't like the ending?"

With the way that Damon glares at the binder, I'm grateful that his eyes aren't laser beams. I think he'd incinerate those pages if he could. "Why would you spend an entire book developing the relationships between Stephen, James, and Anne if she's not going to end up with either one of them?"

"She's choosing herself!" I defend. "She chooses to end her engagement to Stephen because she doesn't feel as strongly for him as she did when they first met, and she doesn't want to get together with James immediately after because she doesn't want the townspeople to think poorly of her."

"So she's going to deny herself and James the happiness they feel together because she's scared to be called names?" Damon scoffs. "That's a bitch move."

"This story isn't about a love triangle between Anne and the two Whitmore brothers, Damon. It's about the relationship between James and Stephen and how it changes as a result of the war—"

"—maybe it started off that way, but James and Stephen's relationship also changes as a result of Anne's treatment of them," Damon asserts. "They choose to fight for the Confederacy because they want Anne to see them as heroes. They agree to stick together and protect each other, but Stephen fakes his own death and sneaks home to Anne because he can't handle the pressure of being a soldier. James becomes so determined to avenge Stephen's death that he loses his arm in the process of becoming a Colonel, then returns home to discover that Stephen is not only alive, but has taken up with the love of his life?"

Damon stretches his legs in his spot at the opposite end of the couch. "Can't the guy have at least something go right for him?"

"I get what you're saying, but I don't want to end the story with everything's roses and life is great clichés. People don't always get the girl, and the fact that Anne doesn't choose to be with either brother gives the Whitmore boys the chance to recover together."

"If that's the case, then you need to give your readers a hint of that recovery," Damon says. "The book ends on a really bleak note because it focuses on Anne's indecision."

"But it's not indecision," I insist. "She made a decision. Choosing no one is still a decision."

"I'm not invested enough in Anne to accept your reasoning that 'she chose herself'. Her lack of choice comes across as a copout and trivializes the amount of time and energy that James and Stephen devoted to her. Besides, I get that 'choosing herself' is a viable option for a woman in modern society, but back then it was social and economic suicide. Anne's smart. She knows that she has to marry well to secure a good future for herself." Damon pauses. "She may not feel strongly about Stephen and she may not want people to label her a slut for taking up with James, but a woman in her position would never turn down an opportunity to be with either one of them."

I feel my face fall at his words. "If Anne ends up with either Whitmore, I'm worried that readers are going to focus on her choice instead of the brothers."

Damon's glance softens as he peruses my despondent expression. "Maybe I missed something," he says, opening the binder and flipping to the concluding pages. "I probably misinterpreted Anne's actions or something."

"No, I appreciate your honest reaction from before." I sigh, hugging my legs to my chest and resting my chin on my knees. "I was just so excited to have the working draft complete, you know? Now I feel like I have to rewrite those seventy-plus pages over Thanksgiving break to stay on my internal schedule."

"Hey, you still have that complete first draft." He offers me a small smile. "Give it to Ric or your other advisor and see what they think. They'll be able to give you a different take on the plot."

"Yeah, yeah," I huff, still disappointed. Being told that part of my first draft doesn't make sense is always deflating, especially when I spent a chunk of my weekend writing some of those scenes. "I know you're right, but that knowledge still stings."

Damon laughs. "I think this is the first time that a woman has voluntarily admitted that I'm right about anything!"

"Yeah, for some reason I can't picture Dr. Pierce saying those words to anyone but herself," I tease. Damon shakes his head.

"She's not exactly the…easiest…person to be around," he admits. I lean my head against my knees and look at him. The billion-dollar question stands on the tip of my tongue and itches to be spoken after months of wondering and waiting until the time is right.

"Damon?"

He's looking off to the side as if lost in thought. "Yeah?"

I take a deep breath and inwardly brace myself for his reaction. "Why are you dating Dr. Pierce?"

I panic when his eyes snap over to mine. "I'm sorry, I know that your relationship with Dr. Pierce is none of my business," I backpedal, feeling his stare chill me. "The two of you probably act a lot differently when you're together in private than you do when you're in public. It's just that…well, the few times I've been around you both, I get the impression that you want different things from your relationship. I don't think I've ever seen you in a good mood when you're around her."

Damon's intense expression drills into me, so I decide to wrap up my spiel and get the hell out of this uncomfortable office. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I haven't dated anyone in over a year, I know that relationships aren't easy and that there's a lot more to them than meets the eye. Maybe these are the naïve thoughts of someone who's observed more couples than she's been a part of, but I think that the couples who last the longest do so because they trust their partners to take care of them and have their best interests at heart. Those people are part of a balanced team. It's easy for those people to be themselves around their partners."

As soon as I stop talking, I wish I had a butter knife in my messenger bag so I could slice the silent tension in the air. I wait for Damon to say something, defend his relationship with Dr. Pierce, lash out and tell me that I don't have a clue what I'm talking about, but he simply sits hunched over on his couch with his face in his hands. I assume that the lines on his forehead mean that he's thinking about what I said, but he doesn't say anything to confirm or disprove my assumption.

I slip on my shoes and rise to my feet. "Well, I should get going," I stammer. I swipe the binder from Damon's lap and shove it into my bag. "Better get a jumpstart on these corrections, you know. You've given me a lot to think about."

Damon grunts an unintelligible response. He pulls his boots back onto his feet before standing and sitting on top of his desk. I can feel him watch me as I stuff my belongings into my bag. I slide my arms into my coat sleeves and sling my bag over my shoulder.

I walk to the door. "Since Thanksgiving's this Thursday, I guess I'll see you in a week. Got any big plans?"

Damon rolls his eyes. "Ric and I had the perfect plan to spend the day at a bar getting drunk off our asses, but then he spilled the beans to his new lady friend who promptly freaked out and then insisted that the four of us eat dinner at my place. An hour after that plan was made, Katherine informed me that she's spending Turkey Day in Bora Bora with her friend Pearl. Now I, lucky fellow that I am, get to spend my day playing third wheel in my own house. You?"

"That's horrible!" I exclaim. "And wait, Alaric's dating someone? Tell me everything!"

"Oh no, if you want to know anything about Meredith," he says, drawling the woman's name, "you can interrogate Ric yourself."

I pout at him but eventually relent. "I'm sticking around for Thanksgiving, too. Matt and I decided that we'd rather spend the money to fly home for Christmas, so we're cooking dinner for ourselves and Bonnie at the apartment."

Damon frowns. "What about your other friends?"

"Oh, Caroline and Tyler are spending the weekend at his Uncle Mason's beach house in Miami…those bastards," I laugh. "I'm really jealous that they get to leave Atlanta, even for a little bit."

"Yeah, I could go for a month-long vacation right now," Damon says. He goes quiet all of a sudden. I wait for him to say something; when he doesn't, I try to fill the silence.

"So…"

"You should come to my house for Thanksgiving."

My mouth falls to the floor at Damon's invitation. "What?"

"I mean, you as in you, Matt, and Bonnie all of you, not just you, though you're more than welcome to show up by yourself if your friends think it'd be weird to spend Turkey Day at your professor's house," he rambles, pacing in front of his desk. "But yeah, you guys should just come over to my place. I'm Italian, so you know there's going to be more than enough food to go around. And besides, you were just saying you wanted to learn more about Ric's latest squeeze, so this is a perfect chance for you to get to know her."

He stops walking and looks at me with pleading eyes. "You're not going to make me be the third wheel in my own home, are you? Because that would be horribly cruel of you, Elena Gilbert."

Damon's blue eyes are going to be the death of me. I pull my cell phone from my coat pocket. "I'll text Matt and Bonnie and see if they'd mind the change of scenery."

Damon beams. "Tell them that I have a fifty-inch television with kick-ass sound quality if that'll sweeten the deal."

"Bonnie'll be on board if she reads that," I say as I type the message. "She's a football nut. Consider yourself warned."

"Let's hope Ric's woman doesn't scare too easily."

"Fingers crossed, and message sent." I pocket my phone and button my coat. "I'll let you know Matt and Bonnie's verdicts as soon as they get back to me."

"Can't wait."

My phone chimes. I retrieve it from my pocket and read my new message. "Bonnie's in."

"That was fast." Damon frowns. "Any word from Matt?"

I shake my head. "I think he's going to be a tougher nut to crack. I think a small part of him was actually looking forward to cooking dinner tomorrow."

"And he doesn't trust me," Damon adds. I break our eye contact, knowing his words to be true.

"He'll come around."

"Maybe." Damon hesitates for a moment. "If he really wants to cook, my kitchen's big enough for the two of us to do our own thing and not bump into each other. We'll have enough leftovers to feed a third-world country, but that's okay. Thanksgiving leftovers are the best kind of leftovers."

I study Damon's face as he talks. I don't think I've ever seen his eyes as vibrant as they were when Bonnie and I said yes to his asking us to Thanksgiving dinner. The little I know about his childhood makes me wonder if he ever received any gestures of affection from his Dad or had any friends when growing up. It hits me how starved he must be for companionship, how desperately he must want it to reach out and try to spend time with us during Thanksgiving break.

It also hits me how badly I want to see him again this week.

"You can count the three of us in for Thanksgiving, Damon," I say, delighting in the way his eyes light at my words.

"What about Matt?"

I brush away his concern. "Don't worry about Matt, I know how to make him come around."

He grins at me and then, in a wholly unexpected gesture, pulls me into his arms for a huge hug. I instinctively wrap my arms around him, reveling in the way his warmth and spicy scent engulfs me as I lean into his hard body.

The hug ends as quickly as it begins. As Damon steps away from me, I see a flush of pink tinge his cheeks. "So, uh, you better get going to convince Matt," he says, running a hand through his hair as he looks at the carpet. Good God, the man is adorable.

I play along with his game. "I'll let you know as soon as I work my voodoo charm on him, okay?"

"And I'll text you my address on Wednesday."

"Sounds good." He opens his door for me and I step into the hallway. "I'll see you in a few days, Damon."

He smiles at me. "I'm looking forward to it, Elena." My tummy does flip-flops as I return his smile before walking down the hallway.

By the time Matt arrives at the apartment tonight after his shift at Donovan's, I've had plenty of time to formulate a plan of attack. "How was work?" I ask as he shuffles around the kitchen.

"Uneventful." He fills a glass with water and flops next to me on the futon. "I think a lot of people have already checked out for Thanksgiving break."

"Yeah, I'm so jealous of Caroline and Tyler's Miami vacation."

I decide to dive right into the main issue. "Did you get my text?" Matt raises an eyebrow at me. "About having Thanksgiving at Damon's place?"

Matt sighs. "I don't know, Lena. Why can't we just have Thanksgiving at our place with Bonnie like we planned?"

"We're all going to be stuck here for Thanksgiving, so we might as well spend the day together. Alaric's going to be there with his new girlfriend, so you'll have another guy to hang out with."

"Wait, Ric's dating someone?" Matt sets his glass on the coffee table. "Since when?"

"I don't know, I only found out about her today through Damon…and that's beside the point!" I exclaim, trying to get us back on subject. "The point is that there's no good reason for us to not spend the day at Damon's place."

Matt scrutinizes me from his spot on the futon. "This is really important to you, isn't it?" I nod. He frowns. "Why?"

"Because Damon was so excited at the possibility of having us over for Thanksgiving and I don't want to let him down. He needs to be around good people like us, Matty. Dr. Pierce is ditching him to spend the holiday with her best friend in Bora Bora. He's really alone, and no one should be alone for the holidays."

"We should have kept that abandoned kitten you found last year. Maybe you wouldn't be so eager to take in your stray professor," Matt sighs, looking at the ceiling. He glances back to me. "What did Bonnie say?"

I try to keep my expression neutral, but I'm grinning ear to ear on the inside. I know I've got Matt convinced. "She's in."

"Let me guess, Mr. Fancy-Pants Professor has a big screen TV for football games."

"Yep."

"Do I have to eat whatever he makes or can I bring some of our Thanksgiving favorites?"

"Damon said that his kitchen is big enough for both of you to cook and not bump into each other."

Matt exhales and slumps back into the futon. I watch his forehead crinkle as he mulls over the idea in his head. After several minutes, he turns to me and shrugs.

"Fine, let's spend Thanksgiving with your professors."

"Yes!" I throw my arms around Matt's neck and squeeze. "Thank you, Matty. I promise it's going to be a great day."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, trying to shove me off him. "Salvatore better have a kickass kitchen."

"It'll be the kitchen of your dreams, Donovan," I tease, laughing as Matt tries to stand up with my arms still linked around his neck. He shuffles the both of us down the hallway and into my bedroom, flipping me on my bed before leaving to his room. I giggle just a bit longer before snatching my phone off my nightstand to text Damon the good news.

Three days later, I sit squished between Matt and Bonnie in his pickup truck as we navigate our way to Damon's house. Premade pies – chocolate bourbon pecan and sweet potato – sit in my lap, and a bagful of groceries rests between Bonnie's feet.

"Okay, Damon said to follow Abernathy Road all the way to the house," I say, reading the text Damon sent me last night. Matt nods and turns onto the road. As we drive down the asphalt street, the houses grow sparser and give way to more trees. The sunset-colored leaves on the oaks and maples make the woods feel vibrant. I'm feeling anxious at the prospect of setting foot in Damon's house, but prefacing that moment with such a serene drive definitely takes the edge off my unease.

Matt releases a low whistle as the house comes in sight. "Wow."

I'd echo his statement, but I'm rendered speechless by the freaking mansion in front of me right now. Beautiful wrought-iron windows and doors lay dotted amongst brick walls. Exposed wooden beams and triangular cutouts make the house look like a cross between something you'd see in Tudor England and a gingerbread house from a Grimm Brother's fairy tale. Ivy-wrapped trees stand tall on the grass island that rests in the middle of the circular driveway.

Without a doubt, Damon's home is one of the most beautiful places that I've ever seen in my life.

"Jesus, Gilbert," Bonnie says as we hop out of the truck. "What the hell are they paying professors these days? Forget everything I ever said about you not making a dime if you ever become a professor; I'm calling permanent dibs on a bedroom in your lookalike palace!"

"Elena's living in a boarding house?" Damon's voice sounds from the side walkway. As he walks towards us in a light blue Oxford shirt and pleated black pants that make me wonder if it's legal to look that amazing, I will myself not to drool. He stops next to me and greets us with a smile. "Glad you guys could make it. Did you have trouble finding the place?"

"You should have just told us to look for the fucking mansion, Teach!" Bonnie exclaims, letting Damon take her bag of groceries. "You could host some serious ragers here."

"I'll consider it," Damon chuckles, taking the pies from my hands and winking at me before turning to Matt. "I was just about to put the turkey in, but I've never actually cooked a turkey before and I'm pretty sure I've messed everything up. Can you help?"

"Uh…yeah, sure, let's take a look at it," Matt stammers, shooting me a skeptical look before following Damon into the side entrance. Bonnie and I loiter behind so we can look at the outside of the boarding house.

"This place is just fucking ridiculous," Bonnie says. She cranes her neck and looks up at the brick lattice work. When she faces me, she has a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And don't think I didn't see the way you were looking at Teach earlier. When he first came out, I thought I'd have to stick a bucket under your mouth to collect all the drool."

"Shut up!" I hiss, feeling my cheeks flame with embarrassment. "It's not like that between me and Damon."

Bonnie sniggers. "Sure, and I play the Peruvian flutes."

"Now there's an image."

"Butt. Naked."

"Now there's an image!" Bonnie laughs as she links our arms together. We continue to giggle as we stroll into the boarding house. It's time to start Thanksgiving day with Damon.

You readers continue to blow me away with the support you show this story. Thanks a billion for reading this story and leaving me reviews or PMs for me to enjoy. Also, apparently a bunch of you pimp this story out to the Tumblr masses! I don't have a Tumblr account, so you can only imagine how giddy I was to hear that BIYE has taken on a life of its own. (Quick shout-out to powerlesbian and her Stephen Colbert "GIVE IT TO ME" GIF about this fic. I howled with laughter for days.)

Thanks to everyone who's volunteered to assist me with the Capstone Project I'm completing next semester on fanfiction – what it is, why people read/write it, etc. I'm still looking for volunteers to answer a questionnaire about your fanfiction experiences. If you're interested, please PM me with your email address (the email at domain dot com format gets past the FF website filters) so I can email you the questionnaire in January. If you're on the fence and want more information, I'm more than happy to elaborate about my project!

Hope everyone who celebrates the holidays at this time is having a wonderful break so far!