A day after Abigail's dreams, she pushed aside her mother's warnings, thinking that first things first. She made an appointment with the bank manager, when he learned that she wanted to talk about selling her house, he called back and asked her to come in later that day instead of later in the week.

Hammering out a deal that got the house out of her care and into the hands of the Historical Society was easy enough. She told the manager that she wanted first pick of the furnishings and linens, books and any other trinkets, but everything left behind was for the society to decide the fate. Once that was completed, she spoke with the realtor that Ric had introduced her to, and together they walked through the houses once again, finally putting an offer on one with the idea that should it be denied Abigail would try with her second choice.

The call came in as she was back in her room with dinner from the Grille, the wooden box from her former home beside her. She finished chewing before she answered, and nearly hung right back up again, but stopped herself with a reminder of her mother.

"Damon," she answered. Pushing away her meal for the moment and ignoring the work set her by her dead mother, she listened as he seemed to take in her staying on the line.

Letting out a sigh, Damon closed his eyes at the sound of her voice, even on the phone it was the sweetest thing he could imagine hearing. "Abigail, I-" he stopped, wanting so badly to say so much, but not knowing what he could say that would make anything better. He remembered what Ric said about grovelling. "I wanted to ask you to dinner. Tomorrow night?"

Abigail considered his request. That gave her time to hopefully delve into the book and letter, gaining some idea what her mother meant about Damon being the reason for so much. "Alright," she thought about Damon, from her past, and how it had been so simple then. "Is there a dress code I should consider while getting ready?"

Damon swallowed down thoughts of Abigail wearing the dress he'd chosen and the heels he hadn't bought. He thought of her hair down or up where he could see the tempting curve of her neck. He thought of how her mouth tasted and how soft she felt in his arms. He had to fight to control the urge to be outside her hotel room in seconds, dinner be damned, and have her and a bed in the same space so they could move past Katherine and every stupid thing he'd done to put a barrier between them.

"I thought I'd take you to this tiny place, quiet, where we can talk." He looked around his house and smiled. "Anything you wear," or don't wear, he thought in his head, "will be fine, Abi, you're beautiful no matter what."

Abigail shook her head, thinking that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. "What time should I be ready?" She pulled her dinner back toward her, thinking the call would be over soon enough.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he heard her start to speak, but he stopped her. "Abigail, it's still proper for a gentleman to pick up a young woman for an evening out." Or in, he remedied. "Which room shall I knock on?"

Abigail almost reminded him that he had the means to find that out without her, but she stopped herself. He was trying. To at least feign being a human, he was trying. She gave him her room number and picked up her fork.

"Until tomorrow night, Abigail Morgan." And Abi felt her breath leave her, he sounded like he did so many years before. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Damon." She clicked the 'end' button and sat back, her food on her lap, but her mind on Damon and how changeable he seemed. Her fork back in her hand, Abigail pulled the wooden box closer and flipped it open. Time to learn exactly what her parents kept from her.

The next morning brought happy news that helped Abigail face the day and give her a break from her reading. The realtor called to say that her offer had been accepted. The house, smaller, ready to live in and within walking distance to everything was hers. She was smiling as they arranged a time to complete the paperwork and financial parts, and she hung up thinking that perhaps some parts were coming together.

The book lay open where she'd left it the night before. The letter lay open beside it with the delicate gold circlet on top. Her family, her father's family history was twisted and turning, but it was also dark and upsetting. To know where he began, and how it ended for him, made little sense, but the circlet did now.

Her mother had been given it by Abigail's grandmother, her father's mother, who had gotten it from her mother before her, and on and on. As the new king, his new bride would wear it on her wedding day, though she was sure the word was different. She knew little to no Norse, but the words came to her almost naturally. The circlet was hers, to wear on her own wedding day, as was custom for her line.

A line that seemed older than time itself. Her father, the eldest son, ruled their land, her mother at his side as his queen. His sisters chose far different paths, one darkness, the other marrying and walking away from the family. Or so it seemed. Her aunts wanted to be different, and yet, if the history she read was correct, more similar than not. One married a man who was clearly grasping, if what Abigail read wasn't tainted and biased. The other remained alone, but took the sister's first born girl as payment for help in getting her sister past a barrenness through magic. And on it went. How the aunt who married chose to follow her husband down a path that would create the very being that first tried to kill Abigail. And how her parents, staying along the path of their ancestors, the path of magic and light, had found their own way to cheat death. A path that ran through her veins.

Damon, well she hadn't gotten to his role in this madness. That she was some type of elemental witch, that she could cheat death at any hand, but that of a family member, was simple to understand. Any family that she still had, were unknown to her, which would be problematic, but the book promised sketches came at the end. Immortal beings change subtly, but the faces remain the same, and she would have those sketches to keep her safe. Which brought her back to Damon.

Sighing, she pulled the open book to her and started reading once more.

Damon was whistling and dancing around the kitchen which would be concerning enough, but then he eyed Elena and Stefan and demanded full reign of the house for the rest of the night.

"What the hell?" Stefan asked, as he watched his brother dicing vegetables for what he knew was a family recipe. "What-"

"I have a date, and you need a place to go off and disappear to." Damon said, popping a piece of tomato into his mouth and sighing with pleasure at the flavor. "Come back late, very late, or tomorrow might be better."

"Who's the date with?" Elena asked, hopping up on a stool and watching him work.

"Abigail Morgan," he smiled as he diced and chopped. The pans on the stove ready for him to prepare a full dinner and he had some wine already chosen and chilling. "I thought, what better place to have our first date, officially," he added with a shrug, "then here, in the quiet of my home." A gesture coupled with his grin had Stefan shaking his head. "What?"

"Damon, I hate to bring the past rearing into your-" he took a breath and a look around, "preparations for what I imagine is a LONG night for Abigail, but she's still the same woman from the 1800s." Damon nodded, as he added spices to the pan with the fresh veggies. "You know, the 1800s when young women only met young men with a chaperone present?"

Damon snorted. Abigail and he had been alone for most of their lives before Katherine came along. "You seem to forget, brother, that Abigail and I never fit into that mold." He looked up with a smile. "I'm grovelling, and I can't do that in public, now can I?"

Elena snickered and his attention focused on her. "I'm sorry, but if Abigail is anything like normal women? She wants you to do it publicly, trust me."

When Abigail looked at her phone she was shocked to see she had only an hour to get ready for dinner with Damon. She marked the book with her letter, and put them both along with the circlet back in the cask they were found in and then put the whole thing in the safe she found in the closet of her room.

She chose her dress carefully, picking the one he bought her and pairing it with the leather jacket and a pair of shoes she'd fallen in love with during her own shopping trip. They had heels that made her short legs appear longer, and after learning about YouTube, she'd found ways to fix her hair beyond the ponytail that he'd shown her. Braiding her hair over one shoulder, and then loosening the entwined hair, she felt that she looked as good as she could with the short time she'd given herself.

His knock came at exactly seven, and picking up her small bag and phone, she opened it to find him waiting with a smile that she could swear she remembered. Damon took a sharp breath as his eyes moved from the top of her head to the heels she wore and she watched his nostrils flare.

"You look," Damon's eyes met hers and she swallowed hard at how he was staring at her. "Amazing." His smile grew and he held out his arm, shaking her head, she checked her purse for the room key then slid her arm through his.

He drove carefully to the house, keeping conversation light, wanting to make the evening waveless. Or at least waveless until they kissed, and he really hoped they would kiss, and soon.

"Quiet, LITTLE place, you said," Abigail was smirking as he drove up the driveway to the boarding house. "I think our upbringing has skewed your understanding of the word, Damon."

He held her door for her and was still chuckling at her playfulness. "Stefan told me I should keep dinner in town or with an audience, because 'you're a woman from the 1800s'." This forced a giggle from Abigail and his smile grew.

"That Stefan, always showing how little he knows about me." She walked carefully to the front door and bit her lip as he ushered her inside. The dark wood, the heavy furniture, was familiar even if it wasn't. Taste and class, things that couldn't be bought, worked together to form what was known as the Salvatore Boarding House. She followed him toward the scent of mouthwatering food, and smiled when he showed her the small table he'd lit by candles, draped in white linen, in the kitchen where the food sat simmering on the stove. "This looks lovely."

"Wait until you taste dinner," he offered, holding out her chair and moving to fill two plates. "I skipped the opening courses, Abigail, I thought a main course with some additions and bread, followed by dessert would be filling enough." Did he sound uncertain or was she simply hearing things?

"Whatever you've made smells amazing," Abi replied, smiling as a steaming plate was set before her, a basket of warm bread and then Damon and his plate joined her.

"Wine?" He pulled a bottle closer and poured a generous amount in his own glass before Abi nodded her agreement and he repeated the process with hers. "Now, dig in."

"Dig in?" She smiled and picked up her fork. "Sounds as though I'm going to work." Taking a sample bite, she couldn't hold back a moan of appreciation. Dear Lord, who knew that Damon could cook? Once she swallowed her bite she noticed that he was watching her. "This tastes wonderful," biting her lip, she took a sip of wine and took a moment to appreciate the flavor of the wine and how it complimented the meal. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Damon smirked, and took his own sip before picking up his fork. "Guess you'll have to stick around to find out won't you?"