Elliot leaned against the dining room table amidst the storm of stories. Empty plates littered the table top as well as half finished cups of tea. Beck sat beside her, resting back in his chair and observing the scene.

"...we found ourselves walking through the streets of Germany at three in the morning," Jay said.

His chocolate brown eyes, which stood out against his handsome dark face, were alight with excitement as his hands moved carelessly, bringing the story to life.

"...there I am, shouting at the director of the show," Andrew said, his story cutting across Jay's. His round, black bearded face was flushed as he spoke. "With the whole theater staring at us. It was fantastic! The only thing missing was an orchestra to back us up. Unfortunately, Mike was too wrapped up in the argument to realize he should have been setting the mood with the music..."

"...my dancer looks at me like I just asked her to run around the stage naked," Ryan said, his voice snaking its way between the other story's pauses.

His coffee colored hands talked along side him, his wide smile puncturing parts of his story. Joe rested on the arm of his chair listening to it all. He wore a few days worth of scruff on his jaw, had attentive hazel eyes and a relaxed a manner. Jay laughed, his story coming to its ending.

"...so to make a long story short." He gave his signature, mischievous grin. "Too late," he said.

Elliot pulled out a five and handed it to Tristan, who took it without looking at her.

"....eventually the crew manager steps in," Andrew continued.

Beck tapped Elliot's shoulder, pulling her attention away from Jay's low, musical tones. She looked at him.

"What's up?" she asked.

Beck was wearing an amused smile.

"Is this normal?" he asked.

Elliot frowned as she looked about. Besides her family, Milo, Jay, Andrew, Joe and Ryan, six other friends were seated around the table, conversations filling the air with the sound of chaos. Elliot turned back to Beck, her lips curved into a wry smile.

"What? Your holidays don't consist of hour long breakfasts, multiple conversations, arguments on philosophy and a betting pool that runs through the whole thing?"

Beck fought a grin.

"No, we mainly argue about the current president and the state of the economy."

"Oh, don't talk about that stuff with Andrew. He swung at the last man who tried to talk to him about that."

"He's that opinionated on the topics?"

"Not at all. He just finds it extremely dull and would rather fight someone than discuss such a boring topic."

The grin broke free of Beck's hold and covered his face.

"And the betting pool is normal?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we keep all bets to five dollars. We aren't millionaires. It's constantly circulating so the most anyone has taken away from this is about $20. Once Tristan took away $50 but only because he cheated, Jay was very drunk and Ryan betted against Cece." Elliot shook her head. "Everyone knows Cece is the best pancake flipper."

"Has anyone ever told you that some times what you say doesn't make any sense?"

Elliot raised her tea cup in salute.

"Now you're finding the source of my isolation in high school and my career of being a writer. I realized at a young age if I can make a cute guy talk nonsense then the world is my bowl of ice cream."

"I believe it's oyster."

"It would be if I liked shellfish, but I don't. So it's ice cream."

Beck gave her a studying look.

"You were isolated in high school?" he asked.

Elliot raised her eyebrows and laughed.

"We had just moved, Cece was my older sister and I wrote my first novel when I was sixteen. You answer that question."

"Cece is to blame?"

"Of course! When is she not?"

A piece of toast hit Elliot in the forehead and Jay handed Tristan a five dollar bill.

"I heard that!" Cece said, over the roar of the table.

"It doesn't make it any less true," Elliot said.

Cece paused, shrugged and turned back to her conversation with Ryan. Milo handed Marilyn a five and they both turned away to talk to their neighbors.

"How come you decided to move?" Beck asked.

Elliot shrugged and picked up the piece of toast, breaking off pieces.

"After the divorce we decided we needed a change. Where we lived, the people we had known, well, it wasn't the same. Everyone owned chickens and we wrote books. We didn't fit in. I still can't fathom why!"

Beck laughed and Elliot grinned.

"So we packed up and moved across the country for a fresh start."

"You don't miss what you left behind?"

"Sometimes."

Elliot's face fell as she looked away, the toast being reduced to crumbs in her hand. Beck was wearing a concentrated look when she met his gaze. She put on a mocking smile and straightened.

"And you knew there were the rumors and we couldn't ever live those down. I mean seriously," she said, "does it look like Cece could be running a drug cartel? My mom paying off politicians? Me murdering someone and Tristan owning a shady night club? Actually, don't answer that last one. And whatever anyone says The Blue Horse burnt down by accident."

Beck gave her a small smile but didn't laugh. Elliot glared at him.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a damaged person or I'll throw this piece of toast at you," she said.

Beck glanced down at her hands.

"What piece of toast?"

Elliot followed his gaze and wiped off her fingers, dusting the plate with crumbs.

"I'm not damaged, just slightly chipped and my left pinky toe is missing so stop," she said.

Beck raised his hands.

"Don't back down, Beck!" Joe called over the noise. "She only talks dangerous. I'm 56% sure she'll never knife you in a dark alley."

Elliot glared as Joe grinned.

"Better be careful around dark alleys Joe!" she said.

"Please, I began avoiding them two days after I met you."

"Then you are a wiser man than most."

"You're not telling me anything new."

The front door open and a moment later a tall girl, in her early twenties, appeared. Her brown hair was styled in a pixie hair cut and she was wearing a Beatles t-shirt over shorts. There was a confidence about her that said she could care less. The whole room turned towards her.

"Murph!"

The girl took the greeting in stride with a quiet nod. Cece waved enthusiastically.

"Hey Mia!" she said. "Come sit by me."

Mia gave Cece a half concealed amused smile. Before she could move Tristan stood and hugged her.

"I'm glad you graced us with your presence," he said.

Mia gave him a bright, genuine smile. A look that softened her dark brown eyes.

"It's been about three months since I've talked to normal people," she said. "I figured I should do it before I start hearing my cat talk."

"Then you should stop by more often," Tristan said.

"I would, but I don't like people."

"You like cats."

"Yes, because they make it clear how they feel about you."

"Would it help if I ignored you and walked over your computer when you stopped by?"

"You know, it just might."

Tristan laughed and hugged her again.

"Mia, you are like the sister I always wanted."

"Hey!" Cece and Elliot cried.

Tristan shrugged.

"I'm still not retracting my statement," he said. "The truth hurts. You can use it in one of your books."

Cece leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Yeah," she said, "I have a character who looks like you. I think I'll have him get shot in the back as payback."

To Cece's utter disappointment, Mia took a seat by Tristan and fell into a discussion with him and Andrew about social politics at show premieres.

"Who is that?" Beck asked.

"Mia Davis, the playwright. Ever seen Crimes of The Cat?"

Beck nodded and Elliot gestured to Mia.

"That's her play."

"Why does everyone call her Murph?" he asked.

"Well, once when she was in Dublin she saved an old man's life as he was about to be hit by a car. The man turned out to be the town's head honcho. The town honored her by calling her Murph. It means mighty one in Gaelic."

"Funny, but you're lying."

Elliot laughed and shrugged.

"Yes, but it sounded better than I have no clue. She's just called that."

Beck nodded and looked around taking in the whole group, a crease between his eyebrows.

"How did you meet everyone?" he asked.

Elliot glanced around the table, memories appearing before her as she looked to the faces before her. She turned back to Beck.

"Most of them are Tristan's friends," she said. "He worked with Ryan. Jay was one of his dancers, as well as all the other dancers here. Andrew actually was coached on his writing by my mom, as well as Mia. From there they just became part of our family. I think they were so happy to have support in their art that it made them stay."

Beck nodded as he looked around, his eyes analyzing the group.

"Cece and my contribution to the group is Milo. So really we're set."

Elliot chuckle, but Beck didn't seem to hear, his gaze still roaming over the table.

"What about you?" she asked.

Beck looked back at her.

"What about me?"

"Do you have people that have become part of your family?"

Beck was silent as he thought.

"Ashley, my mother's nurse, feels like she's part of the family, but we don't have anything like this." He gestured around the table. "Mostly my parents have their friends and my brother has his. There's not a lot of mixing."

"Any of them artist? Writers?"

Beck's jaw flexed and he avoided her gaze.

"No," he said, his tone flat.

Before Elliot could ask more about his family, Beck spoke.

"Everyone here makes their living off of some form of art or other?" he asked.

"Pretty much, except Joe. His job is being awesome and he does it well."

Beck was silent for a long moment. The stories around them rushed to fill the space.

"...he didn't like the play, so I decked him," Andrew said.

Tristan handed Mia a five.

"...there we are freezing our nuts off," Jay said, "and they are trying to convince us the show closing was our fault."

"...the review was the worst we've had yet," Ryan said. "But it's nothing I can't beat."

Beck looked at Elliot, his usually impassive features displaying puzzlement.

"What?" Elliot asked.

"It doesn't make sense," he said.

"Oh, that's because you're trying to listen to everything at once. Pick one conversation to listen to and stick with it. It doesn't make sense any other way."

"No, I mean everyone living off their art."

Elliot gave him a funny look.

"The proof that they are is before you."

"But that's not how normal life works. You get a stable job and possibly do things on the side. You never bank everything on your art."

"Don't say that too loud or we might all stop existing."

Beck just looked at her, his face reverting to its normal, emotionless state.

"Beck, I'm not saying it's the easiest path in life," Elliot said. "Heck, there are so many other easy things we could have been done but it's worth it. Don't you agree?"

Beck said nothing, his silence holding all of his opinions.

"Are you saying people shouldn't believe in their art?" Elliot asked.

"I'm just saying normal life doesn't work that way."

"Then what are we then?"

Beck was silent and Elliot could feel a wall falling down between them. For a long, tense moment they looked at each other. Marilyn stood and the table, with some nudging and shushing of neighbors, fell silent.

"Alright?" she said. "Who made the most on bets this morning? Because you have the honor of doing dishes."

**********************************************************************

Okay people!

This is serious! We are going to do something we have never done before! But I believe we have the strength to face this challenge! (Yes, I see your eye roll at my dramatics but this is serious. Focus!) We are diving into our ideal guy's personality! I told you this would not be easy, stay with me and let's begin!

Quiet or outgoing?

Book smart or street smart?

Funny or goofy?

Strong silent type or life of the party?

Logical or daredevil?

Football player or bookworm?

Thoughtful or carefree?

Vote, comment, follow! Tell your ideal guy!