Nikki wasn't in the habit of speaking to photos, but most writers didn't look like they better belonged on the cover of their novel, riding a white steed bare-chested along the beach. But Elm Franklin sure did.
"Hello, yourself."
Nikki flinched and turned. A chiseled, blue-eyed, living work of art smiled at her.
"The signing doesn't start for half an hour, but I'll gladly sign one if you'd like." Elm scribbled in the book, grinning.
Nikki gasped, then giggled, at the inscription. "I'd like that." She smiled. But then, who wouldn't like to have dinner with a writer?