In Transit by Lillybellis

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6531499/1/

Chapter One - Sycamore & Newcastle

-Edward-

I took a step and leaned forward, looking to my left. Seeing no sign of the bus, I
straightened, checked my watch, and shook my head. It was late. Only a couple
of minutes, but I was cutting it close as it was. My class started in twenty-three
minutes, and the bus ride alone took nineteen to get to campus. I'd already
walked in late twice, and class had only been in session a few weeks.

Being late unnerved me for more than one reason. For the last few years, running
late simply hadn't been an option. In the Army, time had become so regimented
that I literally tensed at the thought. I also didn't like drawing attention to
myself, and inevitably, no matter how quietly I attempted to open the door, walk
to my seat, and take out my notebook, people's eyes still drifted in my direction.
If it had been anything other than an eight AM class, I would have attempted to
take the earlier bus, but nothing was open on campus at seven-thirty, and the
frequent rain prevented me from enjoying time outside.

The girl next to me shifted her weight, and moved her bag from her left shoulder
to her right.

"I can't believe it's late again," she grumbled. She wasn't really talking to me, but
I gave a short nod in her direction. We'd been riding this same route together
since I started taking the bus to campus. I didn't know where she was going—
work, class, or home—but I had learned that her name was Lauren, and she was
a mess. She spent most of the bus ride talking on her little pink phone. She
wasn't the kind of person to talk softly out of politeness; her conversations were
entirely public. She and her boyfriend had issues, the biggest one being that she
was a bitch, but I really wasn't in a position to judge other people's relationships.

I heard the bus before I saw it. I checked my watch again and felt some relief. If
everything went well, I could make it before the professor started talking. Even if
I made it before the end of attendance, I'd be golden.

Once the bus stopped and the door opened, Lauren made a beeline onboard. I
followed, but I always found that I hesitated when I got to the top step. There
was that moment when I knew I had to turn and face all those strangers. I had to
figure out where it was acceptable for me to sit. I had to face people staring at
me. I couldn't see inside their minds, but their facial expressions often told me
what they were thinking.

My hair had grown out more, my posture was starting to relax, and I took to
wearing long-sleeved shirts, despite temperatures that didn't warrant them. I did
what I could to hide where I'd been. I didn't need pity, nor did I need
congratulations. I just wanted an education and a ride. I avoided interaction as
much as I could, but I tried to be polite. I would give up a seat for anyone, and if
someone talked to me, I would answer them back.

Most of the people on the bus were regulars, like me. Not many people boarded a
bus randomly in this city. Tourists rented cars or took taxis.

I tried to scan quickly, hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone. It was enough to
recognize a few of the usual folks, and to see where the empty seats were.
Lauren plopped down in row four. She turned deliberately before she did, in order
to come body-to-body with me. She smiled and slinked her way into the seat. I
tried to arrange my expression into something that said, 'friendly but not
interested'.

I found my coveted empty row about halfway back. The bus had already begun
moving, so I sat down quickly, but carefully. I propped my backpack up against
the window and leaned on it. I knew I should pull out my textbook to finish the
last few pages of reading before class, but honestly, the content was juvenile,
and the professor would cover it all in class anyway.

A few minutes later, the bus came to an abrupt stop, and two of the newer riders
boarded—both girls, well, women, I guess. The first I'd seen before. She took a
seat toward the front of the bus, and clutched her bag tightly. Her body was half-
turned so that she was sort of facing the aisle, as if she were preparing for a
quick getaway.

I'd been able to peg most passengers on this bus inside of five minutes, usually
less. People aren't all that complicated to read. Some have said I had a natural
talent for it, and war certainly strengthened that skill. Observe, assess,
anticipate. It was amazing how well that method applied to everything in life.

The difference here though, was that the information I gathered just led me to
make unnecessary conclusions and judgments about the people around me. I
couldn't envision a scenario where it would be handy to know that Lauren would
inevitably check her phone every sixty seconds, even though it hadn't buzzed.
And I never thought that knowing Garrett (the neo-hippie in the fifth row with the

ponytail and Birks) was writing his Master's thesis on the American Revolution
would ever serve a purpose.

Still, I'd gathered enough information to know that the people on the bus fell into
a few categories. The seasoned riders, like Lauren and ponytail boy, developed
systems. They passed the time by whipping out laptops and cell phones. They
paid no attention to anyone around them. The bus was a means to get from one
point to another as efficiently as possible, and they weren't about to waste their
time on it.

Others seemed to have no destination. I was sure they did, but they didn't
bounce in their seats, or watch out for the next stop. Some closed their eyes,
knowing they would instinctually wake when it was time to de-board.

The girl up front with the backpack was a little more enigmatic than some. For
one thing, I didn't know her name yet. She never talked on the phone, and she
didn't greet anyone before she took her seat.

From the way she sat, I'd gathered she wasn't quite comfortable, but I wasn't
sure if she was just uncomfortable being on the bus or uncomfortable being in
her own skin. However, despite her stance, she never failed to reach into the
front pouch of her bag as soon as the wheels of the bus started turning. She
would pull out a tattered copy of People magazine or a paperback like you'd find
in the super discount section of the bookstore for a buck ninety-nine. She would
lean over it, so that her long brown hair shielded her. It struck me as odd that
someone who wanted to hide so badly would be so obvious about her ridiculous
taste in reading.

Not that I thought much about her. She wasn't my type; I could barely remember
what my type was at this point. I neither had the time nor the inclination even to
think about women anymore. But if I was looking at women that way, I could say
for certain she would not end up on my short list. She was pretty enough, sure. It
almost seemed a shame that eyes that welcoming were wasted on someone who
didn't seem to have anything going on behind them.

"Can I sit here?" I looked to my right, tearing my eyes away from the girl, and
saw the woman that she boarded with standing beside me. I took a second to
scan the area. The bus wasn't full, but I supposed it was full enough for me to be
respectful and make room, so I shifted my legs and let her in.

"Thanks," she said, sitting down with a sigh.

I hoped she wouldn't be one of my least favorite bus types—a talker. Once in a
while, I'd get a talkative seat companion. They asked questions; they prodded,
they babbled. Usually they were older than this girl though, so I had high hopes
for her.

"No problem," I replied. She didn't look back to me, and a small smile marked my
relief. When my head began to drift toward the window, I was surprised to see
someone staring at me. It was the girl with the dumb magazine. She looked away
quickly when I caught her, and I wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed.
The last thing I needed was a vacant girl checking me out on the bus.

I leaned against my backpack and stared out the window while buildings and cars
passed by, a myriad of colors blurring into a near constant state of gray, which
was a vast improvement over the neverending beige or tan or whatever color you
call sand and the camo we wore to blend in over there. In theory, gray shouldn't
be better, but I realized some time ago that it might be just as drab and lifeless,
but its familiarity is comforting enough to make up for its lack of vibrancy.

For most of my life the other colors had been drowned out by the miserable glow
of resentment. These days, I just didn't have time to see anything but the blur. I
had places to go.

The history grad and I got off at the same stop. He scuttled toward the back
door, but I opted for the front, passing by the gossip magazine girl on my way
out. She didn't look up at me, but she moved her knees in as I passed,
acknowledging my presence. She also used her arm to shield what she was
reading, as if anyone cared. As if we didn't see her reading the same crap every
day.

I launched my pack on my back and made a beeline for class. I was almost to the
pretentious old building that housed the humanities departments when my phone
buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the display. When I saw
Emmett's name, I dropped it back in my pocket. Even if I hadn't been in a hurry,
I would have let that call go to voicemail.

Maybe once some other goals were met, I could take time to see those colors,
but for now, family was all part of the gray.

-Bella-

I hated riding the bus.

The stiff, uncomfortable, posture-straightening seats made me feel like I was in
some sort of mobile torture chamber, and I could practically feel my lungs
constricting with every intake of air that smelled like years-old plastic and
exhaust. The oval-shaped pieces of grayish-pink gum that bore the imprint of the
soles of who knows how many shoes were a constant reminder of just how many
people passed through on a daily basis, and those people, wearing the same
faces and shifty glances every day, were not very friendly.

I missed my truck. The way the old leather molded to me whenever I sat down
on the seat, and the rumble of the engine as it roared to life. I missed the loud,
obnoxious squeal of the door when I'd open it, and the way people would turn
and stare when it would backfire. The way it would die in the middle of
intersections.

The freedom, though, I knew I'd miss that the most. And I did.

When she breathed her last breath and died a pitiful death in the café's parking
lot, my period of mourning began. Even though it had been weeks now, I was still
in the pit of it, wallowing in my misery every morning at the corner of Sycamore
and Newcastle, right smack in the middle of Bus Route 2.

I was never very fond of living on someone else's schedule, but lately my life
didn't even seem like it was mine anymore. Sure, I went to school and took all
the classes I chose last semester, but the nights I spent working at the café
during the week went from two to six, and struggling to find money for concert
tickets turned into a struggle to scrounge up enough money for our rent and
utilities.

Life could be very, very strange sometimes. One minute you're running across
campus to make your next class on time, and the next you're running through
cold, sterile hospital hallways to find out if your father's still alive.

One late-night stop at a convenience store. One idiot with a gun. One moment
that changed everything.

Dad's recovery had been slow, but mine was even slower. He didn't want my
help; he was too proud to take it. But he needed it, and even he was past the
point of trying to deny that. So, every morning I'd hop on the two, sit through
hours of classes, then walk a few blocks to the café, where I'd put in a six-hour
shift, then get back on the bus to go home, where I played mother to my own
father.

It was tiring, the constant go, go, go. As much as I hated the bus though, the
fifteen-minute ride offered me the little bit of peace I got all day.

Some people slept. I never could, because I was too afraid that I'd konk out and
wake up at the end of the line, missing work or class, or both. Some people
blathered endlessly on their cell phones. I wasn't much of a talker. Besides,
between work, school, and taking care of my father, I'd lost touch with most of
the people I would've called anyway. I didn't chat randomly with whoever
happened to be sitting next to me, either.

Nope. I put my free time to the best possible use. I read trashy tabloids and
paperbacks. After all, what better way to get my mind off of my own problems
than to read about ones that belonged to other people?

It was nice to have an escape, especially after a long day of lectures, and a
neverending shift behind the counter of the café. Or to get away for a few
minutes while I was waiting in the kitchen for water to come to a boil.

"Whatcha reading?" Dad asked, nodding toward the dog-eared romance novel
that lay next to my plate on the dining room table.

He hobbled across the kitchen floor, the rubber bottoms of his crutches thumping
loudly against the tile. He rested them both against the counter, then slowly
lowered himself down, using the table for support. Once he was sitting, he
breathed a cloudy, relieved sigh that made him sound like he was forty years
older.

"Nothing." I casually reached over and slid the book off the side of the table, and
laid it on the counter, face down. "It's nothing."

I stirred the noodles and the sauce together, then made each of us a plate. When
I put the steaming hot spaghetti in front of him, Dad rubbed his hands together
and looked at it like it was a winning lottery ticket. I hated making him wait until
I got home, but he couldn't really cook for himself right now, and there was just
no other way.

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed, and raised his eyebrow. I'd been getting that look
since I was a child. "Sure it isn't."

"It's nothing bad," I said. Although, really, it kind of was. "It's not schoolwork or
anything. I usually just read it on the bus."

"How's that working out for you?" His eyes stayed focused on his plate, and I
could tell he was feeling guilty. When it came to having to choose between fixing
my truck and putting food on the table, we put food on the table. We just didn't
have any spare cash right now, and I knew that made him feel like a failure.

"I...I like it," I said, lying through my teeth as I scraped a bread crust across my
plate. "It's nice not having to worry about driving."

"That's good." He took a bite of his dinner. "The doc says I'm healing up.
Shouldn't be much longer now until I can go back to work. We'll take care of it
then." That was my father's mantra. Soon. It was always soon. I thought maybe
the 'soon' made him feel a little bit less helpless.

"It's okay, Dad," I said, forcing a smile. "I don't mind the bus."

I really, really hated the bus. But, we didn't have the money to spare right now,
and that truck was beginning to be a money pit anyway. I'd put a sale ad for it in
the classifieds this afternoon at school, but I thought it'd be best not to tell Dad
until someone showed interest. If anyone showed interest at all.

Early the next morning, after a long night of studying, I dragged myself out of
bed and shuffled to the stop through the light mist that fell, like spindly spider
webs that stretched down from the sky. The cool, barely-there rain dampened my
hair and my spirits, and I spent most of the wait using the cuff of my sweatshirt
to stifle my yawns.

When the bus finally pulled up, a few minutes late as usual, my stomach dropped
to my feet.

Trying to find a seat on there was my worst nightmare played out in public, sort
of like being picked last in gym class. Most days it was full, and I was left with my
eyes wandering from seat to seat, looking for a friendly face that didn't seem to
mind having a companion. I rarely found any. Being the center of attention was
never my favorite thing, and in this sea of strange faces, I felt judged. I felt like
they could see all my secrets on display, just because I stepped onto a bus.

I knew that was a ridiculous thought, but I couldn't help thinking it. Especially
when he looked at me; the guy with the reddish hair who somehow managed to
ooze superiority while riding public transportation. He thought he was the better
of the two of us: all piercing green eyes and bright, shiny new textbooks poking
out of a pristine bag. He was probably right. Something told me he didn't sleep in
an apartment he could barely make rent on, after working all day at a job that
paid minimum wage.

I took the first seat I could find, and wanted to jump out of my skin when I felt
his eyes on me, so I pulled my hair out of its ponytail. Brown waves fell across
my shoulders, and I let them shield me from him; from everyone.

I closed my eyes and sighed. So many problems, so little time. Too much to do,
and not enough sleep. I needed to take advantage of what little 'me' time I had,
so I reached into my bag and pulled out a new-ish copy of People that I stole
from Dad's doctor's office.

I cleared my head.

And I let myself get lost.

Chapter Two - Highland & W. 3rd

-Edward-

I started turning my phone off for long periods of time. They continued to call.
One by one, a message here and there. Obviously, something was up; the order
of the calls was strategic. First, Esme, but she must have known I wouldn't
answer because almost immediately after, Jasper called. I assumed he was going
to attempt to soothe me or ease me into something I didn't want to do. He was
the most persuasive among us because he was so good at figuring out people's
motivations. Once he had that knowledge, he could twist them and shake them
upside down until they looked and felt completely different from what they were
in the beginning.

Emmett's call was the last in the rotation, but in the end, he was the most
persistent.

Esme and Jasper only left one message each, but Emmett racked up three. I
ignored them all for four days.

In the end, I was swayed by morbid curiosity. It hadn't escaped me that one
name was absent from the list of callers, and I had a flash of concern that
something might have happened to him, but I was too stubborn to call and find
out.

On Thursday after my last class, I was on my way to the bus stop when my
phone buzzed. Seeing it was Emmett, again, I gave in or gave up, whichever way
you want to look at it.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Nice greeting," he replied.

"What's up?"

"Took you long enough."

"I've been busy," I said.

"Right, did you listen to the messages?"

"Haven't had a chance."

He grumbled something under his breath. I couldn't make it out completely, but
I'm pretty sure I heard 'asshole' somewhere in there.

"Mom's throwing a party for Dad's birthday-slash-retirement next month, and it
would be good if you could come."

I sat down on a nearby bench, and I nearly laughed. They'd been calling and
leaving messages for days to get me to come to a party. What a fucking
emergency.

"Okay."

"Let me rephrase that," Emmett said, his tone shifting from disinterested to
insistent.

"You need to be there, Edward."

I rolled my eyes, and I was grateful he couldn't see me, because he probably
would have punched me.

Unlike Jasper, Emmett's means of persuasion were far less subtle.

"Who are we kidding? It would probably be better if I weren't there, Emmett."

"You're so full of shit. You can't really believe that."

"I haven't talked to him since I've been back, and we maybe exchanged five
emails the whole time I was gone. It's not like he really wants me there. Make up
some great excuse for me."

I heard Emmett exhale on the other end.

"Have you tried to call him?"

"No."

"Well, phones go both ways."

"Sure. Call me crazy, but I'm thinking that when someone comes back from a
war, there might be some sort of welcome."

He laughed at that, and I nearly hung up. "Did you expect a party? You've been
shutting people out for years. Hell, Mom and Dad were worried sick the whole
time you were there, but you were too much of a pussy to call or write. You
fucking joined the Army to run away and then you want people to greet you at
the airport with flags and a band?"

"Fuck you, Emmett. Didn't need any damn fanfare, but a call would have been
nice."

"Look, Edward. I don't really give a shit what you do. I think you're probably
right. We'd be better off if you didn't show up because you seem to stress
everyone out when you're around, but that doesn't mean I don't want it to be
different. They love you, and they're proud of you, especially him. He might not
be fawning all over you, but then again, have you asked yourself whether you
actually deserve it or not?"

"That's quite an invitation, there, Emmett. I'll get my suit to the cleaners this
afternoon."

"You know I won't coddle you."

"Yeah, I've been pretty used to the soft life these past few years. Four star
hotels, expensive sheets. It's amazing the service the wartime Army provides
these days."

"That's not what I meant." His voice grew quiet. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine, Emmett."

"You're in school?"

"Yeah."

"You need anything?"

"Nope."

"Will you come? It would mean a lot to them…to all of us, I think."

"I don't know," I said. "I'll think about it."

Despite Emmett's mildly conciliatory tone at the end of our conversation, I was
not in a good mood by the time I boarded the homeward bound bus. I'd spent the
walk to the bus stop letting myself get worked up.

It was so easy for him, for all of them really, to point fingers, to make it seem
like I was such a disappointment. This odd cadre of human beings would have
melted together seamlessly if it hadn't been for me: the flaw, the bump, the
piece of fabric that stood out from the rest.

They thought I was a brat. They said I moped too much and never appreciated
the opportunities I'd been given. Esme had sighed a lot, and Carlisle usually
threw his arms up and walked out of the room, essentially communicating their
disinterest in getting to the root of the problem.

Maybe I was stupid sometimes, and I still couldn't tell you exactly what my
problem was, but despite several rounds of therapy, I couldn't be instantly fixed.
It was all too much, too fast, I think. One minute I was a snot-nosed kid crying
every night in a small room on a worn out cot because my parents were dead,
and they wouldn't be coming to take me out of that dump of a foster home.
Within six months, I'd changed houses three times until I wound up with Carlisle.
Two years later, I'd been adopted and gained a stepmom.

Then they added more to their instant family: Emmett was first, then Jasper.

I often wondered if it would have been different if I hadn't been the first. Would I
have resented everything less? All I knew for sure when I was that wide-eyed
little shit, was that moving in with Carlisle had made me happy, but clearly I
hadn't been enough to do the same for him.

Once I made it to the bus stop, my thoughts had turned more bitter and agitated.
My muscles tensed, and I could feel my face tighten. The September air was
changing. Still warm enough for shorts, but it wouldn't be long before all the
people standing would be shifting weight and shaking their hands to keep warm.
For now, we kept a distance as we watched the bus approach, hopeful that
despite the prime hour, there would be space enough for everyone to sit, but I
could see through the window that it was going to be a tight squeeze. I hung
back in the pack. If I was going to stand anyway, I'd rather be closer to the front
than shoved in the middle with no way to escape.

The end of day crowd dropped bills or swiped cards before mindlessly making
their way to the few empty seats. After paying my fare, I didn't even bother to
scan the crowd. I stepped in a few paces, and reached up to grab the bar above
me.

I heard talking around me, but I didn't pay any attention, still focused on my
phone call with Emmett and the problems it illuminated. The voice got louder,
and it caused me to break my stare out the window. Instinctively, I looked down
toward the people around me.

"There's a spot here if you want," she said, motioning to the empty seat next to
her.

It had to be her. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have nodded
politely and sat down, but something about that woman with her crappy books
and carefree attitude bothered me, especially that day.

Anyone who had time to read gossip had it too easy in my book.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asked again.

I couldn't stand the way her big brown eyes looked at me, all hopeful and
innocent. I was tired, and agitated, but the seat called to me. Without saying a
word, I nodded once, and the girl scooted over to the window. I sat down on the
edge, careful not to get too close.

"It's packed today," she said looking around the bus.

"Uh huh," I answered, not wanting to encourage any conversation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her face morph into a look of disgust
before turning with a huff to face the window. A couple of seconds later, she
reached into her bag and pulled out a paperback.

I shook my head and laughed to myself, but I didn't dwell on her or her ridiculous
hobbies for long.

I was too busy figuring out the rest of my life.

-Bella-

My mother always told me that I was the kind of person who didn't just give
someone the shirt off of my back, I went ahead and offered them my whole
wardrobe. I'd always roll my eyes, and let her words flow through one ear and
out the other. Having a woman who once made a living by selling kindergarten
finger paintings at arts and crafts fairs assess your personality flaws tended to be
off-putting.

But she was right. So very right.

I saw the way he looked at me; I'd have to be blind not to. I offered him a seat
anyway. My stupid, incessant need to be liked made me do it. And he looked at
me like I was a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe; like he'd rather do
anything but sit next to me.

But he did sit next to me.

I tried to make conversation. I tried to talk to him and be friendly, and see if he
could be friendly, too.

He couldn't.

The way that guy's eyes burned through me made me feel invisible, so instead of
wasting my time on him, I pulled out my book and thumbed through the ratty old
pages until I came to the one I'd folded over to mark my place. I could've sworn I
heard him laugh, like being an unfriendly asshole was some kind of an
amusement for him. I had to stop myself from sliding across the seat and
knocking his ass to the floor.

I had just gotten through a couple of paragraphs when my phone buzzed in my
pocket: the pre-paid one that only one person had the number to. I fumbled to
fish it out of my pocket, stretching my body out of the seat and accidentally
elbowing the jerk next to me in my frenzy. When I flipped the phone open, it was
hard to speak through my panic.

"Dad?" I asked breathlessly, my voice much louder than I'd intended it to be.
"What happened? What's wrong?" I knew he'd only call me if it was an
emergency, and I was right. There was an emergency.

"Don't panic," he said, in that even-keeled Charlie Swan crisis mode voice. He
used it a lot these days.

"I'm panicking." My knee kept bouncing, and I rubbed my sweaty palm across my
jeans. It was amazing how quickly adrenaline kicked in. "What happened?"

"I thought I'd get up and try to be useful today."

Dread flooded over me, and I could barely keep my head above it. But he was
talking, so it couldn't be that bad, could it?

"I'm not as steady on my feet as I thought I would be," he said.

The way his voice sounded, so quiet, like that was the very last thing he wanted
to tell me, made the tears begin to fall. All hot, wet weakness rolling down my
cheeks, and I hated it. I hated the way the guy next to me tried to look at me
without really looking at me, and the way I felt so ashamed and weak.

But I cried; I couldn't help it. I cried for my dad, and for yet another bill that
would be waiting for us by the end of the night. I cried because it seemed like
lately, every time we managed to rid ourselves of one burden, life always found a
way to weigh us down with another. Sure, we got some financial help from the
state for Dad's injury. But money was slow coming in, and without his income,
our bank account tended to be in the red more than the black.

Last year, tired of being stuck working in the same job, living in the same house
in the same town that the love of his life left him in, Dad decided to make a
change. When he left Forks and came out here to start a job consulting for a
security firm, neither one of us would've guessed that only months later he'd be
laid off, left working as a contractor in a shipping and receiving warehouse with
little in terms of salary, and even less in terms of benefits.

And we couldn't have imagined that his cop instincts would kick in when he
stopped to get a cup of coffee on his way home from work one night; that he'd
interrupt an altercation and wind up paying for it with his own blood.

The thing about my Dad was, he always played it safe. Since my mom left him all
those years ago, he'd been alive, but he hadn't been living. When he took a
chance to make his life his own, things like this kept happening, but he never
gave up. Not once. Not even now.

"Bells?" Dad said quietly. He knew I was crying.

"Where are you?" I swiped the tears from my cheeks. There was no time for all
this stupid emotion, because my stop was coming up. If I had to change bus
routes in order to get to him, I needed to figure that out quickly.

"I'm at the clinic, waiting for them to tell me that I can leave."

"How did-"

"Never mind how I got here," he said. "It's just a sprained ankle, and I'll be home
in a little while."

"I was going to go home for a few minutes before work. I'm on my way now—I'll
just call in and wait for you there."

"No." His voice was firm, and I knew I wasn't going to win this one. "You go pick
up your shift and I'll see you tonight, okay?"

I wasn't sure how he could possibly expect me to work now. Then, like he knew
just what I was thinking, he said, "I shouldn't have called. It's just that you get
home so late, I didn't want you to walk into this. You've got homework, and…"

When he told me, his explanation did make sense. The thing was, my dad and I
had always taken care of each other like this. No secrets, no shame, just looking
out for one another around every turn.

"I'm glad you called. I just...I want you to get better. I want us out of this hole."

"I know, baby," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear him.

"Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"Yeah," he replied, and I could hear the smile creeping up in his voice. It made
my chest feel less like a boulder. "I really want a candy bar."

"Okay," I laughed. Sometimes, you have to spare a dollar for the important
things in life.

"I'll see you later tonight. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I closed my phone and held it in my shaking hand as I looked out the window
through blurry eyes. When we stopped, I stood up and squeezed past the sour-
faced guy and the throng of strangers that were standing around me.

With an hour to kill before my shift at the café, I exited the bus a few stops early,
and stepped into the drugstore on the corner to find something sweet.

Chapter Three - Seneca & 4th

-Edward-

Her tears had stopped, but the evidence of the phone call was still there if I paid
attention. Not that I wanted to. I wasn't trying to pay attention any more than I'd
wanted overhear her conversation, and I didn't want to know why she was upset.
I wished I had remained standing or looked harder for a different seat.

Anyone else, I would have tuned out, but for some reason, I couldn't ignore her.
Her book never went back into her bag. Her tense posture contradicted her
carefree appearance.

I didn't know what exactly transpired on that phone call. I only knew I felt like
shit. A few times, I glanced over and almost said something. What the hell would
I say? "I'm sorry?"

Sorry for what? It wasn't like we were going to be friends, and I didn't feel the
need to have a conversation with everyone on that stinking bus. I could ask if she
was alright, but again, I wasn't interested in a bus buddy. I knew when her stop
was coming up. She made an obvious show of her disdain for me as she brushed
past and went out of her way not to touch me in the process. It was probably just

as well. She still had crappy taste in books, even if she had more going on in her
head than I'd originally assumed.

I'd never been a judgmental kind of guy, at least I didn't think of myself that
way. My formative years taught me that nothing was black or white. You couldn't
put everything in a box with a single label. In my three foster homes, I saw really
good people have the shittiest luck, and the shittiest people having the best luck.
It didn't make sense, so I tried to let go, not worry about it.

My path to sanctimony involved quite a few twists and turns. The most obvious,
and probably the most influential, was the Army.

Who knows, maybe the seeds were planted long before that, but the entire
experience was about wiping away any possibility of gray that might have
existed. In the Army, you couldn't think in terms of maybes, you had to act. It
wasn't my style. I knew that going in, but I went anyway.

I didn't go for me; I went to piss off my parents. Of course, that's not what I told
them. I said it was good for my future, and cited a line of bullshit the recruiter
had used.

A tour of duty later, I could finally admit that I was a liar. I just couldn't admit it
to them…yet.

For several days after I overheard her phone call, I tried to make eye contact
with the girl. I just wanted to see her face. Maybe I wanted to know she was
okay, or maybe I wanted her to realize I wasn't entirely an asshole. I just wasn't
sure why I cared.

She never even glanced in my direction. She must have known I was there, but
she was a doing a damn good job of acting like she didn't.

I reverted back to my pre-incident mode—pay no attention to anyone. That's
what got me in trouble in the first place.

I missed a few signs that I was about to be ambushed. Too many missed calls,
and one short conversation with Esme, when she asked me a few things about
my classes and my schedule and little else. I took it as small talk. It never
occurred to me that Jasper would be standing outside my class one afternoon.

He stood with his back toward the door, his fingers pressing the keys on his
phone. I thought maybe I could get away if I slid past him while he was
engrossed in his email, but I was still planning my route when he said, "I know
you're there. You're not that stealthy."

"What do you want, Jasper?"

He turned around, a smirk on his face. "Good to see you too, brother. Do I get a
hug?"

"Fuck you."

"I feel the love."

"Jasper? What's up? I have to be somewhere." I looked at my watch.

"We need to talk."

"Can't it wait? I really need –"

"Now, Edward."

I didn't fight it; I led him to a small café a few blocks from campus. I'd never
been there, but it seemed like neutral ground. We both ordered coffee, then
settled into a small booth.

"We're worried about you, Edward."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

"You're shutting down."

"Look, you've only just graduated. Don't go all psychobabble on me. I don't have
PTSD if that's what you're worried about."

"Are you talking to someone? I mean, do they make you see a therapist?"

"Not anymore," I answered. "Listen, Emmett told me about the party. I'll try to
be there okay?"

"Do you really think that's the only thing we care about?"

"No, I-"

"Because that's bullshit, Edward. I don't know why you've got such a stick up
your ass about us, we're your family, damn it. You're killing Mom and Dad with
this whole 'we're not good enough for you' thing."

He stopped to draw a breath, during which time I looked at my cooling coffee. I
could barely make out the reflection of the light from above. I kept watching,
waiting for something to change.

"I have to get going, Jasper."

"No, you don't."

"Actually, yeah, I do. I...I'm meeting someone." My lie came too easily.

"Yeah, whatever. Just so you know, Emmett and I are done. This is it. I say don't
bother with the party. You'll only get their hopes up again." He reached into his
pocket and pulled out his wallet. He threw several dollar bills on the table. "Go be
a hermit. Go be nothing. I don't care."

He started to slide out of the booth, and I remained fixated on my coffee cup.
"That's not-"

"Edward?" a vaguely familiar female voice interrupted. "Oh my god, am I late?" I
looked up to see the brown-haired girl from the bus standing next to me at the
booth.

Jasper froze mid-scoot, looking from me to her.

"Late?" was all I could articulate.

"Well, I got caught up reading-" she held up one of her trashy novels, "you know
how I am. I thought I had more time, but then I saw you sitting here, and I
figured I might have screwed up." Her tone was a little frantic, but endearing.
She kept her eyes on me with a knowing smile. I cocked my head, and she gave
a slight nod, telling me all I needed to know.

"Um, no, it's okay. Jasper showed up, but he was just leaving."

"Your brother, Jasper?" she said, turning toward him. "Hi, I'm Bella. It's great to
finally meet you. Edward talks about you a lot."

Jasper hadn't moved, and his mouth was open a little, indicating his confusion.
"Nice to meet you, too." The words came out slowly.

"You don't have to hurry on my account," she said. "We can study later, if you
need more time.

"No," I said, "he's got to go."

A stunned Jasper slid the rest of the way out of the booth, stood, and gave a
slight wave.

"Uh, see you."

I nodded my goodbye. The girl sat down in his spot but said nothing.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"Is he gone yet?"

I shook my head.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know," she said.

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"No more than you were when I talked to my dad. Now we're even. Is he gone?"

"No, he's on his phone outside the door."

"You could say thank you." She glared at me, arms crossed.

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it. "I didn't deserve that."

She turned her head to see Jasper shut his phone, look back through the window
and then take off. "That's my cue." She was out of the booth, and I was still
trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

"Bella? Is that really your name?"

"I'm not the one who goes around avoiding people at every turn, so why would I
make that up? If an alliteration will help you remember, just think of me as Bad
Book Bella. That way you'll have a name to put with my face when you're judging
me by my reading materials." Her face was serious, but the inflection in her voice
told me she might've been teasing.

"I don't judge-"

"Oh, sure you don't," she said, unbelieving.

"But why …"

She didn't let me finish. She waved her stupid book at me and marched off down
the aisle of the café, pushed open the Employees Only doors in the back, and
then she was gone.

I sat there numbly. The entire situation was surreal, and my head hurt from the
double assault.

I'd been living in an emotionless fog for a while, and Jasper was right. I had been
purposefully avoiding dealing with people. It wasn't for the reason he thought,
though. I knew how badly I had messed up my life. I knew what I'd become. I
couldn't face family or relationships until I could do so with my head held high. I
meant what I said to the girl from the bus. I didn't deserve her random act of
kindness.

Now, it was just one more thing I had to feel guilty about. One more thing I
messed up.

One more person I had to prove something to.

I just had to figure out how.

-Bella-

When I walked back into the café from the back room, Bus Guy—Edward—was
still sitting at his table with back toward me and his head cradled in his hands.
Despite our chilly bus interactions, when I heard him talking to his brother, I felt
a strange wave of sympathy for the guy. There was also a not-so-small part of
me that wanted him to know that he wasn't any better than I was, regardless of
what he thought.

Besides, I never really liked judging people based on their appearances. We'd
both done it, but did that make it any better? How well did being judgmental ever
work, anyway?

Anyone could tell that the old man with the matted hair who sat on the bench
across the street from the café was homeless. The dirt smudged on his skin was
evidence that the only showers he ever saw with any regularity were the ones
that came on warm summer afternoons, pouring out from behind the gray sky.
His wrinkled clothes told me that laundry detergent was foreign to him, and that
a dollar placed in his hand by a sympathetic passerby went into his belly rather
than a washing machine. But how he looked on the outside didn't tell you the
most important things. Like, that his name was Peter and that he served with
honor in World War II. That his wife, Charlotte died of cancer ten years ago, and
that their only son followed soon after. That he told me the best stories about his
compatriots when I brought him a bag of day old muffins and pastries at the end
of some of my shifts.

It took effort and patience to look beneath the surface to find those things out.
When I looked at Edward, I couldn't help but wonder which one of those he was
missing.

"I'm gonna go," Jessica said, as she untied her apron and lifted it over her head.
"Ben's in the back. You okay here without me?"

Tuesdays were usually slow here this time of year, and I'd be lucky to serve
another ten customers before it was time to close up.

"Yeah, I think I can manage."

"Well, I'm off tomorrow, so I guess I'll see you..."

"Friday. I think we're working together on Friday."

"Okay," she replied, smiling that bright, friendly smile that had a way of making
the dollars pile up in the tip cup. "Have a good one."

"You, too."

The second she was gone, I pulled my Poli Sci book out from under the counter,
and started going over my notes from the day's lecture. I positioned myself
behind a small pyramid of tea canisters, hoping that no one could see me. Page
after page of notes about trade swirled through my mind, and I occasionally
looked up to make sure that no tables needed to be cleaned. I was just finishing
up my third page of notes, when-

"So you do read other things, huh?"

Edward stood awkwardly in front of me, fidgeting a little while he bit the inside of
his cheek nervously. I plunked my pencil down on my notebook, and stood
straight up. "Yeah, you know, it's amazing how one-dimensional I'm not."

I could see Edward's throat tense as he swallowed. "That was...fair."

"Yep," I said, smiling, hoping it would relax him a little bit. Much as I would've
liked him to get that stick out of his ass, I really didn't have any desire to stand
there and have an uncomfortable conversation with the guy.

"What's the deal with those books you read?" Edward asked, straightening one of
the tea tins that were slightly askew.

"You pay that much attention to what I read?"

This thoughtful crease appeared between Edward's brows, and he looked down at
the counter. "No, I just..."

It was weird seeing him so flustered, trying his damnedest to be nice to me. He
probably felt like a fish out of water; so I gave him a little splash. "Relax, I'm just
messing with you," I said, running my finger along the edge of my notebook.
"Don't you ever just...wanna forget about your life for a while?" Edward looked at
me then, all apprehensive green eyes with the tiniest little chink in that armor he
always lugged around.

"Yeah."

The way Edward's eyes narrowed, along with the stone-hard set of his jaw made
him look like someone who'd been through a lot more than daily bus rides with
strangers, and confrontations with his brother.

"Well, those are my escape. My trashy little escape." The right corner of his
mouth quirked up into a small grin, and I thought it might be okay to tease him a
little. "It's an easier escape than, say, a stranger bailing me out of a
conversation." I thought that stone-hard jaw might shatter with the way he
seemed to be grinding his teeth.

"My brother and I...well, my family...we...we don't..." He struggled, and I could
tell by the way the words reluctantly fell from his lips that he was trying to tell
me things he probably didn't tell too many other people. "It's complicated."

"When it comes to family, it's always complicated," I said empathetically.
Whether it was a temporarily disabled father, a mother who barely ever spoke to
you, or a brother who stalked you into coffee shops, there was always, always a
complication when shared DNA was involved.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Listen, um...earlier. Thanks for that. I know I said it before,
but I got the feeling you might not think that I meant it, and...well, I do.
Thanks."

"You're welcome," I said honestly. "I felt kind of bad seeing the two of you over
there-"

"Don't feel bad for me," he snapped, his eyes intense.

"Oh, I don't. I was talking about your brother. After dealing with you on the bus,
he's the one I felt bad for."

Then, something kind of miraculous happened. That stone-hard jaw gave way a
little bit, and his lips, they melted into a smile. A huge, glowing smile that
brightened his whole face. A laugh broke through all that hardness, too; one that
made me laugh right along with him.

"I should probably go, and leave you to your non-trashy book," Edward said,
smiling.

"Okay."

"I'll, um...I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Bella."

He said my name almost as an afterthought, but those five letters were so huge.
Each one of them made a tiny dent in that wall that surrounded him, and I could
see a little bit of what was hidden beneath shining through.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Edward."

The bell on the door rang has he left, then he stopped outside the front window
and waved before he disappeared.

When I got home later that night, I found my dad splayed out on the couch,
sleeping with the tray from a microwave dinner resting on his stomach. The
testosterone-fueled guitar licks for the opening music of some sports show played
as the screen flickered across his peaceful face. I gently pried the plastic tray
from his fingers, and I decided not to wake him. Instead, I laid a warm quilt
across his body, then turned off the television, leaving him looking more
comfortable than he had in months.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel kind of nervous while I was waiting for the bus
the next morning, wondering what would happen when I stepped inside. Would
he offer me a seat? Would he go back to his cold indifference? Such silly, trivial
things to occupy my mind with, but they found their way in there just the same.

When I boarded that bus, Edward didn't look up. Two rows behind the empty seat
I chose, he sat expressionless, looking down at his lap. I hated the wave of
disappointment that crashed against my gut; the way it felt like everything inside
of me was sinking all the way to my toes.

Maybe it was better this way.

As the bus jolted forward, I pulled a new book from my bag, hoping to get lost
again. I got so lost, in fact, that the sudden movement in the seat next to me

was startling. What surprised me still, was the soft smile that graced Edward's
face as he said good morning.

"Good morning," he said, tapping a magazine against his knee, before he opened
it up and began reading.

"Good morning."

I couldn't hide my grin when I realized that he wasn't reading a magazine at all.

It was a Spider-Man comic book.

Chapter Four - Rutherford & Maine

-Edward-

At first it was an obligation, like I was indebted to her.

I slid into the seat next to her on the bus one day and handed her a few
magazines. She looked at me with a crinkled brow.

"You didn't have to buy me anything."

"I know. I just thought you might like them."

"I don't need them." Her voice, her posture, everything about her was indignant.
I'd never known a girl like her. Even back when I used to date, all the women I'd
been with expected gifts rather than refused them.

"Bella, it's not like I'm going to read them. I was at the store, and it was an
impulse buy."

A few moments passed, but her face never softened. She took them, but her
hands reached out slowly, as if she feared touching them. I learned something
very important about her then: she was proud. I liked that…a lot.

As time passed, I got a little more creative in my payback.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to go in there, order a Coke or something
and leave twenty bucks on the counter as a tip." This dorky little blond kid looked
from me to the money the whole time he talked.

"Yup," I said.

"And you'll pay me another $20 when I get out?"

"You got it."

I found him just standing near the café where Bella worked. He didn't look like he
had anything better to do. He was probably about fifteen, with no car, a lot of
time on his hands, and happy to do a few minutes' work for a few bucks.

"Okay," he said with a shrug that clearly indicated he thought I was nuts. Maybe
I was. I watched through the window as the kid took off. Once Bella noticed the
change sitting there, and she quickly looked up and scanned the area. She even

walked to the front of the cafe, and looked out the door. I had to duck out of the
way to make sure she couldn't see me near the bus stop across the street.

Once she finally realized that the money was hers, when she didn't see the kid
anywhere, she pocketed the cash, and I saw the smile that spread across her
face.

I didn't intend to keep it up. At some point though, it wasn't about paying back a
debt. I just liked to see her smile. Unfortunately, the stress in her life was more
evident than the joy most days. That was pretty common on the bus.

I'd noticed that people collapsed into their seats, as if this was a place where they
could let it all out before they had to walk into the next challenge, whether it was
work, home, or school. Sitting next to her more often, paying closer attention to
her, I felt affected by the invisible strings that pulled her in every direction. Some
days, Bella seemed especially weary, and it was such an unwelcome contrast to
her bright features, to her hopeful disposition.

I began to gather more information about the depths of that hole she'd referred
to.

"I know, Dad. I'm working on it." She huffed into the phone. Her voice had
escalated, but after a deep breath, she lowered the volume and calmed her tone.
"I won't let them turn off the electricity, I promise."

After she hung up though, she closed her eyes, and I could tell she wasn't sure
how she'd keep that promise.

I acted on instinct. In retrospect, it was probably a little creepy, but I didn't know
what else to do. It wasn't like I knew her phone number, or even her last name. I
followed her after she got done with work one day. From there, it was easy.

The next day, she anxiously sat down in her seat, whipping out her cell phone
before the bus even began to move again.

"Hey Dad, how, um, how did you pay the electric bill?" She waited for a response.

"What do you mean? You had to." There was another pause. "No, I just checked
the balance when I was on campus. I was going to pay what I could, but it was
zero."

They talked for a few more minutes, ultimately concluding it had been a lucky
mistake in the computer system, hoped no one would find it until at least the end
of the month, and hung up.

She was smiling. It was contagious.

"Got big plans for the weekend?" I asked when we were only a few minutes from
her stop.

Bella looked up from the book she'd begun reading after she hung up with her
dad. We'd become comfortable with small talk in the past week, but we danced
around anything that might have been more personal. She'd ventured a question
or two about my time in the Army. I'd dipped into inquiries about her dad's
health. Our answers were always informative, but cautious.

"I have a couple of shifts, and some homework to catch up on. Sometimes I
wonder what it'd be like to have a normal nine to five kind of job with actual
weekends to look forward to. You?"

Absentmindedly, her right hand snaked up the back of her neck. Her fingers wove
themselves into her hair, and she began combing through it. Like many other
actions, I'd come to know these little subtleties as symbols of her lack of
pretense.

"Not much," I said. Between what she'd heard of my conversation with Jasper
and the brief snippets of our daily routines we'd shared, she knew enough to
draw some conclusions.

"Oh come on, you're in college. Won't you be out partying all weekend?"

I laughed. We both knew that not all college students were created equally. After
her light ribbing, I wasn't prepared for the change in her tone.

"Gonna see your family?" she asked quietly.

I shrugged.

It could have been the end of it: that was, after all, where our comfortable small
talk normally would have stopped. For a minute, I thought it was, but then Bella
spoke again.

"You haven't seen them since you left?"

"No."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I think you should."

The bus was slowing, and I could see her stop. She clutched her bag closer.

"Hey, Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna see a movie or something?"

-Bella-

He asked, and I said yes. That's why I was sitting at the dining room table,
nervously gnawing my fingernails to the quick.

"Where are you going on your date?" Dad asked, his mustache quirking up on the
right side of his mouth. He always liked to goad me when he knew I was already
wound up.

"It's not a date."

"You're dressed like it's a date." He popped a strawberry in his mouth as I looked
down at the black skirt and light-blue knit shirt I was wearing. Did I look like I
was going on a date? Edward didn't specify it as such, and I wasn't sure he
thought of me that way. But he usually saw me in jeans and a t-shirt, and I
wanted to look nice—for him to think I looked nice—even though I wasn't quite
sure why.

"And you look nervous," he said, his lips breaking into a full smile.

"I'm not nervous," I replied defensively, smoothing the fabric of my skirt.

"You're my baby, Bells," he said. "You look just like you did right before you
barfed all over the stage during your kindergarten play."

"That was stage fright!"

"Who's this boy you're going to meet?" Dad's face was all seriousness, full of
years of law enforcement and caution.

"His name is Edward. We go to school together," I said, standing up to wash my
hands. "Are you going to be okay for dinner?"

"Mmm-hmm," he replied, and I wasn't sure if he was talking about dinner, or
Edward.

"This is his cell?" Dad turned the envelope that I'd written Edward's number on
around and around in his hands.

"Yep."

"His last name is Cullen. Is that German?"

"Dad…I don't know. I'll ask him for a copy of his family tree at dinner, okay?
Want me to ask for his social, too?"

"Smartass," he said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "Have fun, and if you're not
home by midnight, I'm calling you every two minutes until I see this face walking
through the front door, got it?" He patted my cheek.

"I'm too old for a curfew," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. "And be
careful. I don't want you hurting your leg again."

Dad rolled his eyes at me and grinned as I turned to walk out the door.

The ride downtown was full of twists and turns, half of which were from the bus,
the other half from my stomach. I nervously glanced down at my watch every
few minutes to see if I was still on time, while my knee bounced against the back
of the chair in front of me. I'd noticed some of Edward's Army-like ways on
occasion, and I got the feeling that he wasn't just punctual; he was ten minutes
ahead of everyone else, and I didn't want to start things off by being late.

Sure enough, when I stepped into the Italian restaurant where he'd suggested we
meet, he was at a small table in the corner, his hands clasped in front of him. I
motioned toward him when the hostess asked me if I'd like to be seated. When I
was halfway to the table, his bright green eyes met mine, and he smiled.

And I don't know what happened in that moment—between the clinking of glass
and the waiters bustling around us—but that warm, nervous smile melted away
all the cold looks during bus rides, and all of my misapprehensions about the kind
of guy he was. That smile made me want this to be a date.

Edward stood when I got to the table, and he looked so handsome in his perfectly
pressed pants and light-blue shirt.

"Hi," he said, as he walked over to pull out my chair.

"Hi."

When he rounded the table to sit back down again, he smoothed his shirt, and
said, "How are you?"

"Good."

"Did you find the place okay? The bus ride was okay and everything?" His mouth
went about a mile a minute, and I wasn't used to him being so…flustered?

"Yeah," I said, my voice sounding all quiet and breathy. "Did you? Have a nice
bus ride, I mean."

Edward nodded quickly.

"Yeah." Then he placed his hands on the table, like the flat surface was giving
him leverage, keeping him from falling. "You look…really nice," he said. His face
was so earnest; I couldn't help the warmth that burned my cheeks.

"You look nice, too."

"Thank you," he said as he reached over to the seat next to him, and placed a
gift bag on top of the table. He slowly slid it over to me.

My stomach knotted, because I didn't expect him to bring me anything, and I felt
the unmistakable pull of charity as he looked at me hesitantly. I hated the way
that felt, even though I knew his intentions were nothing but good. The
magazines he brought me on the bus, the larger-than-normal tips he'd leave
when he stopped by the café for a drink.

Edward's financial situation was hard to read; he didn't have a job that I knew of,
and he rode the bus every day just like I did. And while he didn't seem to be
hurting for money, I didn't want whatever money he had to be spent on me. I felt
awkward enough accepting the invitation for him to treat me to dinner and a
movie tonight. I couldn't help but say yes though, because despite how hard I
tried to fight against it, I really did want to get to know him.

"Edward, you shouldn't-"

He playfully rolled his eyes, and smiled a knowing smile. He'd been expecting me
to argue with him.

"Just look inside before you decide you don't want it," he said, eyeing the red
paper bag in front of me.

I slowly reached forward; it had always been hard for me to accept gifts,
especially when the giver was sitting directly across from me, anticipating my
reaction.

I lifted the bag and set it on my knees, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen
across my forehead back behind my ear. I peered inside, and smiled at what I
saw: a paperback.

What looked like a whole stack of paperbacks, actually. I pulled them out one by
one, placing them on the table as Edward spoke nervously.

"I got them at a book fair downtown this afternoon. They're used; I didn't want
you to think that I spent a lot of money, I just…I thought you would like them."

The inflection in the last word sounded more like a question than he probably
meant it to, and I smiled at him as I looked at the titles of the books stacked in
front of me. I'd heard of some of them, like White Oleander, and Irish Rose, but
there were others I didn't recognize, like Under the Lilacs, Wild Orchids, and
Magic for Marigold. Edward's hands twisted nervously—so out of character for his
normally confident self—as he looked at the books. It was then, as my eyes

studied the well-worn spines, that I realized it. I couldn't control the way my
heart seemed to be beating its way up into my throat.

"You brought me flowers," I said, my lips stretching into the widest grin I'd felt in
a long, long time.

Edward nodded, and took a deep breath. "You like them? I wasn't sure you
would, and if you don't want them-"

"No, no," I replied. "No. I…I love them. Thank you."

He rested his elbows on the table, and the relief on his face turned into a shy
smile as he leaned a little closer to me. "I'm glad," he said. And when he looked
at me then, all nerves and newness, with just a tinge of red on his cheeks, I knew
it. I knew it.

Edward wanted this to be a date, too.

Slowly, as sips of ice water cooled our frazzled nerves, and small talk about what
we'd order faded into small talk about school that bled into small talk about our
lives, I got to know a little bit more about Edward Cullen.

I liked him. A lot.

And when we were nearly finished with our dinner, that small talk crested into
something big, that started off with one tiny, innocent question.

"So, is it just you and your dad?" Edward asked, taking a sip of his beer.

And there it was: the one thing that I absolutely, positively hated talking about.

"For someone who dislikes talking about his own family, you sure have no qualms
about digging into someone else's," I said, sounding much more defensive than
I'd intended. I saw the change in his face; the embarrassment, the discomfort. I
quickly corrected myself so I wouldn't ruin everything. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have said that."

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," he said, looking at the table, and not
at me, like he wanted to avoid looking at the hypocrite sitting in front of him. The
hypocrite who was so willing to stick her nose into his business, but couldn't
handle someone else sticking their nose into hers.

"No, I don't mind," I said, smiling at him when I saw his sincere, curious eyes. I
took a deep breath. "It's just a sensitive subject."

"I can see that."

"It is just me and my dad now." I saw this flash of pity in Edward's eyes, and I
guessed he'd probably assumed that my mother had passed away. I wanted to
correct that assumption immediately. "My mom, she…she left us when I was
three. She's never really been in the picture."

He watched me intently before he spoke again, his words very tentative and
quiet. "So… she wasn't ever around?"

"She was around," I said, swirling the ice in my glass with my straw before I took
a sip. "I've always lived with Dad, but she used to come by a few times a year.
She's free spirited. A flake, I guess. She'd show up when she wanted to, stick
around for a little bit, and then I'd wake up one morning and she'd be gone."

"God, Bella...that's just..."

"It's not the worst thing in the world. I know her, she knows me. She manages to
make me a priority in her life every once in a while. But, you know, growing up
with just my dad..." I felt the warm sting of tears in my eyes, and I looked down
at the table, because I didn't want Edward to see me cry. "I missed out on a lot
of stuff. And she chose her boyfriends over me, her art over me. She chose every
stupid whim she ever had over me."

When I finally dared to look up at him, his right hand was close to mine, and his
eyes were soft with understanding. And that's when I said it. The thing I'd been
curious about ever since I'd overheard him at the café with his brother. The thing
we danced around when we asked about each other's families. The thing I wanted
to know most in that moment.

"I'm kind of jealous of you, Edward," I said, his eyebrows quirking up with
surprise. "The one person who should love me doesn't want anything to do with
me, and you have four people who do love you and are desperate to be in your
life. How can you push them away?"

Chapter Five - McClellan & Pine

-Edward-

I pulled my napkin off my lap and set it on the table, mostly for something to do
while I figured out how to respond to that. In any other place, at any other time,
from any other person, that question would have set me off. I would have gone
on a rampage beginning with, "You don't know anything about me."

I didn't want to do that here, now, with her.

"It's a little complicated," I answered.

"I showed you mine," she said with a raised eyebrow. I'd never liked talking
about my past, or my present for that matter, but if I wanted to know her better,
I was going to have to let her in.

I nodded. "Fair enough. I—I just don't talk about this stuff with anyone." I
paused. "I'm adopted. We all are, my brothers and me. My biological parents
have been dead a long time."

Her eyes went wide, and I could see the guilt on her face as her hand went to her
mouth.

"No, I mean, don't feel bad, okay? It is what it is. You didn't know, and that's not
really the hard part. At least not anymore. I don't remember much of my life
before Carlisle.

For a while, it was just us, and then the family kept getting bigger. He got
married and they adopted Jasper and Emmett, and I guess things just weren't
what I expected them to be. I was just getting used to Carlisle and then
everything started changing. I didn't want it to change."

"Don't you like them?"

I laughed a little. "I don't know if I always like them, but I do love them. It was
never about that. Anyway, I suppose it doesn't take much to figure out why I put
up some walls. I know it's not good. I'm working on it."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"I know, it's okay. Mind if we switch topics for a while? Family is a little draining,
huh?"

"Yeah, sure." She took a drink, avoiding eye contact for a second, and I felt badly
for cutting her off.

"So, what else do you want to know?" I asked, attempting to draw her out.

She took a breath and shrugged. "What did you do in the Army?"

"I went to war," I answered quickly. Her mouth opened and closed quickly.

"Well, that's a lot less draining topic, huh?" she said.

She looked embarrassed, like she'd said something she shouldn't have. I couldn't
help it. I laughed. It took her a little while, but she joined in.

People talk a lot about love at first sight. It wasn't like that for me. In fact, she
didn't impress me at all when I first saw her on the bus. However, in that exact
moment, I started to fall in love with her. It didn't make sense. We'd had a rough
beginning, and an awkward first date, but the ease with which we were able to
get past it was something I'd never had with anyone. Plus, when she laughed,
her eyes watered a little, which literally made them twinkle. How the hell can you
not fall in love with that?

Not that I really understood what had just happened or how profoundly it would
impact the rest of my life, nor did I even come close to telling her what I was
feeling. It just felt damn good being with her, seeing her come alive, watching
the layers of stress melt from her face. I didn't want to fall for her. I didn't want
anyone in my life, and given the state of all my other relationships, I wasn't
hopeful this one would be better. But I sure as hell was going to try.

I half expected the world to end right then. Me deciding to work on a relationship
was the kind of thing that might throw the universe off balance. I'd been alone a
long time, and I didn't think I'd ever want anything else. But my gut told me she
was different, that she was worth letting in.

She caught me staring.

"What?"

"You're really beautiful, you know that?"

Immediately, her eyes went to the glass in front of her again, and she started
swirling her straw. But she was smiling, and her eyes still twinkled. I really loved
her eyes.

Though we'd met at the restaurant, I convinced her to let me walk her home.

"You don't have to walk me up."

"I don't mind."

"I know, but if my dad senses your presence, you just might be subjected to the
Charlie Swan interrogation. Trust me. You need to be prepped for that."

"Well, then I'll just have to say goodnight here, and maybe the next time we go
out, you can help me get ready for that," I said, reaching out for her hands to
pull her closer. I didn't really give her a chance to react before the space between
us was eliminated. "Is this okay?" I whispered.

An almost imperceptible nod and a slight lick of her lips offered me permission to
kiss her. I'd never been the kind of guy who cared much for fireworks, and after
my tour, I didn't think I ever would be. I'd had enough of the booms and loud
cracks. The minute my mouth touched hers though, I couldn't drown them out. I
didn't want to.

When I finally pulled back, she said, "Well I guess that answers that."

"Answers what?"

"You're going to laugh, but I wasn't exactly sure this was a date."

My head pulled back to check the seriousness of her expression. Clearly, she
meant it.

"And you just figured it out now?"

"Um, well I had a few hunches earlier, but that sort of sealed the deal."

"Are you sure you're sure now? Or do you need more convincing?"

She snickered. "Well, I guess it could still have been a platonic good night kiss,
right? In some cultures, kissing is a greeting ritual after all."

"Mmm-hmm." I put my mouth back on hers, and this time, there could be no
question as to its intention.

Whether one date with her changed my entire outlook, or she just had me all
twisted up and distracted, I couldn't say, but the next day when Esme called, I
picked up. Our conversation wasn't unpleasant. She asked about school, and
when she reminded me about the upcoming party, I didn't moan or protest. I told
her I'd think about it.

And I did. For the next couple of weeks, I thought about three things: Bella,
homework, and my dad's party. In that order. It didn't help me keep my priorities
in check when Bella kept suggesting that we study together.

"I think older students like you need more study time," she teased.

"Yes, I suppose all of us old fogies do," I said.

"My only free night is Thursday. I'm trying to pick up some extra shifts so I can
pay the final installment on my tuition bill."

"Do you need any help?" I asked without thinking.

"Edward," she warned.

"I know. I know. I just meant as a loan or something. I have a little extra—not
much—but like if you get behind again…you know…on bills."

She opened her mouth and closed it, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. It was then
that I had the distinct feeling I had said exactly the wrong thing.

-Bella-

Those words just hung there in the air, making everything around us silent,
winding their way around my chest so tightly that it was hard for me to breathe.
He moved closer, because he knew he'd slipped, and I couldn't look him in the
eye. All I could see was the way his mouth hung open, just a little bit, struggling
to find the right thing to say. I was beginning to love that mouth; the sweet
things it whispered in my ear over the rumble of the bus, and through the whir of
passing cars as we stood on my front porch after a long night of talking, and
touching, and kissing. The way it felt against my lips, and made my insides twist
up until I almost couldn't remember who I was.

That mouth and the man it belonged to had made me feel so many things, but
they had never made me feel so ashamed.

"Say something," he pleaded as his fingers wrapped around mine.

I shook him loose, then closed my books and shoved them into my bag.

"I have to go." My voice trembled with the effort it took me to hold back my
tears, and I knew that wasn't the something he wanted me to say.

"Bella, don't," he said, shaking his head. "Don't do this, don't go."

"I have to. I forgot…I'm supposed to be at the café tonight."

He knew I was lying, because if there was anything I wouldn't forget it was my
work schedule. But I had to get away from him. I had to think.

"Let me walk you," he said, standing up and shutting his books in a hurry. I
quickly slung my bag over my shoulder to get out before he could pack up.

"No," I said, holding my hand out in front of me. "You should stay."

I fumbled out of the library feeling unsteady on my feet. Feeling lightheaded.
Feeling sad. Feeling completely and utterly foolish. Hot tears fell down my cheeks
and mixed with falling raindrops until I didn't know where I ended and the sky
began. How could I feel so grateful and so angry at the same time? Our account
with the electric company was clear because of Edward, not some glitch in their
system. We had light and hot food and warm bodies because of that man, so how
could I not be thankful? And yet there I was, humiliated and wandering through
the rain without him. Furious at him.

It was stupid; I knew that. He was the beginning of so many things for me, and I
didn't want any of it to end. But we had to get on equal footing if our relationship
was ever going to work, and we couldn't do that until I paid him back.

My feet carried me blocks that day, until I wound up at a familiar door with a
familiar bell that rang when it opened, looking at a familiar face.

"What happened to you?" Jessica asked, looking disgusted by my soggy clothes
and sopping wet hair. I sighed and threw my bag on the counter with a squish.

"I need some extra shifts."

For the next seven days, my life was the café. School and the café. Sleeping and
the café. I saw Edward for seconds each day on campus, or as he walked along
the sidewalk just outside the café window. We didn't speak, and I bummed rides
with Jessica, my sore feet too tired to walk further than the parking lot and back.

I was exhausted, and it was so hard to focus. But that Friday, with a little extra
scrimping and saving and three hellacious babysitting jobs for the neighbors
across the street, I had an envelope full of cash in my bag. When I stepped on
the bus that afternoon for the first time in a week, I expected to see Edward
sitting in our normal spot. He looked up for me hopefully, and his eyes widened
when they saw my face.

I hurried to sit down beside him, realizing how cold I'd been these last few days,
both inside and out. His hands were loosely clasped on his lap, and although
Edward didn't care for public displays of affection, I just had to touch him, to be
close to him. I slid my fingers down the inside of his arm, and smiled when he
didn't pull away. His limbs turned fluid under my touch, and his hand molded to
mine as our fingers twined together.

I leaned over and kissed him; quick, feather-light pecks on his neck and cheek.
When I moved over to give him his space, he did something that took me
completely by surprise: he let go of my hand and brought both of his up to my
face, tracing the circles under my eyes with the pads of his thumbs, his face so
full of concern. Then he kissed me softly, so sweetly, on my lips.

My stop came first, and when I stood to exit, he squeezed my hand and gently
tugged on my arm. He didn't need to say anything for me to realize that he
wanted me to stay on, to go to his stop.

I had to work in an hour, but I probably would've done anything he wanted me to
just then. The next three stops were the longest five minutes of my life, and
when it was our turn to exit, he led me silently down the stairs, across the street,
and up three stories of a brick-front walk-up.

He opened his apartment door and led me inside. I'd never been here before, but
the inside was very clean, very orderly. Very Edward.

Once the door was closed, he spoke to me for the first time all day.

"I'm sorry," he said, his hands all tangled up in my hair, and his forehead against
mine. "I knew you were struggling, and I wanted to help. I hated how worried
you looked, and I should have said something..."

This was an Edward I'd never seen before, all harried and on edge. It was more
than a little endearing, and I wanted to calm him. I kissed him to cut off his
apology, not because the words weren't important, but because I'd missed him so
much and this was all so new and I didn't want to let it slip away. So I showed
him I cared with my mouth soft against his as my fingers slid down his neck, his
shoulders, his arms. And when I finally untangled myself, I reached into my bag.

"What's this?" Edward asked as I placed the envelope with my debt inside into his
hand.

"It's the money I owe you for our electric bill."

"Bella," he said, shaking his head as he tried to return the envelope. "You need
this. If you want-"

I placed my finger on his lips to get him to shut up for just one second. "What I
need," I said, running my hand through his hair, "is to pay you this money. I
don't want this debt hanging over my head."

"It's not a debt. It was a gift," he said, his voice soft.

"I appreciate it. I'm making this sound like a burden, when it was a blessing.
But...I can't do this. I don't want to go through life with someone saving me all
the time."

"I wasn't trying to save you."

"I know," I said, smiling. "You did, though. I don't know what I would've done if
you hadn't paid that bill. I don't want that to be us though, Edward. Okay? I want
openness and honesty. That's the only way this will work." I took a deep breath,
and smoothed my hands across his chest. "I don't want you taking any of my
responsibilities on as your own. Not by paying my electric bill, or by leaving me
these huge tips, or...or anything like that. Will you promise me that?"

"I don't-"

"Just...promise me."

"Okay," he said reluctantly, leaning down to press his lips against the palm of my
hand. "I promise. But Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to promise me something, too."

Chapter Six - Harper Hill & Glendale

-Edward-

"Okay," she said, looking at me warily. "What is it?"

I squeezed her fingers, but I was probably reassuring myself more than her. I
didn't know how she'd react. "If you need something, you have to talk to me
about it. You can ask for something if you need it." She looked like she was going
to argue, so I made my case before she could. "I can help. I want to."

She sighed, looking down at the floor. "I'm just used to handling everything on
my own."

"I know," I said. "Me too. But you don't have to do that anymore. Promise me."

She hesitated. She looked so vulnerable, and I leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Promise me, Bella. Please."

"Okay." She looked up at me with wide brown eyes that made me weak. "I
promise. And...I'm sorry I didn't handle this so well. My Dad always tells me I
have a stubborn streak a mile wide. I was just so focused on paying you back
that I didn't think-"

"Well, I walked by the cafe every day, and I never went in. I didn't want to push
you."

"I saw you walk by the cafe every day, and I never came out. I wanted to. I
missed you, I just..."

"Next time we fight, we'll do better."

"Next time?" she asked, her eyes narrow.

"Odds are it'll happen again." Hell even Carlisle and Esme fought once in a while.
I'd never seen a perfect relationship. Not in an objective sense. I rubbed the back
of her hand and then, hoping to lighten the mood, I winked at her.

"I guess," she sighed. "And when it does-"

"We'll do better. Promise?"

She smiled. "Promise."

The whole open and honest thing? That was new for me. Not that my parents and
siblings hadn't expected it, I just hadn't always been good about giving it.

My head had been "shrunk" enough in my life to know I had trust issues. Then
again, it wouldn't take a Ph.D. to figure out that a kid who lost his parents and
wound up in foster care would likely struggle to let people in again. I'd put up
walls, only letting people open certain doors at particular times. The idea that I
would need to keep all the doors and windows unlocked, ajar even, terrified me.

Still, I promised her.

I began to think I would promise her anything she asked for.

I used to think love was a pretty stupid concept. I know now I just didn't have a
clue. You can't until you've been there. You can date, maybe have a relationship
or two, but until you've been knocked upside the head by the kind of love that
makes you dizzy and crazy and unbelievably happy at the same time, you're
going to think love is dumb.

This kind of love makes it impossible to think about anything but the girl, and
you're not even sure why she's so important. You've walked by thousands of girls
in your life—some could be on magazines; others could solve world problems in
the blink of an eye; a few might have even told great jokes. But only this one
catches your eye and holds it. Only this one makes you smile in the middle of a
history class just because you know you're going to see her in fifteen minutes.
Only this one makes your heart thump faster and harder every time she walks on
the bus.

Only this one gets you to make promises you now have no choice but to keep.

"I really hate seeing you work so hard," I told her, in the spirit of open and
honest communication. It was about a week after the initial conversation, and as
had become typical, I visited her at work. We spent her breaks holed up in a back
booth. "It's hard to sit back and do nothing."

"You can't fix this, Edward. Things will get better. It's temporary. Besides, you
might be able to go to school easily, but it's not like you're loaded either. I've
been to your apartment," she teased.

Of course, the difference between us was that if I got desperate, I had my
parents to turn to. Not that I ever wanted to use that option, but it provided a
level of security she didn't have.

"Okay, fine, I can't give you money. I get that, but maybe I can help in other
ways." The look on her face clearly said, 'now what?' But I forged on anyway.
"How about time? Can I give you that?"

"Edward, you know I would love to get together in the evenings more, but I
just—"

"No, I didn't meant that. I mean, I can free up your time. There must be things
that drag on you. Like groceries and laundry and I don't know, other errands? I
could help with that."

She looked at me for what felt like several minutes, but it was probably only a
few seconds. Then, she laughed. "You want to wash my clothes? Seriously?"

I really hadn't meant for it to be funny, and admittedly, her reaction stung a little
because I honestly got excited just thinking about being able to help without
hurting her pride. It hadn't occurred to me that she would take it as a joke. She
must have sensed my disappointment, because her tone changed.

"Hey, I'm just surprised, that's all. But then, I guess I shouldn't be. I figured
you'd be looking for a way to get in my pants soon. I just didn't expect it to be at
the laundromat."

I smiled and then laughed at myself. "Hmm, yeah, may be a little too soon for me
to be sorting through your underwear?"

"Just a bit. But you know, I really don't like grocery shopping, so I might take you
up on your offer. Of course, it might not be as fun as playing in my underwear. I
guess you'll just have to find another way to do that."

She left me with my mouth hanging open as she returned to work. The girl blew
me away.

Since I'd been upfront like she'd asked—open and honest—I figured I was safe
with a small surprise.

A couple of days later, I ate a sandwich at the café while she filled me in on her
day. "I won't see you in the morning. I have to get to campus early to print out
my paper on cultural relativism." She told me more about the paper, but I admit
I wasn't listening to much after that. My mind was one step ahead.

Late in the evenings, as it got slow, she sometimes pulled out her bag and
studied in the back booth with me. While she refilled coffees, I took my
opportunity. I opened the small side pocket of her bag, where she kept her flash
drive.

"Hey, I forgot a few things I need to do at home. I'm going to take off early," I
told her, after I gave her a kiss. "See you after class tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure," she said, though she was clearly disappointed.

With my treasure in hand, I practically ran back to a campus computer lab. I
pulled up the paper, and gave it a final proofread, though it was pretty clean.
After I hit print, I checked the clock in the lab. The café was already closed. It
was better if I just headed to her apartment building.

My nerves didn't kick in until I got there. The building had no security, so I could
go straight in, but I couldn't quite remember her apartment number. I slipped
into the front door. The old building had three levels; the small landing area just
inside the doors held mailboxes and a single chair. Someone had propped a bike
in the corner. My memory kicked in when I saw the names on the mailboxes.
Swan, #6.

I wandered down the hall, not knowing what floor that would be on, since I never
made it past this point when I did the recon to get the info to give to the electric
company in order to pay her bill. There were three apartments on the first level. I
was just about the head up the stairs when I heard a small crash. I listened
closely, and the sound was coming from downstairs, so instead of going up, I
followed the noise.

Four steps into the hallway, the stairs turned. He was sitting about halfway down,
leaning against the wall. The laundry basket had fallen back down the stairs, the
clothes strewn all over.

"Are you alright, sir?" I asked, rushing to his side. "Do you want me to call nine-
one-one?"

"No, no, I just misjudged myself, that's all. If I can get back to my apartment, I'll
be fine."

When he looked up, it was so obvious, I nearly gasped.

"Mr. Swan?" I asked. I immediately wondered what he was thinking when his
eyes narrowed, and he adopted a defensive posture and made an attempt to
stand. "I'm a friend of Bella's. My name is Edward."

He looked me up and down. I froze, not wanting to insult him or to do anything
that would cause him to move too quickly. I could see the pain still on his face.

"So, you're Edward, huh?"

I nodded. "Can I help you, sir?"

"No, I can get it." I wanted to laugh. Just as proud as his daughter. That's when
it hit me, and I knew how to get him to comply. "Is Bella here yet?"

He shook his head.

"How about we get you upstairs before she gets home? I imagine she'd freak out
if she saw you here."

His eyes flickered an acknowledgment. He sighed, obviously deflated. "I hate to
ask it, but I don't have much choice. I can walk myself, if you can get the laundry
for me."

I scrambled to get each piece off the stairs and off the floor below, then threw it
into the basket. I hoped had hadn't missed anything. I quickly made my way up
the steps, not wanting to leave her dad to walk alone.

"Dad? What's going on?" I heard her say.

"I was doing some laundry."

"But why? We agreed. No more steps without help until your ankle heals."

"I'm fine, as you can see," he said dryly. I could tell they'd had this argument
before.

I had made it to the landing, and I had a split second decision to make. I
considered running back down the stairs and stashing the laundry in the dryer,
but I hit a stair that creaked, and she turned and caught sight of me.

"Edward?" She looked at the basket and then at her dad. "Okay, who's
explaining."

"It's not a big deal, Bella. I took care of printing your paper tonight, and I came
to drop it off, found your dad carrying the laundry, and offered to help him. He's
pretty fast through, and beat me up the steps."

Her dad shrugged and turned to keep walking, taking advantage of Bella's
distraction.

Her brow furrowed. She didn't believe me, but she didn't say anything. She
walked the few feet over to me, grabbed the laundry basket from my hand, and
sighed.

"You printed my paper?"

"Yes. I was being helpful, and you are not allowed to get mad."

"I'm not mad," she said, leaning down to kiss me. "Thank you for doing that. Is
my dad okay?"

"I think so, but he looks tired. Keep an eye on him."

"I will."

"By the way, I like the yellow lacy ones," I whispered.

Her eyes flew wide in shock, and I winked at her.

She shook her head and turned to march up the steps, but she stopped after two
and looked back at me.

"It's time, Edward."

For a split second, my mind went in a very different, very pleasant direction. I
couldn't have been more wrong.

"I know you want to help me with my problems, but it's time to work on a few of
your own. Just like you want to help me, I'll be there for you. I'll hold your hand.
I'll listen, whatever you need."

I swallowed hard. She was right. I couldn't possibly argue with her.

"Well, can you get off work next Saturday night?"

-Bella-

I agreed to give Edward next Saturday night in exchange for this one, where he'd
have the pleasure of being interrogated by one of Washington's finest: Former
Chief of Police, Charlie Swan.

"He's not one of your suspects," I said, glancing over my shoulder to give my
father my best warning look.

"Bells," he said, clutching his heart as if I'd wounded him. "You act like I don't
have any manners."

"I know you have manners, I'm just afraid you aren't going to use them." I
walked over to the table and straightened the fork that belonged to the place
setting in front of me. "Are you planning to wear that?" I asked, pointing at his
plain white t-shirt that was frayed around the collar.

"What's wrong with it?" Dad asked, brushing his hands across it like he was trying
to get all the crumbs off.

"Everything."

Dad's eyebrows knit together, and he waved his hand. "Who's trying to impress
who here?"

"I don't know," I said, teasing. "It's a toss-up."

Just as I was getting ready to order him back into his bedroom to change, there
was a knock on the door, which caused an even bigger knocking in my chest.

"Shit," I said under my breath as I smoothed my hand over my hair. "He doesn't
like to talk about his time in the Army. Be nice. Don't embarrass me." Dad rolled
his eyes and looked so above this whole thing.

My fingers trembled as I unlocked the locks, and when I opened the door and saw
Edward—all six-foot-two-inches of him—in a fresh white shirt tucked into navy
pants, I knew that not even the kitchen going up in flames could melt the huge
smile off of my face.

"Hi," I said, smiling as I stretched up to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss
his warm cheek. My desired target was about two inches over, but with my dad in
the other room, I didn't want to chance it.

"You look pretty," he whispered, as my hand slid across his shoulder and down
his arm, until my fingers twined with his.

"Thank you. You're looking good yourself." And he smelled good, too. I almost
couldn't take it.

"I brought this," he said, moving closer so that Dad couldn't hear. He held up the
pink box he had in his right hand, and I smiled. That was exactly the bakery I
told him to go to.

"C'mon." I led him into the kitchen, where Dad reluctantly stood, looking more
than a little put out.

"I'd like to formally introduce myself," Edward said, reaching his arm out toward
my father. "I'm Edward Cullen."

I couldn't help but smile. Even though I'd seen Edward be formal before, I'd
never noticed it to this extent. I half expected an, 'I've come to court your
daughter,' to follow.

They stiffly shook hands, and my Dad sat down. Edward kept standing, looking at
me for guidance.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," I said, smiling. "Have a seat."

He pulled a chair out, but hesitated. "Don't you need help with something?"

"Nah, I got it."

So, he sat. And once dinner was ready and hot on the table, I did, too. For a few
minutes it was all high praise for the meal I'd made, and small talk in between
bites. As our bellies became fuller, our mouths moved the conversation along.

Proving that he'd paid attention, my father never brought up Edward's time in the
service. For most of the meal he kept things topical, before he delved a little
deeper with questions about Edward's family that clearly made him
uncomfortable. I didn't know much about them, other than the fact that Edward
liked to keep his distance, and I managed to steer the conversation away from
them when I could.

"What are you going to school for, son?" Dad asked.

"I'm majoring in Criminal Justice, sir." Edward looked down at his empty plate
when he answered, and I could tell he didn't want Dad to think he was just
kissing ass.

"That's an honorable field." I could practically hear the encouragement in my
father's voice.

"I have another year 'til I graduate, then I'd like to go to law school."

"Defense?" Dad said suspiciously.

"Prosecution," Edward replied.

Dad clapped his hand on the table in agreement. "Those are the kinds of people
we need more of in the world. Keep creeps like that guy outside of Bella's café off
the streets."

Oh, no.

"What guy?" Edward asked, clearly trying not to sound too alarmed. His face,
though. His face showed me everything I needed to know.

"Just this guy that was hanging around outside a few weeks ago. Jess and I
closed up, and he was leaning against his car. Waiting for her or me, I don't
know. Maybe neither of us. He was just a bit of a creep." I hadn't wanted to tell
him anything about it, specifically because I knew how he'd react. I didn't want
him worrying about one night of trouble out of hundreds that were perfectly safe.

"You didn't tell me about that." He sounded more hurt than angry. Well, he did
sound a little angry.

"We had just started to see each other when it happened. It was before..." I
almost mentioned that it was before all of our promises, but I didn't want to
rehash all of that in front of my father. "We called the cops, and it was okay."

"Mmm-hmm," Dad hummed. That was his way of saying, 'bullshit'.

"What if he'd tried to break in?" Edward asked.

"The alarm was set," I said, trying to reassure him. "And I have mace."

Edward laughed bitterly, and mumbled under his breath.

"I'm not going to stop working there because of one weirdo," I said.

I rolled my shoulders, trying to ward off the stubbornness. I could feel it
tightening inside of me, ready to come out, and I had to keep it at bay. We'd
promised to make this work, and I wouldn't be holding up my end of the bargain
by acting like a jerk when Edward was only worried about my safety.

Dad watched intently as Edward and I went back and forth, and I wondered what
was going on in that head of his.

"No, I wasn't going to suggest that you quit," he said, taking a long, deep breath
in through his nose. "The can of mace is full?"

I laughed. "Yes."

"Okay," he said, nodding, sliding his hands back and forth across the table. "I'd
feel better if you knew some self-defense."

"You do, don't you?" I asked.

"From the service, yeah."

"Maybe you could teach me? After classes or something, next week." It was the
first time I'd asked him for help, and it wasn't at all like I thought it'd be. I felt
good about it. Strong.

"Really?" He sounded surprised. "Okay, yeah. I'd like that." His smile was so
bright. I wasn't sure whether it was the prospect of teaching me hand-to-hand
combat or the fact that I'd reached out to him that made him look like that, but it
didn't matter. I never wanted that smile to leave his face; it made my heart feel
so warm.

"Well, I guess you're stuck with me now, Cullen." I stood, and reached over for
Edward's empty plate, putting his on top of mine, and my father's on top of both
of them. "I'm just gonna get this cleaned up."

Edward was on his feet before I'd even turned to the sink.

"Don't," he said, taking the plates from me. "You cooked. I'll clean it up."

"You're our guest." I took the plates back. "You're not cleaning up."

"I'll help you then," he said, plugging the sink before he turned on the water.
"We'll do it together."

That's exactly what we did.

And when the dishes were drying in the rack, and the leftovers were all put away,
I brought the pie to the table, along with three small plates and one very sharp
knife.

"Edward brought dessert," I said, in a light, airy voice that was just begging my
father to give him praise. "Apple pie."

When the knife crackled through the crisp crust, my dad looked over at Edward,
apprising him, trying to figure him out.

"Did she tell you this pie was my favorite?" Dad's eyes were narrow, waiting for
the lie.

"Yes, sir. She did," Edward said. Didn't even take a second for him to spill it.

"You're not a bullshitter, are you?"

"No, sir."

Dad smiled. "Call me Charlie."

Edward smiled back. "Okay...Charlie."

Those smiles lasted through the rest of the night, and carried Edward and me
down to the front steps of my building, twenty minutes before the last bus of the
evening was scheduled to pick up a few blocks down the street.

"I had a good time tonight," Edward said. The porch light shone on his face as he
ran his fingers through my hair, and it made his eyes look so green. "You never
told me you could cook."

"I'm full of mysteries," I teased. He was standing one step down from me so we
were closer in height, but I still had to reach up to wrap my arms around his
neck. I had to stretch to kiss his jaw, his cheek, his chin, and his soft lips. It was
a good thing I liked to stretch.

"I love mysteries," he said, gliding the back of his finger across my cheek before
his mouth found the place it belonged. "Do you think your dad likes me?" His
forehead rested on mine, and his arms slid around my waist, pulling me so close
that I thought I could feel his heartbeat.

"Yes. Very much."

He breathed a relieved sigh across my skin. "Good. He wasn't as bad as you said
he'd be."

"I'm hoping the same goes for your family."

"We'll see," he said, pulling away from me as he took one more step down. "I'll
be there with you, so it won't be so scary."

"You make everything less scary." It was true. He did.

He leaned forward to kiss me one more time before he left. "I'll call you
tomorrow, okay?"

"Call me tonight when you get home, just so I know you got there all right."

That lopsided grin I loved so much made an appearance, and I wanted to scream
for him to stay. To pull him back into my arms and walk him upstairs; have him
follow me into my room, and onto my bed.

"I will," he said, walking backwards as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Goodnight."

I smiled. "Goodnight."

I watched him until his body became a shadow, then I ran upstairs to our
apartment, where my father was waiting for me at the kitchen table.

I walked over to the sink, where I fiddled with the positioning of the plates in the
drying rack.

"He's a keeper, Bells," Dad said, before taking a sip of his beer. Someone had
made an offer on my broken-down truck, and he was going back to work on
Tuesday, so a six-pack was one of his small splurges this weekend.

Things were looking way up in the Swan household.

"What makes you say that?" I was curious, because while I knew Edward was a
keeper, I never expected my father to think that, too. At least, not yet.

"He's head over heels for you, baby girl. He's an honest kid, not pushy. And I've
never seen anyone make you look like that."

He was right; I'd never known anyone who made me feel like Edward did, who
could put this smile on my face. And the truth was, even though he didn't think I
noticed, someone had been putting a similar smile on Dad's face recently, too.

"You really like him, don't you?" he asked.

No, I wanted to shout. I really loved him.

Chapter Seven - King & Washington

-Edward-

"So, you're really coming?" Emmett didn't bother with any pleasantries.

"Yeah." Neither did I. "Is everyone freaking out?"

"Well, Mom's over the moon. She can't stop talking about it. And Jasper's pissed
off still, but you know him. He changes moods more often than he changes his
underwear so I wouldn't worry too much about that. Mom's not telling Dad,
though. She wants it to be a surprise."

"And you?" I asked.

"I'm cool with you coming, if you really want to be there for Dad and the family.
But if you're coming to show off the great big stick up your ass or dump all your
baggage in the middle of room so we can sort it out, then don't bother.

"I'm not saying the family doesn't have some pretty awesome baggage to look at,
and maybe we should try unpacking it one of these days, but the party is about
Dad."

"Okay," I said. "Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Emmett, it'll be good to see you again."

There was a moment of silence before he said, "You too, Edward."

I wasn't ready for this, but I couldn't put it off anymore. At least I'd have Bella
with me.

On the night of the party, I picked her up at her apartment, and as soon as the
door shut behind her, she said, "I think you got the better end of the stick."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"You didn't have to wear heels to meet my dad."

"Lucky for all of us," I said. "You look a hell of a lot better in them anyway." I
pulled her close and leaned in to kiss her. Maybe it was the nerves, but I got a
little carried away, slowly backing her up against the wall as I ran my hands up
and down her sides.

"Hey," she mumbled, and I pulled my head back. "Save that for later, okay?"

"Promise?" My voice was breathier, needier than I'd expected.

"I am expecting a reward for doing this," she teased. "Come on, let's get going
before one of us chickens out."

We had to take a cab because there weren't exactly a ton of bus stops in my
parents' neighborhood. Her teasing made me want to ask the driver to take us to
my place instead. I wanted to finish what we'd started. I was more ready for that
milestone in our relationship than I was for seeing Mom and Dad, but I think I
always knew this was part of our journey. I'd fucked up the beginning so badly
that I was bound and determined to do every other stage right. Emmett had been
right about the baggage, too. There was no way I could carry it all into our
relationship. It would take up too much space; we'd never be able to move
around it.

We had to go to Carlisle's party.

The ride was solemn. We held hands, and every once in a while, Bella would
squeeze mine or I would rub my thumb into her palm. The reassuring gesture did
little to calm my nerves. I knew Emmett and Jasper would be cool—neither would
want to start a fight, but what would Carlisle say when he saw me? What was I
going to say to him?

When the cab pulled up in front of the house, I swore Bella could hear the
jackhammering of my heart.

"Any final tips?" she asked.

"Just be yourself," I said.

"That's pretty cliché," she said, laughing.

"Classic is not cliché, besides in this case, there is really no way you can fail with
that advice. You're perfect."

She rolled her eyes at me, but she also stood a little straighter.

Cars lined the streets and filled the driveway. The sounds of clicking heels and
chatter could be heard coming up the sidewalk. Someone else had just walked
through the front door, and Esme noticed more of us coming, so she held it open.
The porch light shined on her; she beamed, like I knew she would. This was her
element. The moment we became more than shadows to her, her mouth formed
an 'o', and she nearly tripped running down the stairs toward me.

I stopped, frozen by the image of a woman I'd done my damnedest to push
away, coming toward me with open arms, jogging in heels, which must have
been sinking into the grass. Bella nudged me. I nodded and took the few
remaining steps to meet her.

"Edward, I'm so happy you're here," Esme said, wrapping her arms around me.
Her head only came to my shoulders, but her hug carried a lot of emotion,
making it much more substantial than I would have expected. How could I help
but hug her back? I dropped the gift bag I was carrying and squeezed. At first, I
told myself I was doing it for her. What had she ever really done but love Carlisle
and three boys, one of whom was probably more trouble than he was worth?

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that the hug wasn't for
her, but for me.

I squeezed a little tighter, trying to convey an overdue apology. She pulled back
and looked at me, taking a deep breath as she did.

She appeared disheveled, nervous, accusatory, and relieved all at once. I'd seen
the look before. Three months after I got my driver's license, I was being a shit,
going too fast with friends, and I wrecked the car. They took me to the ER,
though I only had bruises and a mild concussion. She wore the same expression
that day.

Right at that moment, I realized it was the look of a mother's love.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Water under the bridge," she answered. Her voice shook when she spoke again.
"You have no idea how happy he's going to be."

"Thanks, Esme," I said. Her face fell slightly, and it took a split second to realize
what I'd done. "This is Bella." I quickly motioned toward her. "Bella, this is my
mom."

Esme's face lit back up. She shook Bella's hand and began leading her toward the
door. I grabbed the gift bag and followed.

Walking into the house was so surreal. When I got back from my tour, I'd gone
on a junk food binge. One of my first purchases was a box of Honeycomb cereal.
I used to love that crap as a kid. Back at my apartment, I couldn't wait to pour a
bowl, but when I did I couldn't believe how small they seemed. Weren't they
always big?

Being at home felt the opposite. When we all lived there, it felt suffocating. Too
many boys, too many egos. Tonight, it felt expansive. I knew it was just my
perception—one more way time warped my senses.

I thought maybe I'd have a minute to get used to the idea of being there. Maybe
he'd be in the dining room or there would be so many people that he wouldn't
notice me slip in. I wasn't that lucky. In fact, no one missed my entrance. They
couldn't have, because Esme called out, "Hey everyone, look who's here!"

Bella grabbed my hand and squeezed, instinctively knowing I would need it. She
might have even pulled on my arm to keep me in the room, which was good,
because running sounded like something I wanted to do.

Directly in my line of sight, Jasper sat on the couch with his wife, Alice, wedged in
between him and some hospital big wig who showed up at every party we ever

had. He looked uncertain for a second; then shrugged and turned his gaze away
from me. I followed the turn of his head in time to see Carlisle marching toward
me. I'd often thought about what would happen when I saw him. I figured he'd
be angry with me, maybe ignore me. In retrospect, I was stupid. I wasn't
thinking of Carlisle's likely reaction; I was thinking of how I'd feel. Carlisle was
never the type to hold a grudge, and I'd never known anyone with a bigger
capacity for forgiveness.

Then, he was in front of me.

"Edward?" He looked around, probably trying to find Esme. I wondered if he felt
betrayed. "What are you doing here?"

"I, um, came for your party," I said.

For one single awkward moment, we stared at each other. We teetered between
the emotions of the past and the potential of the future, finally settling on the
promise of the present.

I reached out my hand. "Hey, Dad, congratulations."

Carlisle looked at my hand and back up to my face. Once again, he let his eyes
drift around the room. I could only imagine what was going on in his head. I
swear I saw every possible emotion flicker in his face before he finally grasped
my hand.

Then, he pulled me into a one-armed hug. In a low voice, he spoke into my ear.
"I've missed you."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," I whispered back.

"You should have," he said. "And there is a lot more to say, but it's not the time."

In the end, it was that simple. We didn't unpack the baggage that night. We took
out what we needed in order to get by, then we tucked the bags away in a corner
of the closet, where we could get to them when we needed to. I had a feeling
that time would come sooner rather than later, but I knew the resentment I'd
carried all those years wasn't his fault. Maybe it should have been years away or
fighting a war that gave me the realization, but that wasn't what did it.

I looked over and saw Bella smiling at us. I mouthed 'thanks' and then stepped
away from my dad so I could introduce her.

The night was still weird. Bella and I maneuvered through the room, both a little
uncomfortable—me because I didn't care for social situations, particularly those
where I was asked about my time in the service, and Bella because she didn't
know anyone. But we stayed together, and that made it easier. I noticed when
she was getting overwhelmed, and I'd lead her over for a drink or walk her on a
short tour of the house to get her through it.

Not surprisingly, Bella fit right in. Emmett punched my arm and asked how the
hell I got so lucky. I told him I had no idea.

"You're still a shit," he said. "But there might be hope for you."

When the room had thinned, and only our immediate family remained, neither
the literal nor the figurative baggage could stay hidden. I'd tucked my gift bag in
a corner when I arrived and pretty much forgot about it. Most people brought
cards, something you didn't open in public. As we filled garbage bags and put

away food, Esme called out, "Hey, Edward, did you want to give your dad your
present?"

I hadn't even told Bella what was in there, and I'd half-convinced myself it was a
stupid idea. "Uh, sure, but it doesn't have to be now," I said.

"Of course it does," Carlisle said. "I love presents." He looked like a kid, and I
laughed. The rest of the room got quiet.

"What?" I asked.

"No one's heard you laugh in forever, Edward," Emmett said.

My face felt hot from the embarrassment.

"It's a lovely sound," Esme added.

Carlisle plopped down on the couch and held out his hands.

I picked up the bag and slowly walked toward him.

"It's not much. I'm not sure this is the right—" I started. All eyes were on me.
Everyone else situated themselves around the living room, and I realized there
would be no better time.

I handed him the bag and sat down next to him. I felt Bella's hand on my
shoulder; I turned to see her standing behind me.

Carlisle pulled the album out of the bag. I hadn't wrapped it in much else. He let
it sit in his lap a second before opening the front of cover.

He took in the first page, then turned to look at me, confusion all over his face.

"It's all the letters I wrote you but never sent," I said, "and a few pictures."

The room was eerily silent while he turned another page and read silently. We
watched and waited.

He glanced over at me when he was on page five. "May I share?"

My mouth opened to say no.

"They need to hear," he said. I shrugged.

He looked back down at the page and began to read.

Dear Carlisle,

As you know, I've been here a few months now. I have good days and bad.
Today was bad. Nothing happened really. Maybe that's it. Nothing happened. It
was a slow day, which means too much time to think. I prefer the busy ones,
even with the death and destruction they bring. At least then, at least for a while,
I feel like I am doing something right.

Do you remember the day we met? I told myself before I got to your house that I
was not going to get attached. I was done with that because nothing good ever
came from it. I spent two days holed up in my room pretending I didn't want to
come out when you asked if I wanted to watch a movie or go for ice cream. You
didn't give up. You never gave up on me. I shouldn't have given up on you. I
don't know why I just thought about that.

I better go. Some of the guys have started fighting. It happens a lot here with all
the testosterone. Of course, that only reminds me of Emmett. God, what I
wouldn't give for him to kick my ass, instead of that guy from Texas who I think
started shit just to get kicked out. I know I'm supposed to think of these guys
like brothers, but I'm having a hard time with that when I miss the ones I already
have too much.

Like I said. Bad day.

Tell Esme hello. I'm sorry for everything.

Love,

Edward

"I don't know what to say," he said, running his fingers over the page, almost
attempting to feel the words. "I didn't expect this. When I saw the album, I didn't
know what to think."

"Yeah, well, I know exactly how that goes. Someone I love taught me all about
how you can't judge a book by its cover." Bella's hand dug into my shoulder, and
I turned to look up at her.

She was looking at me with a question in her eyes. I nodded in response.

"Why didn't you send me the letter?" Carlisle asked.

"I don't know. I felt so stupid, and then when I came back, I wanted to be able to
show you that I could make something of myself. Maybe I was just too
embarrassed to admit you were right."

"Edward," Esme said, "For a long time, I was mad at you. I like to think you
never knew it because I refused to let it show, but I didn't understand why you
hated me so much when all I wanted was to love you."

"I don't hate—"

"No, don't. I didn't do everything right, and for that, I'm sorry. But from here on
out, I need you to know that whatever happens, that man sitting next to you
cannot survive you leaving like that again."

My eyes shifted to Carlisle, who had closed his and was inhaling.

"I don't think I could, either," she added.

"I'm sorry. I really am," I said.

No one knew what to say. Except Emmett. "So, leftover cake anyone?"

Some people headed for the kitchen. Jasper and Alice decided to take off. Carlisle
stood and hugged me. And once he'd wandered off to find Esme, I moved to the
back of the couch. I stood next to Bella and gave her a slight hip check. She
bumped me back.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?" she asked.

"This," I answered, flicking my hand in the air. "All of this."

"I didn't do this, Edward."

"You made it possible," I said.

She turned her body to face me. "So um, about what you said before …"

"Yeah," I said, smiling. I hadn't intended for it to come out like that. "Not exactly
winning any romance award on that one, but it just felt right to say it."

"I know what you mean."

"You do?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close.

"I love you, Bella."

"I love you, too."

My hands went to her face, and I leaned in to kiss her.

I kissed the woman I loved in the middle of my parents' living room.

This was a good day.

-Bella-

Once we'd said our goodbyes, and promised to meet up again soon, Edward and I
walked down the Cullens' front steps and into the waiting cab. With the door
closed, and the loosened tension behind us, a serene, peaceful smile played at
Edward's lips, and I couldn't help but want to kiss it.

So, I did.

When he gave the cabbie his address, this nervous energy settled over us,
thrumming through our twined fingers and back again, making our knees bounce
and our eyes cast knowing glances at one another through stoplights and slow
traffic.

It grew stronger when Edward took my hand and helped me out of the cab, and
stronger still when he pressed me against the wall outside of his apartment,
kissing me while he fumbled with his keys. Once we were inside, we fumbled
some more. Me, to get his shirt and tie off in the darkness of the living room,
where button after button popped off and plinked against the hardwood floor.
Him, as his fingers tried their best to rid me of my clothing.

His lips were so warm; so comforting and familiar on mine when they touched, so
electric and new on places they were only beginning to discover. Like the small of
my back, where they kissed a trail down my spine as he unzipped my dress. And
across my breasts, where his tongue cooled my hot skin, and made my head loll
back as my mouth let loose a soft string of unintelligible sounds.

Through a flurry of discarded clothing, we kissed, and touched, and felt our way
into his bedroom, where cool night light filtered in through his blinds. He sat on
his bed, and I stood between his legs, running my fingers through his soft, wild
hair, as his lips brushed across my stomach, and his hands memorized all my
curves.

"You wore my favorites," he said, smiling as he slowly pulled the yellow lace
down off my hips until they fell in a small pool on the floor.

"You can't know they're your favorites until you've seen all the others." I dragged
my fingertip along the faint stubble on his jaw line.

"I plan on it."

When he reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear, the moonlight bounced off
his arms, over long lines of scars that covered so much of his skin. Scars that
he'd always kept hidden under long-sleeved shirts. Scars that I loved, even
though I knew Edward wasn't yet ready to tell me where they came from.

I kissed them. I kissed every single one that my lips could find, because they
were a part of Edward, and Edward was a part of me. Because I didn't want him
to think he needed to hide them from me, and because even though I wasn't
wearing any clothing, he was the one who was naked.

I kissed them because I loved him, more than anything, regardless of what had
gone on in his past.

And then I kissed his lips, soft and sweet, so he could feel how weak he made
me.

"I love you," he said, brushing my cheek with his fingertips before they slid down
my neck, across my heart, and over my stomach.

"I love you, too," I replied, because once you give someone your heart, you
never want to stop reminding them that it's theirs.

His eyes, so full of fire even in this dimly lit room, made me melt. He clasped my
wrist and pulled me down on top of him, where I explored all the hard lines of his
muscles that his shirts always kept hidden. My lips kissed him, my tongue tasted
him, and my hands felt him, until skin touching skin just wasn't close enough
anymore.

The corner of his mouth quirked up just the tiniest bit, and his hair fell across his
forehead as he held himself over me. He pressed his lips to mine as he pushed
inside of me, and I muffled a moan into his neck.

And as our hearts, bodies, lips, and lives came together, all I could do was let
myself feel. Feel his weight on top of me, feel his breath on my skin. Feel all the
things I'd never been able to find with anyone else before, no matter how hard
I'd tried. All the things I could never read about in a book, because how do you
use words to describe the one thing that's completely changed your life?

I let myself feel all the things he brought out just by taking a seat next to me on
the bus. I'd offer it to him a thousand times over if I knew it'd bring me here,
beneath his hard body, and soft touches, and quiet words.

Then everything became faster; our kisses, our breaths, and our hips as they
moved against one another. I went so high, and Edward held me as I fell, my
limbs light and my heart flying. He followed me shortly after, and I wrapped my
arms around him, kissing every bit of skin I could reach as his back arched, and
he made sounds only I was lucky enough to hear.

And then we melted into one another as we lay there, boneless and breathless
and warm.

"Stay with me," he asked, pressing a kiss against my temple as he rolled over,
taking me with him.

He pulled me close, wrapping his arms and legs around me so that I couldn't
escape. Not that I'd want to, anyway. How could I walk away from this? I
couldn't. Ever.

I nodded and kissed his chest before closing my eyes and getting lost in the feel
of the small circles his fingers traced along my shoulder.

We didn't get a whole lot of sleep that night, but when I woke up from what little
bit I could muster, my body and heart felt so at home there in his arms.

I woke up that way most mornings over the following months; through final
exams and summer break. And when the breeze got cooler and fall started to
turn the leaves warm yellows and reds, Edward and I found ourselves back at his
parents' house.

Only this time, the circumstances were much different.

"Dad, can you pass the butter?" I asked, nudging my father with my elbow. He
smiled as he placed the dish in my hand, looking younger than he had in a really
long time. It might've been the change in the weather, or maybe it was his
girlfriend, Sue, the woman he'd been sneaking around with for months before he
finally introduced her to me.

I couldn't really blame him for that. I knew as well as anyone that love could
make you kind of goofy.

"So, when's the big day?" Jasper asked, as the wind whipped through the trees in
the backyard. The stack of napkins started to blow away, but Rosalie planted her
hand down on top of them, the huge diamond on her ring finger sparkling in the
sun.

"We haven't decided yet," she said, smiling over at Emmett.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Esme said, smiling. "All of my boys, so happy."

We'd been coming to Sunday brunch for a while now; it had been Edward's idea
to help mend things with his family. Things were definitely mending, and while
Esme had been tentative with Edward at first, she seemed to slip back into her
motherly role with ease.

"Now there's only one-"

"Esme," Carlisle said, placing his hand over hers on top of the table. "Don't push
him."

Coming from Edward's father, those little words meant the world. I could tell they
were everything to Edward, who grinned as he heard them, and to Carlisle, who
winked at his son as they left his mouth.

Unlike the first time I'd met the Cullen family, conversation flowed freely while we
ate, and Edward hugged his mother, father, and brothers when we walked in the
door, and when we walked out of it. Sure, there were some days that we left
earlier than we should've, after a fight, or a slight, or a disagreement.

But most of our evenings together ended with words of love, and that was the
most important thing.

This evening was no different. Edward and I waited on the porch as Dad shook
Carlisle's hand, kissed Esme's cheek, and promised to come to brunch again
soon. He followed us down the sidewalk and out to his car, one that he and Sue
had been sharing since she'd moved her things out of her house and into Dad's,
and I moved my things out of Dad's and into Edward's.

"Tell Sue I said hi," I told Dad, as my arms wrapped around his neck for a hug.

"Will do." He patted my cheek before he clapped Edward's shoulder. "Look out for
her, son." he said.

Edward gave his promise, just like he always did. Then he circled around the
passenger side of the car he'd recently purchased, and opened the door for me. I
inhaled as I buckled my seat belt, loving the smell of the newness. Edward said
he bought it because it would make his commute easier once he started law
school, but I knew that was just a lie he told to make up for the fact that he was
getting tired of riding the bus.

Once Edward was inside, he leaned over the armrest to kiss me, and he smiled
against my cheek.

"This is so much better than public transportation," he said, laughing as he
turned the key in the ignition.

The following Saturday, Edward smiled as I walked out of our bedroom and into
the living room, his hair neatly combed, and his tie perfectly tied.

"You look beautiful," he said, as he carefully planted a kiss on my glossy lips. His
hand lingered on the small of my back, just below the spot where my exposed
skin ended, and the material of my new dress began.

"So do you," I teased, running my finger along the side of his tie.

"Well," he said, smoothing his shirt, "it's been a year. I figure I ought to do
something to keep you interested."

"Oh, I'm still interested." I stretched up on my toes for the thousandth time, and
I didn't worry about my makeup. It was our anniversary, and lipstick was made
to be smudged, reservations were made to be late for.

"Maybe you can show me a little more of that later."

"I'll show you a lot more," I said, smiling.

He took a deep breath and started to run his fingers through his hair, before he
realized that all the work he'd put into taming it would go to waste. "I should go
start the car before we get sidetracked."

"About that," I said, reaching over to grab my purse off of the table. "I was
wondering if maybe..."

"Yeah?"

"I kind of want to take the bus."

"Dressed like this?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, I think it'd be fitting, don't you?"

"I think it's...perfect, actually."

Edward and I walked the block to the bus stop, and he put his arm around me
while we waited, grinning all the while. And when the bus pulled up two minutes
behind schedule, Edward followed me up the steps and into the pair of seats we
made our own in the early days of our relationship.

As the engine rumbled, and we bounced over bumpy asphalt, we twined our
fingers together.

At the next stop, Edward leaned over to kiss me, and when we parted, we were
met with a smile from a woman sitting across from us.

"I like the car," Edward said, his whisper warm in my ear. "More privacy."

He had a point.

I'd always hated the bus. But sometimes, it's the only thing that can take you
from where you are, to where you need to be.