Summary
Isabella Swan is a 23 year old Irish girl and aspiring editor leaving behind her beloved Dublin for the bright lights of New York city. Worn out by months of unemployment and disappointment, she arrives at Whitlock's International Hostel hoping for a new beginning.
In the end, New York will teach Isabella more about life and love then she ever expected.
E/B Canon pairings
"Fuckin', mother fucking piece of shit suitcase...arrrggh!" Isabella grumbled as she wrestled her suitcase into submission in the busy arrivals terminal at JFK. She was having what one might term as a "really bad day."
Just a few hours ago, she had flown out of Dublin airport, leaving her beloved city behind with a heavy heart. She'd miss the stink of the Liffey in the summer and the music of the buskers that pushed you along the bustling streets. She'd miss that uncanny way you could get lost along the winding streets or be found by an old friend as you turn a familiar corner just as easily. It depends on what your heart needs. The city will take care of you. The rough Northside accents on Moor Street, promising you the freshest fruit this side of the river would become a distant memory. Her heart ached with the knowledge that one day she would forget exactly how they sounded.
She had left like so many other Irish twenty-somethings. They'd all grown up with the same lie – go to college, get a degree and then the job offers will roll in. Now it seemed she was the butt of some running joke, and like all running jokes, it wasn't really funny. What was the punchline again? Oh yeah, then the over-qualified kid has to emigrate. Ha ha? Her Bachelor's Degree in English had of course come in handy while working part-time in MacBride's Deli. She could quote The Bard while slicing cooked ham, consider Dante's Inferno while refilling the coleslaw tray and compose Ginsbergian poems about bread rolls. But it had all left her feeling a little empty.
The last straw, so to speak, had been when her supervisor had spilled a pot of gravy all over the floor and tried to blame it on her in front of their store manager. Fuck this, she'd thought she quit the next day. Well, actually, she had handed in her letter of resignation the next day, and then worked a week's notice. Because, you see, Isabella follows the rules. Always. She considers this particular trait a curse.
She'd tried to stay in Ireland, tried to stay and get her country back on track, back to the glory days of the Celtic Tiger. But it was too hard. A person's self esteem can only take so many rejection letters. She'd received thirty-five in total, and she'd kept every one of them.
"We regret to inform you..."
"Unfortunately we are unable to offer you a position..."
"Due to the volume of applicants..."
"We will keep your application on file..."
"Good luck in the future..."
She had ripped each one to shreds as she cleaned out the room she rented in a drafty Dublin town house. It was a cathartic exercise. She had gotten a paper cut and she'd laughed. She'd sat surrounded by strips of paper, half-packed suitcases and empty bottles of wine. This paper cut is the last injury I will let you inflict on me, Ireland, she had thought, through her hysterical giggles.
After applying for her visa and waiting months for the bureaucrats to decide, she was eligible to live and work in the US for one year. Finally the letter had arrived, in a rather anticlimactic white envelope. Then a similarly anticlimactic temporary green card was stapled into her passport. But this was her golden ticket to at least one year of new opportunities. Of course she'd miss her family and her wonderful friends, although with every passing month they too were leaving, whether it was to London, Sydney or Toronto, they were all leaving too.
As she stood outside JFK airport, she looked at her new home. It wasn't much to look at – but then airports always look the same. She took a deep breath and boarded the bus that would take her downtown. She rummaged in her pocket for the list of hostels she wanted to look up. The first two she'd seen were beyond dodgy. She was undeniably relieved when she walked up to lucky number three – Whitlock's International Hostel. It was located opposite Central Park, at 6 West 63rd Street. Isabella didn't know much about the neighborhoods in New York but this seemed as good as anywhere.
She wheeled her heavy suitcase into the entrance only to be confronted with six rather steep steps. She sighed. Time to break out the guns. She giggled to herself. She lifted her suitcase with one hand while balancing with the other. Her heavy backpack actually helped with balancing process.
"Oh, woah! Hey, Miss! Let me help you with that. Miss?" She heard a gruff voice from behind her.
But it was too late; Isabella was already three steps up, and there wasn't enough room to balance her case on the narrow steps, so she kept going, hoping to avoid an embarrassing fall. Unfortunately, chivalry can be a bit slow sometimes. Feminism is always faster. She set down her suitcase as she reached the top of the steps. She turned to thank her helpful little Boy Scout only to be confronted with a giant of a man.
"Dude, you're ripped!" He chortled.
"Um...thanks?" Isabella offered.
"No for real, that was impressive. I like a woman who can take care of herself!" He grinned down at her.
"Ahem," A pointed cough came from somewhere behind him. As he turned to address the source of the cough, he revealed a tall blonde woman, who would have been very pretty had she not been wearing such a sour expression, Isabella thought.
"Aw, c'mon, babe, I was just playin'. I didn't mean anything by it," he placated.
The blonde maintained her icy glare and Isabella decided to take her leave.
"Right, well, thanks for offering to help. See ya 'round" She turned on her heels not bothering to listen to the poor guy pleading with the ice queen. Relationships? Who needs 'em? Isabella had never had a serious relationship before, just some drunken fumblings in the back of taxi cabs and the odd grope in the corner of a nightclub, but nothing serious. She still held her V card intact. It's not something she went around shouting about. A 23-year-old virgin was about as common as a cross dressing griffin. Still she had no regrets about it, so fuck it, she'd do what makes her happy and when she met the right guy, she'd know.
She rang the bell at the front desk; as she waited, she took in her new surroundings. The lobby was modern and sleek with lots of glass and pine furnishings. The walls were adorned with classic images of New York. Everything you'd expect to see was there: The Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, Time Square, Rockefeller Center. She was surprised by a warm feeling rising through her from her toes all the way up to her scalp. She'd spent so long trying to get to the States and she had finally made it to the beginning of her new story. She felt a giddy feeling bubbling in her stomach. She pushed it down as she noticed a flash of blond curls in the corner of her eye.
"Evening, Miss! Welcome to Whitlock's International Hostel. My name is Jasper Whitlock. How can I help you today?" He drawled. His smile was infectious, and sure enough Isabella found herself smiling back at Jasper Whitlock. He seemed genuinely happy to see her. How do Americans do that? They must be exhausted from being so happy all the time, she thought to herself.
"Hi, well, I was wondering if you had any vacancies? I'm looking for somewhere to stay just for a few nights?" she asked hopefully.
"Well, sure let's have a look here," he clicked and typed on his computer for a moment, "... Ah! Here we go I have one bed in a four bed room. It's available for the next three nights. How's that sound?"
"Perfect, thanks," Isabella said ,feeling both surprised and relieved.
"Great, I'll just book you in now. So, what's your name?" he asked, flashing his lovely smile and sparkling blue eyes.
"Swan, Isabella Swan."
After he had taken her details and she had paid a deposit, Jasper handed her a key and a map of downtown New York.
"Okay, so your room is on the first floor, last door on the right. I'll help you with your bags," Jasper said, grabbing hold of her suitcase without waiting for a response.
"No, that's okay. I can manage." Isabella protested.
"Nonsense, I'm a Southern gentleman, Isabella, I insist!" He gave her that million dollar smile again and she just couldn't refuse. So she nodded and smiled in gratitude.
"Hey, Alice, can you watch the front desk? I won't be a minute," he shouted into the back office.
"Sure thing, Jazz," came Alice's cheerful reply.
Isabella peeked in the door as they passed on the way to her room. She caught a quick glimpse of a dark-haired imp-like creature, laying down the law to a tall, slender red-headed guy. He was leaning against a door with his hands in his pockets; he had his head and shoulders slumped down. Isabella noted that he looked remarkably like a scolded puppy.
"...I mean c'mon, Edward, would it kill you to call them once in a while? They worry about you, you know that. I just think it's really selfish and frankly..."
Isabella stopped listening to what Alice was saying when this Edward character looked up suddenly and locked eyes with her. She was momentarily taken aback by his deep green eyes but recovered quickly, averting her eyes and feeling a blush flare across her pale skin. He had looked furious, of course - who wouldn't be furious to find some stranger eavesdropping on their conversation? She scurried along behind Jasper trying to catch up with him.
"So this is you," Jasper stated as they arrived outside Isabella's new home for the next three days. "Breakfast is between 7:00AM and 10:00AM. The washrooms are two doors down on the right, and if you need anything at all, just come up to the front desk." He finished his well-rehearsed speech with a flourish.
"Grand, thanks very much. I'll definitely do that." Isabella smiled, taking her case back from him.
"Okay, well, I'll let you get settled. Enjoy your stay." He bowed his head a little, suggesting that if he'd been wearing a hat he would have tipped it.
Isabella closed the door behind her, negotiating her way around a minefield of suitcases, shoes and underwear. Clearly her temporary roommates had gotten too comfortable with having a room to themselves. After she'd made up her bed and tidied her suitcase and backpack under her bed, she decided to take a nap. As she lay on the stiff mattress, where so many others had lain before her, she made a mental list of fun things to do the next day. She'd take a walk around Central Park and maybe visit the MOMA in the afternoon. She'd wait for her jet lag had faded before starting her job and apartment hunt. Isabella soon fell into a dreamless sleep, for what was there to dream of now that she had arrived, in a city full of promise.
A/N: Hi everyone, thanks for reading :) This is my first story here so let me know what you think...