Esme was at the laundromat, washing the big comforters in their double load washers. It was something she did twice a year. She wanted to do it more often, but tried to control that urge.
The dates were always the same – May 13th and November 13th - every year. It was the easiest way to remember to do it on a regular basis. She had her routines.
There was another secret reason for those dates. She would never, ever tell anyone, though. Only he knew.
It first happened, a year ago.
She had arrived at the laundromat, her arms full with 3 comforters, needing washing. As she struggled to open the door, a tall handsome man, with striking blue eyes and blond wavy hair, suddenly appeared to hold the door for her. She blushed, thanked him and then she lost her load, the top comforter dropping to the floor.
"Fuck!" she muttered under her breath, not thinking he would hear her. She didn't normally swear at all. What made her utter that expletive was a mystery to her. She guessed it was just a build-up of all the frustrations of this particularly crappy day.
"Here, let me help."
She didn't turn around immediately, trying to compose herself. Why was he speaking to her? There's not another soul in this place, she noticed, after quickly scanning the room. Should I be nervous, scared? Her heartbeat quickened as she turned toward him.
"Um, no thanks, I'm ok." she muttered, quickly turning back around, not wanting to display the apprehension in her face.
"Nice day, eh?" He continued to try to engage her in conversation.
She seemed like a friendly type to him. She was beautiful, to boot. She's probably married, though. Why would he be thinking of that? He was just trying to be friendly, wasn't he? Wasn't he?
It was actually the crappiest day I've had in weeks, she thought to herself, but said, "Yes, lovely."
She looked out the grimy, steamed window, pretending to see blue skies and glistening sunshine. She actually was unable to see either.
After she had deposited her coins into the machine, she took one quick glance over to the stranger, who was reading a magazine, leaning against the bank of double loaders.
Then she walked out and got into her dilapidated vehicle. Jeez, why couldn't Marcus buy me a new car? He had bought himself three brand spanking new ones in the time she'd had hers. Selfish pig!
He pretty much ignored her, for the most part. She wasn't sure why they were still together. What else was she to do? She had no definable skills.
He had encouraged her to quit college before graduating to get married. She had been enrolled in interior design courses, which she was enthusiastic about, and loved.
How could she have believed him that she didn't need to have a profession, that she'd be fulfilled just being his stupid wife?
Shit!
There she went again! What was going on today?
Suddenly there was a knocking on her window. She snapped out of her reverie, blushing again. What?
She struggled to unroll her window, having to fumble in turning the ignition to the on position. Of course, she opened some of the wrong windows before finally getting it right.
He was smiling from the one corner of his mouth. God, she's breathtakingly adorable.
"Uh, excuse me, but I noticed that your machine had stopped prematurely. I think it's a balance thing. You might have to go and reload it."
And then he turn on his heel and walked to the convenience store beside the laundromat. She quickly got out of her car, dropping her decorating magazine onto the dash.
In her rush to return to the washer, she tripped over the curb and instantly he appeared to right her balance. He appeared out of nowhere to catch her fall.
"Oops. I'm sorry...um...thanks," she shyly gazed up at his eyes of the deepest ocean blue. Oh my, she thought to herself.
Once she re-balanced her comforters again and closed the door, she sat down on one of the cold, hard plastic chairs, which were welded together against a wall by the dryers. She squirmed in the seat, trying to get comfortable.
Her thoughts wandered to what she would do to renovate this tiny place. Nothing opulent, just functionable and comfortable. She had lots of ideas.
In the midst of her daydream,she didn't even notice the stranger sitting beside her, also reading—an old newspaper. Such was the state of this facility's 'library'.
He didn't speak to her again, but wondered what her name was. Deborah? Susan? Joan? He would not ask her. And she seemed in her own world, oblivious to his presence.
Soon she arose, took out the wet comforters and folded them. She then put them into a plastic garbage bag, taking them home to hang up on the line.
She loved the smell of her detergent as it dried outdoors.
So lemony fresh!
On November 13th that same year, Esme returned to her ritual. Gathering up her old comforters into bags. remembering her lemon scented detergent bottle.
Same old, same old.
She was happy to have remembered to bring her decorating magazine to read while her load was washing.
She struggled again as she carried her awkward load. She was just about to wrap her hand on the door handle, when a man's hand grabbed it ahead of her. What?
"Here you go," a somehow familiar voice said behind her right ear.
It sent a shiver through her, which stunned her momentarily. It couldn't be!
She raised her eyes to meet his striking eyes of blue. He was like a movie star. His smile dazzled her.
She bent her head down in embarrassment. Why was she embarrassed?
She was blushing. She hadn't done that since...the last time.
He couldn't believe his eyes. It was her. Finally.
He'd been coming to this laundromat, even though it wasn't the closest one to his home, for half a year, in the vain hopes of seeing here again.
You'd think he'd have given up months ago, given his washer had been fixed on May 14th, the day after his first encounter with her, but he was an incurable romantic. He just needed to see her again, and he was prepared to wait for her.
Even if it took...well...
How could one meeting have such an effect on him? They hadn't even introduced themselves, or said more than 10 words to each other.
Weird.
He must be a regular, she'd thought to herself. He was very kind.
So unlike Marcus, who had only gotten meaner with time passing. What would he be like in the future? She shuddered. Her blood ran cold just thinking of the pain he could inflict, with only his sadistic verbage. One mean motherfucker.
There's that language again. Huh. This place seemed to bring that out in her, she mused.
She felt like there were eyes watching her every move as she removed the bag which held her comforters and placed them into the machine.
She was careful to balance them, to avoid her previous problem of having to adjust them mid-cycle. Or maybe she should purposely place them in an unbalanced fashion, hoping that he would notice again.
She couldn't believe these thoughts were going on in her head.
This wasn't me, normally. My mind was usually numb, just trying to protect itself from a constant barrage of abuse from Marcus. The fucker. Esme! I could hear my mother, long gone, scolding me across the great divide.
As she started to put in the coins, she ran out. How could that be? She'd counted them three times before leaving home. She began feeling every pocket on her jeans and coat. Nothing.
She went to her car and searched every square inch of it, but nothing there either. What was she going to do?
Well, nothing to do but take everything out and go home.
She walked back inside, past the stranger, who was reading a book this time, she'd noticed. She began unloading and folding, feeling like a fool.
How could this have happened?
Just as she finished folding up the first comforter, she felt a breeze behind her head. She turned around quickly, expecting to be looking to the entrance, but instead it was him, not 6 inches from her body. She steadied herself and stepped back one step.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," she tried to gather her wits.
"Are you in need of some change?" He was holding out a handful of quarters in his open palm. He had an inquisitive expression on his beautiful face.
"You don't have to do that. I can just go home and get some change. I don't know what happened to mine. I though I had everything I needed."
Her voice trailed off, trying to hold back a few tears of embarrassment. She turned around so that he wouldn't notice.
He thought she was divine.
He continued to stand, with his palm frozen, holding small change.
She was so damn captivating, even when she was embarrassed. He wanted to comfort her, to ease her out of her misery.
Her hair was pinned up and he was suddenly mesmerized by her swan-like neck. Oh, what he would do to her neck, if only...
"Please, it's not a big deal. Take whatever you need, I have lots to spare," he convincingly tried to appease her.
If she only knew how true those words really were.
He did have lots to spare. More than any one person could conceivable spend in one lifetime. And he was alone, noone to share it with.
Carlisle was, in fact, the CEO of a pharmaceutical company which made billions of dollars in sales annually. He could have easily gone into retirement years ago, but saw no reason to change his lifestyle. He had never married, nor had children, so his career was what kept him occupied. He was a self-proclaimed workaholic.
How he ended up in a laundromat, out of his neighbourhood was really a fluke.
It was on a Sunday, like any other, when his washing machine unexpectedly broke down. He could have waited until the next day to get it looked after, but his cat had done a nasty on his bed sheets, which he didn't want to let sit overnight. So he decided to go to a laundromat. He was bored just sitting at home.
He had never actually seen a laundromat in his neck of the woods, so he just drove and drove, in his black Mercedes, until he finally saw one, about an hour later.
After parking his car, he grabbed the defiled bundle from the trunk and started to walk toward the entrance of the cleaning establishment.
That's when he saw a woman, trying to keep a huge bundle from toppling onto the ground as she was attempting to open the aforementioned door.
He quickly reached the door and held it open for her. One of her bundles did begin to topple over, and he offered to help. He was quite the gentleman, taught by his father, a clergyman.
He thought he heard her utter a cuss word, under her breath. This increased his awareness of her. She wasn't what she appeared to be.
He tried, briefly, to engage her in small idle chatter, but she seemed nervous, so he didn't press it. He couldn't help but watch this, what turned out to be a very beautiful, woman, do her chore, oblivious to his presence.
He was mesmerized by her facial expressions. One minute it would be a blank slate, then the next, a worried frown would crease her forehead. A minute later, her eyes would be staring off into an unknown location, far away from this dreary one. She was totally captivating.
Once she glanced into his eyes and he nervously acknowledged her and looked quickly away. He wanted so desperately to return to watch her, but was afraid that it would make her uncomfortable.
"Um, thank you so very much. I'll repay you, Mr...?"
"Carlisle. Cullen. Please, don't think anything of it. It's just a few measly coins," he said in the most charming voice he could muster.
Esme dropped the coins into the lacking machine and pressed the appropriate buttons to start the cycle.
She didn't know what else to say to this kind man, not being in the habit of talking to men, other than her fucker of a husband.
And that is exactly what Marcus was. A fucker. He didn't make love to his wife, he fucked her. It was nothing emotional at all. She would cringe and a knot would form in the pit of her stomach whenever she heard him enter her bedroom, which was across the hall from his.
They had had separate bedrooms for eleven years now, after he said that she snored and couldn't take it any more. She knew that was not actually the case, but had been a defensive tactic to her complaints of his snoring and talking, or rather, cussing, in his sleep.
It was wonderful to be sleeping by herself, she'd muse almost every night, except for the weekly visit by him. Those nights she would just as soon forget and pretty much had. She had also forgot what it should have been like to be made love to.
She had been made love to, once, long ago. Of course, not by this asshole. Her lover had also been kind, much like her new stranger friend seemed to be.
It was a month before her wedding day and she had had a fight with Marcus about some aspect of their wedding plans when she'd stormed out of his car, right in the middle of traffic.
She ran down the busy sidewalk amid the holiday shoppers.
It was December 22nd and the stores were jam-packed with frazzled customers with last minute purchases to be made. It was a time when Esme found herself the saddest and even more so, after the cruelness of her fiance.
She quickly disappeared from his stunned gaze and found herself lost in a sea of holiday madness. After looking over her left shoulder half a dozen times, she slowed her pace. Now she could take a deep breath and slow down her panicked gait.
What am I doing? She wondered aloud, figuring nobody would even notice her talking to herself.
But somebody had.
He had followed her right from the second she entered the department store, captured by her stunning beauty and her obvious distress. She was wandering in a circle around the first floor in a dazed state, mumbling to herself. He didn't have to actually relocate himself much at all and still was able to keep her in his line of sight.
When she finally slowed and seemed to relax, he decided to approach her to see if he could be of help to her. He didn't normally get involved in other people's affairs, but he was drawn to her.
"Excuse me, Miss..." he lightly cupped her elbow.
She swung herself around to him and looked scared. As soon as she saw his face, she instantly looked relieved.
What had she expected? Or who?
"Can I help you with something? Are you lost?" He continued his inquisition.
But she wouldn't respond. She's scared out of her mind, he thought.
"Let me get you a cup of coffee," he offered. He started to gently lead her, by the elbow he had still not released, toward the small in-store cafe.
They came to one of the cafe style tables. She sat down, dejectedly.
Poor thing.
He found himself sitting opposite her after purchasing two coffees and some pastries. She looked like she could eat something.
"What do you take in your coffee?"
She seemed to slowly begin to snap out of her trance and acknowledge his presence. She didn't know why he was being so attentive to her.
Who was he, anyhow?
She realized she was thirsty, and a little hungry. Marcus and her had never made it to their supper engagement.
"Thank you...?" she couldn't look him directly in the eyes.
"Carlisle. Pleased to meet you and you're welcome," he held out his hand to hers.
"Carlisle. Nice to make your acquaintance. You really needn't have..." she lost her train of thought and started to sip at her beverage.
"That's quite all right. I was getting bored being jostled by those bewildered shoppers anyway. You just appeared to be having a bit of a difficult moment."
One didn't need a medical degree to recognize the signs of a panic attack.
Esme put down her coffee cup and looked at the pastry on the floral plate, which reminded her of her childhood.
Her mother used to make them every summer for their annual neighbourhood block party. It was always the most enjoyable get-together of the year. All of the children in the neighbourhood would play hide-n-seek together and it was the best fun ever.
Then they would sneak up to the dessert tables and feast on an array of delectables which their mothers had presented to impress each other. Esme always found the lemon tarts her mother had made and didn't even try any of the other offerings.
"Do you like lemon tarts?" his inquisition continued.
She snapped out of her memories and nodded as she took a forkful of the tart, not expecting it to taste as good as her mother's. She had been correct.
Oh well, she thought, it had coaxed some sweet memories back anyways. That made her happy.
Now, what to do about this man sitting opposite to her. He seemed normal enough and wasn't pushy, albeit a bit too curious.
What would Marcus say, or do, if he were to find her with another man? He wouldn't wait for a reasonable explanation, that was a foregone conclusion. She shuddered at the explosiveness of her fiance.
Wait.
Carlisle. Carlisle?
How many men with that name could there be? And what were the chances that she would meet two in her lifetime?
Could it be? She reeled from the incredible thought forming in her head. My Carlisle?
Her body whipped around to face in his direction. He was reading, not aware of her study of his face. She minutely examined every square inch of his handsome features and came to the stunning conclusion.
It was him.
Sure, he'd aged, but only for the better. It had been 20 years, after all.
She suddenly turned back around, afraid for him to look at her again.
No!
She couldn't bear for him to recognize her and see what she'd become. She was mortified. Living with Marcus had taken its toll on her and she hadn't kept up her appearances the way she had as a young woman.
She had to escape the laundromat quickly, not giving him any more chances to have his memory jogged. She quietly began to walk toward the door. But she didn't quite make it to the threshold.
"Excuse me, Miss..." he noticed her exiting and suddenly got a rush of boldness. He felt the urge to talk further with her for some inexplicable reason.
"I'm sorry, I have to get something," she didn't even turn to look at him in her response.
She continued her exodus, but he was suddenly holding the door, so that she couldn't open it.
"I'm sorry, I just was wondering if you'd care to join me in a cup of coffee over at the Starbucks next door..."
He was trying to make eye contact, but she would have none of it.
"Umm...okay," she incredulously agreed.
She wondered if she'd lost her mind. Why was she taking a chance on him recognizing her? But she couldn't stifle the desire to be with him again, even if not in the same way.
They walked next door, tried to order coffees, finding it a challenge. They both wondered why it was made so difficult by using a foreign language in their menus. Not surprisingly they never got exactly what they wanted, getting all lost in the foreign terminology.
They wandered over to a small round table by a banquette in a corner and sat quietly, at first, sipping at their respective mystery beverages. They had also ordered some scones.
"What type did you get?"
He was trying to make small talk to break the icy barrier suddenly between them. He reached into his bag and broke off a bit of his pumpkin scone and put it into his mouth.
"Um. Mine is lemon-cranberry." She also broke off her own piece and popped it into her mouth.
"Pardon?" He nearly choked on his morsel.