Hello! I know it's not a new chapter of Snowed In, but I wanted to start this story before I finished the epilogue. As of right now, I'll be posting this story on both fanfiction and Twilighted, but as soon as the story "violates terms of usage" I'll only keep it up on Twilighted. The last thing I need is some fanfiction Gestapo badgering me ;)

I need to thank my one and only- Isabel, the best beta I could ask for. She completely gets me and understands where I'm coming from every time. Sigh. I love her!

Enjoy!

BPOV

I held my arm as still as I could, applying only the slightest of pressure. I needed to be consistent. I needed to be perfect, precise.

"Bella!"

I paused for a few seconds, holding my position, and waited to see if the voice called for me again. I could hear the bustle on the other side of the wall, loud and lively, but I had learned to tune that out a long time ago. After waiting a few more seconds, I did not hear the voice again and went back to my task.

Trying not to notice the sweat I could feel gathering at my hairline, I refocused. My muscles assumed the same tension that they had grown accustomed to over the years, taught, steady, smooth.

"Bella!"

The voice came from much closer this time and startled me into losing my concentration. The icing at the end of my bag fell off of the cake in a frown shape. How appropriate. I sighed in exasperation and removed the flaw before it stuck that way. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone hurrying around the corner toward me, maneuvering between baking racks and sugar bags.

"Bella, I've been yelling for you. Didn't you hear me?" He looked as irritated as I felt.

"Oh, I heard you. I-"

"Then why didn't you answer me then? You enjoy hearing me scream my lungs out?"

"Did it occur to you that I was busy working so that we can keep our business venture in business?""

We stared at each other for a few moments before we burst out laughing.

"Sorry, boss," he laughed. "I seem to have forgotten my place."

I snorted loudly and laughed even harder. "None of that 'boss' stuff. We're partners. Anyway, I'm just in a bad mood. This cake is killing me. I'm starting to think that there's no way that I can give them what they want and make it look good. Maybe we should only offer a catalog."

He walked around me to get a better look at the cake. He towered over me from where I sat and rested his large, warm hands on my shoulders, massaging my tense muscles as he studied the cake. I leaned shamelessly into his touch like a kitten.

"Purple and orange?" he asked doubtfully.

"Apparently it's their school's colors. I guess I'm trying to go for whimsical yet classy, but the order they gave me is making it nearly impossible. They were so specific about every little detail..."

His hands moved to my neck, just below my hairline, working out the stress that had taken up permanent residence there. I was sure that if the fans weren't on, he'd hear me purring.

"Well, if anyone can pull it off and make it look great, it's you," he said kindly.

I reached up to pat his hand in appreciation.

"Thanks, Jacob." His touch felt so soothing, so accepting. It felt extraordinary. I took a moment to enjoy the heat from his hands and the ease that our friendship allowed us before realizing that my hand might have lingered on his longer than was appropriate. I sat up quickly, eager to escape the awkward moment. "Now, what were you yelling about earlier?"

"Oh," he said in a strange tone before awkwardly clearing his throat. "Um, Jessica was trying to restock the lemon squares, but she can't find any behind the counter, and I can't find more anywhere."

I sighed dramatically, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples, trying not to get angry.

"I told Lauren yesterday that she was in charge of making sure that we had enough of every pastry for the morning rush because Angela's sick," I said slowly.

"And let me guess," he said cynically, "she didn't do it."

"No, probably not, but I should have known better than to give her an important task."

"That's bull. You should be able to trust her with a simple job. A freaking monkey could do her job better than she ever could. I don't understand why you don't just let me fire her."

"I told you, Jake. I can't fire someone! I need the help, and I just don't think I could bring myself to actually do it."

He gave me a warm smile and winked. "You're too nice for your own good, Bella," he said, tousling my hair a little. I pretended to frown and attempted to smooth out my hair. I blushed under his intense gaze.

"Shouldn't you be up front helping customers instead of bothering me?" I teased. I was just eager to get out of the hot spotlight that seemed to be coming from his dark pupils. "Like I said, I'm trying to finish this ridiculous cake so that it's not an embarrassment."

"Fine, fine, but I take back that comment about you being too nice. You're such a slave driver!," he guffawed, lopping easily back to the front. My smile faded, and I thought about the strange moment we'd just had. It seemed like we were having those more and more often lately. I'd known Jacob since we were kids. He was my best friend. It was just...recently it seemed like we were changing- nothing sudden, no, but it felt like there had been a slight, gradual shift in our friendship.

The way he was around me lately, the way he spoke to me, looked at me, touched me- it felt different. I couldn't put my finger on it. It seemed almost like Jacob knew something that I didn't, like he was waiting for me to catch onto something. I would sometimes catch him looking at me expectantly, but I had no idea what he was expecting. I wasn't sure what it all meant or how it made me feel. It was nice I guess, but it also made me nervous.

I went back to pipping the cake. It was one of the most intricate designs I'd ever done, but the organization that hired me was certainly paying me more than enough for such a challenge. I was designing it for the school's centennial party that was scheduled in a few days. I had been hesitant when I learned what their specifications were, but I certainly couldn't turn down the money or the prestige of catering to such a locally loved school.

Money and fame. I never thought that those were things I would be striving for as a career, but I'd gotten an awakening during my first year of business. After going to culinary school, I worked at various restaurants, hotels, theme parks, and bakeries. I liked thinking that I was using my education for something useful, glamorous even, but I soon realized that I was unhappy.

I was tired of making hundreds of sugar swans for a spoiled debutante's wedding or creating cake versions of cartoons. I hated the monotony of making the same pastries day after day and the lonesomeness I felt working in a kitchen with hundreds of other bakers. It was eating at me.

That was where Jacob came in. I was home for Christmas with my dad, Charlie. I was glad for the vacation after having to bake 300 miniature cakes for a hotel event. Jacob and his father, Billy, were over at our house as usual. We always celebrated the holidays with them.

Jake and I had known each other since we were toddlers. Our dads were such good friends that we were constantly thrust together. We must have made hundreds of mud pies, flower headdresses, and sidewalk chalk drawings. I'd scraped my knee over and over when Jacob taught me how to ride a two-wheeler (of course he had learned how to on his first try), and he'd donned a "monkey suit" and escorted me to school dances.

We were always together as kids, always at each other's house. Both of us were living without a mom so we created our own makeshift family with Billy and Charlie. We'd always been best friends. Our relationship had always been easy and carefree. He was family.

Even after we'd both moved across the country from each other, we kept in close contact, never going more than a week without a phone call or an email.

That Christmas, Jacob had just come from an internship at a large corporation where he was attempting to put his business and marketing degree to use. He was looking for a job, something exciting.

That was Jacob. He loved the excitement of taking risks and having adventures. He knew what he wanted and always went after it. I envied him. I always played it safe. I always had a plan.

We were sitting around the TV after dinner, Charlie and Billy watching some type of sport- football maybe. We spoke about our future plans, what we'd been up to for the past year. When Jacob asked me what I wanted to do with the rest of my life I was at a loss. The only thing I had ever been passionate about was making cakes, and my work was sucking it out of me. Did I really want to be some anonymous worker in an industrial kitchen for the rest of my life? Did I want to have orders shouted at me until I was eighty?

I didn't know so I turned the question around.

"Well, what don't I want to do?" he'd said happily. "I feel like there are so many possibilities in the world. I just have to decide which one I want to go after."

"Wow. That must be nice- to have so much passion and confidence in what you're doing," I had sighed.

"What? You don't love what you do? I always thought you did. You always sounded so happy when we would talk on the phone. You were so excited to be at culinary school."

"I was," I had lamented, feeling sorry for myself. "I just...I'm not doing what I thought I'd be doing. I mean, I know I'm not going to change the world through crème brulee, but I thought I'd be doing something... more I guess. I'm just not happy with where I am."

"Then do something else," he had said simply. That was another thing about Jacob. Everything was so black and white for him.

"But what?" I'd said in exasperation. He frowned, unable to think of a solution. We sat in silence for about five minutes until he slapped his hand on the table, making me jump nearly a mile into the air. I stared at him with boggled eyes, thinking he'd lost his mind. He was grinning like a madman, and his leg was bouncing out of control like an excited puppy.

"I've got it!" he'd boasted triumphantly.

And sure enough, he did have it. Jacob had exuberantly proposed a plan to me, and I saw it- my opportunity. This was my chance to take a risk, to be happy, to be more like Jacob. I would be doing things on my own terms, have independence, make the food I wanted, take charge of my life. I immediately took him up on his offer.

We'd spent the whole night sketching plans, throwing out ideas, and speaking excitedly, unable to control our exhilaration. It was a brilliant idea. I wish I hadthought of it. Combining his expertise in the world of business and my baking ability, we decided to open our own shop.

We looked at different properties all over the country and tried to decide where the best location would be. But I had confided that I didn't want to live on the other side of the country anymore. I hated not feeling at home somewhere, and I had missed my dad terribly when I was traveling. So we decided to pick a place close by, a town not too small for business but not too large that we would fail in the first year.

We searched everywhere around our hometown of Forks and finally found a little property in Seattle. It was in an art district of types but in good condition. I let Jacob haggle over the price with the owner of the business complex, and he secured us a fantastic deal.

We spent all of our savings buying it and fixing it up, repainting, installing a new kitchen, making it look presentable. We had no money left. I worked part time at a hotel again, and Jacob did some odd jobs and temp work. It was miserable at times, but I never felt anything but happy. We were doing what we wanted.

Eventually we opened for business. We had such poor income that we decided to double the bakery as a small pastry and coffee shop because we were so close to other businesses, and Jacob decided we needed an official name. I hadn't even considered that we needed one.

"I've got one," he'd said. "Bella's Bakery."

"No," I said obstinately. I had never enjoyed any type of spotlight attention. "Absolutely not. I just want to work behind the scenes. I don't want to be a figurehead or anything."

"Well, think about it, Bella. It'll make this place more personable. Come on, it has a nice ring to it. Bella's Bakery! I like it!," he'd said definitely. He continued to try it out like it was a new shirt or a car. "Hello, Bella's Bakery. Bella's Bakery. How can I help you? Hey, you guys wanna get some breakfast at Bella's Bakery? Did you hear about that new place, Bella's Bakery? See? It sounds great! Plus, if the bakery starts with a 'B' we'll be listed in the phone book before most of the other places."

We argued the rest of the day, but of course Jacob won. He always did. He truly missed his calling as a lawyer. Turns out the changes we made gave us a lot more business. We started to become so busy that we had to hire employees because the work was too much for us.

First we hired Jessica. She was one of the more competent people we interviewed. She helped Jacob in the shop part of our bakery, helping customers and cleaning. We couldn't pay her much, but she didn't seem to mind. Jacob told me that Jessica enjoyed flirting with all of the businessmen that came for a quick bite and coffee before work.

"Think of it as us paying her in trade," he'd joked.

We got busier and hired Mike. He was friendly and could brew coffee better than anyone else in Seattle, and that was saying something. He helped Jacob with the physical labor too. According to Jacob, Mike and Jessica hit it off well together, too well for his liking. He hated being witness to their sickening flirtation so he often hid in the kitchen with me.

After the first year, word of mouth spread and we got extremely busy. We became a type of indie business with the locals. We had to hire people to help me bake. Angela and Lauren came with extremely impressive references and experiences. We hired them both on the spot. Eric and Ben were added to help out front and with advertising and maintenance.

It was all so overwhelming. I preferred to just stay in the kitchen with my cakes most of the time. The only time I really ventured out of my hiding spot was to talk to customers about their cake orders and sketch out ideas for them or if there was something that only I could handle.

Jacob did an immense load of the work. I always felt so guilty about it, but when I brought it up to him he only brushed me off.

"I wouldn't have a business to run if you weren't so good at what you do," he always said.

We were partners in the business, but we always insisted on giving each other credit.

Thanks to hard work we actually started to turn over a profit after a while and I was able to buy a fairly nice house. The only reason I could afford it was because Charlie helped me finance it, but I was determined to pay him back. He didn't understand why I wanted to buy a house when I lived by myself. I didn't exactly know either. A lot of times, it felt far too large and empty, but there was something more comfortable about living in a house versus an apartment. I liked the idea of having a yard and neighbors that had little kids, gardened, and walked their dogs. It seemed so much more like home to me. It reminded me of living with Charlie and made me feel less lonely. It felt like he was there in spirit when he couldn't be there physically.

I stepped back to look at the progress I had made on the cake. Tightening my always present ponytail, I squinted at it and looked it over from all angles. Satisfied with my work, I put it away and decided to go home. The nice the about working for myself was that I got to come and go whenever I wanted.

I hung my apron on a hook near the door and went out to the front. We had painted it in cheery shades of yellow, green, blue, and purple with paintings from local artists hanging on the walls. The small tables and chairs were mismatched and eclectic. It had been Angela's idea to put fresh flowers and Trivial Pursuit cards on each of the tables, and the customers loved it. We even had little coloring sheets with dancing cakes on them for the children that came in.

I was proud of what we had built, proud of the family we become through the bakery. I was finally doing something worthwhile.

"Going home?" Jacob asked me as I walked behind the counter. He was emptying the cash register. Eric was wiping down tables and putting up chairs.

"Yep. I'm ready to turn in," I said. "Need anything before I go?"

"Nah, get out of here already," he laughed. "Let me walk you to your car."

We walked across the parking lot in comfortable silence, enjoying the sweet spring air. I watched our shadows intermingling on the ground in front of us as the sun set, casting them as giant versions of ourselves. I opened the truck door, and it protested with a loud squeak.

I looked over at him before getting inside the cab.

"Night, Bells," Jacob said. I saw his arm move so I leaned over for a half- hug as we traditionally gave each other, but Jacob's other arm came around me, making me slightly lose my balance and fall into him. My face once again heated up as I realized that it seemed like I was throwing myself at him. We stood in our awkward embrace for a few moments until he released me. I got into the driver's seat quickly. He closed the door and waved at me through the glass. I pulled away quickly, anxious to leave behind my embarrassment. Now I was certain something had changed between us. But why?

I drove home in my truck so tired that I drove with my eyes half closed. My feet dragged as I walked up my steps. I noticed the answering machine light blinking out of the corner of my eye, but I let it wait for the next day.

I went to my bathroom to do my nightly routine. Turning on the lights, I frowned at the person looking back at me in the mirror. The dark circles under her eyes stood out against her white skin, her hair a hopeless mess. I knew I was plain. I was never the girl every boy had a crush on. I never turned heads when I walked into a room. I was overlooked, and I came to accept not being the center of attention. I preferred it now.

I was simple, nothing extraordinary. Baking cakes was really the only thing that ever made me stand out, but even then it was the actual cake that was unique, not me. But I was okay with that. For others to be special, there has to be people who...aren't.

I made it to my bed and closed my eyes for three blissful minuteswhenI heard a loud crash coming from outside my bedroom window. I sat straight up, instantly scared, my heart beating out of my chest.I looked out my window, but I couldn't see anything so I put on my robe and went outside.

My other neighbors were also ambling outside, coming to see what the noise was.

There were two trucks parked in front of the house next door to me.

I felt someone behind me. I turned around to see Mrs. Cope standing behind me in hair rollers and a voluminous, floral nightdress. I knew I went to bed earlier than some people because of my work schedule but having visual proof that I went to sleep at the same time as 68 year old Mrs. Cope was a little depressing. It was only 8 o'clock. I must have been the oldest 26 year old alive. I peeked down at myself to make sure that my pajamas didn't match hers. Thankfully, they didn't. I still had a few years.

Although I was finally doing my dream job, my life still felt like it was in gray scale. I was happy with my work, but my personal life was nonexistent. All I did was work and sleep. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone out to eat or met friends at a bar. I supposed that was the cost of a successful career- it becomes your entire life. I just wished I had something to be excited about, something that would change me into one of those girls who could be vivacious and carefree.

"Ooh!" Mrs. Cope exclaimed. "Looks like someone's moving into the Phillips' old house."

We watched as two burly moving men carried a large kitchen table into the house, tilting it sideways so that it would fit through the frame. It looked like someone was having work done on the house. It had been repainted and landscaped. I hadn't noticed until that moment.

"You probably don't remember the Phillips family, dear. You haven't lived here long. Oh, bless their souls. They seemed like such a lovely family! But you know, people talk, and they said that Mister Phillips had a mistress. Poor Mrs. Phillips! I think her name was Kendra... or... Maryann ...Kristen? That might be it...anyway, you could hear her screaming at him from down the block for weeks when she found out! She packed up, took the kids, and moved to California or something. And Mister Phillips...George maybe...people say he got his little hussy pregnant and has a family with her now. Can you imagine? It's perfectly scandalous like something out of one of my soaps."

"Yeah, sounds crazy," I said noncommittally. With Mrs. Cope, I never knew how much of what she said was true and what was hearsay.

"Well, I wonder who could be moving in now?" she wondered allowed, apparently unconcerned with whether I was listening or not. "I hope it's some nice family. Oh! I hope it's a very attractive man. I wouldn't mind looking down the street to that every morning."

"Yeah," I repeated, not really listening to her. I was exhausted, and now that I had figured out what the racket was, I was ready to go back to my bed. I figured that I had pretended to listen to her for an acceptable amount of time. "I should go back to bed. I've got to get up early. Have a nice night."

"You too, dear," she said, casting me a quick glance and a wave. I looked back at her to see that she was greedily eying the moving men as they hauled boxes from the back of their truck. For their sake, I hoped she didn't try to approach them.

I pulled my body upstairs with Herculean effort, my muscles feeling the effects of my fourteen hour work day. As soon as my body collapsed on my mattress, my mind went blank. I didn't dream about anything, not all the cakes that I had due in the next few days, not how much my employees stressed me out, not how I was going to pay my bills at the end of the month, not how I didn't get to see Charlie last weekend like I promised myself I would, not the change in the way Jacob waswith me, and especially not about any new neighbors.