A/N: Thank you so much for reading! It means so much to me, you have no idea! I realize that the elements used in this story may seem frilly, and girly, and very chick-flicky - or not at all, depending on how you look at it - but I assure you, that the three main things in this story are pain, grief, and romance, so I hope that you stick around to read the upcoming chapters - there's a lot planned! Please check out Cassia4u, by the way, she will leave you breathless, I promise you that!

Also, you will notice that each chapter - along with the entire story altogether - is named after a song, well, I meant to do that. Each chapter is named after a well fitting or suited song that makes each chapter a "Track" like on a playlist. So by the end of the story, you will have a play list that is actually going to be the list of songs that all are all on a mixed tape that is featured in this story. I hope that you love them as much as I do, or at at least one of them!

So, with that out of the way, please enjoy, you guys are amazing for checking this out, thank you so much! :D

She's my kind of rain

Like love from a drunken sky

She's confetti falling down all night

She sits quietly there

Back water in a jar

She says baby why are you trembling like you are

So I wait

And I try

I confess like a child

She's my kind of rain

~ She's My Kind Of Rain, Tim McGraw

Prologue:

March, 1999

"Edward, are you sure that she doesn't feel…ya' know, abandoned with us leaving her all the time? We can't always send her off to your parents, you know," Bella reminded her husband.

They'd been arguing about the subject for the last hour, having boarded a flight to Seattle after Edward won an Oscar for Best Actor, as well as his latest film having taken home Best Picture. He was always shocked at the reaction that he got from the world, even though he took the planet by storm with his first box office hit at the mere age of nineteen. Edward Cullen was a commonly used household name, known to all ages, and was currently the United States' most sought after Hollywood heartthrob, with his tousled bronze colored hair that made the women swoon, his fair skin that topped any suntan, and his excited, bright green eyes.

Bella wasn't so bad off herself either. She'd tried her hand at acting in high school, but quickly discovered that the spotlight was not her forte. She wasn't capable of the skills of an actress, but couldn't get away from the theater, trying out directing, finally having found her calling. She, unlike most directors, skipped any build up to a production, and had directed her first music video by the end of her junior year of high school. There were several demands for her direction of multiple blockbuster cast movies in Los Angeles, having directed four box office hits by the time she was just twenty one.

The two starlets met on set of one of Isabella's earlier movies, when she co-directed an action flick, Guns and Adrenaline (A/N: Not too good of a title but it's a New Moon reference.) with her close friend, Angela Weber, when they cast Edward as their lead role. The two married young, after just one year of dating, soon having their first child, Renesmee Carlie Cullen not too long after.

"Bella." Edward looked at his wife with kind eyes. "She's still young, she's only five, but she is old enough to understand that her childhood is far different from most children her age. She knows that we love her more than anything, and we'll see her in just a few hours. Don't worry, love."

Bella tried to reason with herself, unable to think of anything but misleading her daughter. "But don't you think that maybe we could take her with just once? I really think that she'd like to see the -"

"No, Bella, "Edward interrupted, knowing where she was getting at. He thought about his sweet daughter, her brown doe eyes that resembled Bella's were always so excited to see them when they walked in the door, a childlike, pink rosiness at her cheekbones. He couldn't expose that angelic face to the world, not now, not ever. He assured himself that she would have a real, normal childhood. "Bella, I don't want her to grow up with cameras constantly being thrusted in her face. No child should have to go through that."

"We wouldn't have to stay in L.A.; we could stay in a suburb, perhaps Santa Clarita? Or -"

"Bella, I don't want the paparazzi to follow her as they do us, I don't even like it now, they'd probably scare the hell out of her," He tried to explain, looking out the small window beside him, blackness surrounding the plane. "We'll see her in a bit, and you'll see that she's fine." He turned to give his wife one light kiss on the top of her head, feeling as if they'd been through and through the same conversation a million times by now. "I love you," He murmured.

Bella sighed, turning to peck Edward on his perfectly shaped lips. "I love you too." She then nestled into his arm, closing her chocolate eyes as she ignored the eyes of sleepy flight attendants, who ogled at the famous pair that kept to themselves.

One of the attendants walked up to them holding a napkin. "Um, excuse me, could I please have your autograph? I'm a huge fan," one of the attendants asked, twisting her shoulder length blonde hair in her fingers.

Bella's eyes opened at the sound of a woman asking a question that she'd heard what seemed like a million times - and it was probably something close to that. "Sure," Her husband smiled, causing the attendant's heart to jump erratically. "Who do I make it out to?"

"Alison," She answered almost immediately, trying to keep her cool.

"Alison," he mused, scribbling his name elegantly on the napkin, then handing it back to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bella's watchful expression, taking her hand in his to assure her that she was still all that he ever saw.

"Thank you so much," Alison seemed unable to keep her enthusiasm contained, turning to leave as the plane shook, causing her to stumble slightly.

Bella almost thought that it was just her reaction to Edward, but her thoughts changed when a male voice came over the intercom. "We are experiencing some turbulence; please make sure your seat belts are on, thank you."

The plane shook violently once more.

"Renesmee, dear, why don't you go get your pajamas on, it'll be bedtime soon," Esme urged her granddaughter, who rushed up the steps, her bronze curls bouncing behind her. Esme turned on the TV, just in time for the news.

"Breaking news!" A brunette woman with a khaki trench coat stood in front of an unidentifiable wreckage of white. "An Alaska Airline plane, whose destination was set for Seattle, has just crashed - "

Esme froze. Her son and daughter-in-law were supposed to fly to Seattle tonight from Los Angeles. They'd flown out just two days earlier, having to attend the Annual Academy Awards. She tuned out everything around her and listened in.

"The plane was said to have been about to start its landing, but after experiencing extreme turbulence and doing a blood test on the pilot, there was lingering alcohol in his system. He is one of the few survivors of the wreck, but under severe condition. Reportedly, two of the passengers of the plane were world famous actor, Edward Cullen, and his wife and director, Isabella Swan." She listened to her earpiece, pressing it harder into her ear, as if it could change the information transmitted through it. "I have just received the unfortunate news that they weren't one of the lucky survivors," She said, winded. "The world is grieving, as we speak, thirty passengers killed instantly, with many more in critical condition. We'll be right back wi -"

Esme switched off the TV as if it had shocked her, cupping her hand over her nose and mouth, tears streaming down her face as she sat on the white couch of her gigantic living room. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to believe her ears, trying to tell herself that they were alive and well, that they would walk through the front door any second and scoop up their only daughter in a warm and loving embrace.

"Grandma?" Renesmee reached the foot of the steps in footie pajamas, holding a worn, pink blanket in her tiny hands. She rushed over to her grandmother, shaking her knee anxiously.

Esme wrapped an arm around Renesmee's shoulders. "It'll all be okay, sweetie, we'll be fine." She seemed to be trying to assure herself more than her confused and worried granddaughter. Esme looked down at her sweet, porcelain face whose doe eyes stared right back up at her of total innocence and kindness. The image reminded her of the faces of her son and daughter-in-law - her dead, son and daughter-in-law. She burst into harder tears when she realized that she may had lost a child, but the little girl in her arms lost everything; and she didn't even know it yet.

Chapter 1: That Song In My Head

Present day

Renesmee POV

"Renesmee!" Alice nearly screeched, rushing over to me. I lugged my one suitcase that she told me to bring, claiming that we'd have a shopping spree the second I got here, so I basically just had to bring the necessities. For the past twelve years, I'd been flying out to spend the summers with my aunt, Alice, who was a world-famous fashion designer, who resided in Los Angeles, California. Of course, the rest of the world knew her as Mary Alice Brandon, deciding not to go with Cullen so that she'd be less likely to be compared to her brother, my dad. When she got married, she changed her real name to Whitlock, but kept her 'stage name,' I guess you could say, as Brandon, so there would be no confusion with the public. But regardless of what she went by, I would always know her as my sweet Aunt Alice. The main reason for my visits was so that she wasn't always so alone, with being married to a man in the military, a pure gentleman, but also the very goofy, Jasper Whitlock. They hadn't had gotten around to having kids yet, and neither would have the time to take care of any, with their busy schedules, and all, so it was just the pixie-like and tiny Alice alone in their enormous house.

My other aunt and uncle currently lived in New York. My dad's side of the family tended to be very talented in the arts, but my uncle Emmett decided to dedicate his life to protecting art - literally. He married a supermodel, Rosalie 'Rosie' Lillian Hale, who'd retired of her short career, and were currently raising a little two year old boy named Jaden, who had bright blue eyes, blonde hair like his mom, that curled out in unexpected directions also like his father's, also receiving his easy smile with the look of mischief clearly glinting in his features. He was Emmett through and through, needless to say. He was my only cousin, and I'd loved every second that I got to spend with him, but I never saw him often, just the occasional holiday. Since Rosalie's retirement, she'd been managing the career of an up-and-coming male model, Nahuel. To say that he was a douche, would be an understatement. He was cocky and arrogant, and didn't give anyone without a pretty face the time of day. I'd met him once, Rosalie - grudgingly - attempting to set me up with him under his orders, trying to keep her client happy, but to no avail. I mean, sure, it was kind of flattering that he saw me as worth his time, but if these were the type of eyes that I caught, I wasn't sure I liked it.

Since I was five, I'd been raised by my grandparents, Carlisle and Esme Cullen, for my parents had both been killed in a fatal plane accident when I was young. I didn't remember them well, just their faces, and that they loved me very much, as I did them, too. Every once in a while, I'd remember something of an event between the three of us back when they were around, but the glimpses of the past were always gone as fast as they had come. I kept a locket of the three of us around my neck at all times. It was apparently given to me the Christmas before they were gone. Delicately carved on the shiny surface of it was, "Plus que ma propre vie," meaning "More than my own life," in French.

I'd lived my whole life as a shadow, hidden, kept under wraps, to abide by my father's rule of keeping me out of the world's eye, he having longed for me to live a normal childhood. What he never got the chance to realize is that by saying that he only made my life miserable, uneventful. I couldn't go and see people, tell them all about my life and my story, all because of his retarded little rule. Carlisle and Esme had wanted to keep his word; so they did.

Of course, I'd heard all of the stories but that never stopped me from asking again and again what they were like. My mother was a successful director, Isabella Swan, who had different styles of creating images than any other, because she thought of things from a different point of view, causing much demand for her skills, my Grandmother had told me. I had her large, chocolate brown eyes, but otherwise, I possessed no other physical evidence that I was her daughter. All other visible parts of me were my father, Edward Cullen. I inherited much from him, his bronze hair that was more brown than red, the structure of my face, my skin tone and texture. Although, the curls that I called hair came from my grandpa, Charlie, who had stopped speaking to my mother when she'd decided to move to Los Angeles to shoot for the unrealistic. My father was an actor, and a very talented one at that. On the night of their death, both he, and my mom had picked up Oscars for their talents in movie making. I'd been told that he was that heartthrob that always made the girls swoon, who always had the sparkle in his eye, and that gleam in his smile.

Today, that was commonly any famous guy with abs, or pretty eyes, or even nice hair who showed up on the cover of a magazine, like my issue of Seventeen, for example. I know, I know, it seems shallow to carry that around when your family owns an island, but I really only read it to look into other people's lives, normal girls. There were stories about them all the time. However, the male actor who rocked the cover of the issue in my sweaty hand, an old one, I had just grabbed the first one that I'd found in my room, was the bronze-skinned Jacob Black. He was said to be the kindest, most grounded actor in modern Hollywood.

Right, and I'm the Easter Bunny.

I mean, don't get me wrong, he was hot and all, with his washboard eight-pack, bulging biceps, tanned skin, and cropped, raven hair that looked so silky that you just wanted to run your fingers through it, but no way did he not let all of the fame and fortune go to his head. He had girls following his every footstep, asking autographs, asking for a picture, even asking for him to marry them. So what if you're the only star who actually doesn't have a Twitter or Facebook? That somehow makes you down to earth? I didn't think so.

Regardless, I did have my share of fandom for the guy. I mean, he did have talent, if nothing else. He was most well known for his role as fallen angel, Patch Cipriano in the Hush, Hush Saga franchise (A/N: Well . . . he fits the part, does he not?), almost instantly making him an overnight teenage phenomenon. Ever since, he was the common household name, his face plastered all over magazine covers, movies, and now officially the wallpaper of thousands of girls' bedroom walls, not to mention cell phones, laptops, iPods, and the like.

"Hey, Alice," I smiled at my aunt, taking in her still short disarray of spikes of ink black hair, her brown eyes, fair skin, like mine, and also like me, our similarity in height. The only reason that she seemed even remotely average in that department was because she was wearing five inch Stilettos, which still made her short. But she could pull it off, graceful and elegant as she walked, a clunk, clunk sound following her footsteps, unlike me, who stumbled my way through life, like I'd been told my mother had.

"How is my favorite niece?" She asked out of courtesy, reaching out for a dainty hug.

"You mean your only niece?" I corrected, chuckling. "She's fine. You?"

"I'm fantastic, Sweetie, thanks. Now, I was thinking, do you want to go home, and then go shopping after that? Or just wait until tomorrow?" Her brown eyes were hopeful, and I could tell that she wanted to go as soon as possible, so I answered in her favor.

"Today is fine," I answered simply, watching as her eyes danced. I resisted a low chuckle, and we started to haul off my stuff to her car - a canary yellow Porsche 911 Turbo, to be exact.

She didn't seem to realize that owning a less conspicuous car could help her issue of privacy.

Once we were in, Alice sped off and out of LAX.

"You ready to go?" I called as I came down the giant marble staircase with my purse, finally having gotten settled into one of the four guest bedrooms. Well, if you called throwing my small amount of luggage under the bed getting settled, then that's what I did. I tugged the strap of the purse further onto my shoulder as I finally reached the bottom, moving across the large space that was open in front of the foyer. Jasper must've felt like he'd died and gone to heaven every time he came home to this.

"About that," Alice said as she met me at the edge of the stainless steel, black, and white themed kitchen, her face extremely apologetic, but her eyes excited. I could almost see her thoughts flying by at a million miles an hour. "My friend Irina called, and she was wondering if I wanted to meet her and her sisters downtown for drinks -"

"You should go," I interrupted, urging her to go have fun. "I'll be fine, I wasn't completely finished unpacking yet, and wanted to maybe take a shower or something to relax from the long plane ri -"

"Thanks, honey!" Suddenly her skinny arms were around my neck, holding me in a tight but brief hug. "We'll go shopping tomorrow, I promise!" She called as she booked it up the stairs.

Ah, Alice. So sweet, so innocent. She was always girly, responsible, and a bit annoying sometimes, but still tolerable, but despite that, when she partied, she partied hard. I don't remember how many times I'd had to run to her room with the Excedrin last summer, eventually getting to the point where I just kept it in the drawer on the nightstand so that whenever she became a hangover victim, I could get it to her sooner. I supposed that she only did it because she missed Jasper overseas, but she always seemed to enjoy herself. It's not like she had a drinking problem or anything, of course not, it's just that she was a party girl sometimes.

In less than two minutes, she was rushing back downstairs with a slimming, black mini dress by Gucci that was strapless and had a corset form at her torso. It was a dress that was meant for women in their twenties, a model perhaps. But, even at her age, seeing it on Alice, I couldn't imagine anyone pulling it off better. "Bye, honey, sorry I cancelled on you! Like I said, I promise that we will tomorrow!" she said urgently as she kissed my cheek and left through the mahogany French doors to her car.

I looked to the digital clock on the microwave. 5:02PM. It was kind of a surprise that she would take off at such an early hour for an evening on the town, but then again; because it was Alice, was exactly why it was not a surprise. I trudged up to my room and wandered around the area. I always stayed in this room, mainly because of the balcony. If I were to walk out there, I could look two floors down to where the chlorine filled pool sat still with unmoving water, especially at night when it reflected the stars that shined above and the moon that lit the dark sky. Everything about the room was exquisite. The balcony that had to be entered through by narrow French doors, the king size bed with pale golden sheets and a canopy over it, while the headboard, the color of dark chocolate, contrasted the cream colored wall behind it. The walls were bare, which normally kind of bland, but with the way that the room was pieced together, I felt that it held a simple elegance that shouldn't be messed with, as if adding anything extra would have sent it overboard. The soft carpet matched the comforter, spreading from wall to wall. All of the room accessories matched the headboard, dark chocolate for the dresser, the lamp, the side tables, even the small woven loveseat that sat on the balcony outside. There was also a walk-in closet that remained bare for the time being until tomorrow when we finally made it to the designer stores that Alice looked forward to going to.

I spotted my New Balance tennis shoes lying next to the bed, and suddenly was shrugging out of my clothes, pulling on some spandex before slipping on the shoes. After grabbing twenty bucks along with my phone, just in case, I started a slow jog from the house.

As far as physical ability went . . . who am I kidding? It didn't go far at all! I had no balance, and somehow always managed to fall on my face at the worst times possible, couldn't hit - or catch for that matter - a ball worth a crap, had zero hand-eye coordination, and two left feet. Though there was one physical activity that I wasn't half bad at, which was running. My dad had apparently been a great runner, fast for his age. Fortunately, that trait was passed onto me, giving me at lease one thing to not fail in. I used it as my ultimate way of fitness, hurting myself with just about anything else, probably because I had no muscle, but that was beyond the point. Though it's not like I ran cross-country or anything, I'm not that good, just enough to keep my endurance up.

I peered around the neighborhood, as I jogged, glancing at the houses, none of them quite measuring up to the excellence of the Whitlock house, but still, stunningly beautiful houses, each different, unique, different sizes, colors, shapes, not one able to be replicated. One caught my eye as I passed. It was smaller than the others, fairly urban, but didn't seem to fit in with this private neighborhood. It clearly didn't have as much effort put into it as the rest, probably the last to be built, kind of just thrown together in comparison to the others, but that's what I liked about it. It gave it character. I could smell smoke and burgers coming from the opposite side of the tall fence that would take two of me to see over, my mouth watering at the scent, causing me to realize just how parched my throat was.

I kept jogging, finally coming across a little general store that seemed to be reserved for this neighborhood alone. You never saw things like this back in Forks, so it was a bit odd to suddenly see a small gas station in front of a store right in the same location as where I'd been marveling over the houses and mansions in the area, contrasting greatly.

I walked into the store, thankful that I'd brought money with me so that I could buy a water bottle. I grabbed the first brand of water that I saw from the refrigerated section, feeling the cool chill that radiated from the door as I opened it. I didn't even look at it much, just walking to the man at the counter, looking to be just a few years older than me, probably twenty, as he looked up from his comic book, a bit flustered when he saw me. He took his glasses off, what seemed unknowingly, and placed them on the counter behind him. He must not see many people throughout the day.

"H-how can I help you?" He stuttered, standing as he raked a hand through his sandy colored hair.

I placed the bottle on the counter, smiling politely. "I'd just like to get this water bottle, please."

He shook his head, blinking his eyes a few times as he rung it up. "Two fifty-four, please," he said as he cleared his throat, looking back to me again, a slight bit of excitement in his face.

I whipped out my twenty dollar bill, accidentally dropping my phone in the process. "Oops," I muttered, slapping the bill on the counter top, bending down to retrieve it.

Suddenly I was thrown into the wall of the counter, my head audibly smacking against the wood paneling, while my arm scraped against a nail that jutted out from the wood, not having been hammered in all the way. "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" A husky voice sounded shocked, the voice now closer to my ear as I squeezed my eyes shut. Something warm dripped down my arm as I winced. "Oh, God," the strangely familiar voice repeated again. "Here."

Suddenly there were arms under my body, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. I heard a door shut behind the stranger, when I was suddenly placed on something that felt hard and cold through my spandex. I tried opening my eyes. "Gah!" I snapped my eyes shut again, when the brightness of what I now noticed was a unisex restroom stung my pupils. A pounding in my head told me to be cautious, wary of endangering myself further.

I didn't realize how shaky my voice was until moments later when the voice spoke softly again. "You may wanna keep your eyes shut."

"Thanks for the heads up," I muttered sarcastically, pressing my palm to my forehead. I felt a wet paper towel running down my arm, the one that had been bleeding earlier. I didn't notice the sting until the water entered the gash. I hissed.

The masculine voice chuckled. He seemed to pause for a moment. "You okay, I really didn't mean to run you over like that, I'm so sorry, you have no idea."

I slowly opened my eyes, keeping my gaze low, cautious. "Yeah, it's fine, seri - oh!" When I finally looked up to his face I nearly fell of the edge of the sink. I don't know what I was expecting, but it surely wasn't this.

Bronze arms caught me almost instantly, steadying me and then stepping back again as if he'd done something wrong. "What's wrong?"

I put my face in my hands. "Oh, my God, this is just great, just -" I looked up to check again, only to see the same face there, looking all too familiar, but never having seen an image that did any justice. "I'm hallucinating! I just know it! I hit my head, and now I'm hallucinating. Aw, hell, this isn't gonna be good. Alice is gonna be pissed, I can -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?" He looked down with the most confused expression. His deep brown, almost black eyes were curious, concerned, his glossy, jet black hair perfectly gelled into place, his tan skin glowing even in the dim, flickering light of the, to be honest, shady looking restroom. There was a stark contrast between his white V-neck and his dark complexion, but the difference was reeled in by his black jeans. The look was so simple, but no one could've ever looked better in it. There was some unfathomable look in his eyes that grew and grew as he stared into my own brown ones, that told me for sure that this wasn't real. "You're hallucinating?"

I nodded slightly. "I'm sure of it."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because you're Jacob Black."

I half expected for him to stare at me like I was insane, but his eyes held a concern that made him more serious, with a softness that seemed to bore into me, holding my gaze. I couldn't look away, despite the fact that my head still hurt. "Just because that's who I am, doesn't mean that you're hallucinating," he grinned, a bright smile that I hadn't ever seen him display for any camera. It seemed genuine, himself. Not that I could judge when I didn't even know him.

"Minus the fact that meeting you wouldn't ever happen to me," I mumbled, realizing that I sounded like an obsessed fan who had his face plastered all over my room, and his last name tacked onto mine in some diary - which I didn't, for the record. My walls were actually more bare than a hairless cat.

He sighed like he'd been through and through this before. "Well, it had to happen to somebody, why not you?"

I thought it over for a second, gathering my thoughts. Jacob Black, the Jacob Black, was standing in front of me. The Jacob Black had plowed me over. The Jacob Black helped me. The Jacob Black was waiting for an answer as I was lost in thought. "So you're really here? I'm not imagining that there's a leprechaun dancing next to you?"

His face grew worries, his eyes on the verge of panic. "Err, maybe we should get you to a doctor…"

"I'm kidding," I laughed, finally having a grip on things.

He cocked his head to the side, annoyed, but unable to help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "That's so not funny."

I chuckled, watching him in amusement, still in slight shock that could be from either the blow or the fact that he was here. I didn't like how I reacted, but it just kind of happened. I'd just been toppled over, hitting my head, and getting a bloody gash on my arm, and then saw the world's biggest teenage actor? Like anyone would expect me to act correctly. I tried to make conversation. "So . . . why the rush?"

He frowned, looking down. "Supposed to be a private neighborhood, but I guess that some of the paparazzi moved in. I saw them following me, so I pulled in here, and then ran for the door . . . And then into you." He frowned at the end.

I nodded, hopping down from the sink, reaching for the cold door handle. "You need a ride home? Just so we know that I don't do any more damage, I mean," he offered, his hand covering the door opening so that he could say what he needed to.

"What makes you think that I didn't drive here?" I inquired, raising my eyebrows in suspicion.

"The lot's empty, if I didn't know any better, I'd think that I'd just entered a ghost town - so ghostly that there's no other stores." He chuckled at his own lame joke, though I found myself smiling with him. "So do you?"

I knew that it wasn't right to oblige, getting into a car with a guy that I didn't know, but I felt compelled to say yes. Morally, I was about to object before he interrupted. "I insist."

Well, if he insisted . . .

He guided me to his car, his hand on the small of my back, causing me to be much more aware of that fact than I should've been, my jaw nearly dropping at the sight in front of me.

I didn't speak car, so I don't know what I would expect out of someone like Jacob, but I was sure that nobody would ever expect this. A red, compact car sat before us, looking a bit too old of a model to belong to a Hollywood actor. It seemed run down, but, like the house that I'd passed, it had character.

Jacob noticed my stare and started grinning like crazy. "Built it myself," he said smugly, sounding proud of himself.

I turned to look at him incredulously. "The car?" I asked stupidly.

His grin widened. "Yes," he said looking back to the car. "I like to work on cars in my spare time, sometimes dirt bikes, motorcycles…" He shrugged, then snickered. "The little time that I have."

Wow. I'd never have pegged him for a grease monkey.

I mean, don't get me wrong, he could certainly look like one if he really wanted to, and I sure as hell wouldn't be against seeing a film someday where he played that part, but I was always so used to seeing him so polished and clean, that I couldn't imagine even a mere speck of dirt on his designer clothes.

"You getting in?"

I jumped at the sound, not having noticed Jacob standing with the passenger door opened for me, waiting for me to get seated. I blushed, murmuring my thank you as he shut the door.

I took a deep breath, trying to wrap my head around the situation that I was in.

A/N: What do you think?