so i was sitting around, flipping channels and suddenly came upon one of my favorite oldie-but-goodies: notting hill. i know a ton of stories have Edward as a star, and Bella as the normal girl that comes upon him in an unexpected situation, but I decided to switch it up, based loosely upon that wonderful Hugh Grant/Julia Roberts flick.
I don't own Twilight or Notting Hill—I'm just shamelessly stealing plot and characters, etc.
without further adieu: the first chapter of just a girl
Edward Cullen
It has been two hours, twenty-three minutes and forty-seven…forty-eight…forty-nine seconds since someone came in the door.
I am bored beyond belief at the book-store today, which really is not a good sign since I own said store. My sister Alice told me I was foolish for opening a book touting the virtues of classic literature in the age of the Internet and I am increasingly beginning to think that she is right--though I would never tell her that. I can perfectly picture in my mind's eye her response: What have I told you, Edward? Never bet against Alice.
The jingling of the bell above the door pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to find an odd-looking man glancing furtively at my carefully chosen inventory.
"Hello, sir. Welcome to Classic Bookshop. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask."
The awkward bloke just mumbled something underneath his breath, and just walked to the back of the store. I would have to remember to watch him on the security camera—he looked a little too dodgy for my comfort.
I hate this time of year. Most people love the end of winter because it brings new beginnings, a sense of rebirth. Blah blah blah. That's not true in my life. There aren't any major holidays that bring in customers, so the store is emptier than usual. And this year, the empty store not only lives a terrible hole in my personal bank account but it gives me too much time to think about the sad state of my personal life.
My little sister Alice and my aunt Esme have been bemoaning my single status since I was in university. Lately, they have taken it upon themselves to fix this "character defect" by setting me up on the worse blind dates available. Seriously, worst dates ever.
Maybe their motivation is to make me think that most girls are bat-shit crazy so that when I meet one that is somewhat normal, I will cave in and settle down.
Well, that's a troubling thought.
All of a sudden, the door opened again and set off the tinkling of bells overhead. Maybe this day will be better than I anticipated—I have had two customers in a fifteen-minute span. Unfortunately, that is a rare occurrence these days.
I looked up and I swear to goodness that my heart stopped for a minute. The girl…no, the woman…who walked in was absolutely stunning. There was something oddly familiar about her brown hair and eyes. I probably have just seen her around the neighborhood.
"Hello, miss. Welcome to the Classic Bookshop. Feel free to look around and don't hesitate to ask me any questions."
As she walked about the overcrowded shelves in the Travel Section, I couldn't help but stare. I couldn't place who she was but I knew that I had seen her somewhere before. I hoped that she didn't look over at me since I'm sure that I was leering at her like some kind of fucking caveman.
Soft laughter rang out from the beautiful girl's mouth and a huge smile erupted on her face after she read the flyleaf of some Bill Bryson book.
Holy fucking shitballs.
Of course she looks familiar. She's Isabella Swan, only the world's most recognizable actress. Isabella-fucking-Swan. And now, she's inexplicably found her way into my bookshop.
I opened my mouth to make a terribly witty comment about the book she was considering and all that came out was a strangled moan. She's literally rendered me speechless. I feel like a teenage fan girl.
Unfortunately she looked up at that inopportune moment and after one look at my face, smiled warily and walked around the shelves so she was no longer in my line of sight. I can only imagine what I looked like. If I had to, I would guess a cross between a leering pedophile and a confused two-year-old. Not quite my proudest moment.
Lock it up, Edward. Don't fucking blow this.
All of a sudden, Isabella-fucking-Swan popped back from behind the shelf with an impish grin on her face.
"Good sir," she began, clearly mocking my formal greeting as she entered the store, "I have a question for you."
"Yes, miss?"
She…Isabella…asked, "Why would you call it Classic Bookshop if you sell books written in the last year?"
Well, she's a tad impertinent, isn't she?
"Well, miss, if you must know, I inherited the name of the store from the previous owner. I decided to keep the name but stock all types of books. I wanted to create a bookstore that I would seek out. Since I read more than classics, I found the original premise a bit stifling, to say the least."
Ha. Take that.
She didn't have an immediate response, but I could almost see the gears turning inside her head as she tried to formulate an answer. Just as a smile spread upon her face—she must have thought of a clever retort—I saw movement on the security camera screen in the corner of my eye.
What the hell? Did that creepy guy just put one of my books into his…pants? Oh, bugger, he did. And now I have to go retrieve it. And disinfect it.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," came out of my mouth before I remembered that I wasn't alone in the store. "Oh, bugger. Excuse me, miss. There's something I have to take care of in the back."
"If you don't mind me asking, what is going on back there that caused you to curse like that?"
"Some…man…just put a book into his pants. I don't know if he is trying to steal it…or do something else with it, but I feel like I should take care of the situation. So, if you will excuse me?"
She could barely get out, "sure" in that wonderful American accent through her laughter. I suppose it was a funny situation if it isn't something that you have to deal with directly.
I stalked to the back of the store, leaving Isabella Swan browsing through my bookstore, and steeling myself to deal with the pervert in the back.
"Excuse me, sir. I have to ask what you are doing in my store." I began, but he didn't notice me. My god, how hard is this man breathing? "SIR," I started, practically yelling. "STEP AWAY FROM THE BOOKS. BACK AWAY FROM THE SHELF."
He jumped at my loud tone, and jerked around with a frightened look on his face.
"Oh…um…oh…" He seemed to have been rendered speechless since he had been caught.
"What's your name?" I demanded.
"Mike. Mike Newton." He stuttered out, still quite frightened by my less than intimidating presence. I mean, I own a bookshop, not a gym.
"Well, Mr. Newton, I'd really like to fucking forget this ever happened. So, how about you hand me the book, walk away and never come back in my store again? Savvy?"
"Yes. Yes, sir. I'll just be going."
He handed me the book, barely making eye contact, as he shuffled towards the front of the store. I glanced down at the cover, seeing a familiar yellow bear on the cover. It was the Collected Works of A.A. Milne.
I mean, seriously, who would defile Winnie-the-Pooh that way?
I decided to take the book to the back room so that I could make sure that it was clean before I put it back on the shelf. After a cursory glance around the children's literature section of the store to make sure it was neat and tidy, I eagerly walked back to the front of the store. I couldn't wait to hear Miss Swan's response—our banter had been the highlight of my week.
Don't kid yourself, Cullen. This is one of the high points of your life.
When I came back out, she was gone. Of course she was gone. I should never have gotten my hopes up. I can only imagine what she heard from the conversation I had with Mike. And now I'll ever see her again.
I am such an idiot. A bloody idiot, in fact. Isabella Swan, America's Sweetheart—a girl that I have had multiple not-so-innocent dreams about since the first time I saw one of her films as a teenager—was in my fucking bookshop and I scared her away with my inane ramblings and idiotic customers.
Good fucking job, Edward. Maybe next we can set up a bonfire with your first editions or throw away a winning lottery ticket.
Great, now my thoughts are turning against me as well. Could this week get any worse?