I was tired of looking at those little ads, the ones that offered services "in case Prince Charming didn't show up" or for "big, sexy singles." They seemed to be everywhere these days, popping up above my inbox when I checked my email constantly. Maybe they had always been there; I just had never really paid them attention before. Maybe they were there to taunt me, to remind me of the one part of me that still hadn't healed.

I clicked the browser closed, sighed, and moved to the window. Snow. Still. I was so sick of the white, the cold, the wind. But that's what you get when you move to Chicago. I pined for Texas, for Austin. I had lived the first 23 years of my life in Texas, frolicking year round in the heat. 40 was freezing in my world; apparently here that was nothing. I honestly have no idea why I left Austin in the first place; as a musician, Austin was a far better choice for me then was Chicago. All I knew was that for the past six months something had compelled me to pick up and move my life up North.

About a month ago, I found myself standing in the Urban Outfitters near my apartment staring at clothes without really seeing them—I was consumed with Chicago. I walked out of the store in a daze, my body carrying me without bothering to clue my conscious mind into where it was taking me. Within an hour, I had worked everything out with the label so that I could write and record up in Chicago. That weekend, I hopped an airplane for Chicago and signed a lease for a darling little studio apartment where the neighbors wouldn't mind me working on my music from home. Through some strange confluence of events, a friend of a friend had been looking for a place and was willing to start subleasing my apartment the next month; my lease was set to expire in six months anyways. Before I had time to think my decision through, I was moving into my apartment in Chicago.

Maybe the part of me that hadn't healed since April a year and a half ago drove me up here. Maybe I was subconsciously seeking healing. Maybe.

I sold almost everything before the move so everything I owned fit neatly in two suitcases, each under 50 pounds. I had even found an airline safe carrying case for my parakeets, Frick and Frack, at Petsmart the week before I left. Within 2 weeks, I had painted the whole apartment, bought furniture from Ikea and put it together. I had even found a car within my budget.

Something was still missing.

Friends. Duh.

I knew no one in Chicago. Hell, I didn't even know anything about Chicago. I could be old fashioned about some things so I had taken out a subscription to the Chicago Tribune in order to educate myself about my new home. I set my laptop on the coffee table and grabbed the paper. I flicked through and landed on the society pages. I normally stuck to political news, from local, national to international—I liked to be informed on what my government was up to. I had already read those before pausing to check my email. So now I read the society pages. I guess I was just eager to learn about my new city. Or avoid making new friends. It's not that I didn't like people. I was just a bit of a loner by nature, perfectly content with my thoughts. Mostly I hated the awkwardness of trying to make new friends; it was like dancing with someone when you weren't quite sure what type of dance you'd be doing yet. Would it be a waltz? A tango? Or what about a polka?

A name caught my attention on the society pages: Cullen. It sounded familiar. I stared at the paper, racking my brain for where I had heard that name before. After a minute, the answer slowly bubbled up from my subconscious: there had been an article in the local news section about some high profile trial and one of the attorney's last name had been Cullen. With that sorted out, I decided to read more about these Cullens.

It turns out that there were a lot of Cullens—7 to be precise, including the attorney. I read through the list of names in a caption under their picture: Carlisle, Esme, Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice and Edward. Maybe old-fashioned names and big families were in vogue among the elites of Chicago. What did I know? Austin was still holding onto a more hippy vibe; one of my neighbors had been named Rain.

I scanned the faces in the picture. Without reading the blurb, I could neatly pair all but one of them off: Carlisle and Esme who were clearly the oldest, Emmett and Rosalie and lastly Jasper and Alice. My eye fell on the last face in the picture, on the one named Edward. He was the attorney I had read about. And even though I wanted nothing to do a hot shot corporate attorney, I was absolutely and utterly captivated by the man in the picture.

Ridiculous. I was being ridiculous. The Cullens moved in a completely different world then I did and I had never been star-struck. So why should I care about someone I didn't know? Why was I imagining myself in the picture as the 8th Cullen? I snapped the laptop closed again and dressed in a huff, layering up to protect myself against the cold. Supposedly you got used to the cold but I highly doubted I would ever adjust.

I set out to explore my new city, letting my feet be my guide. After about two hours I was frozen to my core. I popped into a nearby bakery to warm up. The place was classy but warm, not just temperature wise—there was something just inviting about it. I splurged on a delicious pastry and a mocha and settled into a comfy arm chair to work on songs for my new album.

As I sat sipping my mocha all I could think about was Edward Cullen. I was going to have to do something about this.