note from the author- umm, forgot to add, but all human, and obviously from Esme's point of view. This chapter is a little slower, but it's just a lead in to the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW!!

"Esme?" Julie asks cautiously, crouching down so that she's at eye-level with me.

"I just can't forget him yet," I sob, rembering the day Eric died.

"Esme, it's okay. No one blames you. It's just... It's just that we thought that you were over him," she comforts me.

"What about Joey?" I cry, the river of tears streaming down my face gently slowing.

"He left right after you said no," she answers, and my body's shaken by another wave of tears. "Don't worry, I'll take you home."

"Thanks," I cry into her shoulder as she helps me up. I lean on her as we walk to her car, and she helps me into the passenger's side of the car. The ride to my house is silent, except for the tears still flowing down my face, staining my knee-length dress. As we pull into my driveway, I toss a "Thank you" and "Goodbye" over my shoulder, and then escape from the car, running up to my house and unlocking my door. I scramble up the stairs into my room and collapse on my bed, crying myself to sleep.

I wake up, my hair a mess and slightly damp, still in my dress. I get up, and start the warm water of my shower. I step in, and let the soothing water run over my body, loosening my muscles and warming up my cold bones as I start to cry a little more. Not crying because I had turned down someone to replace Eric, but because I miss Eric so much. Maybe I should explain.

Last summer, my fiance, Eric, died in a car accident. We were driving to a secluded cliff area, our favorite spot for a picnic, when an idiot ran a redlight, and hit straight on with our car. We were rammed into a side-rail, and I was fine, except for a few cuts and bruises, and a broken leg. But Eric's neck had snapped, killing him instantly. The anniversary is in a week and a half, and I'm not sure how I'll handle it.

I wash my hair, rinsing it, and then step out of the shower after turning the water off. I grab a towel, and quickly dry myself down, the tears stopped. I dry off quickly, and change into a dress suit. I comb out my damp hair, and then walk downstairs to make myself breakfast. I pour a bowl of cereal, and drown the cereal in milk. I chomp on it, choking down the tasteless food, even though this is normally my favorite cereal. I wash my dishes by hand, (the stupid dishwasher's broken!) and then trudge upstairs again. I brush my dry hair to get all of the accumulated tangles out, and then hurry through putting my make-up on. I glance at my clock and then walk down my stairs and out to my garage. I open the garage door, and then get into my Taurus, starting the smooth and quiet engine. I drive to work, and pull into an open space closest to the office.

"Esme, good to see you," calls Dana, an excelent artist who moved about a month ago to Holland from Forks, Washington.

"Hello, Dana. How's that restoration coming?" I ask her.

"Oh, pretty good, I'm almost done," she answers. "And you? I understood that you were restoring Paul Cezanne's Landsape at Auvers."

"Yea, but I'm only halfway through it. Well, I better get to work," I say, ending my discussion with Dana.

"Yea, goodbye," she says awkwardly, turning her attention back to her painting. I walk up the marble, spiral staircase, into my office. I pull the old stool close to Cezanne's painting, and get out my paints and palette. I start with the shading, but am soon interrupted by the office phone.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Esme, please report to the front desk, we've got a Mr. Cullen requesting your presence," Shela, my clerk, tells me.

"Thank you, Shela," I say, and hang up. What would Carlisle want? Had he maybe heard about my breakdown at the Anchor? Would he tell me that it's time to get over his brother? He's never been so harsh on me before, but there's a first for everything... I think as I walk down the spiral staircase, pass Dana's office, and to the front desk.

"Hey Carlisle," I greet him, giving him a hug.

"Hi Esme. Listen, I need to talk to you. Would you join me for coffee?" he asks me, and I can tell that he's going to talk about something serious.

"Sure. Right now, or later? Or, what?" I ask.

"Well, would right now work for you?"

"Yeah, that would work great," I answer, and he leads me out to his car.

"So, what's been going on with you lately, it's been, what, three months?" I ask as we drive down the road to Sweet D's cafe down the road.

"I got a dog a few weeks ago. She's the sweetest little Golden Retriever ever. I named her Ginger," he answers as we pull into a spot in front of the cafe.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask as we slip into a corner booth.

"You see, I want to talk about my brother," he starts.

"Listen, Carlisle. I'm fine. I just miss your brother. I'm not ready to move on yet, to forget him. What happened last night was exactly that. When faced with having to move on, I just wasn't- and I'm still not- ready to give my entire heart to someone else," I say, raising my voice a little bit, and then storming out of the small cafe, the door bell ringing cheerily and mockingly as I do so.

"Wait, Esme, just listen to me. That's not what I wanted to talk about," he calls as I storm down the street.

"Carlisle, I just can't talk about it right now. Call me later," I say, crossing the street and entering the back way into my office, taking the spiral steps two at a time. I open my office door to find someone in my office.

"May I help you?" I ask a six foot tall man with brown hair.

"Um, yes. My name is Devan Namovich, and I'm here for the job interview," he informs me, extending his hand for me to shake.

"Oh, right," I say, shaking his hand and then sitting down. "One of our workers, Dana, found a better offer across the state, and we need someone else to take over her position.

"How well do you think you paint?" I ask him.

"Well, i think that I paint rather well, and I've worked for several other restoring companies," he answers.

"I see that this is your resume," I say as he hands me a folder.

"Yes."

"Well, I shall look this over, and I'll let you know if you get the position. But, I would like to see some of the work you've done, so if you could bring that by somethime, I'd appreciate it," I tell him, and dismiss him with a handshake.

"Thank you," he says, departing with those few words.