A/N: You will recognize a lot of this chapter form the one-shot, but read again for some new yummy nuggets added throughout.
The characters aren't ours.
Chapter 2: Change Things Up
Sunshine and warmth are unheard of in Manhattan in February, but today was one of those fluke days where the temperature was going to be 60 degrees, not 20. Blame global warming if you must, all I know is that it felt heavenly not to bundle up.
After a disastrous January, I had sworn off blind dates and set ups. I decided it was time to take control of my own destiny, to change things up. Lightening wasn't going to strike. It was time to make my own luck.
I stood at the corner of 55th and Fifth twenty minutes earlier than usual. I had two choices. Go to work or stop and get a cup of coffee. There is a cute little coffee place that I walk by every day. Two years I have taken this route to work and I have never gone in. If I were going change the trajectory of my life, this would be a good place to start.
There was a line five people deep, and the shop was warm. I queued up and waited patiently for my turn. The longer I waited, the warmer it got. I could feel beads of perspiration form on my neck. I fanned myself, but it didn't make a whit of difference.
"It is a bit oppressive in here, isn't it?" A deep voice observed behind me. "Would you like a section of my newspaper? It might be a more effective fan than your hand."
I turned to acknowledge my benefactor, grateful for anything that will bring relief.
Standing behind me was the most breathtakingly beautiful man I have ever seen. Tall, fair skinned, hair that wasn't red or brown but somewhere in between. Shoulders to die for. He was absolutely stunning. My imagination went into over drive…him with no shirt…him in the…GAH! Stop it Bella!
When we made eye contact all inappropriate thoughts stopped. I couldn't get past his eyes. Not just the color, which reminded me of Central Park's Strawberry Fields in June, but the sadness that lurked behind them. Such sad eyes for a seemingly young face.
Something about him struck me as familiar, but I pushed it aside. If I had met Him before, I would most definitely remember.
"Umm…thank you…" I fumbled. He didn't acknowledge my thanks, merely looked at me as if trying to figure out a riddle. I turned back around, embarrassed by my inability to form a coherent sentence.
A whisper of air across my neck caused me to shudder, and I turned to see Him, leaning closer, talking to me. I knew that because his lips were moving. But I didn't hear a word he said. I stood there, mesmerized by those eyes. I wanted to get lost in them. Wanted, I already was.
I am not the type to be dumbstruck by a man. Struck by their dumbness is more like it. Why would I think that this one would be any different? What was it about Him that had me absolutely captivated?
"…shall I meet you there?"
I dug my nails into my hand, the pain a tool to shake myself out of my daze. "I'm sorry?"
He gave me a dazzling smile, and I think my knees literally went weak. "What were you planning on ordering? I'll get it for you and meet you outside."
I felt foolish admitting to a skim mocha, extra whip cream.
"Just black coffee, thank you." Normally, there was no way that I would let a strange man buy me a cup of coffee. I had spent my entire life having men try to 'take care of me,' whether it was my dad, my first boyfriend, or the guys I dated in college. They had always focused on the things that they thought I couldn't do because I was a woman. Tell me I can't do something, and game on. Do something for me because you are being considerate? That is what I am talking about.
I left the shop, and stood just outside the door to enjoy the warmth of the sun. I could see my window down the street, but for once, I had something better to do than day dream.
Mr. Tall, Green Eyed and Really Gorgeous startled me out of my sun worship with a cup of coffee. He made a cryptic comment about making it to my window, and asked me if I was walking up Fifth. Even if I had been going in the opposite direction, I would have never admitted it. Anything to get two more minutes with this man.
I had to think of something to keep the conversation going. Everything I could think of sounded totally corny, so I just gave in.
"At the risk of sounding cliché, do you come here often?"
He laughed at my query and introduced himself. Edward. A bit of an old fashioned name, but with his proper speech and clearly expensive suit and top coat, it was fitting. He almost seemed to belong in another era.
I introduced myself, and acknowledged that this was my normal path to work too. He made an enigmatic comment about breakfast when we stopped in front of Tiffany's
My window looked like someone had puked hearts and lace. They put up the damn valentines display. "Crap. I hate Valentine's Day."
"What do you have against romance, Bella?" Edward queried.
I wanted to sink into the pavement.
Fortunately, my phone chirped. I shot Edward an apologetic look and pulled it out of my back pack. It was a text message from Alice.
- Checking out the strawberry pop tarts?
I laughed as I read the message and typed back a quick reply.
- Trying to take a bite of one now. Leave me alone!
"Strawberry pop tarts?" I heard Edward inquire. I looked up to see his confused expression.
Shit. I must have read Alice's text out loud. I tried to flash a self deprecating smile, which probably made me look like an idiot.
"My friend Alice and I went out last Valentine's Day for a girl's only celebration. I consumed a few too many Cosmo's in my desire to eradicate any memory of the day, and well, I can get a bit philosophical when I drink." I looked down at my feet, embarrassed that I sounded like a lush. It was bad enough that I was telling him the story; I didn't want him to think I was a total alkie too.
"Anyway, we passed by here on our way home, and I ended up spouting a whole diatribe about how strawberry pop tarts are the epitome of the true love. Ever since then, this has been known as the strawberry pop tart window."
Throughout my word vomit, he had never shifted his gaze away from me, a bemused look on his face. "I'm intrigued. Are you going to share your soliloquy?"
A knot began to form in my chest. Here I stood, in front of the window that I dreamed over everyday, with a man that brought out a myriad of physical and emotional reactions which I couldn't begin to describe. I was terrified of saying anything stupid, yet was even more afraid to miss the opportunity of something truly wonderful.
I took a deep breath and launched in, my eyes never leaving the display window.
"True love is like a package of strawberry pop tarts. When you first get it, you are all excited to open the shiny new package. Once it's open, you find two perfectly matched pastries with simple pink frosting and gorgeous colorful sprinkles. But there is more to it, for inside lurks strawberry preserves that remind you of everything good and simple and wonderful in life. Of course, it helps that pop tarts are totally processed, and therefore have a shelf life of forever, that way you don't ever have to worry about them going bad."
Silence. I didn't have the courage to see if he still wore the same bemused expression.
What did I expect? That my drunken ramblings would win over someone like him?
He surprised me by lobbing questions about my success in finding my own strawberry pop tart. I couldn't tell if he as laughing at me or genuinely curious, so I played along in an attempt to mask my embarrassment. I tried to sound light hearted. I was anything but. All my noble intentions to make changes in my life, yet here I was again. Same shit, different day.
But I didn't want it to be the same shit. Not with Edward. Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was something absolutely magnetic about him. I wanted to know more. His dreams, his goals, his favorite color, if he snored or talked in his sleep, what he liked on a hot dog. I wanted to know everything.
It was getting late and I had a nine a.m. meeting with a new author. But I didn't want to leave. I knew it would most likely be the last time I would see him. Scratch last, the only time. I wanted something to remember him by. I didn't want to regret not taking what I could, when I could. It was the story of my life.
I mustered up every bit of courage I had and stepped forward and grabbed his red silk tie. It forced him to lean forward as I balanced on tip toe.
"Thank you for the coffee and for rescuing me." I whispered, and pressed my lips to his. My intent had been to steal one quick kiss. I had to know what he would feel like. But one wasn't going to be nearly enough. I slipped my hand inside his topcoat to grab the lapel of his suit, and pulled him in closer. I darted my tongue out to trace his lower lip. God, they were so soft. He tasted like coffee and cinnamon. The softness of his lips was in direct contrast to the muscles I could feel beneath my hand. Soft was not a word to describe him. Virile. Masculine. Strong. Soft implied weaknesses. There was nothing weak about Edward.
My breath caught a bit as his lips parted. I desperately wanted to hold on forever, but the fear of rejection, of an 'I'll call you' or worse prompted me to release his tie, pivot, and shoot up Fifth Avenue as fast as possible.
It was bad enough to have horrible dates, to not meet the right guys and have to deal with letting them down. But to put myself out there for someone like him and not have him reciprocate, well, I simply wasn't capable of handling that right now. THE guy. We hardly exchanged more than 200 words, but I knew it. And he probably thought I was a dingbat, a girl who drank too much and made up stupid philosophical rants about junk food as a way to make fun of a concept that I wanted desperately to believe in.
My phone beeped again as I entered the building.
- Pink frosting on your chin?
Damn Alice. Goodbye Edward. God how I wish you could be my strawberry pop tart.
Damsel in Distress
A glimpse into the shop's window nearly persuaded me to forego my morning coffee. They were busier than usual, and I would risk still being in line when my daily dose of hope breezed by.
Caffeine and my brunette desire were the only drugs I ingested.
I knew that I could always find coffee on the next block, but I would only get one chance to see her today. I peeked at the time and realized I still had about 10 minutes, and there was nowhere inconspicuous to wait outside. On Fifth Avenue at this time of the morning, people didn't loiter; they bustled.
One of the things I appreciated most about New Yorkers is how little they paid attention to the people around them. I wouldn't be able to get away with such a simple routine in LA without ending up in the gossip pages every day.
I almost walked out the minute I stepped foot in; despite the unseasonable temperatures, they hadn't turned the heat down. It was stifling. The room was packed with wilting patrons. One was frantically fanned herself as she shifted uncomfortably from hip to hip. I could have mistaken her for any one of the pretentious customers whose impatience resulted in undeserved rudeness to the barista were it not for that hair. It was pulled back, which is what deterred me from recognizing her initially.
She was early; she was in front of me; she was hot. Quite literally. So, I offered her my newspaper, and she turned to face me.
I internally berated myself for speaking up. I wasn't ready for this.
Her reaction stopped me for a moment. I was used to that look—deer in the headlights. Did she recognize me?
Finally, I peered directly into her eyes, and their depth engulfed me. I was sure I now shared her ridiculously awed expression. Words eluded me. I attempted to find an appropriate follow up to her simple statement of gratitude:
"Lovely weather we're having."
"Hello, my name is Edward, and I watch you every day."
She turned back around when I didn't respond quickly enough. How rude of me. Abandoning my anxiety, I drew myself closer, and made her an offer I hoped she wouldn't refuse.
"You look positively flushed. Tell me what you plan to order, and I will bring it to you outside. Tiffany's is just next door; perhaps, you would enjoy a little window shopping while you wait. Shall I meet you there?"
She appeared flustered and didn't immediately respond. While I usually found that disconcerting, now it was endearing, as she'd just had the same effect on me.
Once she had gone to wait outside, my patience ran thin.
Why in the world did the people ahead of me all order something with 10 words in the title when all I needed were 2 cups of black coffee? Her request of black coffee had surprised me. I wished I could read her mind then because I had a feeling it wasn't her usual order. She may be simple, but she was also far too creative for such a mundane order.
She waited just outside the door. Her face was turned up toward the sun, as if in worship. I approached slowly. I hadn't been able to study her in detail. I'd never wanted her to notice me before. Like that first day, she was a rare catch in the sea of faces surrounding me. Up until now, I had never looked at her face so closely—only her eyes in the coffee shop. I'd been reacting to an overall image.
I thought of the face that launched a thousand ships, and then I remembered Poe's Helen, the one that "The weary way-worn wanderer bore to his own native shore." That was it exactly. It was a face for which I would do anything, go anywhere, but it was the kind of face that would bring me home again.
I was unsure as to how long she would stand revering the sun, so I stepped forward.
"You didn't make it to the window," I observed as I handed her the drink and gestured toward Tiffany's.
"Um, no." She was clearly perplexed.
"I'm headed in that direction. How about you?"
"Well, yes, me too"
We both sipped and walked silently. I wasn't entirely sure what to do next.
"At the risk of sounding cliché," she remarked, "Do you come here often?"
I laughed. "Every day. I come here every day. My name is Edward, by the way."
"Bella," She said with a smile. A sincere smile. "And me too. I come here every morning."
"I know," I smiled mysteriously. She looked shocked at first, but I quickly added, "Who could resist the allure of breakfast at Tiffany's?"
I should have bade her well and been on my way, but the window with Bella held the promise of something divine, and I hadn't been to church in a very long time.
The display had transformed overnight. There were hearts everywhere. All shapes and sizes.
"Crap. I hate Valentine's Day."
"What do you have against romance, Bella?"
As she told the story of her inebriated oratory on toaster pastries and true love, for the first time, she appeared self conscious. She was worried about my reaction. Her concerns could not have been more unfounded. I began to make a list of my observations.
Simple. Wonderful. Forever.
She healed me with that ridiculous metaphor. Suddenly, I wanted to sing "People pop up with Kellogg's pop tarts!" I would buy them in bulk from now on. Perhaps, I should consider increasing my stock in the company. The real commodity though, was her priceless idealism.
I thought about puppies, warm chocolate chip cookies, walking down the main streets of Disneyland, my mother's perfume, playing catch with my brother, and someday making love to this woman. All things that represented unadulterated joy.
A long strand of hair broke free of her pony tail, and I wanted to reach across, and tuck it behind her ear. Having my hand resting on the side of her head would merely serve as excuse to pull her head closer, to bring her lips in contact with mine. A soft quick kiss.
I knew I wouldn't be able stop with that though. It would turn slow and sensuous. From there, I couldn't be responsible for my actions. I didn't want to scare her away so I left the wayward strand alone.
"So, Bella, have you already opened your shiny new package of pop tarts? Have you already found your matching frosting?" Nothing could be done until I knew if she were single.
"I've had a few shiny packages, but they always ended up being the wrong flavor. Gotta be strawberry, and definitely with frosting."
"Hmm, so let me see if I follow . . . the pop tarts are true love, but the emotion implied in the Valentine window is not?"
She nodded in agreement. "Exactly. The Valentines display reflects commercialism, not emotions."
Then she did something so unexpected. She kissed me. The second our skin made contact, fireworks went off and sparks flew. My God, she even smelled like strawberries. At first I thought she was just trying to shut me up, but then she grabbed on to me with more force. I moaned when her tongue hit my lower lip. The surprise caught up with me, and I was about to respond to her kiss in kind when just as swiftly as she'd pulled me in, she let go. And she was gone.
I was too stunned to move. I stood there at our window feeling her lips on mine. I felt the effects everywhere, and I was grateful for my long overcoat. I took a moment to assess whether anyone had noticed, to see if anyone were holding a cell phone toward me, snapping a picture of this unusually public display of affection. Grateful to find no onlookers, I let out a small "mmm" before continuing on my way to work.
That kiss changed everything. That kiss beckoned me. I added to my list.
Simple. Wonderful. Forever. Beautiful. Brave.
These qualities, her love of Pop Tarts and the Tiffany's window. It was all I knew about her.
It was enough to know I loved her. But she ran, which bewildered me. Certainly, it was not something I was accustomed to. I was usually the one being chased, and more often than not, I was faster. Pursuing her would require stamina, as well as speed.
That kiss. I needed to respond. She thanked me for rescuing her, but she had it wrong. She was no princess tucked high in a tower. She was a woman of action, a woman just as capable of saving as being saved.
A hint . . . a small gesture to begin . . . Something to complement the kiss. To say we can free each other from evil in the kingdom. I picked up the phone to call in a favor.
I didn't bother with the commercial phone number, opting to go straight to her personal line.
She answered with the professionalism I expected, but her tone faltered from the moment I said, "Jess, this is Edward Cullen." I went on to detail my plan. She protested heavily.
"Edward, you know I can't do that! You have to realize there are some things you just can't influence." She claimed the decorator would never allow for any window alterations, and she expressed fear for her job. I had little sympathy for her situation.
"As you well know, I am not accustomed to taking 'no' for an answer. And I'm quite certain, you owe me one. A big one. This is how I intend for you to settle your debt." There was a pause while she decided how to respond.
"Of course, Mr. Cullen," she said returning to a formal tone. "How would you like to start?"
They only had one item that fit my description. It would seem out of place in the current display. Only she would know why it was there.
It was a message.
"I am your strawberry pop tart."
E/N: Jumbo boxes of strawberry pop tarts have to go out to our original BATgirls! Come join us on the Twilighted thread to have some fun!
