I was walking very fast, which was out of character for me

I was walking very fast, which was out of character for me. But I was furious, and I wanted this to be over as soon as possible. He kept up with me effortlessly, as if this was normal for him. He opened the door for me, and I brushed passed him wordlessly. I walked up to the cashier. "One small vanilla, please," I ordered without glancing at the menu.

"One banana split with extra chocolate and gummy bears."

He paid the cashier as I went to go find a booth to sit in; preferably in the public to keep myself from strangling him. He sat down and slid my ice cream to me. I started shoveling it in quickly. The sooner I was out, the better. He looked at me curiously.

"So where are you from?"

I ignored him, staring at my ice cream.

"Well, I'm from Chicago." He continued, taking another bite.

"Forks," I mumbled.

"Never heard of it, where's it at?" Of course he hadn't heard of it.

"It's in Washington, up near the coast."

"I see. So what's it like there?"

I took a bite of my vanilla ice cream as I ignored him.

He started again, "Well, it's pretty nice in Chicago, if you minus the smog, and pollution. It's pretty windy too, you know, since it is the 'Windy City'." He laughed at his own joke. It was a beautiful sound.

We sat there in silence, eating our ice cream. I was on my last bite when I really started getting bored.

"Usually it's rainy and cold. Those are the best two adjectives to describe it. There's an occasional day of sun." I answered.

"That's nice."

"Mhm."

My spoon fell with a little clink as it hit the tiny bowl. Edward pushed his big bowl towards me, offering me his ice cream.

I lifted my head and looked at him. It was the first time I had really taken a good look at him. He had striking green eyes, unkempt bronze hair, and a perfect little nose. It wasn't too big or too small. Everything on his face was flawless, without a single blemish.

My eyes lingered down to his torso, his muscles slightly showing through his striped polo, the tendons tightening as he held his spoon. I looked at his chest a little harder. It wasn't too big but he certainly was not scrawny.

"You like what you see?" He interrupted.

"No." I shrugged.

He smiled at the lie. "Riiiight. Whatever."

"Don't flatter yourself, Edward."

"Whatever." He repeated, a bigger smile playing on his lips.

I picked up my spoon and started digging into his ice cream.

"So how old are you?"

"15." I answered.

"Hm, me too. Favorite color?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"That's what I said."

"Well, why don't you know?"

"Why do I have to favor one specific color?" I shot back.

"True, but doesn't everyone have favorites?"

"Yes, but I just so don't happen to favor specific colors." I replied, hoping we would stop talking about it.

"Mines blue. What do your parents do?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Alright, you don't have to answer it. But I will—my father's a surgeon at the hospital over in Chicago. My mother is a painter."

I nodded, and took another bite out his ice cream. He leaned up closer, tilting my face up with his hands.

"Bella, I'm making a huge effort to get to know you. The least you could do is do the same. After all, you did make me bleed."

I glared at him. There he goes, guilt tripping me again.

"I just don't want to answer your questions."

We sat there in silence glaring at each other, his hands still on my face. His bright green eyes were piercing, like he was looking through me. Something in his eyes told me that he was trying to get to know me.

I blinked, and pulled away from him.

"Fine. I ask the questions and you answer."

"How about we take turns asking questions, and we answer said questions, even the ones we asked?"

"Deal," I muttered.

"Ladies first."

I started. "Music?"

"A bit of everything, but I tend to like more of the classics. You?"

"Anything appealing. None of that bubble gum pop star stuff though. I like classics also."

It was his turn. "Books? Personally, I enjoy mysteries and anything about problems in the world."

"I like classic books, Shakespeare for example. Food?"

"Well, banana splits for sure. But actual foods, I really like Italian food."

"Me too. But not so much for banana splits."

He smiled widely and took the last bite of his ice cream, "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Backpacking through Europe."

"Hah, alright. A bit close to mine. I'd want to go to England, but you didn't exactly answer my question. Where?"

"I said Europe."

"Well, I meant a country."

"Fine, France." I slouched into my seat. "Why England?"

"My father is from England. He'd always tell me how it is and everything, but we never got to go 'cause he was always too busy with work at the hospital. Why France?"

"It's beautiful there. Also, my mother took up French when I was younger, she always repeated the stories her French teacher told her to me."

"Tell me about your mother."

I was hesitant, I was about to tell a total stranger about the biggest person in my life, "Her name's Renée. She looks a bit like me. But she likes to take risks, unlike me. She's basically the opposite of me, but she's very bright despite the fact that she likes to have fun. She's basically my best friend."

"I see."

"Your turn."

"Well, she's a painter as you know. She's very caring, just like how a mother should be. But she isn't those nosy mothers—she's there to help 'cause for some reason, you just have to tell her what's wrong. She's very sweet too. And her name's Esme."

As the hour went by, we asked and answered our own questions back and forth. He wanted to be a doctor, I wanted to be a writer. We both wanted at least two children, but we couldn't stand screaming little kids. He had ordered another big bowl of ice cream, this time rainbow sherbert. It sat between us, half empty. We talked school, friends, or in my case, lack of friends, and bad habits. He had a habit of walking around in his boxers (A/N whoooo 3 OHBBY.) no matter who was there, and I had a habit of biting my nails.

(He was also quite funny too.) He made me laugh so much, I probably lost weight from shaking uncontrollably.

"Sorry kids, but we gotta close up." An elderly woman told us.

Edward had kindly paid for our ice cream when we were leaving, despite me trying to pay for my own. He once again opened the door for me. It was dark outside as we were walking towards the beach, still asking questions.

"Alright, quick break from the questions. Where do we go to next? Home, or somewhere else?"

"Let's go to the beach." I smiled.

"Alright beach it is. So, my lady, I believe it is your turn."

"Tell me a secret about yourself." I half whispered.

"Hm."

I watched the ground as we walking, awaiting his answer.

"I don't like peas."

I laughed and hit his arm playfully. "Tell me something no one knows!"

"Well, how about…I'm starting to become infatuated with you?"

I hitched my breath. I didn't know what to say, so I came up with this brilliant statement: "Oh er…I just remembered. I-I left my stove…on." My blush was burning my face as I turned and walked away to my cottage, in a complete daze.

My hands were shaking as I tried to get the keys out of my pocket. I walked through the front door, and headed straight to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. What could he possibly be infatuated with? I had plain brown hair and even plainer eyes. My lips seem disproportioned, and my cheeks were always on the red color spectrum. My personality was nothing special—I was always shy. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't even walk without tripping and hurting myself. My body was nothing special—I was neither skinny to the extreme, nor was I considered fat, just straddling a bit below average. I looked more closely, my stomach pressing against the bathroom counter. I saw nothing but a simple wallflower.

I sighed and started to take a shower.

I was in my bed, the fan blowing next to me. Polaroid snapshots of my time today with Edward flickered in my head. "I'm starting to become infatuated with you." His kind voice echoed in my mind. No one had ever told me that they liked me, let alone become interested. And I was correspondingly interested also. But even if we did have a more than a friendship, what would happen after summer? How could I see him again over the year? I knew what I wanted, and it was selfish of me to bring it up with him tomorrow. How was I going to say this?

I have a love for Edward Cullen's skivvies.

Anyways, this one took major editing, and I love my beta for it. If not you'd probably be like "WTF ARE YOU WRITING ABOUT YOU CRAZY LADY?!"