1By Tuesday we were yet again flooded with our regular personal ads. In addition to our usual work, we received dozens of Sunday layout ads, responses to the ones posted the week before, and even some responses to responses.

I did my normal sorting tasks before and after I went over the day's regular copy. That seemed tedious work when I was able to read so much more in depth about other people who were looking for love through our new Sunday's personals process. People had gotten the idea and were being far more creative with their ads now that a few weeks had gone by. It was as though they had gotten some silent permission through other people's ads to reveal things about themselves. One man wrote that after two divorces and one custody battle, he really just wanted a nice woman that he could spend time with sans the pressure of a classic relationship.

He got the second largest number of responses yet.

The first was still, by far, The Doctor.

Though his ad had been run almost two weeks prior, women were still sending in responses. And some of them I knew I was going to have to run, even if they made me jealous—women who could boast spelunking trips in South America, women who were accomplished in ways I didn't even know you could be at the age of twenty two, fresh out of college. When I was twenty two, I was still living with a loser of an ex-boyfriend and freelancing for crappy pay that didn't cover any of my medical visits the few months I got sick. I got a better job, a better apartment, health insurance and I lost the boyfriend. Since then I had been on my own, scraping and clawing and climbing to be where I was, which was the copy editor of a newly successful personals section in the paper. It wasn't what I wanted, it wasn't high priority journalism. But I was on my way. I was putting in my time.

So sifting through these ads was just part of it, even if reading the ones from more accomplished, more interesting women made me cringe with jealousy.

And every day while I read the new ads and the responses from the day before, I waited. Had The Doctor given up his search through the ads, or had he simply not found anyone worth responding to? I felt a sting when I thought that. But I shielded myself from the brunt of that sting by reminding myself it was something I had done on a whim, on nothing more than a passing fancy. I didn't mean it, didn't need it. This was pure fun for me, purely some entertainment. I didn't need him to respond.

That did not keep me from wanting it, though.

Days passed and I filled them with work, I filled them with reading and knowing and understanding more and more these people, lonely people, who just wanted companionship. I filled the time with Alice, visiting her and her husband and daughter. I filled them with Emmett and Rosalie who finally made good on Emmett's offer to invite me over for dinner.

And with each passing day, my fantasy of some passion filled romance between this Doctor and me, between this man who seemed fascinating in the most unassuming way and me the least fascinating person possible in the most obvious way faded. It was unrealistic. I should have known better.

I was finishing the layout for Sunday's ads and responses Saturday morning, about to put the finishing touches on it before giving it over to Emmett, when Angela knocked on my door, and like Saturdays past, delivered a last minute batch. I rolled my eyes, said something about procrastination and sending things in late. Angela laughed as I muttered under my breath.

I flipped through them in a cursory manner, not really hoping that he had sent in a response, but thinking that maybe he might have. There were eight new ads, and six responses.

His was the fifth of the six responses.

This is The Doctor again. I must admit, I was startled by the number of replies to my ad, I had not expected such a response. To each of the women interested, thank you for your notice. However, there was one ad that drew my attention most of all, and that was from The Bookworm. Obviously I cannot tell if you are my 'perfect woman', but you sound captivating enough in your own right. I have not dated in some time either, and so beyond the fact that I find myself strangely drawn to your description of yourself as accident prone, your interest in fine wine, and what seems to be your laid-back personality—all of which are interesting enough to peak my attentions—I find myself attracted to the idea of a woman that is willing to stumble through dating with me and be able to laugh when things are awkward or uncertain. So if you find yourself interested in meeting me, in fumbling through something of a first date, I will be at Angelo's on Main Street at seven p.m. this Sunday. I will be wearing a black button down shirt and will have a single rose. I will be waiting for you there. If you do not come I will not be offended, but I sincerely hope that you will.

I read the response and then reread it. I felt a flutter of excitement, then nervousness, then denial, then hope and a butterfly feeling in my stomach. How could this be? The women he had gotten responses from were far more accomplished, with more interesting hobbies, more exciting lives than mine. How was it that he chose me, that he wanted me? It didn't make any sense, and yet, there it was, staring me in the face, right there on my desk.

I read it one more time, and laughed to myself about fumbling through dating. I was sure there would be fumbling, both literal and figurative. I hadn't been kidding about being accident prone. I was the least graceful person I had ever encountered in my life. A flat stable surface held as much danger for me as black ice did for most other people. But regardless of my lack of grace, there was also my lack of experience in dating. Sure I had dated once, a live in boyfriend from years ago that I slept with only twice and hadn't even really loved. He was the first and only, a disaster if there ever was one and it had ended years ago. I hadn't even been remotely interested in another man since then. Which was why I was so surprised when I felt the sudden and unmistakable pull toward this man, this Doctor. And he, for some reason, felt a pull to me. I didn't understand it.

But I needed to know who and what he was. And I needed to know what was it about him that made my stomach bunch up when I read that he was interested in me, the most plain Jane woman in the entire world.

I argued with myself that maybe he was just insane, unattractive and figured the woman who seemed the most homely would be the most likely not to get up and leave. Perhaps he was not nearly as interesting as he made himself out to be and wanted only to find a woman as seemingly uninteresting as he actually was.

And yet no matter how much I told myself that he was probably awful, probably not what he said he was, there was another tug, another moment where I couldn't help but feel this strange something in the pit of my stomach. And that something was telling me that he was everything he said, everything I dreamed he would be and probably more.

Angela knocked on my door again after some time, I wasn't sure how long, asking if the layout was done and could be sent to Emmett. I quickly shuffled the response from The Doctor into the pile of copies, replacing a different response with his. I put the ads and responses into something like the coherent order they were meant to be in and handed them over. She took the folder from my hand and smiled at me. I smiled back and felt it falter as she looked at me a moment longer than I thought she should have just picking up the copy.

But as she left I ignored the strange feeling she was giving me when I realized that The Doctor had mentioned meeting Sunday night, this Sunday night.

That meant tomorrow.

My stomach bottomed out.

"Bella, are you alright?" Angela asked. I nodded, my eyes wide.

"I just feel a little funny. It'll pass," I said quietly.

I smiled halfheartedly, trying to pull off not feeling well as she walked out of the office. I knew I was an awful liar, and if I hadn't been so suddenly filled with terror and anticipation making my stomach churn I would not have been able to look appropriately ill.

The next day dragged on and on like it would never end. I was scared out of my mind, but also dying with anticipation for the night to come. I couldn't stand it. I was so excited, and scared and a million other things. I finished Monday's copy in record time. When the end of the day came I couldn't get out of the building fast enough.

I got home at five and sighed. I wasn't the kind of woman to take hours and hours to get herself ready to go out. But…it had been so long since I had gone out with anyone anywhere that I wasn't really sure what I should be doing, besides the fact that I was nowhere near prepared for this. I thought there would be correspondence back and forth between us before we met up in person, but here he was, asking me to meet him for dinner already. My heart was pounding in my chest at the mere thought.

I immediately jumped into the shower and washed myself thoroughly. Then I stood in my bathrobe, staring into my closet, realizing that I had nothing to wear on a date. I had work clothes, I had casual clothes, I had pajamas. I had nothing even remotely date-like. I was going to have to do something that I dreaded almost more than I was dreading this date. I took a deep breath.

I picked up the phone and dialed Alice. She answered after the third ring and I was simultaneously thankful and terrified.

"Hi, Bella, how are you?" she asked calmly. The baby must have been asleep.

"I'm frantic, Alice. I need your help. Your…fashion help," I admitted. I heard Alice's shocked intake of breath.

"Really?" she asked excitedly.

I muttered a response that sounded something like yes.

"For what, what am I dressing you for?" she inquired. I cringed at her question.

I couldn't decide what I hated more – telling Alice I needed help finding something to wear or telling her the reason I needed help was because I had a date. She was likely to go completely insane with the thought of me dating. She had been on my case about it for years. Ever since Jake and I ended, she had been trying to set me up with someone so I could find the kind of love she believed everyone deserved. I didn't disagree with her; I just thought that some people found it and other people didn't. She was one of those people who found it; I was one of the people who didn't. She didn't agree with me, but I told her to stop trying to set me up with her friends after a little while. After the pathetic attempts at gentlemanly behavior or anything resembling etiquette or conversation, I was done trying for a while – a long while as it turned out.

"I have a date," I whispered.

There was a scream on the other end of the line followed by the distinct sound of a baby's cry. Alice said something to someone who was not me, and then the baby stopped crying. I could only assume that Jasper was there.

"Bella, don't you worry. Jasper is going to take care of Lily, and I will be over in ten minutes to fix you up."

I didn't have the chance to say anything before she hung up on me.

She was a woman of her word and nothing if not punctual. She was knocking on my door and letting herself into the apartment in ten minutes flat.

"Now, while I am not happy that you didn't tell me about this until just now, I am willing to forgo being angry for the moment and simply help you so you can tell me all about it while I pick something out for you to wear," she fired at me. I looked at her, stunned as she brushed past me to my closet.

As she went through all the things in my closet she asked me routine questions: what time was I meeting him, where, what his name was, where we had met.

The first two I could answer, but the third I had no idea, and the fourth I was far too embarrassed to mention. But I knew I wasn't nearly a good enough liar to pull anything else off but the truth. She would spot my lie immediately and it would only make her mad and more curious about what I was hiding. So I took a deep breath and let it out in one long sigh.

And then I told her the truth.

"Oh Bella, I knew it! I knew you were going to find someone when you took over my job; it's why I insisted you replace me while I'm on leave. Are you excited?" she asked, practically gushing. I tried to smile and act as excited as she was.

"I'm nervous, does that count?" I asked with a shrug. She laughed and turned back to my closet.

In true Alice form, she turned what I thought was a hopeless wardrobe, and in her opinion was severely lacking anything useful, into something lovely. She paired a khaki shirt I had with a navy blue, v-neck sweater and a pair of navy flats, added in some blue jewelry and a little bit of mascara (no matter what I did to resist) and I looked like I was halfway presentable.

"If you end up going out with this man again you and I are going to have to do some shopping to prepare you. I am a miracle working, Bella, but there is only so much a miracle can do," she said, admiring her work with a smile. I smiled back at her tentatively and then looked at the clock. I had just enough time, if I went right then, to make it to the restaurant in time. I said a hurried goodbye to Alice with a promise of much thanks and an offer to repay her in a way of her choice whenever she needed for working something into an outfit that was suitable for a first date.

I jumped in my car and drove to Angelo's. When I got to the doors of the restaurant, I took a slow few breaths and steeled myself. Maybe he would not be what I wanted him to be, maybe he would be horribly ugly, or boring, or a pervert. I decided that my curiosity would never be satisfied if I didn't take the plunge, and that it was well worth the risk. I pushed the doors open and walked up to the hostess podium. A pretty young woman, probably about twenty asked me how she could help me.

"Actually, I'm meeting someone here," I told her, scanning the room, looking for a man in a black button down shirt and a single rose. I saw no one matching the description. Maybe he was in the bathroom, I suggested to myself. "Has anyone come in here asking for a table for two by themselves?" I asked. The girl shook her head.

"Okay, well, I'll just wait for them then," I said. She smiled at me and I took a seat on one of the benches they put out for waiting.

Ten minutes passed. Couples walked in, families entered, single women and single men who did not fit the description I was given came in for their meals. No one who was wearing what I was informed The Doctor would be wearing. Maybe he was running late. Or maybe he wasn't coming.

Another five minutes passed and I sighed in slight annoyance. I was beginning to think that maybe this whole thing was a big joke set on poor Bella, the perpetually single girl who couldn't get a date to save her ridiculous life. I started to feel absurd there, waiting. I decided to give it five more minutes in case he had some excuse for being twenty minutes late to a first date.

Five more minutes.

Four more minutes.

Three more minutes.

Two more minutes.

One more minute.

The hostess looked at me with pity in her eyes as I sighed and got up from the bench. I looked once more into the dining area, lit sparsely with little lamps, open enough that I could see everyone in the room. None of them was The Doctor.

I turned around in a huff, humiliated at having done any of this in the first place. I couldn't believe that I had just wasted all this time and effort trying to make myself look nice for a date that wasn't even going to happen. I was furious with this Doctor for standing me up, but more furious with myself because I had let myself get the idea into my head that something like this might work out. I walked out the doors of the restaurant, muttering under my breath about stupid men while tears pricked my eyes.

It would have been a perfect moment for him to come running out of his car, holding the rose. I could have confronted him and he could have said that he was saving some child's life at the hospital and I could accept that, we could have a good date and he could be everything I wanted him to be. It would be a perfect movie moment.

Too bad that didn't happen.

I drove home. I wiped off the makeup on my face, put on pajamas and sat on my couch eating ice cream and watching stupid reality television. Alice called and left a message on my machine, hoping my date had gone well and wanting to hear everything. I didn't have the heart to call her back and tell her my frustration. Being stood up was bad enough, but being stood up by a guy you met through the personals when you knew you shouldn't have put the response up anyway, in a situation when you knew you were stupid to think a man who sounded like that would be interested in someone like me was infinitely worse. He probably rethought his choice and realized that a woman like me wouldn't be interesting enough for someone like him.

I fell asleep on my couch.

I woke up miraculously the next morning with enough time to get to work. I was groggy. I was still angry. I went into work in a foul mood, sat at my desk with my ritual coffee and muffin already there. There was a message from Frank on my desk saying that he loved the ads from this week and he was awaiting the response from the Sunday layout. It made me a feel a little better as I looked through the copy for Tuesday, did my usual correcting and then gave it to Angela for editing. It was a normal day. Except I felt like a fool.

After I had a brief lunch Alice called me. I told her what had happened the night before, how I had gotten stood up. I left out how ridiculous I felt.

"Why that bastard! I cannot believe this! I'm incensed! I'm so angry right now. If I were still there I would find the asshole and give him a piece of my mind. He is so lucky I am not pregnant any more or I would definitely do it, even on leave," she said on the other side of the line.

"Don't trouble yourself, Alice. It isn't a big deal," I said. I was lying of course, but over the phone it would be harder for her to tell.

"It is so a big deal, Isabella Marie. You haven't taken any sort of risk in the dating world in years and then the one time you do you get yourself stood up. I am so sorry honey, really. He is an awful man."

"You don't know that, Alice. For all you know it was an accident, he got caught up, who knows."

"Don't make excuses for some guy you don't know, Bella. He is an asshole. Leave it at that. Do you want to come over and eat ice cream with me tonight?" she asked.

"No," I said dejectedly, "I ate enough ice cream to overload anyone on dairy for months. And you should just relax with your family. I'll be okay," I assured her. I heard her sigh on the other side of the line, but I couldn't let her take care of me when I was feeling bummed. She had a baby, a husband, a whole little family. I could handle my own issues. I would just have to be self sufficient. It wasn't as though I was incapable.

After a few more words between Alice and I we hung up and I decided to go get another coffee. Right as I was opening my door to retrieve some caffeine there was a knock and the door swung open. Of course, being as clumsy as I am, the door pushed into me instead of what I wanted to do, which was step out of the way. Angela stood in the doorway with someone behind her, as I sat on the floor after falling on my ass.

"Oh! Bella, are you alright?" Angela asked.

"Peachy," I replied. I stood up and brushed myself off.

"I'm so sorry, but this man is here and wanted to know who he could talk to about our Sunday layout. I told him you are the copy editor and came up with the idea."

I looked past her and for a moment I realized I was glad I didn't see him too well when I was on the floor. I would have been mortified – well, more than I was at that moment.

He was beautiful. He was taller than Angela, much taller than me, with a lithe form that fit so well into the slacks and button down he was wearing I could hardly stand it. But my eyes lingered on his body for a fraction of a second before traveling of their own volition to his face. It was something that should have been in museums. He looked like he was sculpted from marble. Perfect sloping nose, defined chin, high cheekbones, perfect mouth, startlingly, beautifully, unfairly green eyes set under long lashes and unruly bronze hair that seemed to go everywhere. I felt a shudder ripple through me.

"Mr. Cullen, this is my boss, the editor for the personals, Bella Swan," Angela said, stepping out of my office quietly, closing the door behind her. I took a breath and smelled a deep, sweet smell, like hazel and man. I said in a voice that squeaked far too much for my own liking for this man to sit down as I walked around my desk to take a seat myself. I didn't trust my legs to keep me up with him around. Saying my knees felt weak was an understatement. My entire body felt like it had gone to jelly just by being a few feet from this man. I knew there was something I wasn't getting here, some underlying knowledge that was prodding my mind to remember but it was hard to think.

"So, what brings you here, Mr. Cullen?" I asked, my voice blessedly stable.

"Well, I fear that I may have insulted someone who reads your personal ads and I was hoping you could help me find an adequate way to apologize using your space," he replied. His voice was like velvet, soft and almost warm and comforting. It made me want to relax.

"Well I would be glad to help, if only I understood what it was you thought I could do for you," I told him. He smiled.

"Well, you see, last night I was supposed to meet a woman out for dinner, but unfortunately I was unable to make it until much later. The hostess told me there was a woman waiting for someone who had left about five minutes before I arrived looking very upset. I am afraid she will be very angry with me, and I think the only way to apologize would be to use the personals' space, seeing as I do not know how else to find her."

My heart dropped to my feet, bounced back into my throat, settled in my chest and began to beat double time. This was The Doctor? There was no way. It couldn't be. How was it possible that this man, this god needed any help finding dates? It just didn't make sense.

"You're The Doctor?" I asked, my voice higher pitched than it had been a moment before. He nodded with a shy smile on his face.

"I'm afraid The Bookworm might be unhappy with me," he said with chagrin.

"Well do you have a good reason for being late?" I inquired. I was still in shock. I couldn't believe my mouth was working. I couldn't believe I was asking him this. There was no way I could tell him I was The Bookworm. I had embarrassed myself the first five seconds he had seen me. And there was no way, after seeing him, that I could possibly ever compare. He would never want a woman like me, so plain and uninteresting compared to a man who was interesting, and accomplished and more attractive than any one man really had the right to be. There was no way he would be interested in me.

"There was a little girl in my ward that had to go into surgery yesterday. She asked me if I would be there when she woke up because she was scared. I promised her I would be. I thought at most I would be five minutes late, but she didn't wake up until seven o'clock, and I had to make sure she was alright. I went to the restaurant still in my hospital clothes just to get there as quickly as possible but my date was already gone. I feel awful, but I can't apologize to her in any other way than this because I don't know who she really is. Do you understand where I am coming from?"

I nodded. I felt my heart swell. He didn't stand me up; he was waiting for a scared little girl to come out of surgery. If there was a more heart wrenching of a story in the entire world, I wasn't sure what it was. I felt awful for having been so angry. I couldn't have known, but if I had only stayed another five minutes I would have seen him. He would have seen me.

"So you want to write a public apology to this woman hoping she will forgive you?" I asked. He nodded, still with that shy smile on his face. My God, he was beautiful.

"Well, Mr. Cullen ―"

"Edward."

I smiled.

"Edward, I think it is an excellent idea. Perhaps you would like to draft something up and then send it in. Do you want to put it in another Sunday ad or a weekday ad?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I want this to run for tomorrow's paper. I want her to see my apology as soon as possible," he claimed adamantly. His voice was urgent, but supplicating. It was amazing how quickly and easily he bent my will. I sighed. There was a half an hour before deadline, but if he could write something up and I could fix it and bring it to Emmett before that time, we could run it tomorrow.

Or, I thought, you could just tell him it was you, he could apologize to you, and there would be no reason.

I couldn't. I couldn't reveal myself to him like this, after being humiliated. I wasn't sure if I could reveal myself to him at all. I was now petrified of the idea of him knowing who The Bookworm truly was.

So I explained about the deadline to him and he nodded understandingly. He asked for a piece of paper so he could write a rough draft of what he wanted to say. I gave him a sheet of lined paper and a pen. I watched him write, fiddling with the pen every so often before putting it down, rereading what he had written and then passing it to me with a sigh. I took the paper from him and I felt him watching me as I had watched him. His handwriting was perfect, beautiful, legible and unfairly neat.

To The Bookworm, I must apologize most profusely. I know it seemed as though I simply stood you up last night at the restaurant, a date I set up myself. You must be horribly offended and disappointed with me. But along with my most sincere apologies I must offer an explanation. I fear my work at the hospital sometimes puts me behind the schedule I make for myself, the delay in this case being a seven year old girl who asked me to watch over her after she came out of surgery. According to the hostess at the restaurant, I missed you by no more than five minutes. Again, I apologize most profusely, more genuinely than I could possibly explain. I hope you will allow me to make it up to you. Perhaps we can try dinner again, this Friday night, same time same place? It is my day off, so I promise I will not be late nor will I stand you up. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me, if not, I will understand completely.—The Doctor

I read his apology letter twice before putting it on my desk and looking up at Edward Cullen. He was eloquent, compassionate, beautiful and had excellent penmanship.

I was a goner.

"Do you think she will forgive me?" he asked. There was an air of genuine questioning when he asked.

"Edward, I don't think she will have much of a choice with an apology like that," I said. He smiled.

"One can only hope."

Another fifteen minutes passed in my office between Edward Cullen and me. We made small talk while I typed up his apology. While I was typing I told Angela to call Emmett and tell him we were redoing our layout so not to use the one we had brought him. She did as I asked and I added Edward's apology letter to the layout as soon as it was done being typed, reworking it so the letter would fit. He thanked me, asked me where he should go to pay for the ad. I directed him to the billing office and then we said our goodbyes.

I watched him go and let out a long sigh as he walked out. Immediately after he was gone I called Alice.

She answered her phone and sounded surprised to hear from me.

"Alice, I just met The Doctor!" I exclaimed into the phone.

"What? How?"

I explained the events that led him to my office and she listened intently.

"So you didn't tell him that The Bookworm was you?" she asked, sounding perplexed.

"No, of course I didn't. Alice, did you hear me when I told you what he looks like? He is practically a Greek god. He might as well be Zeus himself. And now I feel like such an ass, not only because I was so angry with him when he had a perfectly reasonable excuse to be late, but because I made a complete fool of myself within the first ten seconds of him seeing me. If he knew it was me, he would never want to date me. I don't compare."

I heard Alice snort on the other side of the line, sounding disapproving. But I didn't ask. I was too overwhelmed.

"So what now? Are you going to go to the date?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. On the one hand, how can I not? After that apology and knowing who he is, I would feel like I was betraying all of womankind by letting an invitation to a date go to waste. But now that he has met me, and I didn't tell him I was The Bookworm, what will he think when I show up? He might be angry that I let him place that ad," I reasoned. Alice sighed.

"I think you should go, Bella. You took a chance placing that response, you took a chance going to meet him on Sunday, why not take a chance and let him have a fair shot at something with you?"

"But ―"

"Worry about any of the terrible ends that might come when they come. I know you; I know you like to organize everything. I know for you, everything has its place, ever risk is assessed. For once, can you please just let something in your life be chaotic and unsure and enjoy the spontaneity? If he is angry with you, then let him be angry. And if he is so angry that he doesn't want to see you, it is his loss, because he is not going to find a more beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, wonderful woman than you. It just isn't possible."

"What about you?" I asked jokingly.

"I'm already married, Bella. I don't count. Besides, he sounds much more like your type anyway. I prefer my men tall, blond and slightly southern."

"You lucked out with Jasper then," I replied dryly.

"I surely did. But listen, you are going to need something to wear, to really knock him on his ass when you see him, so he won't even think about you not admitting to being The Bookworm. Why don't you come over after work tomorrow and we can online shop. I can make sure it gets delivered to you next day so you can wear something new to your date," she suggested. I sighed but finally agreed. With that agreed upon we then hung up, and I continued working, sorting through Sunday layout ads before the day ended.

The next day I went to work, and like I had promised, I went to Alice's apartment at the end of the day. Lily was up but quietly resting in her mother's arms. Alice was really taking to motherhood with a sort of ease that was wonderful to see. We went to her computer, Alice holding Lily in a chair while I dragged one beside her to look at things. We rifled through page after page of online things, eventually to settle on a deep indigo dress that Alice insisted would look stunning on me. It wasn't too revealing or too safe; it was just daring enough to cause a stir, according to Alice. Personally, I couldn't help but be apprehensive but I loved the color and cut of the dress, and agreed to purchase it.

When it arrived at my house I tried it on and much to my pleasure and equal dismay it did exactly what Alice said it would do – look outrageously good on me. I knew I had to go now, if only because I bought this beautiful new dress.

But also because I had slipped a response into the paper today to his apology letter. I didn't need to address it to him; he would know with the few short words that it was to him. Because in the layout, I had written four words to let him know he was forgiven. When he read it he would know that we were on for the Friday night date. Right in the middle of the page I had included my agreement.

I will be there.