Big thanks to LSD (lightstardust) and StoryPainter for beta'ing this chapter for me you did an amazing job. Also huge thanks to latessitrice for pre reading and to the lovely ladies who I WC with (you know who you are.)

Love's little book

Chapter 2

The next morning my thoughts were consumed by the piece of paper I had found the day before. That piece of paper, I decided, got stuck to my leg for a reason. Maybe I didn't find that piece of paper at all, maybe that piece of paper found me.

It may sound really pathetic to some that I was getting so excited about volunteering in a book exchange program. It didn't sound too riveting and it probably meant spending most of my time with old people. Yet, it was a way out. The Book Exchange could be a refuge from the sterile home where I lived and the lonely existence I led.

I could help them whilst also helping me; the situation was perfect.

Whilst eating my toast and sipping on my black coffee, I read over the flyer again. There were no clues about the job, the program or the man behind it. I was completely in the dark. In truth, I knew nothing about volunteering at all. All my assumptions were based on popular culture which is never the best source of information.

Yet, I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach; I was sure volunteering was a great idea because it had to be. I had to do something to change the way I was living, I had to meet people and get myself out of the rut I was in or I was going to drown in it.

I knew that the best person to talk to get information would be my mom since she made it her business to know as much as she could about everyone. No doubt she had heard about 'The Boston Book Exchange' and she could have probably given me the low down and more on Mr. Cullen.

For a moment I thought of calling her, only then I remembered our conversation from our lunch the day before. There was no way I could handle that craziness two days in a row, no matter how curious I was.

Once a week at lunch was enough.

I really had no one else to ask. All my friends were Mike's friends first and I didn't want to put them in the position where they felt like they had to choose. So I had reluctantly pulled myself away from them.

After I had finished my breakfast, I went to my room and pulled out my hardly-used laptop. After nearly an hour of searching I was none the wiser. I had found a small article from when the store had opened a few years back, but, other than that, nothing.

The lack of information made me wonder how the hell this book exchange was being funded. There seemed to be no advertisements for it at all.

I also Googled 'Mr E. Cullen,' but felt like a bit of a creeper, so in the end I left it. Seemed like the only way I was going to get the information I needed would be to go down there and find out firsthand.

I pondered what to wear for longer than was necessary.

What would this man like to see in a volunteer? I wondered.

My last job had been a check-out girl, so I hardly had anything professional to wear.

I searched the bottom of my half empty wardrobe and pulled out the only nice sweater I owned. It was forest green, v-neck and fit me well. The only problem was that it had tiny bobbles littering its surface from being over worn, but it was the only thing that looked halfway professional, so it would have to do.

I paired it with black jeans and plain black flats. I scooped my hair into a high ponytail, thinking that hair up was more professional.

Picking up my bag and the piece of paper, I hurried towards the door, leaving quickly before I could change my mind.

I watched Boston pass me by out the window of the bus I was traveling on. The grey buildings and bright green trees blurred as the bus zoomed past them. The colors split and spread into each other.

I got off the bus and from there it was a five minute walk. I already knew the area well, having had a friend that had lived there years before.

Finally, I came to a stop outside the shop I was looking for matching the address on the flyer to that of the one on the building. It was not what I had imagined.

I had thought that 'The Book Exchange' would be a bright, organized and open space.

What was in front of me was the complete opposite; it was small, dark and dingy. Outside was a small sign, letting me know that I was at the right place. The windows were half covered with stacked dusty books. To most it would have been off-putting and a sign to turn around and go back where they came from, but I was undeterred.

I took a deep breath and walked straight in.

Inside it was darker and dingier than I thought, and there were more books than I had ever seen in my life. There were shelves to the ceiling on either side of me that were crammed with books, and stacks on the floor in front of them coming up to around knee-height. This left me with a very narrow space to walk.

It was so dark that I couldn't see much in front of me and the shop was narrow, which didn't help in my navigation.

"Hello," I whispered into the darkness.

No one answered.

I stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next. I didn't want to intrude but at the same time this was a shop so surely there was someone around. I slowly and carefully walked along the book corridor in front of me, looking at the mess of the place it was not surprising that they needed help.

I could see that the space got wider in front of me, turning into the typical square room that you would expect. It was still full of books but the space was larger and airier and there was a small window at the side letting in a little light.

In the dim light I could see the dust swirling and dancing around; clearly it needed a good clean.

At the back of the room was a large mahogany desk that was covered in even more books and piles of papers. And there, behind the desk and the books and papers, was a man.

He appeared to be lost in thought, hunched over, pen in hand, scribbling away furiously.

The small amount of light in the room seemed to illuminate him and I stopped dead in my tracks.

This isn't the part where I tell you that this man was handsome, that is not necessarily what he was.

The first thing I noticed was penny-colored hair that was stood up in thick uncontrollable tufts all over his head. It appeared as though he had tried to style it, but failed miserably. His hair was probably a little too long, and I would imagine a complete nuisance but complemented his face perfectly. It fell over his forehead and hung ever so slightly in his eye line, he had a strong nose, high cheekbones and unearthly pale, flawless skin.

He looked young, much younger than me, and I instantly ruled him out as being Mr. E Cullen.

He reached a hand up and rubbed his strong and stubbled jaw. He was deep in concentration, his forehead creased as he found some problem with what he was doing. His hand moved up to rake through his hair in irritation.

It was at that moment that he noticed another presence in the room. His head shot up, his fingers still entwined in his hair and he looked at me in shock. I gasped lightly when his surprised eyes met mine.

I was mesmerized. His eyes, wide and emerald green, were a perfect contrast to his pale skin and bronze hair.

No, this man was not handsome; he was odd, intriguing and strangely beautiful.

He stood quickly. His chair scrapped loudly across the wooden floor and he seemed unsure of himself, unused to there being someone else being there.

"Hi," he said nervously.

I smiled; he looked like a deer in headlights, which I found unbelievingly cute. I wondered if he was another volunteer, or if he actually worked there.

I ran my eyes down his well-formed figure, checking him out as discreetly as I could. He was lean yet muscular. He was wearing baggy jeans and a blue sweater that could have rivalled mine for percentage of bobbles. He all in all looked a bit scruffy, but it only made him more endearing.

"Hi, I am looking for a Mr. E. Cullen," I said politely.

He moved his hands to the pockets of his jeans and rocked back nervously on his heels.

"Um th-that would be me," he stuttered.

My eyes widened in shock again. That I was not expecting.

"Oh okay, well, um, I heard that you are looking for volunteers."

He looked at me in absolute horror and I panicked. Why would he look at me like that? Was the concept of me volunteering for him that awful?

There was an awkward silence and I felt myself fill with dread. This wasn't how this meeting for supposed to go.

I hurriedly searched through my bag, pulled out the advertisement and I held it out for him.

"I found this yesterday, you are still looking for help right?" He pulled himself out of whatever trance he had been in and rushed around the desk to stand directly in front of me.

He took the paper from my hand. "Yes, I am still looking for help."

I gazed up at him, close up he was even more marvelous then he was from a distance, his features were so distinct and sharp, but I also noticed the small lines around his eyes, the crease of his forehead and mouth. He was older then I had placed him before, probably a lot closer to my age then I had thought.

"So, I have no experience and I know nothing about books, but I really want to help," I said happily and probably a little too enthusiastically. His expression grew more and more shocked.

"You want to volunteer?" he asked disbelievingly.

I looked at the mess around me. "Yeah. Besides, I think you could really use the help."

The stain of pink colored his cheeks.

"I'm Bella, by the way," I said as I watched him, saving him from the embarrassment of my last comment, he was so nervous and uncomfortable in my presence. I wasn't offended, I had a suspicion that he was like that with everyone.

"I'm Edward, Edward Cullen."

"So Edward Cullen, can I volunteer for you?" I asked.

He blushed again. "I, um... yeah, sure. Are the hours on the advertisement OK with you?" He asked, all flustered.

"Yeah, they are fine," I replied.

"Well, um, why don't you come back tomorrow at one o'clock and we can go over some more things and get you all started," he said shyly.

I nodded happy that he had accepted my offer.

"OK, so tomorrow then?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes, tomorrow."

I looked him over one last time, turned around, and left with a large grin on my face.

The whole journey home I thought about the new man I had met. He really was quite peculiar and extremely nervous. He was attractive but not in a conventionally handsome way, which I found odd.

However, I decided on that journey back to my boring world that I quite liked odd. Odd was new, odd was different.

Odd was a change from the bland my life had become.

Thanks for the amazing reviews for the first chapter, please keep them coming.