Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chapter 2 Grumpy People

BPOV

I was much better by the time Freya made it home mid Saturday afternoon but not having had a hangover since finishing out High School in Florida it was a while before I was convinced I wasn't going to die.

And, having dissected my night out with my daughter, we've decided there's nothing wrong with me, I'm just not one of the 'party people'. She thinks I'm more likely to find the man for me in a reading group than a nightclub and I have to say she's probably right. In a month or two I might actually look.

We had a normal weekend. Shopping for groceries, haggling over the chores, eating popcorn and watching movies. Taking the 'A Lots' to the park and feeding them junk food, before handing them back to their prematurely relaxed looking parents. She did her homework and I toyed around with some ideas for work then painted her toe nails.

We parted company at the top of the stairs on Sunday night with a warm hug.

…..

"Freya! So help me, get up or I'll . . . ."

"I'm up, I'm up!"

Liar.

"Get out of bed!"

One. Two. Three.

Thump.

Thump.

Pause.

"I'm up!"

Pause.

Thump, thump, thump, thump . . . . bang!

Some routines, they really suck . . . . and if I start with the left eye maybe the gods will smile on me and I can get both done . . . .

"Dammit!"

The waffle iron is toast, there's probably a joke there somewhere, but the batter is definitely more unappetizing puddle than breakfast.

And apparently superstition is bunkum, because as I start rifling the cupboards for cereal Freya breezes into the room, remote already in hand, the other held out expectantly.

"No waffles."

"What?!"

"Iron's not heating up."

"Well, shi-oot." She huffs, flopping into a chair.

"Cereal?"

She eyes the box in my hand like I've just offered her rat poison.

"You ate it yesterday." I point out.

"I'll go without." She says with a martyred sigh, turning her attention to the TV.

Fine. You do that. Solidarity with the starving millions in Africa.

Leaning over I flick the power off at the wall and her wide eyed, annoyed, attention returns to me.

My eyebrow goes up, it may or may not be the one with eye shadow under it.

We stare at each other for a moment.

She blushes and averts her eyes.

"Sorry Mom, cereal is fine. Thank you."

"I'll just make it for you then, shall I?"

What can I say, I'm not good in the mornings, though I used to be.

I dump the box on the counter, immediately feeling guilty.

"Shall we start again?"

"Is there enough for both of us?" She asks, jumping up and inspecting the interior.

"We'll manage."

…..

"So what's on this week?"

"Maisie and I are gonna work on our project tonight because her Mom's offered to drive us to Berto's and pick us up Tuesday night."

I nod. Berto's is a traditional diner in town. The kids own it during the week and us grown-ups claim it back Saturday and Sunday. Alberto himself is older, so the music he plays then doesn't really remind me of anything, I love the place. And his burgers.

"Group of you going?"

"Yep." She nods, shovelling in some more cereal. "The usual. Maisie's even gonna invite the new kids."

"The shiny ones?" I ask, curious.

"Mom." Freya snorts. "Where do you get these expressions from?"

"You knew who I meant." I shrug.

"Yeah. I don't think they'll come though, they didn't really mix very much all week, just kind of stuck together."

"It's difficult when you start a new school."

She looks at me sideways for a moment and then shrugs herself.

"I guess. Maybe they'll come, maybe not, I don't really care."

Interesting. Feigned nonchalance. Very un Freya like.

I open my mouth to call her on it but since my face is an open book she changes the subject deftly on to school related frippery which she knows will make my brain partially shut down. She's an observant child, damn her.

And I'm a sneaky parent. I'll get Cath to give her the third degree on Wednesday night. Two Moms are better than one we've found when it comes to Freya . . . .

…..

Fully made up this time I head into the city early and decide, since it unseasonably sunny, to stroll down the block and get some coffee before I chain myself to my cubicle for the day.

It's a complete mad house as usual. I can never understand why, it's not like it's even the only Starbucks on the block, they've planted one at each end, coffee traps for the energetically challenged. Unless, of course, there's been a sudden coffee shortage declared over night, I didn't actually see the news this morning so it could be true.

"Hey, lady, line's moving . . . ."

The exasperated voice behind me shakes me out of my worldwide coffee shortage fantasy, complete with urban wasteland patrolled by roving gangs, and I stammer an apology, blush, and shuffle obediently forward. One of these days I'm going to walk under a bus or something.

'Here Lies Bella Swan. Terminally Unable to Concentrate. And Single.'

Fuel in hand I saunter back toward my office building, window shopping , the only kind I like, and getting in everyone else's way.

What's the hurry? Where's the fire? What's the point of buying the coffee if you're going to sprint to work with it and slop it all down your front when you run into me taking my own sweet time?

"For fuck's sake!" A deep voice huffs behind me as the owner slams on the brakes at the last moment and collides gently with me.

"Sorry." I mutter, shrinking away and speeding up a bit.

"You know its called Rush Hour for a reason." The voice huffs, keeping pace with my left shoulder.

Jeez. You walked into me buddy.

I speed up a bit more.

"Aren't you even going to apologise?" The voice asks.

"For what?" I demand, refusing to turn around.

"I split my coffee." It complains.

"Did you spill it on me?" I ask.

"No."

"Good. Then we're done here. Have a nice day."

By now I'm practically running.

The voice, which is annoyingly still stalking me, turns into a deep rumbling chuckle.

"Well." It observes. "At least I got you travel at the speed the rest of us are using."

Stupid I know, but now I do stop and turn on him.

"What is your problem?" I hiss into the heavy jacket covering his broad chest.

No response.

Fine.

I'm out of here.

"Bella?" It asks incredulously.

My eyes snap up to his face.

A giant man with russet skin and over long, messy, black hair is staring at me, his handsome and vaguely familiar face wearing an expression of shock.

"Um?"

"Bella Swan?"

I nod, realisation dawning.

"Jacob?"

He nods, breaking into a smile that would probably stop traffic. If the drivers were all female.

"Jacob Black? Wow. When did you grow up to be such a jerk?"

"Ouch." He chuckles. "I guess I deserved that. I'm sorry. I've got an important meeting in a few minutes and I was, um, checking my emails and didn't see you."

Looking a bit shame faced he holds up his other hand and waggles his Blackberry at me.

Since our fathers are friends I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him.

And then, because he's still smiling, and it's that kind of smile, I smile back.

"I'm sorry." He says again in that rich deep voice. "I'm not usually this bad but I only got into town late last night and it's been a hell of a morning already."

"I didn't know you were in Pennsylvania, Charlie never said."

"Yeah well." He laughs, a rich deep sound, looking a bit shame faced. "My poor Dad's given up trying to keep up with where I am, the job keeps me travelling around a lot."

"Job?"

More shame face.

"I'm kind of a consultant."

"A Doctor?" I ask, still a bit stupefied by the fact that he's a bone fide grown up, I haven't seen him in years.

"Not quite." He laughs again, I like that sound already. "I'm a security consultant."

Cue my stupid face.

"I was in the Army, for a while, they, um, teach you stuff which can be useful in civilian life."

"They do?"

"Yeah, Bella, they do."

"Charlie never said . . . ."

Yeah, because my intelligence and coherent responses are all confined to what Charlie says . . . .

"Don't sweat it Bella. Billy never told me you were in Pennsylvania either. I think our Dads are more fish than child orientated."

Now it's my turn to laugh. That sounds about right.

"So how is Billy? Charlie didn't mention him much at the weekend."

"You don't know?"

Oh shit, he's not . . . . please tell me Charlie didn't forget to tell me that . . . .

"Nice blush." Jacob chuckles and I really want to punch him in the, massive, muscular, arm.

"Jacob!"

"They're not seeing eye to eye at the moment."

"Huh?"

"Remember Sue Clearwater?"

I nod.

"Her husband, Harry, he died of a massive heart attack a few years after you left town."

"Yeah, sad, I remember Charlie telling me."

Jacob nods, sober thoughts not entirely eradicating his smile.

"Well, Sue's kind of got used to the idea over time."

I nod, trying to make myself look supportive rather than avid for more information.

"And our Dads clearly have too."

Alright, I give up.

"I don't understand . . . ."

"Bella." He chuckles gently, reaching out to capture my elbow. "They aren't speaking right now. Two bachelors, one widow?"

"Oh. My. God." I splutter as realisation dawns. "Jacob, no!"

"Oh yes!" He laughs, winking at me. "Better deal with it. Charlie might win."

And the mental image of Charlie and Billy Black duking it out, police cruiser to wheelchair, over Sue Clearwater, brings abrupt and inappropriate tears of laughter to my eyes. Which sets Jacob off too.

Moments later I realise that we're leaning into each other in different sort of inappropriateness and manage to get a grip on my amusement, if not my blush.

"Sorry." I mumble, straightening out of his warm space.

"Don't be." He responds in a low voice.

I blink. My blush deepens. But I can't look away from his eyes. They're so . . . .

"Here." He says quietly, placing a card gently in my hands. "These are my numbers. I'm in town for a while. Call me, we can have dinner and catch up with all the gossip."

"Um."

His face falls a little.

"Unless of course there's a Mr Bella who wouldn't like it?"

"No, no, there isn't. I'd love to see you again, um . . . ."

"I'll call you then." He says, grinning and edging around me.

"How?" I demand. "You don't have my . . . ."

"Security consultant." He says with a wink, turning away and striding down the street on his long, long, legs.

I tuck the card into my pocket.

Jacob Black. The first boy I ever kissed.

Or, considering I'm a year or so older and attacked his five year old self, molested.

Boy did he turn out well . . . .

"You ain't street furniture lady, move your ass." Someone grumbles as they push past me.

Where was I?

Oh yes.

On my way to work.

…..

I managed to divert Bren from an inquisition on our night out by telling her I bumped into a childhood friend from Forks. She was so sufficiently unimpressed that she was easily diverted by Jeff's new tie, which is possibly the ugliest piece of neckwear I've ever laid eyes on, so that was probably fair enough. At least it meant I didn't have to tell her that he was good looking and may be taking me out to dinner.

Not that it would be a date, but still, I'm already more excited about the idea of that than any next steps she might be dreaming up for fun, romance and - ahem – sex.