A/N:I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff.

Chapter 3.

Bodies in the bodhi tree, bodies making chemistry,

Bodies on my family, bodies in the way of me,

Bodies in the cemetery and that's the way it's gonna be.

All we've ever wanted was to look good naked, hope that someone can take it.

God, save me rejection from my reflection. I want perfection.

Jesus didn't die for you, what are you on? (I want perfection)

Robbie Williams: Bodies

BPOV

When I come out on the porch later I find him still sleeping. His face is relaxed in sleep, like a little boy's face, his full lips slightly open, his cheek flushed, his long, dark lashes touching his skin, tousled brown hair that looks as if it could do with a wash. I don't have the heart to wake him so I sit down quietly, content with watching him breathe slowly, in and out.

It makes me feel peaceful. It also makes me want to…touch him, to touch that cheek, run my hands through that hair, trace his lips with my fingers. I feel myself blushing at my own thoughts. Oh God, I should be thankful that he is asleep or he would probably see what I'm thinking and run away screaming, totally disgusted.

I wonder what he has been through, what has brought him here. He seems out of place here, the way he speaks, his politeness, how he holds himself, everything speaks of someone middleclass, someone brought up well, with educated parents. Why would he end up on the street? Unless he has been doing drugs or run away from a jail sentence..but that doesn't seem likely somehow. He seems too…gentle, I guess is the word I am looking for, although he doesn't seem weak. I saw the muscles of his back move under his t-shirt and his arms are sinewy – he is lean, but looks strong. His hands are beautiful with long fingers, a musician's hands. I wonder what it would feel like to hold one of them against my cheek?

Now I'm blushing again, and I move involuntarily, out of embarrassment. My movement seems to alert him suddenly, through his sleep, to the fact that he is not alone, and he stirs, moving his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes, dragging them through his hair, stretching out his long legs. Then he sees me, and sits up abruptly, his eyes big. Oh, shit, I scare him, well obviously, since I am practically stalking him in his sleep when he is lying there, all defenseless! Nice going, Bella.

He looks at me uncomfortably, his face still flushed from sleep, his hair standing up in all directions, looking pretty adorable. He must want a warm shower, if he's been sleeping on the beach for more than two nights in a row, I should offer him the chance to wash up and give him some real food, he must need it. Right, that's why I came out here to begin with, to ask him if he wanted to have some lunch, but then I lost my train of thought just looking at him sleep. I must be going crazy – Crazy Bella, that's what they will call me, when I have lived here for years all alone, talking to stray cats, picking up random men on the beach so that I can ogle them in their sleep.

I stand up and apologize, and offer him the use of my bathroom. His reaction confuses me, he seems embarrassed, but accepts and follows me into the house, not meeting my eyes. He seems to think that I am exceptionally generous for trusting him in the house, but now I feel as if I know him, and as if he is at my mercy, much more so than the other way around.

I tell him that he can use the laundry room for his clothes, because I found these clean sweats that I think will fit him (thank God Rose lets her boyfriends leave their stuff lying around.) I watch him walking down the hall to the guest bathroom and I wait until he shuts the door behind him. He looks so defeated it makes my heart ache. Whatever happened to this man? How can I help him? I slowly walk to the kitchen, and pull out things to make a nice lunch, omelets, salad, fresh rolls and some cheese. I slice spring onions and fresh spinach and grate cheese, I whip up the eggs and put the rolls in the oven.

Just when everything is ready I hear his footsteps and turn around to see him walking into the kitchen, where the early afternoon sun is gold on the walls, bringing out the red in his hair and the gold flecks in his exceptionally green eyes. I feel my breath catch when I meet his gaze, he is so beautiful, and now he looks clean, more relaxed, more like himself. He totally fits in here, I bet he would look spectacular in a dark green shirt and a pair of slacks..Focus, Bella!

"I'm glad that the clothes seem to fit you", I say. "Did you manage to start the washer OK?"

He smiles a small, lopsided smile.

"I admit that I'm not the greatest when it comes to doing house chores, but I have done laundry once or twice. Would you remind me to go put it in the dryer in forty minutes, please?" His gaze shifts to the lunch I have laid out on the counter and he hesitates visibly. I hurry to put him at ease.

"I was having a late lunch, and I made some extra stuff in case you were hungry: would you like some food? It's nothing really, just some omelets and things I had in the fridge"…my voice falters as I feel my gaze getting too intense when I look into those green eyes again. He looks serious, but nods.

"You really didn't have to go to all that trouble, but I can't lie to you, I would love some food. Can I help you with anything?"

I look around and suggest that he get us some water bottles from the fridge. I would suggest a beer, but I don't have any in the house, and I don't know if it would be inappropriate to open a bottle of wine when I don't know what kind of drug problems he might have. I hardly drink anything anymore, and opening a bottle of wine always seems pointless when you know it's just going to go to waste before you ever get a chance to finish it.

He brings the water to the table by the window and I get us plates and glasses, and start piling salad and half an omelet onto my plate to make him comfortable about helping himself, before I sit down. He fills his plate and sits down across from me, and spreads the napkin in his lap before he tucks in.

He actually has good table manners, but I guess that this doesn't surprise me, pouring me some water and passing me the bread before I have to ask. I don't know where to look, since I seem to catch myself staring at him all the time, so I focus on the food and the glimpse of the sea through the window.

"I'm glad that the clothes were okay", I say, to break the silence.

He looks up at me through long lashes and smiles that crooked smile again, the smile that seems to have a strange effect on my pulse.

"Thank you, they're fine, and that was very thoughtful of you", he says. "This is delicious, by the way", he adds and gestures to his plate. "Do you mind if I have some more?"

"Please help yourself, it would be a pity to see it go to waste," I add.

This is such a unexpected experience, sitting across the table from this man whom I have just met, and feeling strangely comfortable. The thumping of my heart when he looks at me is, well, not unpleasant, and it is definitely not the beginning of an anxiety attack. I try to remember: when was the last time that I shared my home with a person and felt this comfortable? I swallow and then decide not to pursue that line of thought.

After we eat he helps me clean up the kitchen and put the dishes in the dishwasher, in spite of my protests, then goes to check on the laundry while I make some coffee. We take our coffee cups out onto the deck, to enjoy the afternoon sunshine, and stand leaning against the railing. There's a breeze off the ocean and clouds on the horizon that tell me there may be rain coming.

"It's a beautiful house", he says, looking back at the French doors we just came out through.

"Yes, it is. It's not mine, I am borrowing it from a friend this year, for the first time. But it needs some work. I have been meaning to look for a firm that could come in and oil the deck for me. The salt from the ocean eats away at the wood."

He looks down at the deck, tracing it with his naked foot, thoughtful. I look at his long fingers wrapped around the coffee mug and the golden hairs glistening on his bare arms. He bends down and runs his free hand over the floor boards and squints up at me. I am suddenly acutely aware of a sliver of bare skin that has appeared between his t-shirt and his sweatpants.

"You would probably need to wash it down and touch up the surface first too", he says. "I spent some summers on the coast and salt water and sun can really be a bitch – oh, sorry," he adds, his green eyes startled when he looks at me, like a kid that has been caught swearing. I can't help smiling.

"Do you think you could do that for me?" I quickly add: "Of course I would pay you, I'm not asking you to work for free or anything like that."

He looks surprised, straightens up and looks around doubtfully.

"I wouldn't mind helping you out, but I don't have the equipment or anything, so it might take a while if you want me to do the entire deck. Are you sure you don't want to hire professionals to do the job?"

I feel myself blushing, and look away. Silly Bella, why would he want to stay here and do something he clearly was never trained to do? I clear my throat and force myself to smile.

"No, of course you're right. That was just an idea. I am probably just lazy, but I have a dread of dealing with carpenters. They are like car mechanics or people trying to sell you a computer – they make me feel awkward and stupid." I hesitate. "Are you looking for a job, though?"

I look at him, and now it is his turn to avert his eyes from me. After a short silence he speaks up, his face still turned towards the ocean.

"Yes, I am unemployed and broke right now, that's one of the reasons why I've been sleeping on the beach." He sighs. "It's a long story. Do you know of any place that is hiring?"

He looks back at me, his face embarrassed, and drags a hand through his hair, which is pointing wildly in all directions. I think, and drink up the last of my coffee, which makes me remember something.

"There's a café down at that end of the beach that I think is looking for help. I don't know what kind of help they are looking for, but I could take you down there and introduce you to the staff if you like? I've been going there pretty much every day for months, so they sort of know who I am."

I reach out to take his empty coffee mug, and as he gives it to me our fingers brush against each other and I feel a warmth, like a sting of electricity pass between us. He seems to feel it too, because there's a startled look in his eyes when he looks at me, and then our eyes seem unable to break contact for a long time, until I remember to breathe again, and he finds his voice and says that yes, sure that would be great, and disappears to get his clothes out of the dryer.

While I rinse the coffee mugs and put them in the dishwasher I think about it. This extraordinarily beautiful, polite and well-versed young man who is clearly in deep trouble has shown up on my doorstep, slept on my porch and eaten at my table, and now I don't want to shove him out of my house and leave him on the beach again. In fact, apart from the effect he seems to have on my pulse and my breathing, I feel strangely soothed by his presence, as if he was an old friend, or family, in a good way. I have no reason to trust him, yet I feel as if I do. And that is a first for me.

One of the things my therapist has told me is that I have" intimacy issues". Spelled out that means not only that right now I have been avoiding all my colleagues and friends for more than six months and have more or less given up permanently on the idea of dating, but that I have a hard time walking out in public, just going to the grocery store, and get panic attacks whenever people get too close to me or seem to look at me too much. The only place I feel really safe is behind a locked door, alone. And even there I have a hard time sleeping because of the nightmares. I am a mess, but then I probably deserve to be. I sigh.

So, I should in all likelihood not implicate this nice man in my screwed-up life and unhinged decision-making, but I think that I will anyway, and blame it on the fact that he doesn't seem to have anyone else stepping up to take an interest in him or give him a hand. I smile bitterly to myself. Poor kid.

I hear someone clearing their throat and jump, since I didn't hear him coming. I turn around and see him standing there in his now clean jeans and sweater, dragging a hand through his unruly hair in a gesture that already seems familiar, dangling a bag by his side. He smiles apologetically.

"I'm all set. Thank you for letting me clean up. I left the clothes I borrowed in the hamper by the washing machine – I hope that's all right?"

Suddenly I scuttle around, talking fast and scooping up my keys, looking for my purse and my shoes, afraid that he will evaporate as quickly as he turned up.

"Right, let's take a walk down to Kate's then, shall we, and see if they still have that opening I mentioned?" I say, and I think that my voice sounds artificial and overbearing, as if I were encouraging a small child. When I look up at him I see that his eyes are worried, and I'm not sure if that's because I'm behaving like a moron or if he is afraid that I am trying to get rid of him, when that is the last thing on my mind. I stop abruptly with one shoe in my hand, and straighten up.

"If that is what you want?" I say uncertainly. "I thought if I came with you it would help? And then you can leave your stuff here and we can come back for it later...?" (Why does every sentence I say sound as if it's a question?)

He smiles, and this is the first real smile I have seen on his face and it melts my insides because it is the smile of an angel, making his eyes sparkle and bringing out a dimple in his right cheek. How can a smile light up a face and be so warm? It's positively dazzling me, and I blink. Wow! Where did that smile come from?

"OK, Bella, that sounds fine by me", is all he says, and like a gentleman he opens the door for me and stands politely to the side while I lock up and then lets me lead the way down to the street.

I didn't forget my windbreaker and sunglasses in spite of feeling flustered, and I hurry to hide behind my hood and shield my eyes from the world. Not that anyone is looking, except at the handsome young demi-god walking by my side, with a confident stride and the remnants of that smile still on his beautiful lips. I realize that Edward is better than a bodyguard, better than a hood: with him in tow I don't ever have to worry about being the focus of attention. He is what everyone sees, not me. I sigh, if with relief or disappointment I don't know.

When we get to Kate's the two waitresses are taking care of the last of the afternoon coffee drinkers and the early dinner eaters, but business is not at its peak. I point Edward to the sign in the window I saw this morning that is still there "Help wanted. Ask at the cash register." and we go inside. I recognize the older of the two waitresses, and ask her if Kate is here, who owns the place. She nods towards the back and points us to the office. I almost take Edward's hand, but then stop myself just as my fingers touch his, and take a couple of quick strides looking over my shoulder at him instead, gesturing to him with my head.

I have talked to Kate a number of times. Sometimes this is where I come in the afternoons when business is slow and when I need to get out of the house. I like to have my tea or coffee at the table in the corner, where I have a clear view of the entire place, far from the windows but not too far from the door. This is where I sometimes come with my lap-top to work for an hour, when it is impossible for me to get any work done around the house. No one bothers me if I don't want to be bothered, there are friendly voices in the background, and I get a nice feeling of being left in peace but not alone.

Kate jokes that I am writing the next great American novel because it's about time we had ourselves a new Joyce Carol Oates, and I make some lame joke about hoping to get nominated for Oprah's book club. Kate is nice. She has a great sense of humor and she reads a lot of different stuff, more than I thought a café-owner did, but hey, that is probably just my academic prejudice talking?

When I knock on the door to the office, Kate immediately answers "NO, open the DOOR and come in!" and I laugh, because this is a Kate-joke. I smile encouragingly at Edward who looks a little nervous and let us in.

It's a tiny room, crowded with a desk, two chairs, an old computer and shelves with binders and stacks of papers, and in the corner sits a dilapidated filing cabinet. Kate, a good-looking blonde woman in her early thirties, wearing a light-blue shirt and slacks, is leaning back in her office chair, with an open binder in front of her, the phone at her ear and two pens sticking out of a messy bun on her head. She looks up at me and smiles, and then her blue eyes glide over to Edward and I see them widen fractionally as she sits up and takes notice.

"Uhu, yes that's right. We need that delivery by Tuesday next week at the latest. See to it. Yes, I know, but just fix it already, Okay? Bye." She puts the phone down and her smile grows, while she is looking from one of us to the other.

"Bella, how can I help you? Who is your friend?" she asks, and looks pleasantly over at Edward who is shifting his weight from one graceful leg to the other.

I smile back at her and wave my hand at Edward. "Kate, this is Edward Masen, and Edward, this is Kate Monaghan, the owner of this café. Edward told me just now that he was in the neighborhood looking for a job, and then I thought of you and the sign saying that you are hiring help. So we just decided to drop by and see if there was still an opening."

Kate is still smiling at Edward. "Soo, Edward, do you have any previous experience in the restaurant business?"

Edward smiles back, and even though this time the full force of his smile is directed at Kate and not at me I can feel the side-effects and go a little weak in the knees.

"Not much, I'm afraid," he says apologetically. "I did work in the kitchen at college as a part of a work-study scholarship program, and in the student union café on weekends, but other than that I have done mainly office work at my father's business in the summers when I went to high school."

"Office work? Your father wasn't an accountant by any chance? I would really need some help with this crappy program I have…"

I can see that Kate is interested, and I decide that this is probably a good time to back out of the office that is really too small to let me feel comfortable. I can already feel a drop of cold sweat running down my back, not just because of the room temperature, and it's probably better that I stop hovering over Edward and leave them to discuss this on their own. I give a little half-wave of silent goodbye as I slowly ease toward the still open door.

As I take the two steps to the door, Edward half turns and reaches out a hand to me, and I accidently touch it when I lower my hand. His long fingers curl briefly around mine. Once again I feel that energy on contact and wonder what it is. "Wait for me?" he mumbles, and I nod as I glide out and shut the door behind myself.

I lean against the door and feel my heart pounding. This time I'm not sure if it is the beginning of a panic attack from feeling cooped-up in there, or if it is the feeling of Edward's cool fingers against my palm that has set me off. Neither can I make up my mind if I am feeling elated or on the brink of tears. Oh, I am so fucked up.

A/N: So, would you hire Homeless Edward if he turned up at your place of work? Please let me know if you're feeling gracious today…