The kitchen was in working order, and I was tarping the furniture in the living room when the doorbell rang. Renee had been coloring at the kitchen table, but she dropped her crayons and ran down the steps to the door when she saw who was waving through the window.
I followed her down the stairs and unlocked the front door with a wide smile. Standing on the steps, looking beautiful even in her grungy paint clothes, stood my best friend Rosalie Hale.
"Going to invite me into your new home, or are you going to leave me here on the front step?" she asked. Renee pushed impatiently past me and attached herself to Rose's leg with a delighted sound. "Hi beautiful!" Rose crowed. "Are you loving your new house?" Renee nodded fiercely, and Rose threw back her beautiful blonde head and laughed.
Suddenly everything seemed easier, even with the enormous amount of work ahead of us. Rose was here.
Together, we walked up the stairs to the main floor of the house. When we reached the top, Rose looked around and gasped.
"Oh. My. GOD!" she shrieked, causing both me and Renee to wince. "What were they THINKING?" She reached out and touched the nearest wall. The nearest bright orange wall. The living room and dining room were both painted in the same garish shade of tangerine.
"I don't know, Rose, but I'm glad they did it. My real estate agent says the paint color might have been the reason the house was on the market as long as it was. And I got it for less than most other houses have gone in this neighborhood lately. So horrid as it is, don't knock my orange house." I grinned at her as I crossed the room, picked up a paint roller and handed it to her. "You won't be so sassy after the first coat of primer," I said.
"Sweet Jesus." I could hear her murmuring as she absently accepted the roller from me.
It took Rose and I the rest of the week to paint over the hideous orange living and dining room walls with the warm brown we had selected together. In between coats, she helped me finish unpacking the remainder of the house. With Rose's skilled touch, our meager belongings shone in their new nooks and crannies. There were a million advantages to having Rose has a best friend – the fact that she was talented interior designer was just one of them.
By Saturday morning, five days after the moving van had pulled away from the curb, I was officially settled into my new home – with no more orange walls.
"I don't know how you do, Rosie," I said with a smile, surveying her handiwork on the staircase landing. Using a bit of fabric and a couple of silver picture frames, she had dressed up a shabby little end table, making the previously empty space look warm and inviting.
"I'm very, very good at what I do," she responded pertly. "Just like you. Although I have to admit, I don't know how we're going to change that light bulb way up there," she said, pointing up to the ceiling above the staircase. The ceilings were unusually high in this house, and the one above the deep staircase was far out of reach. Naturally, smack in the middle of it was a light fixture with a burnt out bulb.
"We'll probably need an outdoor extension ladder," I mused. "I'll put in one of those long-lasting fluorescent bulbs." I sighed, mentally adding it to my long to-do list. "But let's not worry about that now. We've done enough for one week, I think."
"And tonight, we celebrate that," declared Rose, descending the stairs and scraping brown paint off one of her fingernails. I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. "Don't argue with me. You need to relax and have a little fun after all this hard work."
"I don't want to leave Renee with a sitter tonight, Rose. She's still getting used to the change in her surroundings," I said in a low voice. Renee was on the floor of the dining room, coloring a life-size cut out of her body that I had made for her out of brown wrapping paper. We didn't own a dining room set, so this room was still empty. The floor was bare with lots of room for a five year old to spread out her art supplies. She looked adorable in her paint spattered denim overalls, an exact match to the pair I was sporting at the moment.
Rosalie scowled at me for a moment, but this was one argument she'd never win. Renee came first, every time, and she knew it.
"OK," she grumbled, then brightened. "Then at least let's have dinner together. We'll eat on your back deck."
"That sounds great," I said with a tired smile. "What do you want me to make?"
"No way," she said, shaking her blonde hair. "I'll bring dinner. And wine. And don't argue with me."
Rose left shortly after noon with a promise to return around six with dinner. I walked slowly up the stairs to the living room and slumped down on the hardwood, being careful not to lean against the still tacky trim. I was exhausted. My eyelids fluttered shut, and I put my head on my knees. It just felt good to rest.
I don't know how long I sat like that, but eventually, reality crept back in. Had I fallen asleep? I didn't have my watch on, so I had no idea how much – if any – time had passed. I glanced up through the newel posts to the dining room.
Renee was no longer there.
I heaved myself to my feet. Beyond the dining room, I could see the sliding doors that led to the little deck off the back of the house.
The screen door was open, just enough to allow a five-year-old to slip through. I felt my stomach clench. I took the short flight of stairs up to the kitchen two steps at a time, and stopped. A smile spread over my face, and I relaxed.
Renee stood on the deck, smiling sweetly, hands clasped behind her back. Something on my neighbor's adjoining deck had captured her attention. Maybe the family next door had a dog …
Through the open door drifted the sound of a voice. A man's voice. Talking to Renee. Asking her questions. My smile faded abruptly. I started walk toward the patio doors again.
When Renee reached through the posts to the neighbor's deck to take something being handed to her, I broke into a run. I couldn't help myself.
My daughter wasn't the only one who suffered lingering effects of trauma.
I didn't trip on my way through the kitchen, but I did skin most of my knuckles trying to wrench the patio door open wide enough to get through. Renee turned at the sound of me bursting out onto the deck. I reached down and lightly clasped her wrist, turning it so I could see what she had in her grasp.
It was a flower.
Relief washed over me, followed rapidly by embarrassment at my over-reaction. I looked up from the flower, up into the eyes of my neighbor.
They were the greenest eyes I'd ever seen. Set in the most magnificent face I'd ever seen.
Over the years, I may have learned to hold in my tears, but there was nothing I could do to stop that betraying blush from flooding my face at most inopportune times. And having just made a total ass of myself in front of my daughter and new neighbor – who was apparently the most handsome man in the world – this was definitely one of those times.
We stared at each other for a seemingly endless moment. I could feel my cheeks flaming under his wide-eyed gaze. Part of me wanted the deck underneath my feet to open up and swallow me. The other part of me wanted to stare at him forever.
He was tall, much taller than me. His ripped blue jeans and a snug black t-shirt showed off a nicely sculpted body – he clearly worked out, but not so much that he looked like an alien like some guys I'd seen. Still, his broad shoulders seemed to go on forever. He had a beautiful head of thick bronze-colored hair that seemed to defy gravity in the way it stuck up straight from his face.
His face.
Despite my embarrassment, I couldn't bring myself to look away from his face. Handsome – yes. But that wasn't what held me. It was the little things – the crinkles around his eyes, the laugh lines imprinted around his mouth, the unexpected vulnerability in his full lips. Not to mention the blush that was rapidly mounting in his light skin, and the chagrin I could see reflected in his eyes.
"I'm so sorry," we both blurted out at exactly the same time. Our mutual mortification kicked up a further notch, followed by still more blushing on both our parts.
The incredibly awkward moment was broken by a delighted chortle. I was finally able to break eye contact and looked down at Renee, who had wrapped her arms around my upper thigh. She looked from my face to the stranger's and back again. Then she giggled again, clearly amused by our discomposure.
Flushing to the roots of my hair, I looked back at the man in front of me. My stomach gave a jump at the sight of him again, but I felt like had a little more control of the situation again.
"I'm very sorry," I repeated, trying not to stumble over my words. "I'm a bit over-cautious with my daughter and strange men." Terrific – I called him strange right to his face. "We just moved in." Way to state the incredibly obvious, Bella. "My name is Bella Swan, and this is my daughter, Renee."
"Nice to meet you," the stranger said his generous lips relaxing into a warm smile. "And please, don't apologize. You were just being careful." He extended his hand, and we shook, his big hand swallowing up my small one. "My name is Edward. Um, Edward, uh Cullen."
"Nice to meet you, Edward," I mumbled. I tried to ignore how good my hand felt in his. Stop it, Bella, there's no way a guy like this is single. At that thought, I couldn't prevent myself from looking down at his left hand. No wedding ring. But that didn't mean anything these days. Maybe he's gay? Yeah, all the good ones are married or gay at this age. Stop, stop, stop!
Edward let go of my hand and knelt. He looked through the wooden rails of the divider between my deck and his, and offered his hand to Renee.
"Hi Renee. I'm Edward. It's nice to meet you." Renee looked at him from around my thigh with a shy smile. Her luminous eyes shone from under her long eyelashes. When she had stopped speaking, Renee's ability to charm people increased exponentially – she was a master flirt. She had her father's natural social abilities, and none of my painful shyness. With a dimpled smile, Renee extended her hand, daintily shaking with Edward.
He stood back up, smiling. "She's a real beauty," he said to me. "Just the one?"
"Yes," I said a little sharply, preferring not to start answering the usual series of questions about my daughter – one of which inevitably ended up being something like "Oh, is she shy?" or worse, "How come she never talks?" I wasn't ashamed of Renee's condition, but I was deeply ashamed of the circumstances that had led to it.
Edward must have seen the emotions that flitted across my face in that moment because his own expression became slightly confused. There was another awkward pause between us, and I felt the blush returning to my cheeks. Even more mortifying was the warmth I was starting to feel in other parts of my body. I feel like a 16-year-old, I thought desperately.
"Well, um … I guess I'll see you around?" Edward asked uncertainly. I peeked back up at him and saw he looked as flustered as I did. But not for the same reasons, I told myself dryly.
"Yes, I'm sure we will," I replied faintly. I took Renee's hand and steered her gently back to the kitchen door. She fluttered her fingers at Edward with a cheeky smile, and he waved back. I risked one more glance at his face and felt my knees wobble a bit as he directed his smile at me. I blushed even more and scooted through the screen door, thankfully not bashing my head on the door frame as I escaped into my home.
After I latched the door, I leaned against the wall for a moment to collect my thoughts. You're a damn fool, Bella, I scolded myself. But then I remembered his face and couldn't stop a goofy smile from crossing my face.
I took a deep breath and blew it out. Then looked down as Renee tugged at my hand to get my attention. She was handing me something … the flower that Edward had given to her. I took it from her, then examined it more carefully.
It was a rose.
