A/N: Thank you, hugely, Capricorn75, JadaPattinson, and OhWell for reccing this fic on twitter.

-4-

Bella's fist hovered. He said her name. She didn't like that somehow he knew her name.

She rapped her knuckles against the white door. The entire house was white except for the roof, which was pebble gray. It was tiny, too. Bella didn't drive Harry's truck past the fence, too nervous the Neanderthal might throw a fit, so she walked down the tire-worn path. In the distance, it looked more like a service building than a home. Up close though, the potential for it being charming was there, if only just a little.

Edward didn't answer. She knocked again.

It'd taken her a couple hours to cool off – Bella white-knuckled the steering wheel the whole way back to Harry's, unable to understand what she'd done to Edward that made him hate her so much.

He was mean, and for no reason at all. But Bella had a level head; whatever Edward's problem was it was his and Bella was not going to allow him to get under her skin. She'd be the bigger person, return the money, call a truce.

Seemed Edward had a knack for making things difficult.

There was no mat on the doorstep, otherwise she'd slide the envelope underneath, and it was too windy to lay it there. Because Bella refused to prolong this any more than necessary she had no other choice but to knock,. She thought about testing the doorknob to see if it was unlocked, but for all she knew Edward would have her arrested for breaking and entering.

She switched hands, the knuckles on her right stinging, and finally, a few minutes later he swung the door open.

Bella stumbled back a step before regaining her footing. He was so menacing standing there, tilted forward with his eyes narrowed. Edward blocked any view to the inside of his home, light peeking through what little space he wasn't concealing.

She straightened her spine. "Here. Like I said, I don't want it. Also, it's a little unnerving you know my name when I haven't told you. I'm not saying you…" She paused. "Never mind." Her shoulders dropped and she turned on her heel, shaking her head.

Edward had closed his eyes, pressed his lips together. He stopped listening the moment she mentioned him knowing her name. He didn't care what she had to say, so why bother.

"It's a small island. People talk," he called to her back. Bella kept walking.

Bella handed the keys back to Harry. It was already dark, like a moonless midnight dark. The switch from day to night here was abrupt, Bella found, giving no time to settle in or take one last breath of blue before it turned to black.

She just wanted to go home before yet another incident occurred, like getting lost on the still unfamiliar streets then misguidedly driving around until she finally happened upon Osprey. Her head was still foggy so the possibility was very, very possible.

Standing at his perch behind the cash register inside the mini-mart, Harry tilted his head. "Didn't go so well I take it."

Bella had only given Harry a brief synopsis of her encounter with Edward. Said something along the lines of a misunderstanding. That was the first. The second time she asked to borrow his truck she claimed it would be the last because she needed to rectify the situation.

He'd made this face, a combination of skepticism and humor, though more on the humor side - Bella didn't think it was very funny.

"No, but I don't know why I'm surprised. You had said he hardly comes in anyway?"

Harry laughed. "Doubtful you'd run into him often, Bella, but when you do go the other way." He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Ignore him."

"Maybe you should get some kind of sign made up for the tourists." She smiled. "Warn them about the hairy guy at the lighthouse – Whimbrel's urban legend."

"Aw, come on now. He's not that bad."

Bella sighed. "Well, I wouldn't know. Thanks again, Harry."

"'Night, Bella."

Once home, she took a bath. Her skin tight as she'd imagined it would be when she had first arrived, but her complexion didn't easily allow for brown. Bella had to go through phases: pink to pinker to red and then finally a semblance of tan, ephemeral as it was.

She padded down the steps, sliding her hand along the wooden banister. The few other dwellings on her street were empty for now - vacation rentals - and Bella wondered if they'd at all become occupied by revolving strangers. She hoped they would because it was way too quiet.

Adrenaline had always coursed through her when she moved to a new place. Usually, the feeling of excitement had lasted for days, but this time around it'd lasted a few hours, and Bella was tired.

With every new city came a period of introduction. Getting to know the feel, setting the expectations. And normally the whole process was fun. But this time? She wanted to leave, come back next week then try again. Stupid Edward had done that to her. Bella chastised herself for giving him the slightest impression that she thought he might've actually asked about her.

Flat on her back, Bella lay in the middle of the living room floor. Hands folded over her stomach, knees raised, she stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Sometimes along with the excitement of being new came a sense of loneliness.

It was around ten when Bella called her sister. Rose answered on the third ring.

"Hey," Bella said.

"Hey, yourself." Bella could hear the smile in Rose's voice. "How's the island?"

"It's nice. Slow, you know? Gorgeous. What're you up to?"

"Just working. Hanging out. Are you coming home after this?"

"Nope."

Rose sighed. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, but I wish you wouldn't ask every time we talk."

"It's been ten years," Rose said.

Nothing like jumping right into it, Bella thought.

"And next year it'll be eleven and then twelve and so on." She paused. "Visit me. Remember how much fun we had in New Orleans?"

"I have a job, Bella."

"That's what vacation time is for. The beach is nice - you'd like it. Stay with me for a few days. You should see the tan I'm sporting already."

"You're such a liar."

Bella lifted her arm and examined it. "I know, but I have a the makings of a healthy glow."

Rose cleared her throat. "Mom misses you."

"That's nice."

"Bella."

"Rose."

"Don't be a brat."

"How's Emmett?" Bella deflected.

"Still going strong. After four months of dating I think I'm going to need a vag transplant."

"Ew."

"He's relentless."

"Come out here."

"Come home."

Bella sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Their push and pull always came down to her sister ruining every conversation by bringing up their mother. "You know I can't. I don't understand why you think it's so important that I make up with Mom. I'm not as forgiving as you, and honestly, I don't understand that either. Mom took off, and then Daddy got sick. She left you and me to take care of him – I was fifteen, you were sixteen, Rose. Remember? She came back after he died. What the fuck is that? I'm not going to live in a place where I'm both pitied and frowned at. I don't see how you stand it.

"And besides, I was there a couple years ago."

"Yeah, for like two days," Rose said. "You need to let it go."

"It's not that easy," Bella replied. " I don't want to talk to Mom. And no matter how much time has passed people will always know me as the girl with the father who had cancer. That she had so much potential but then she burned down a house and then her father died."

"Oh, please, Bella. It's not always about you. The fire wasn't even your fault, but obviously you need to be reminded, like, all the time. And, you know what else? He was my dad, too."

Bella rose from the floor, tucked her free hand under the arm of which she held the phone tightly to her ear. She began to pace. Of course it wasn't all about her, but her sister didn't understand. She never had.

Bella's father had always told her she was his favorite. Bella wasn't naïve to think he hadn't said the same thing to Rose. In fact, they both knew it. They'd laughed and teased each other incessantly, but not once had they ever called him out.

Whether the fire had been her fault or not wasn't the point. The house was this dilapidated thing that sat way outside the town limits, unoccupied for years. People she'd gone to school with partied there, including Rose. Bella'd gone a few times, but she hadn't been a big drinker like some. She was busy with school, her dad. Wanted him to be proud.

Bella had been alone when the fire started – it was an accident as determined by the FFD. She'd been charged with trespassing and negligence, but since she was a minor and considering her father was a former cop the charges were lessened and she'd been sentenced to community service. The worst thing was that she'd disappointed the man she idolized.

"I know, I know. That's not what I meant – sorry. It's just I don't want to keep reliving the past."

They were quiet for a while until Rose, thankfully, changed the subject. Emmett this and Emmett that, Rose's voice sharp only minutes before was now moony, maybe over the top dreamy. She let her sister go on and on about their dates as she detailed everything. Length and girth, most definitely included. Bella called Rose a whore to which Rose called Bella a prude.

This was the Rose she missed.

After fits of giggles Bella noticed it was nearly midnight and said she needed to hang up now if she was going to be to work on time.

Edward was seventeen, a senior in high school with nothing ahead of him but an impossible plan to build things. Figments of wood and nails, plaster and sheetrock tangible as shadows. He never thought about going to college despite the encouragement he'd received from his mom. Just wasn't his thing, no matter they were broke.

All he'd ever wanted to do was work with his hands. He'd see an empty space and envision a three-story Victorian, turrets and all. Or a single-level where his personal details would be crafted into the moulding.

When he'd found that abandoned house out off Smith Road, he'd only been fourteen. He'd ridden his bike to get away from his parents: fighting again. Stupid stuff, really, but he hadn't wanted to listen to it.

Edward had pedaled hard down residential streets, cut through yards until the yards thinned out and turned into fields of weeds and rocks. He'd pushed through the woods, the soft ground sucking at his tires. By the time Edward had reached Smith Road his sneakers and socks were caked with mud and his hair plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck.

It'd been October, or September – the exact month was sketchy – and the sky was this deep gray. It hadn't been that cold, but it looked it. Like if you'd glanced out your window you would've known you were going to need a coat.

Edward had gotten off his bike, deciding to walk the road before he turned around. He'd usually need to spend a couple hours away from home to let things settle between his parents. So, he'd walked along Smith for a little while until he spotted what would become something pretty special.

Over the next few years, Edward had drawn up blueprints in a black and white composition notebook, which turned into a stack of notebooks. Page after page of ideas then modifications. He'd hidden the notebooks in plastic bags in a small second floor bedroom but really it was exposed wires and water damaged walls.

Holes were everywhere and the place had assuredly been a habitat to raccoons or even rats. Edward saw past all that though, being the dreamer he was. He was well aware that others from school hung out here, but they did so around the perimeter. Too afraid if they spent too much time inside it might collapse.

He'd find empty beer cans and cigarette butts on Sunday mornings then sweep them into a pile in the back of the house. Sometimes the pile would be gone – he never knew who cleaned it up. Just as he never knew who found his notebooks.

For months someone had sporadically left notes in the margins: make this window bigger; put the fireplace on the east side, not the west; this is nice. Sometimes he'd explain why their suggestion would be impractical, countering it with an alternative. Sometimes he wouldn't.

Edward knew the ghost was a girl from the swirly handwriting alone. He thought about staking out the place, but then what? What if she was not what he'd imagined? He left it alone.

A Tuesday night in April of his senior year, Edward went out to his house. Usually, he'd drive then park at the end of Smith Road, but this night he'd walked the three miles. He'd gotten into a nasty argument with his dad about what, he couldn't remember.

An empty promise of rain hung high in the clouds, as it had for weeks now. You couldn't jump high enough in your dreams to reach them.

Edward had an idea, one that complemented hers of an open staircase. He strode quicker the closer he came, but it wasn't until he'd gotten around the corner, past the thicket that he saw a blaze of orange through broken windows.

Bella Swan was there too. She was sitting on the hood of her car, chin in hands, watching his house burn and not doing a fucking thing about it.