Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Besotted, and my sweet BFF pre-reader, Twaffle.
Antiques Roadshow
I arrive at my two-story brownstone in the historic Lakewood Balmoral neighborhood, ready to choose another of my antiques to take to Boston. I have a room full in storage, and I'm ready to find another treasure for Bella to examine.
Opening the door to my storage room, I inhale wistfully. There is no trace of my parent's scent left, of course, but the smell of old leather and books always makes me feel comforted and nostalgic.
I wander over to the old bookshelf, eyeing worn copies of books that were so lovingly read. I pause on a copy of "Anne of Green Gables", written by L.M. Montgomery, and I reach to pull it off the shelf. The book was published in 1908, and it looks to be in excellent condition. I cautiously open the book and turn its pages, and I can't help but wonder how my mother felt while reading it.
Deciding to take it to Boston, I log online to purchase plane tickets. I briefly think about running, but this book is very old and I don't want to jostle it about. I select Continental first class seats, pay, and hit the confirm button.
I sit for a minute, staring at the monitor. It seems to be simultaneously telling me to hurry up and wait. Before I know it, I've been staring at the screen for eight hours. I give it the finger, because it feels therapeutic.
It's going to be a long two weeks.
After countless family hunts, regular workweek shifts, chess games, board games, movies and internet surfing, it is finally time to go. I'm beyond ready to see Bella again and the ache in my heart has radiated throughout my entire being, leaving me feeling acutely morose.
I'm at Chicago O'Hare Airport now, onboard the plane, feeling anxious, shifty and annoyed. I really should have given more thought to taking our family's private plane.
He's so hot. I wonder if he'd meet me in the bathroom once we're airborne.
If that stewardess doesn't refill my scotch right the hell now, I'm going to cause a scene. Don't they know passengers need alcohol to fly? Isn't this their job?
The passengers are already giving me a headache, and then the most horrifying thought follows.
Got my hands up, they're playin' my song
And now I'm gonna be ok
Yeah! It's a party in the USA!
Yeah! It's a party in the USA!
The tune is forced into my ears by a 14 year old girl sitting adjacent to me. She's singing shrilly and if I didn't want to exit the plane before, I surely do now. I thought first class tickets would get me out of this kind of asshattery. Teeny bop Miley Cyrus is not going to fly with me. Pun intended.
I look over to the spoiled, rich girl, who is begging her mother to let her have a flute of champagne while assessing her appearance in her compact. What's even sadder is that her mother is actually considering it, even if it's only in the hope that her daughter will fall asleep soon after.
I don't like it, but it's time to be passive-aggressive.
I pull my mp3 player out of my carry-on, pick one of my favorite tunes and set the volume obnoxiously high. This is going to hurt my ears, but it will be worth it. Soon, the rocking sound of AC/DC is blaring in my ears. I choose Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. I forward the track towards the end, on purpose.
Dirty Deeds and they're Done Dirt Cheap
Concrete Shoes, Cyanide, TNT,
Done Dirt Cheap
Neckties, Contracts, High Voltage!
Done Dirt Cheap
I look back at the 14 year old girl, fixing my expression into a nice, gentlemanly smile with a hint of don't-screw-with-me. I raise my eyebrow for good measure. Her thoughts go haywire.
What the hell? Is he threatening me? I don't want to listen to that old-timer crap! This is so unfair. Maybe I can get my mom to make him stop.
I want to laugh out loud because she thinks she's so important. Instead, I lean over and keep my smile in place as I deliver my ultimatum.
"If you keep singing Miley Cyrus, or anything else for that matter, I will keep blasting my old-timer music for your listening pleasure," I whisper, calmly leaning back into my seat and folding my arms across my chest. I watch as her blue eyes widen and her mind stutters, realizing I addressed her thoughts out loud. She's so blown away that she goes silent, and that is all I really wanted.
I decide that the male passenger who is hard up for an alcoholic beverage will be taken care of soon enough, so I turn my attention to the last person on my list.
The married college girl sitting diagonally from me keeps giving me googly eyes and licking her lips like a puppy jonesing for Beggin' Strips. She's sitting right next to her husband who is oblivious to the fact that his wife is eye fucking another man. I will never see this woman again, so I decide to go on the offensive. Hopefully this works the way I want it to.
I wink at her, making her believe I'm interested, and procure a slip of paper from my bag. I write three words down and pass it her way without anyone else seeing. From the thoughts I've pulled from her head, I can tell she's not the brightest bulb in the box. What I've written should do the trick. I sit back and wait for her thoughts to take off.
How can a man that attractive have an STD? I guess I won't be meeting him in the bathroom, after all.
It works perfectly. And the three words I wrote down?
I have gout.
I am correct in assuming that she would mistake gout for an STD. I am also correct in assuming that she wouldn't look at me again after this exchange. Knowing that I can now fly in relative peace, I lower the volume on my mp3 player and settle into my seat. I think only of my mate, and how surprised she will be to see me today.
A few hours later, I arrive at Logan International Airport, ready to make my way to my hotel and then The Boston Convention and Exhibition Center. I check in at the Langham Hotel and walk the short distance to the convention center. The weather is cloudy on this July morning and my book is tucked safely in my messenger bag. I speak with the item coordinator at this event, and they direct me into the appropriate line – Books and Manuscripts.
Thankfully, I only seem to be one hour back. The ache in my heart is much less severe which tells me I'm close to Bella. I listen intently for her voice, relishing in its sound. I can hear her soft thoughts as she appraises for a 47 year old man who lost his father less than a year ago. She's just told him that his father's favorite book, "Call of the Wild" by Jack London, is worth up to $8,500 at auction.
The camera is rolling on their segment, catching the man's emotional response. His eyes become misty and his thoughts are incredibly grateful. He is truly touched by how much Bella cares not only about his book, but also his feelings. She has been kind and compassionate, telling him that his father's memories of this book will live on through him and that she was glad she could help provide more information about it.
She pats him on the back, thanking him for sharing his item with her, and stands to greet the next gentleman in line. She begins shaking his hand in greeting when she looks in my direction and our eyes briefly meet. Things go downhill quickly from there.
He's… he's… oh my God! He's here! Edward is here! It's only been two weeks, but it feels like it's been two years. I can't believe it! Geez, this guy shakes hands a bit too firmly…
She winces in pain when the goof shaking her hand squeezes too hard, and she's thrown so off-kilter by seeing me that she loses her balance, trips on her chair and falls back on her ass.
"Flufferbutts," she mutters so quietly I can barely hear her. Her thoughts tell me that she uses off-the-cuff curse words for when real expletives aren't appropriate. Right now she's being filmed, hence the new word in my expansive vocabulary. I find myself impressed by her creativity, but concerned for her at the same time. She hit the ground pretty hard.
As fast as I can without exposing myself, I hurry to Bella to make sure she's okay. Unfortunately, I don't anticipate the lady who steps into my path holding an original Norman Rockwell. I promptly ram my hand right into the canvas, but I don't hear anything tear, thank God. I abruptly stop, wanting to make sure this lady is also okay and that I haven't damaged her painting.
If this rascal ruined my Normy, I'm going to be so upset!
I want to snicker at the fact that she's nicknamed her painting 'Normy', but I'm anxious to get to Bella. I watch impatiently as she critically inspects the canvas, making sure she sees no imperfections.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," I say, laying it on thick with my charm. "Are you alright? I will most certainly pay for any necessary repairs," I offer, listening to the woman's thoughts.
Well, he seems like a nice kid. And I didn't notice anything wrong with it, so I think I'll just be on my way.
"I'm just peachy, sonny," she replies, patting my hand. "My painting looks perfectly fine, but thank you for offering your assistance." She walks off, humming an oldies tune, and I'm relieved she's not a FOP.
Now I can focus my attention on Bella. I walk the remaining 20 feet to where stands, laughing and assuring everyone she's really okay. The gentleman who crushed her hand during their handshake pulled her up from the floor, and I kind of want to growl at him for being there first. I glare at him in my most murderous way as I softly place my hand upon Bella's waist.
"Are you alright, Bella?" I ask, needing to see proof in her eyes that she is indeed unhurt. Her deep brown eyes lock with mine and I make sure to soften my expression as she looks at me. I definitely don't want her thinking I'm a moody bastard.
I just can't believe he's really here. If only he knew how much I've thought about him these past two weeks. He'd think I was crazy. He's so sweet for checking on me.
I want to scoff at her thoughts and tell her that any true gentleman would make sure a lady was okay after such a spill, but I refrain.
"I'm perfectly alright, Edward," she responds, lighting up in the most beautiful of smiles. "Thank you for checking on me," she adds as I remove my hand from her waist. I certainly don't want to stop touching her, but I have to fight back the instinctive need I have to do so and remember where we are.
"Okay, good," I breathe, relieved that she's really alright. "And you're very welcome. I'm just going to go back to my place in line," I state, turning around. "I'll see you in about an hour." I emphasize my words with a wink over my shoulder and I hear her snicker in response.
I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.
I cough out a laugh so loud at her parting thought that I draw quite a few heads in my direction. I don't care. Bella is hilarious. She wonders why I'm laughing to myself, but I just shake my head back and forth on my way back in line. I plan on letting her know sooner rather than later that I can read minds.
The patrons in our section are courteous enough to let me reclaim my place in line without hassle, and I eagerly clutch my book to my chest in anticipation, waiting. Soon I arrive at the front of the line where the camera is once again rolling. They did stop filming when Bella biffed it. I idly ponder whether they have an Antiques Roadshow blooper reel and if this kind of thing has happened before.
My favorite client of the day, finally! I wonder what rarity he brought for me today.
"Hello again, Edward," Bella softly laughs as she once again shakes my hand. We take our seats and I lay my book out on the table in front of her. When she reads the title, she sucks in a sharp breath and her thoughts are filled with fond memories of reading "Anne of Green Gables" with her mother when she was a child. I happen to have brought one of her absolute favorites.
I so have to touch it. I need to molest its pages. Gently, of course. Okay, Bella. Pull yourself together. Ask your questions, you spazz!
Her inner monologue is accompanied by wide eyes, twitchy fingers and shallow breaths. I come to her rescue, if only by starting off the conversation.
"I found this book in one of my many bookcases. It originally belonged to my mother," I say, watching Bella's expression change into one of determination. She carefully positions the book and opens the hardcover.
"This is a beautifully-kept copy of "Anne of Green Gables," written by Lucy Maude Montgomery in 1908. Did you know that this was one of the first books printed for women and girls during that period of history?" she questions, still studying the inside of the cover and the title page.
"No, I didn't know that," I respond, knowing Bella will be on a roll now. I watch, enthralled, as she gears up, ready to inform me of the book's history.
"There were a lot of boys' books published in the early 20th century, and this was one of the very first books for women and girls. Because of that, the book really gained a wide audience, and it took off. "Anne of Green Gables" has been classified as one of the most beloved books for girls ever written."
"Because it was the author's first book, the publisher didn't print many copies because they didn't know whether or not it would be popular. It turns out this particular book was a huge success and everybody wanted it, but to get a true first edition was very, very difficult." Bella looks back into my eyes as she angles the book toward me, pointing at a tiny inscription on the title page.
"The book is dated on the title page - 1908, and here it says: 'First Impression, April, 1908.' That's very important because the date and the inscription mark it as a genuine first edition."
Bella's heartbeat has worked itself into a fever pitch, but I don't get too concerned because I know she's just really delighted over my book. She takes a deep breath and keeps going.
"For a collector, that means everything. The last first edition we sold went for $20,000 and that was several years ago. Copies rarely come up at auction. This is only the second one I've seen in my entire career and it is in better condition than the first."
Bella closes the book and gazes at me with a serious expression. "I would safely estimate this book to sell for $30,000 to $35,000 at auction." She concludes by laying her hands flat on the table, looking at me with a soft smile.
I wonder if he'd let me read it someday. He's brought me two amazing treasures, already. I wonder how many more he has.
If only she knew I'd give her anything.
"That is absolutely wonderful, Bella, I had no idea this book was worth so much," I say while smiling, and her heart continues to pound in her chest. I have the strongest urge to kiss her smiling lips. "Thank you," I quietly say as we continue to stare at one another. Part of me wonders if she can tell that I'm thanking her for so much more than this.
Someone's throat clears in the background, and we snap out of our seemingly private bubble. "You're very welcome, Edward. Thank you so much for sharing it with us."
The cameraman pauses in filming our set while Bella picks up my book and hands it back to me. As her hand touches mine I am taken aback, stunned, because I've just received a clear, happy memory of my human life.
I remember being 12 years old in the Chicago summertime, playing in the backyard of our home with a baseball and a bat while my mother lounged on our porch swing. She was reading a book and sipping on a tall glass of iced tea.
"What are you reading, mother?" I inquire, wanting to know why there is a happy smile on her face.
"Oh, Edward, this is "Anne of Greene Gables", and it's such a wonderful read! I want you to remember, when you become a man, how important books like these were to women in our era. We have suffered much, and authors like L.M. Montgomery have really opened doors for us." She pauses, looking seriously at me.
"I want you to have an open mind, son," she says as she runs her hand through my hair a little. "Always remember that women are equals and that there should be a brain behind the beauty of a face," she says, imploring me with her green eyes and rosy cheeks. "Especially when you search for a wife of your own."
I find myself listening attentively to her. I had just begun noticing girls that spring, and I was awkwardly shy around them. I fidget a bit, uncomfortable thinking about girls in front of my mother. She, of course, takes notice.
"Go back to playing ball, Edward," she laughs as she gently pushes me back towards the yard. "You interrupted me during a really good part!" she softly laughs.
I'm ripped from my first human memory in decades, staggered and shocked. And I could not be more aware of how right my mother was.
Did Bella gift me with this priceless memory? Might she have a latent power? How long have I been silent? I look at her and take in my surroundings, and no one is acting any differently. All of this happened within mere seconds, but it felt like I just spent an entire afternoon in my mother's presence. I am filled with gratitude for the memory and I realize I need to speak to Bella before she thinks I'm prone to go silent after every appraisal.
"Will you go on another date with me?" I quietly ask her, never letting my eyes stray from hers as I place my book back into my bag.
"I think that's a given, Edward," she replies, giggling. "You did follow me to Boston, after all."
Thank God for that. I was getting to the point where I wanted to see him so badly I started looking through multiple phone books. Unlisted numbers are a pain in the ass.
"And before you ask… no, I don't mind that you're here. I rather enjoy your company," she says softly while nervously twisting her long hair around her fingers.
I smile widely, glad that I wasn't the only one who was anxious. Bella relaxes at the sight of my smile and stops twisting her hair.
"Just give me a couple of hours and I'll be done with the rest of my appraisals," she says, looking at me expectantly.
"Okay, great. Would you like me to meet you here?"
"Yes, that would be excellent!" she says in excitement, her eyes alight and her heart fluttering rapidly beneath her ribcage. The sound is like my own personal concerto and I adore it. I adore her.
"Alright, it's a plan," I reply, drawing closer. Bella's thoughts are filled with the hope that I will kiss her hand again and I won't disappoint her.
But I will surprise her. I plan on kissing her cheek, instead.
She is my lady. And she will be treasured.
I quickly glance around, making sure we aren't being filmed or watched too closely. The coast is relatively clear and instead of kissing her palm, I lean into her slightly, brushing her hair back and bringing my lips beneath her ear, inhaling her fragrant scent.
Does he know how much I've craved his touch? He's so close, yet so far away.
Her thoughts drive me mad with desire and I know I need to keep my wits about me. "I will see you later, my Bella," I whisper into her ear, drawing back slowly to kiss her cheek. My cold lips meet her rosy flesh and she inhales softly, unable to keep from trembling at my touch. I've never felt such wonderful pleasure as this in my long life.
I have no words. When we kiss for real, it is going to be EPIC.
My thoughts exactly, sweetheart. My thoughts exactly.
I once again part from her unwillingly, excited for our date.
I'm going to tell her I can read minds and I am optimistic that she will react well. It will be fine. It will. I mean, Alice would call if something was going to go wrong, right? My phone would have been ringing by now, if it were. It will be fine.
I feel sick again. I might be the first vampire in history who needs an inhaler. Where's Jasper when you need him?
A/N:
If you didn't catch the one line movie quote in this one, I don't blame you. It was more subtle than the others. The I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave line was from 1997's Face/Off, with John Travolta and Nicholas Cage. I honestly used it without even thinking it was a movie quote at first. And then I got to thinking that it sounded familiar.
I appreciate each and every review you've given me. I squee inside every time my email pings me with each review, and I couldn't love you guys more for them. Thank you.
I'm recommending a story, as well:
Eddie and The Cruisers by Holly1980. This story is only four chapters in, and it has me wondering what the hell is going on. It's E/B, Romance/Mystery, and worth checking out.
Summary: Eddie Masen had it all; power, intuition, and the hottest rock-n-roll band in the country. One night his car went off a dark Washington State bridge. His body never found and his dream never lost. Twelve years later the mystery of Eddie begins to unravel.
http :/ www . fanfiction. net/s/7016988/1/ (remove the spaces)
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