The days leading up to Wednesday made me question whether or not I was bipolar.

Saturday and Sunday I floated happily around on cloud nine. I hadn't given the incident at the bakery more than a surface-level thought. I was afraid to really think about things, honestly. Thinking might expose the cracks in the whole thing, thus revealing it as being a delusion. My romantic, imaginative side sang for joy.

Monday, however, the more realistic side of me finally broke through. I woke up happy again that morning, singing softly while I made the coffee. I even made pancakes for breakfast instead of my usual cereal and milk. The pancakes were cooked—one banana and one strawberry and I was pouring a cup of coffee when the question I had been avoiding skittered across my brain:

What if he's like James?

Not possible. That was not possible. I refused to acknowledge that there was a similarity between James and Edward. Refused.

You don't know this guy. All you know is what you read in the columns. And those basically said he was an ass.

That part was true: I didn't actually know Edward Cullen. But we were meeting at the restaurant. And I would be careful. I would pay close attention to my food and drink. I wouldn't drink any alcohol. I would get back in my car, by myself, and go home alone.

He was so damn arrogant at the bakery. I thought you didn't want to be pushed around again.

Okay, true. I didn't want to be pushed over and walked on; I'd spent the first nineteen years of my life as a doormat and I was not ready to go back to that. It was only in recent years that I had stood up.

My rational side was winning this argument. I had no reason to trust Edward Cullen. I had no reason to show up at this dinner on Wednesday. Suddenly I didn't want pancakes anymore.

Tuesday wasn't much better. I was torn, utterly and completely torn. At some point during the day I grabbed my journal and made a list of the pros and cons of going to lunch with Edward.

The list didn't help: the pros and cons were equal. I looked at the list and laughed quietly to myself. No one else I knew would make a list of pros and cons of going to lunch with a guy. But then again, no one else that I knew had been through what I had with James. I had reason to be cautious when it came to men. But was I being too cautious?

I chewed the inside of my lip and finally decided that this was out of my league and I needed to bring in reinforcements in order to make this decision. I picked up the phone and dialed Angela. Angela always thought prior to speaking and I knew she would give me good advice.

We chatted for a minute or two about our lives. I filled her in on Chicago; she filled me in on Austin.

"Ang, I'm having a bit of a dilemma and I desperately need your help. You see, there's this family here that's kind of the equivalent of royalty. I read about them all the time in the paper. The dad is an acclaimed surgeon and I don't know what the mom does. But they have three kids, all of which are grown. The younger ones—Emmett and Alice—are twins. Not identical ones, though. The oldest is…well the oldest is my problem. His name's Edward and Angela he is gorgeous. I met him Saturday and after about 30 seconds worth of conversation he invited me to lunch Wednesday. I don't know whether or not to go. I don't have his number or anything so I can't even call and cancel."

"That names sounds familiar. He's an attorney, right? I think Dad was talking about him the other day. Apparently, he's already partner at this huge firm in Chicago, which is what made Dad so angry. 'Nobody, I repeat nobody, makes partner by the age of 27. Especially at such a prominent firm.'" Angela imitated her dad shouting about Edward and we both giggled.

"Yup. That's the one. I read the same article your dad did I think. He started interning with them before he even started law school and was basically working there by his second year of law school. Once he graduated, he was rapidly promoted. You know he also finished undergrad in three years instead of four? But, what should I do about lunch?"

"I can't tell you what to do. But how do you really feel about him? I mean, really honestly feel in your heart. Being concerned is the natural and safe reaction. You wouldn't have accepted if you didn't want to go and I think that says something. Also, it is just lunch and if you're meeting there you can always be careful and just sort of test the waters. No one said you ever had to see him again after Wednesday afternoon."

We talked for a few more minutes before hanging up. I decided that Angela was right: I was making a mountain out of a molehill with this whole thing. It was just lunch and if nothing else, I'd at least get to try Chicago-style pizza.

I woke up early on Wednesday and paced the apartment, willing the clock to move faster. I checked the time every two minutes. I changed outfits multiple times, suddenly unable to find anything that worked and silently cursing my scanty wardrobe. I settled on a sweater dress and leggings. I checked my hair in the mirror and silently thanked God that my dark brown curls were behaving themselves today. I even applied makeup—something I never did unless I was performing.

11:35 rolled around and I couldn't wait any longer. It only took fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant from my apartment so I arrived ten minutes early. I paused with my hand on the door and took a deep breath before entering. After all, it was just lunch. If I kept telling myself that, eventually I would believe it.

Edward was already there, seated at a booth along the sidewall. It was about in the middle of the row of booths, which was good. Other diners would be able to see us. He looked up when I entered and smiled. I managed to make it to our table without tripping over anything. While no longer as insecure about my lack of coordination, I did not want to fall right now. Not in front of him.

"Hello. I trust the rest of your weekend went well?"

"It did, actually. How was yours?"

Edward rolled his shoulders easily. "It passed." Clearly we weren't Mr. Chatty today.

We paused to order drinks and I swear I saw him grimace when I ordered a Diet Coke. I couldn't figure out why a Diet Coke would be offensive, so I brushed the look off and told myself I was reading too much into things. We decided on a mushroom pizza and placed our order, settling in to wait with our drinks.

"You mentioned that you were new to Chicago. What brings you up here, Bella?"
"I'm not sure actually. I think I was looking for a chance to really test my wings. I was raised in Austin and I think I wanted to try living somewhere else. What about you? How long have you lived here?"

"I was born and raised here. What is it that you do? Perhaps your career factored into your decision." I wasn't sure how to react to the last part; it had been more of a statement then a question. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, chalking it up to his way of working through my reason for being here. Why that would matter to Edward was beyond me.

"I'm a musician. Speaking of, this may seem completely random, but I played a show on Friday night and I saw someone who looked just like you there. You didn't happen to be at Tena's on Friday night, did you?" His eyes flashed to meet mine and hope seemed to flicker across them. Then those green eyes narrowed and I swear I could see a wall fly up in between us.

"No. I was not. It must have been someone else." I all but physically recoiled from the shortness of his statement.

"Guess I was mistaken then." His tone of voice had been so defensive that it made me question him. If he really hadn't been there then why the defensiveness? Why the acidity? I would have imagined him teasing me about mistaking someone else for him, not attacking me for daring to ask if it had been him or not. But it didn't make any sense for him to lie, either. I took a sip of my Diet Coke. Clearly that topic was off-limits.

Thankfully the waiter appeared with some bread, apologizing for not bringing it any sooner. Edward pushed the basket towards me.

"Ladies first." I selected a piece of bread, took a bit of butter and pushed the basket back towards him. I took a bite of bread and watched him carefully.

The bread seemed to soften him some. His wall remained firmly in place—he ensured that I remained the topic of conversation, peppering me with questions. The pizza came not long after the bread. Time seemed to fly by and the next thing I knew, he was helping me into my truck.

"I enjoyed our lunch, Bella. Perhaps we could do this again next Wednesday, at a different restaurant?" He offered his Blackberry to me and I added my number. We said goodbye and I watched him cross the street to a silver Volvo. I would have pegged him as a BMW or Mercedes driver. Edward Cullen, man of many mysteries.

One detail of the conversation stuck out in my mind and I grabbed my computer when I got home to look something up. I found the firm's website and reviewed their policy regarding pro bono work. I had managed to fire a few questions back, mostly about work—what kind of law he practiced and why. Edward had mentioned that he took some pro bono cases but had brushed it off so quickly that I wondered if it was a requirement of the firm. According to the website it was not. And according to the website, Edward was one of the only attorneys that took pro bono cases. I decided that I would ask him about that, should I hear from him again. Asking would risk another cold shoulder like the one I had gotten when I asked about last Friday night. But if what I saw in his eyes when I asked that question was real, then it was worth the risk.

The week progressed and Friday night rolled around.

I didn't see Edward at Tena's that night.