I don't own these characters. They are the sole property of Stephanie Meyers. I only borrow them. No humans are permanently harmed through my actions, though I do confess to harassing, annoying, torturing, and exasperating them – just because it's fun. I make no money from my little stories, sad day. I only play in the sandbox, I didn't build it.

Chapter 7: Worth a Thousand Words

"Sail on, darlin', sail on
Woman, you go your way, and I'll go mine
Seems to me, that I once heard
That everything is finally cured by time
So sail on, darlin', sail on
Lord, I wish you good luck
And I'll see you when you come next time." Written by Gregg Allman, "Come and Go Blues."

Bella's POV

His house wasn't quite what I expected. It was a typical beach house, painted an almost aggressive yellow with bright blue shutters. Still, after hearing rumors about family money I'd expected something large and opulent and…showy. Instead, it was just a house. Nice. Unassuming. Quite unlike the sex god himself. As he opened the car door, I heard a series of quick, deep barks.

I looked at him, quirking an eyebrow in inquiry. He gave me a crooked grin (damn, I forgot to bring extra panties). "Uh…that's Sheba," he explained. "She hates being by herself," he added as he unlocked the door. "So…be prepared. She's rather…enthusiastic." He opened the door.

Then he began an interesting series of maneuvers that sort of blocked the doorway and all I could see was a massive dark shape darting around in the foyer, trying to evade him. He seemed to be trying to keep the source of the barking away from me. I smiled at him and ducked under his arm, pushing his leg out of the way. I was having none of that. It sounded like Sheba and I needed to get to know each other. Besides, I didn't want her jumping on me and setting my skin on fire. I could feel the prickling start to intensify.

"Sheba, huh?"

I'm not sure which one of them was more surprised when Sheba sat down and stared up at me expectantly. I immediately knelt in front of her and began fondling her ears. "She's a beauty," I murmured, gazing into her dark eyes.

"Yes," Edward muttered. "And she knows it." He gave Sheba a stern look but she ignored him, focusing on me. "You could have gotten hurt," he added, scowling.

"Nah," I said, still rubbing my hands through Sheba's thick, soft fur. "Dogs love me." I grinned up at him. "My friend Ja-" I swallowed hard. "My friends used to call me the dog whisperer." How could it still hurt so much?

"How did you know she wasn't vicious?" Edward asked, throwing his keys onto a small table by the door. He hadn't seemed to notice my slip. I was grateful.

"I just knew," I answered with a shrug. "Besides, big dogs don't scare me. It's the little yappy ones that terrify me." I shuddered.

He laughed. "I know what you mean. Nothing but bedroom slippers that piss and bite."

"Exactly," I agreed, finally getting to my feet. Sheba was tall enough that I could keep a hand on her head, so I did. I could already tell that Sheba and I were going to get along famously.

Edward leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sheba's nose, which she regally accepted as her due. I was suddenly very envious of Sheba. "She's my sweetheart," he said fondly. I wondered if Sheba would share him. I'd even give her space on the bed, as long as I could be curled up around Edward. Why did I torture myself like this?

"How long have you had her?" I asked as we moved toward the kitchen. Must not think naughty thoughts….

"Two years," Edward answered. "She was a rescue and absolutely pitiful looking when I got her." He winked down at the dog. "Weren't you, your majesty?" he asked her.

Sheba snorted as if to disagree. I laughed, though I admit that seeing Edward interacting so sweetly with this beautiful animal made me like him all the more – and that was dangerous. So I walked into the living room, glancing around. It looked homey and comfortable, as if Edward had lived here for a while. I envied him that. Sometimes I felt like I had spent half my life moving. "How long have you lived here?" I asked as he bent down to look into the refrigerator.

"A while," he answered shortly. Okay then, the scruffy Adonis does not want to discuss his residence. Make note to self. Honestly, the man's mood swings would do Sybil proud.

There was a group of pictures on a shelf. Most of them were fairly recent and Edward was in several of them. I noted with strange relief that none of them featured Edward alone with a woman, though there were several group photos of Edward with two other men and two women. Both of the women were much too attractive for my peace of mind. Of course, the men were extremely good-looking as well, though not, I admitted, quite up to Edward's standards. It seemed that scruffy Adonises were hard to come by. Or was it scruffy Adoni? Hmmm….

Shut up, I told my little voice.

Then there were a few photos that were obviously older. I could tell by the somewhat grainy look and the clothing. A group of kids, all hamming it up for the camera, one looking vaguely like Edward. He was smirking. Apparently, Adonis had learned that technique early in life. One of an older woman, she looked very grandmotherly and wise and suddenly I wanted homemade cookies. A more recent picture, an attractive woman with Edward's vivid green eyes, her hair slightly lighter than his, more coppery than bronze – that had to be his mother. It was either an older picture than it looked or she had aged very nicely. I glanced at Edward, thinking he would probably age quite well too. I saw no pictures of a man I would guess was his father. Wait. There was one more, mostly hidden behind the rest…

The same woman was in another picture, taken when she was quite young. I looked at the photo. It was a young couple, neither of them much out of their teens it seemed. He was shirtless, sitting in a canvas lawn chair, a can of Budweiser in one hand, a cigarette in the other. His arms and chest, what I could see of them, were heavily inked with tattoos. Most of his torso, however, was hidden by the woman in his lap. She was very, very pregnant. He had long blond hair that fell to his shoulders in a sleek, pale waterfall; his face was turned toward her, their foreheads gently touching. Her long, slender fingers tenderly rested on his strong jaw line. Ah, this must be his father as a young man. Something about the man's face, even in profile, tugged at an old and vague memory. His features were Edward's but I was sure I recognized him from somewhere else. Before I could grasp the memory, I heard Edward speak.

"My parents," Edward said behind me and the memory drifted away, banished by the silk and smoke of Edward's voice.

I smiled and pointed to the woman's round belly. "You?"

"The one and only." His answer was flippant and casual, but the tone was not. His eyes rested on the picture for a long moment and I got the impression that he did so often. I could see him standing here, brooding, and studying the picture of the people who had created him. They looked young and in love and exquisitely and tenderly happy.

"You look like your dad," I murmured. "But you've got your mom's hair."

"And eye color," Edward added and then shrugged. "Wanna beer?"

Edward's POV

Seeing Bella look at the picture of my parents made me feel panicky and out of breath. I wasn't sure why, but I felt the anxiety fluttering in my chest. Sheba whined, nudging her nose into my hand, sensing something was amiss. I gave her a reassuring pat and felt myself relax as Bella turned away from the picture to accept the beer. What if she asked where my parents were now?

My mom lived about thirty minutes away, so that was easy enough to explain. But then she would inevitably ask about my father. I didn't want to talk about that. I could always give her the standard answer I threw out there for anyone nosey enough to press the issue. "My father died when I was a child. I don't remember much about him." Only half of that was true. He had died when I was a boy. But I remembered him quite vividly, though there were times I was not sure if the memories were my own or if they had been kept alive by my mother's devotion to his memory. I didn't really care. I remembered him and that was enough. But I did not want her to ask. It would make me vulnerable in a way I could not afford to be with her.

Bella gave me an odd look but took a swig from her beer. "I like your house," she said.

I shrugged, still feeling disconcerted by the image of Bella leaning in to get a closer look at that picture. If I had known I would be bringing her back here, I would have tucked it away. Why was I feeling so panicked? "I can't imagine living anywhere else now."

"My mom lives about twenty minutes away from here," she said. I looked at her in surprise. I had not realized that she had family here. The gossip around the shelter had mentioned family in Washington State. She must have seen it in my expression because she grinned.

"No…I didn't hatch fully grown from an egg or anything," she teased. "I do have parents."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "That's not – I mean, you've never talked about your family. So I didn't know…you know, maybe they were…gone." Even as I said the words, I wanted to take them back. Uttering them was opening a door for her to question me and I steeled myself for the inevitable inquiry.

Bella, however, merely knelt down by Sheba again, guarding her beer from Sheba's long tongue. "Nuh uh," Bella scolded. "I love you, baby, but I'm not drinking after you." She looked up at me. So did Sheba. "Your dog's an alkie, just thought you should know."

I had to take a moment to gather my thoughts. Bella's soft, husky voice had caused a…reaction in my body. Briefly, I was very grateful that I had thrown on a shirt. The hem provided nice camouflage. "Yeah," I agreed. "That's Emmett's fault. He likes to put beer in her bowl when he's here. She knows what's in the bottle." I gave Sheba a stern look which she ignored by gazing at Bella with adoration.

"Who's Emmett?" I didn't really want to answer that question either, but it was infinitely safer than the topic of my parents. I knew that my reticence on that subject bordered on mentally unstable, but that's just the way it was.

"A friend," I said. There, a safe answer. And true, as far as it went. I waited for her to ask about my parents. I had seen the question there in her eyes. Once again, she surprised me.

"What's it like growing up in Florida – always close to a beach?"

"It's…hot," I replied with a smirk. "Of course, you know what they say. It's not the heat-"

"It's the humidity," Bella finished, rolling her eyes. "I've got a newsflash for them. It's the fucking heat."

"Yeah, well, this is nothing," I warned. Maybe you should go back to where you came from and leave me alone. "Come July, this will seem like paradise."

She grimaced and shook her head. "Don't remind me."

"I'll go get the goop and you can put it on after you shower." I was suddenly in a hurry to get her away from me.

"I really hate to inconvenience you," she said, looking a little embarrassed.

I shrugged. "It's no biggie." I went into my bathroom and grabbed the small, plain white tub of goop. I walked back into the living room and saw her looking at the picture again. I panicked. I had to get her out of here. "You know, I've got more of this stuff. You can take this with you. Keep it. You'd probably feel better showering at your place anyway. Put this on after. Ignore the smell. It's vile. But that shit works." I tried to smile but I knew I probably just looked like I had to puke.

She blinked at me, probably surprised at the abrupt about face I'd just performed. Sheba looked up at me in canine dismay. She knew she was about to lose her new best friend. I looked down at my dog and frowned. Traitor.

"Uh…sure…" Bella said. But what else could she say? No, I want to use your shower? I felt bad, I felt like an ass, but I just wanted her out of my house. It was too dangerous to have her here. She made me want things I shouldn't want.

And she made me nervous as hell.

So I drove her to her car and practically shoved her out of my Jeep.

Classic, Cullen. Really. Bravo.