Chapter Seven
BPOV
It's been a couple of days since Jasper caught Edward and me fooling around in the parking lot.
That first day was awkward, to say the least. Jasper's words were the last ones spoken as he slid into his vehicle. The patrol car door slammed with so much force that it jerked on its wheels. Jasper spun away, the tires screeching and kicking up smoke as he ripped across the parking lot. Edward was quiet while we shopped for paint and supplies. His eyes darted around the building almost as though he were waiting for another crazy relative of mine to appear, and I can't say that I could blame him. My eyes were darting around as well; my lip pulled between my teeth. We hadn't talked this through … this being seen in public with one another.
"This is going to cause you problems," he needlessly reminded me, frowning as I shook my head.
"I haven't been this happy in a very long time, Edward. I understand if you're not ready for this, but I am. I'm ready to take charge of my life."
Edward had smiled, and it was strained tense at first, but it quickly washed away. The tension in his shoulders disappeared, and they slouched slightly as he followed me through the store. By the time we left, we were laughing and chatting. We were still hyper aware of our surroundings and slightly on edge, but not nearly as bad as before.
"Will he tell your mother?"
Those are the words he spoke as we loaded the truck with the supplies. I bit the corner of my lip, dropping my eyes.
"I'm not sure," was my whispered response.
That's been two days ago, and still no word from my mother.
Yet.
Our time since then has involved moving furniture, crinkling plastic beneath our feet, and playful, paint wars. I stare at him now as he wrinkles his paint-tipped nose, criticizing a tiny dab of paint he's accidentally brushed against the stark, white ceiling. The tiny, specks of paint dotting his cheeks are cute, and I reach out, giggling, as I smear it further across his face. It streaks against his tan skin, against the slack-jawed face that eventually pulls into an easy grin.
Edward knows I'm ticklish, but I still squeak in surprise as his wiggling fingers come after me. I dart around the room, but I'm not quick enough. Those sinewy arms wrap around me as he presses in from behind, tucking his hands on either side beneath my ribs. The taunting skimming of his fingers makes me giggle and protest, attempting to wiggle out of his arms to no avail.
The teasing diminishes after a moment, and soon I'm simply wrapped in his arms. The warm contact of his skin against mine, causes my breath to grow haggard. Edward presses his lips to my temple, and it's the first intimate contact we've had since that day … that day my brother saw us.
"I like you," he says, his words lost in the gentle sway of our bodies, in the softness of his hair tickling my cheek.
"I like you," I return, tilting my head to look into his eyes.
Those whispering lips skim across my cheek. Edward catches the corner of my mouth, pressing his lips against mine. I turn in his arms, placing my hands on his shoulders.
"I think after what I did to your face you deserve a real kiss," I tell him, smiling into his lips.
Edward responds with a heavy moan as he fully kisses me. I relax in his arms, losing myself in the way he parts my mouth with the warmth of his tongue, with the sweet taste of his lips against mine. Most of the morning is spent this way: pretending to paint while exchanging heated kisses. I expect it to feel strange, kissing him in the home where Eric, Ben, and I once were a family, but it's not. It's not nearly as strange as I made it out to be in my head. It feels natural. It feels natural being with this man, allowing him to care for me.
And maybe, as terrifying as the thought might be, one day he'll realize that he loves me. Because I'm almost certain, I'm beginning to love him.
"What's got you smiling like a kid on Christmas morning these days?"
I laugh at my daddy's words, then pretend I'm going to run over him with the shopping cart that's clenched between my fingers. He's quick, I'll give him that. He darts to the right side of the aisle, knocking over a few rolls of paper towels in the process. Beneath the bristle of a five o'clock shadow his face turns red. I snicker as he reaches down and picks up the fallen rolls.
Mama sent us to the local grocery store to pick up a few, key ingredients missing from her cabinets which are, as she put it 'essential' to the family meal she's cooking tonight. Actually, she sent me to the grocery store, but my father volunteered to ride with me.
I've missed visiting my father these past few weeks. Most of my free time has been spent painting things that don't need painting, and rearranging furniture that doesn't need rearranging. Basically I've been using any excuse that I can conjure up to have Edward constantly by my side.
I blush at the thought of my pitiful excuses for calling Edward to my house. I would feel like a complete hussy if not for the fact that we have yet to have sex. Sure, we've shared a few innocent touches and not-so-innocent kisses, but that's as far as it's gone. My body and mind have both grown frustrated, sexually and otherwise, wanting things to progress between the two of us, but Jasper catching us kissing in that parking lot put a perpetual wedge between Edward and I ... sex-wise.
"Bella? Your face has grown all red," Daddy says, the right corner of his mouth lifting. "What's on your mind?"
I bite the inside of my mouth, then grab some garlic powder from the spice section. The far, right wheel on the shopping cart become stuck, and I take my time wiggling the cart around as I nervously contemplate my next few words.
"I met someone, Daddy," I whisper, avoiding his surprised expression. "Someone who makes me very happy."
"Bells, that's wonderful."
My smile grows as he ruffles my dark hair like a child. But that smile slowly begins to fade as a confession dances on my tongue.
I have to tell him who it is. I need to tell him who it is.
"Daddy, I nee-"
"Charlie Swan," a voice booms. "I haven't seen you in a coon's age."
My father's curious, awaiting stare leaves my face. An old friend of his and his wife stand nearby, happily chatting and greeting the two of us. I force a smile, then quietly excuse myself. A shaky breath fills my lungs as I push the stubborn buggy away.
I was so close. So freaking close.
I round the corner of an aisle and freeze, not because of the protesting wheel, but because of a very familiar mess of tawny hair just a few feet away. Edward stands near a large cork board that the owners of the store have placed just inside the front, glass doors of the store. Colorful pieces of paper are attached to the board announcing babysitting jobs, missing dogs, and yard sales. Edward places a piece of paper against the board, then shoves a red thumbtack through the paper. My body hums with his close proximity, and my palms itch with the desire to run my fingers through his hair, but I stand stock-still, mesmerized by the woman standing beside him.
She's stick-straight blonde hair, pale blue eyes, soft, pastel clothes and a bitter smile. Light where I'm dark. Familiar where I'm fresh and new. I'm taught not to hate, but the sight of her sickens me beyond belief. I duck behind a display of mac-and-cheese feeling utterly ridiculous, but unable to find it within me to care. My only concern is why she's here, standing by his side, touching his shoulder, and looking up into his eyes.
"Come home, Edward. Come home to me."
My stomach clenches with her sweet voice. It heaves and grumbles, and I pray that I don't throw up behind the pasta display. And maybe I would, if it weren't for the way he stubbornly shrugs her insistent fingers away.
"It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever come back to you, Kate.You kicked me out, remember?"
"Because you changed. You weren't the Edward I married, but you're different now. You seem ... happier. Less intense."
Edward chuckles to himself, then shakes his head. He says nothing as he starts towards the door, but she stops him. My skin crawls as her hands grasp his shirt.
"Where are you going to go, Edward? I heard Waylon kicked you out for getting so far behind on the rent."
Edward pauses, his shoulders stiffening. I slowly shake my head, confused by her words. Edward's mentioned nothing about getting kicked out of the house he rents.
"I did get behind, but like you said, I've changed. I'm not drinking or hanging around bars. I'm not getting into fights. I'm not drowning myself in the past. I'm moving forward with my life. I'll find some place to stay. It's really none of your business anymore, Kate."
"Divorce doesn't change the fact that I still care about you," Kate argues. "And I refuse to stand by and watch you live in your truck, for Christ's sake."
Live in his truck?
"Like I said, it's none of your business."
"But you have no place to go. Quit being so goddamn stubborn, you-"
"I have guest house I've been thinking of renting out ... for extra income."
I glance around in wonder, searching for the source of the new voice. Edward and Kate stare back at me, Edward with his eyes wide, and Kate with her jaw gone slack. A nervous giggle escapes my throat as I realize I'm the one who spoke.
Me.
"Who ... what ... how dare you ..."
Kate's stumbling and fumbling over her own words. A fine sheen of sweat covers her brow. I step out further from behind the mac and cheese display, my focus no longer on the woman who once owned his heart.
"The guest house ... it's more of a pool house than anything. One bedroom, one bath. A kitchen and living room. It's not much, but you could stay there ... pay me rent, of course. And there's always things around my house that need to be done that I can pay you for, but you already know that, don't you, Edward?"
I'm unsure where this strong woman came from, but here I stand. All five-foot four of me with a dirty buggy sitting beside me full of paper towels and tomato sauce. The sting of Kate's glare burns my cheeks, but not enough to draw my attention away from the man caught between us.
Caught between us.
"Bella? Is there a problem here?"
I rip my eyes from Edward's stunned face. My father's familiar cologne drifts around me. Mustache twitching, he stands to my left and appraises the two gaping individuals a few feet away. My lips part in stunned silence once my father speaks.
"Mr. Cullen."
Daddy gives a curt nod, which Edward quickly returns. Hands are outstretched, one rugged, weathered, and tan. The other is just as gingerbread brown from the Kentucky sun, and calloused, but not near as aged and worn as my father's. Kate and I are identical in our shock, watching as the two men exchange a familiar, albeit slightly stiff greeting in the form of a handshake.
"You know Edward. You know who he is?" I can't help but ask.
"Yes."
One word, short and blunt. Hands drop, both shoved in their own, individual pockets. Edward rocks on his heels and Kate shifts on her feet. The dense air quickly fills with even more discomfort as the four of us exchange silent glances.
"Edward's looking for a place to stay. I offered him my guest house ... I've been thinking of renting it out ... for extra income, since I'm not working and all."
If my father is surprised by my statement he doesn't show it. The soft curves of his face are motionless under the brown bristle of beard and mustache. Edward faces him unwavering in his own gaze, the two men silently appraising one another until my father finally speaks.
"That sounds like win-win situation to me. Is there a problem with that? With Edward renting out my daughter's guest house?"
My father tosses this question in Kate's direction, focusing his dark, soulful eyes on her placid, blue ones for the first time. The thin blonde is caught off-guard for a moment under the weight of my father's questioning presence. A man of around six-two with a stout frame, he's more of a gentle giant than anything else, unbeknownst to anyone other than his immediate family. Years of wheeling and dealing in the competitive world of derby horse breeding has gained him quite a reputation that proceeds him ... a reputation that he exudes without a hint of his own knowledge of it. Straight-forward and no-nonsense is this man. One simple look can make a person feel silly and ridiculous under his questioning stare. Many a man has crumbled under his penetrating, no-bullshit eyes.
"It .. it .. it makes for a rather awkward situation, don't you think?" she finally manages to blurt out, her cheeks burning like a child.
"It's only awkward if people make it that way," is my father's immediate reply, his words punctuated with a carefree shrug.
Kate's only response is to grow more agitated, if her reddening features are any indication. Eventually she makes a quiet, exasperated sound, the weight of the world expelling from her lungs in one, soft sigh. The sound of heels clack against the ground and then she's gone, shoving on a pair of shades as she slips out of the grocery store and into the bright sunlight.
A tightness in my chest that I didn't realize was there instantly dissipates once she's gone, allowing me to suck in the stifling air around us. Edward's shoulders lose their stiffness, and he's studying my father's stoic face with a look of stunned apprehension. My father waves his anxiety away with a gentle smile.
"I'm assuming the two of you don't need to exchange information? Seems like you're well acquainted ..."
"It's ... it's nothing like that," I stutter.
"It's none of my business," my father retorts, eyeing the nearby ice cream that's imprisoned behind a frosty, glass door. "And no one else's either."
Those are the last words he speaks before he saunters away, his attention now drawn to his vice: fudge swirl ice cream. My bravery follows him, and suddenly I'm a bashful little girl, asking a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance.
"I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. You don't have to accept my offer."
"Bella."
"I understand ... it's too much, too soon."
"Bella."
"I don't know what I was thinking."
"Bella!"
Edward's stern voice and rousing grin stupefies me. I shake my head, chuckling and threading my fingers nervously through my hair. My skin comes alive, tingling and crawling as he closes the space between us. I feel my father's eyes from where he stands nearby, and as harrowing as it is to ignore his prying gaze I don't look away from this man ... this man tilting my chin, simultaneously calming and exciting me with his words.
"I'm already packed. See you at home."
I arrive home after forgoing a trip back to my parents' house for supper. My father barely spoke on the drive back, but speaking long enough to dismiss my request for information regarding his and Edward's acquaintanceship.
"It's best he tells you himself," he said, smiling a secret smile as the greenery swirled past us. "Trust me."
I do trust my father. Between him, my brother, and my mother he's the only one I can trust. Jasper always accused me of being a daddy's girl. I suppose he's been right all these years. Jasper finally got something right.
Edward sitting on my front steps when I arrive home reminds me of a day not so long ago. Fingers in his hair, he twists the strands nervously around, lifting his head once he hears the sound of my vehicle pulling into the drive. I've barely get the door shut behind me before he finds his way to my side, and I melt into him, closing my eyes with his more than friendly embrace.
"I can't believe you offered up your guest house like that. I thought your father would be angry. He's a hard man to read."
I smile at the words murmured into my hair, my heart settling in the pit of my stomach once he pulls away. The worn boots on his feet shuffle against the drive, and I follow him, waiting as he begins pulling his belongings from the cab of the truck.
"My father's a good man."
"I know."
Those two words speak nothing of the truth. I frown, still silently questioning how he knows that my father is a good man. Silent until I can't take it anymore.
"How do you and my father know one another? I don't remember you ever meeting ... after the accident."
Edward places a few, battered cardboard boxes beside the truck. I spy a stack of clothes shoved in the far corner of the cab, hangers still attached. There are so few of his belongings that I can't imagine this could be all of his worldly possessions.
"I met him a few days ago."
"Really? Where? How?"
"At his house."
The slam of his truck door is like a gunshot to my chest. The words he just spoke spin around in my head, brewing up a storm of worry and doubt. My mother's pinched face fades in and out of my view as I imagine her reaction to seeing Edward standing on her property. There is no way she could have been home that day. My phone would be ringing off the hook.
"What ... why?"
Edward leans against the truck, crosses his arms over his chest, then his legs at the ankles. Watching me, gauging my reaction, he tells me something that sends my heart thumping uncontrollably.
"I went to him to ask forgiveness ... and he didn't give it to me."
"Why? Why would he do that?"
Edward smiles, releases a soft laugh, then stares at the ground for a moment. There's awe in his face, in his eyes, once he glances back up.
"He said there's nothing to forgive. I've done nothing wrong."
The guest house hasn't been used in a while. In fact, I don't remember the last time I've ever had guests to stay in the tiny house situated on the back edge of my property. Tucked beneath the hanging green limbs of the trees, the quaint little house is more of a cottage than anything else. Similar in color and style to the main house, the front area is warm and inviting. The flower beds, although slightly overgrown, burst with the vibrant colors of the summer. Small, curved bricks edge the flowerbeds, separating it from the thick grass that surrounds them. The window boxes are bare, but at one time, they held flowers, as well. I longingly glance at the empty boxes remembering a time when I cared about things like gardening.
"It's so musty," I grumble, wrinkling my nose once we're standing inside.
The air is stale from lack of life. Dust particles filter through, lazily floating in and out of the beams of light shifting across the room from the windows. Edward slips passed me while taking the key from my outstretched hand, and putting it into his pocket. I watch his lanky frame wander about, the very sight of his tattered, low-slung jeans and paint-splattered work boots doing silly things to my belly.
"There's a vacuum in here somewhere."
I attempt to walk past him, but he wraps one hand around my wrist. My breath comes and goes in little spurts, and I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of my back pressed against his toned chest.
"Bella, stop worrying so much. I'll take care of it tomorrow."
I nod, or at least I think I nod. It's hard to tell, because I'm floating, caught somewhere between heaven and earth. Lips graze the side of my face, as soft as a butterfly's wings. How on earth, this friendship is going to work is beyond me. Not when he's living so close, standing so close, pressing against me so tight and hard.
So hard.
"Bella."
My name comes out as a whispered moan. I bite my lip, forcing back a moan of my own. I pretend I can't feel how very excited he is against me, how very excited I am against him as his fingers ghost up my bare arms.
"Thank you. Thank you for helping me. For offering me a place to live. For being ... fuck. A friend? I can't be your friend, Bella. Not when we both want more. And I know you want this, baby. We can take it slow ... but I won't give up. You will be mine."
As soon as the warmth of his body is gone, I miss it. I miss the smell of him, the heat of him, and the way his loving touch sets my body on fire.
And I know without a doubt that I'll think of him tonight while I'm all alone ... touching, moaning, losing myself against fingers that I wish weren't my own.
Reviews are sweet.
