Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I make money off writing about them. If I owned them, the books and movies would not be appropriate for people under 18, just like this story - consider yourself warned. This plot, however, is mine – no fiddling with it without my express permission.

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Edward is in my living room.

I tried to concentrate on the tea cooling on the counter, but my eyes continually darted to where Edward sat on my couch. When he had followed me into the cottage, I panicked. Having his energy caressing my skin, his scent blanketing itself gently around my body, was too much sensation for me to deal with. I calmly invited him to sit on the couch before I ran upstairs to change out of my pajamas. I hopped into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, brushed my teeth and clipped my hair into a twist before racing back downstairs.

When I reached the bottom step, I moved directly into the kitchen under the pretense of needing to make a fresh pitcher of sweet tea. I really just needed a few minutes to clear my head before joining him in the living room, and making a pitcher of tea seemed like a plausible excuse.

I heated the water in my cast iron kettle, steeped the black tea, boiled the simple syrup and mixed the tea and syrup together, all while slyly watching Edward from the corner of my eye. I took careful note of the emotions streaming through my body – anger, pain, distrust, fear. No one feeling stayed in the forefront for long. Instead, they danced and weaved around each other, knotting together in my chest until I could no longer discern what I was feeling.

Ten minutes later, I was still just as lost in my emotions, and he was still sitting motionless on the couch. He appeared to be staring at my fireplace, though I couldn't see his eyes from where I was standing. I took a deep breath and sighed; I was out of time.

I slowly poured the tea over ice cubes in my favorite ceramic pitcher. I would have preferred to let it cool on its own, but that would have taken far too long. I had a feeling I was going to need the comforting drink for this conversation.

When the tea was chilled and my hands had finally stopped trembling, I poured two glasses and walked slowly into the living room. I placed Edward's tea on the table in front of him. I continued past the couch and curled up in the large armchair to his right.

"Thank you," he said, not meeting my gaze. He continued to stare straight ahead, not moving, for several minutes. The subtle energy around him kept shifting – harsh to gentle, fierce vibrations to gently rolling whispers.

The silence quickly became oppressive. When I noticed a confusing scent permeating the room, one I could only describe as muddled, I placed my glass on the table beside me and sat back in the chair, hugging a pillow to my chest.

"You wanted to talk to me."

"Yes," he said, turning his face toward the kitchen and looking away from me. "I've been sitting here trying to figure out where to start. I'm not…I don't know…I feel like…" He put both hands in his hair, tugging on it roughly, as he huffed. I noticed his hands shaking whenever they stilled, and I knew I needed to help him start this conversation.

"Quicksand," I said, hoping to distract him from pulling on his hair before he hurt himself.

"What?" he asked. His eyes met mine for the first time since we entered the house. My heart broke at the pain and confusion they held. I felt a sudden need to comfort him, but I steeled myself from the desire. I was not ready to let go of my anger.

"You feel unstable, unsure of yourself. You want to move forward, but you can't figure out which direction to go. You're afraid of taking that first step and having it be wrong."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he said with a grimace.

"Your aunt would say you're in a quagmire. I prefer to think of it as emotional quicksand," I said, stiffening my body to stay in place. Resisting him was much more difficult than I thought it would be. I was glad I'd chosen to sit alone in the chair instead of sharing the couch with him. The distance was the buffer I needed to stay focused on the task at hand.

"How do I get past it?" he asked quietly, his eyes vivid against his pale skin.

"I can't tell you that," I whispered while shaking my head slowly. "You have to find your own way through."

As he held my gaze, I recognized a familiar warmth spreading through my body. The sensation started in my abdomen and spiraled slowly outwards. Everything about him was calling to me, begging me to move closer, to seize him. The energy building between us was practically shooting sparks as it danced, never straying far from where we sat.

I finally forced myself to turn away from his gaze, looking out the window to the right of the fireplace instead. I would not surrender to the draw - not after how he'd hurt me. Not before I knew why.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he said suddenly. My eyes darted back to his as the bitter scent of regret reached me. I held my breath, ignoring the odor, as he continued. "I know it's not enough…that just apologizing won't take back what I said, but I really am very sorry."

"You're right," I replied. "It's not enough. What you said…the words you used…you can't just say 'I'm sorry' and expect everything to be forgiven. You," I paused to take a deep breath, "you really hurt me, Edward. I don't know if I can forgive you after what you said."

We sat in silence. I kept my eyes trained on the floor to hide the tears slowly trailing down my face. I was tired of this – the confusion, the pain, the anger. I needed answers…now.

My mind raced with the possibilities of what should come next. Should I ask him to leave? Should I ask for an explanation? Where should I start? How could I choose just one question when my mind was foggy with the multitude of things I wanted to know?

Without much thought, I blurted out the first question that became clear in my head.

"Why the Irish?"

Edward looked puzzled as he leaned toward me minutely. "What?" he asked.

"When you showed up here, you said 'le do thoil.' Why not just say 'please' in English? Why say it in Irish?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, really," he replied, cocking his head a little to the left. "I didn't think about what I was going to say once I saw you. I just knew I had to get here, to get to you. When I saw you on the porch, 'le do thoil' was the only thing that made any sense to me."

I held his gaze cautiously. There was no answer in his words, no real explanation. They did nothing but add more confusion to my already jumbled thoughts. The scents, the energy, the gravity – it was all overwhelming me. The emotions within me began to swirl faster, creating an almost chaotic sensation around my heart. I forced my mind to focus on Edward so as not to be distracted by the turmoil within me.

"I meant what I said," he said quietly. "I'll beg if I have to."

"I don't want you to beg," I said, my anger finally blazing a path through my thoughts and giving me a view of the questions I wanted him to answer. "I want you to explain. Why were you so cruel?" I was getting louder with each word, waving my hands in the air to punctuate my thoughts. "Why are you even traveling with Esme this summer if you think all carnies are conniving and manipulative?" Edward sputtered, trying to interrupt me, but the words refused to stop. "Why would you call me such cruel names? How could you call me a freak when-"

"BELLA!" Edward yelled, silencing me. I had been so caught up in my questions, I never noticed him move from the couch. He kneeled in front of me, his thighs against the edge of the chair. He reached out and grabbed my wrists gently, halting my frantic waving. "Stop, please."

My eyes met his, and I was plunged into a sea of need and want. My body leaned toward him of its own accord, my very soul itching as the desire to move closer engulfed me. I inched forward slightly, and his eyes widened as his breath caught, breaking the spell his very presence wove around me.

I yanked my wrists away from him and sank deeper into the chair, moving as far away from him as possible. As much as my body needed to be near him, my mind needed the space.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just give me a chance to explain," he pleaded. "I can't answer every one of your questions at once, but I will answer them all." He gazed at me for a few moments as I considered his request. I finally nodded my acquiescence. He smiled gently before moving slowly back to his spot on the couch.

"Where do you want me to start?" he asked once he was settled.

I thought about his question as the time slipped away. He sat patiently, never showing signs of frustration at my delay. Eventually, Esme's words from Sunday morning danced through my memories – so simple, yet so very vital.

"I want you to start at the beginning," I said firmly. "I want you to tell me why you think carnies are conniving and manipulative. I want you to explain to me how you could believe that, especially considering Esme and Alice are your family."

Edward was silent for a long time before he took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. I noticed him fidgeting, tracing patterns along the tips of his fingers with his thumb. This wasn't the first time I had noticed that particular action, and I realized it must be a nervous habit.

"You know Esme is my mom's sister?" he asked. I nodded in response when he looked up at me. "Did you know they're identical twins?" I thought for a moment, trying to remember if Esme had ever mentioned a twin but shook my head when I realized I didn't know this.

"Same hair color, same eye color, same height, same ability to see the future. You would think they would have similar personalities, too, but in that, they're exact opposites. Esme's always been warm, loving, giving; my mom, on the other hand, is none of those things."

I reached for my glass and took a sip of my tea as Edward shifted his body to face me.

"My parents met at a carnival. Mom and Aunt Esme were working at the fortuneteller booth. She spotted my dad in the crowd and…well, love at first sight, I guess." He shrugged and looked down at the floor again.

"They were married two weeks later, and I was born that next summer. My dad was a lawyer at a big firm in Chicago; my mom stayed home with me. When I was young, I never really thought about the things that made her different, that made us different as a family. The visions, the off-the-wall comments to strangers about their lives, the way she always knew what was going on with the neighbors - it was all normal to me." He cringed after he said the word 'normal' and looked to me with a fearful expression. I shrugged slightly and motioned for him to continue. Now wasn't the time to get into a dispute regarding that particular word.

"It wasn't until I joined the soccer team in sixth grade that I realized we weren't nor...like the other families in our neighborhood," he said, obviously making a conscious decision not to use the word normal. I smiled a little behind my glass before taking another sip.

"My mom would always make me sit with her for a pep talk before my games. She would give me tips and tell me which players to avoid on the field. I didn't realize it at the time, but she was using her gift to see how the game would play out. She would tell me the things I needed to know so my team would win, usually with me scoring a few of the goals."

I frowned at him. Esme was always adamant with Alice and me that our gifts were to be used with caution and restraint. Using precognition to change the winner of a children's soccer game was not something she would have tolerated.

"One morning my Dad walked in on one of our little chats and figured out what she was doing. I'd never seen him so furious. He told me to leave the room and shut the door, but I still heard them yelling. My parents were always arguing, but this was different. They were really screaming at each other. I don't want to go into too much detail, but he called her-" he glanced at me. He quickly ducked his head, but not before I saw the shameful expression on his face. "He called her a lot of names, because of her 'sight' and her carnie background. He told her she needed to stop trying to influence people with her gift. She laughed when he demanded she find a way to stop seeing the future, claiming it had gotten them into trouble too many times."

I snorted. My eyes shot to Edward's in embarrassment over my reaction. "Sorry," I mumbled. "But trying to stop her visions would have been like trying to get Niagara not to fall. It's…impossible."

"It's not impossible, Bella," he almost whispered, looking at the floor again. "Difficult but not impossible." I gaped at him in shock. I could ignore the scents and sensations if I concentrated on something other than them, but it was draining. I could never block them out for longer than an hour or so. I wished he would continue down that tangent, but he never elaborated on the possibility of blocking one's gift.

"After that day she never gave me another pre-game pep talk. She went about her days like always, but you could tell something was different. She barely spoke anymore, and when she did, it was always to insult or complain. She would spend hours on the phone, though I never knew to whom she was whispering. She cried a lot, as well, and she refused any attempt I made to comfort her. She had never been a very affectionate person, but this was so much worse. She wasn't just neglectful anymore; she was short-tempered and mean."

I felt my anger toward Edward slipping as he talked about his childhood. No child deserved such treatment, especially not from his own mother. I took another sip from my glass as he continued.

"That's when the visitors started showing up. It seemed like every other day there was some man on our doorstep, asking for my mom. They were always dressed in dirty clothes, and many of them were covered in scars or missing teeth. I was young, and my dad was always working; I'm not ashamed to admit they made me nervous. About that time, odd things started happening in our neighborhood: break-ins, missing pets, vandalism. People would whisper and stare whenever they saw my mom or me. They had noticed the men coming to the house; they weren't stupid.

"Suddenly the kids I grew up with weren't allowed to hang out with me anymore. Even at practice, they would walk up to talk, and their parents would immediately call them over to keep them away from me. It was harsh, and I was pretty lonely. Eventually I stopped playing soccer altogether and just spent a lot of time alone in my room." I gave him a small, commiserating smile, and he shrugged in response.

Edward suddenly yawned, stretching his upper body over the arm of the couch. His shirt rode up as he did, exposing a strip of pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. There was a thick, slightly pink scar just off center, running vertically. My eyes quickly darted over his body, wondering what other scars littered his skin and what had caused them all. My stomach dropped at the thought of the type of pain this man must have been through in his relatively short life.

He sat straight once again and reached for his glass.

"What was she doing?" I asked. He swallowed the last of the tea and set his empty glass on the coffee table.

"She was working with a group of her old carnie friends, helping them rob our neighbors. She would purposefully run into people from the neighborhood and find a reason to touch them. Her gift is a lot stronger than Aunt Esme's or Alice's is but also a lot less random. She has to touch your skin to be able to see anything about you, but once she has, she can focus on your essence and see…a lot."

"Wait," I interrupted him, "what do you mean by a lot? What exactly can she see?" A sense of dread settled over me. Someone with a strong gift like Elizabeth's, and without the proper moral character to restrain it, could easily become out of control. The picture he was painting with his memories suddenly took on a darker hue.

"She sees the results of decisions, like Alice, but she sees much more detail," he said, leaning back into the corner of the couch and throwing his arm across the back.

My eyes darted around the room as I considered what he was saying. I knew Alice's visions came once the subject of them made a firm a decision. She described them to me as pictures in her mind. She would get a flash of something that had been decided upon but not necessarily the before or after effects. I finally settled my gaze back on Edward as my confusion increased.

"I don't think I understand. How can she see so much if all of her visions are determined by decisions?" He brought his foot up onto the couch, his leg bent at the knee. The position distracted me. His angled leg led my eyes from his foot, up along the seam in his pants to his knee, over the peak and back down, running along his thigh.

Edward coughed quietly, and my eyes shifted to his quickly. He was staring at me, his eyes dark and intense. I blushed, realizing I had been caught ogling him, and trained my eyes on the floor in front of me. After a few seconds of silence, he continued.

"Every single action you take is a decision," he said, his voice low and soothing. "Your alarm goes off in the morning – do you turn it off or press snooze? Once you get out of bed, do you shower or get a cup of coffee first? Do you want milk in your coffee or not? Do you use the white mug or the blue one?"

"Okay, I get it," I said, the thoughts in my head coloring the canvas of comprehension as they continued to reveal his picture. I felt like I was still missing something though, some bit of information that would add dimension to the canvas and pull the image out from the convoluted mess of color. "She can see flashes of almost everything a person does in a day. I still…I don't think I understand. What makes this so much stronger than Esme's or Alice's gift?"

"My mom has amazing control," he said. "Let's say she touched you today - just a quick handshake or any kind of brushing of skin - she would have your essence stored in her mind. If, two weeks from now, she wants to find out what your plans are for the weekend, she can focus on your essence and see every single decision you had made since the moment she touched you. Weekend plans, work schedules, what jewelry you chose to wear, how much money you decided to keep on hand at your house, where your spare keys were stored." My jaw dropped as I finally understood the full scope of Elizabeth's power. I couldn't help but be grateful I had never met the woman. The idea of her knowing almost every detail of my life was definitely disturbing and slightly terrifying.

"We weren't rich, but we lived in a nice, upper-class neighborhood. Mom would pick a 'mark' based on what she knew about them, then spend time focusing on their decisions. Once she knew their plans, she would contact one of her carnie friends and let them know when the house would be empty and what they were looking for. It was a brilliant plan, when you think about it. Unfortunately for her, my dad figured out what she was doing."

The energy in the room shifted suddenly, startling me. There was a feeling of heaviness, of weight, surrounding me, and the stench of despair assaulted my nose. Edward sat across from me, staring at a spot on the couch, pain radiating from his body. This was too much. As angry as I still was, I couldn't sit and watch him suffer.

"I think we should take a break," I said softly. I stood slowly and stretched before scooping up the two glasses and walking into the kitchen with them. I felt a tingling on my skin and caught just a whiff of sweet rain before I heard Edward follow me into the space.

"I promised I would tell you everything," he whispered from behind me. I trembled slightly at the softness of his voice as it wrapped around me. I placed the glasses carefully in the sink. I turned toward him, resting my hip against the counter.

Edward stood across from me, leaning against the front of the refrigerator. His feet were crossed at the ankles, his hands wringing in front of him. He looked disappointed and a little sad as I gave him a small smile.

"And you will, but right now I think we could both use a break. And maybe some food," I said. "If we want to eat, I'm going to have to shop. I still haven't made it to the grocery store." I turned and bent down to collect my fabric grocery bags from under the sink.

"Would you like…I mean, may I go with you to the grocery store?" Edward asked.

I glanced up and over my shoulder at him as I reached for the insulated bag at the back of the cabinet. His eyes moved slowly up the length of my legs, over the curves of my body, before meeting my own. I couldn't stop the smirk that formed on my face. I raised an eyebrow, challenging him, but he kept his eyes on mine, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Sure," I said, rolling my body up to standing with my bags in my hands. "I think that would be all right." Edward's eyes dropped from my face to my chest for just a second before they met mine once more.

I shook my head at him in good-natured disbelief as I walked toward the front of the house, intent on finding a pair of shoes and my wallet. When I passed him, Edward reached out, his fingers encircling my wrist gingerly. The smoldering desire I felt for him flared instantly at his touch, and I drowned in the aroma of warm honey and caramel.

"Thank you for giving me a chance to explain," he said, his expression full of hope. "I know what I said was unforgivable, but I hope I can at least make you understand why I lashed out at you the way I did. I know you didn't deserve it, and I didn't deserve the chance to explain…so thank you."

I smiled gently at him before nodding my head and continuing to the door.

xXxXx

Being alone with Edward in a space as small as the interior of a car had probably not been a great idea. He was polite and respectful, but the intensity of our attraction was magnified by the proximity of his body to mine. It was almost as if I could feel the energy between us bouncing off the windows of his Mustang, continually reminding me that the man less than eighteen inches away was my fíorghrá.

I could tell he was feeling the same draw. I caught him sneaking glances at me out of the corner of his eye as he drove smoothly around the curves of the road. Of course, that meant he caught me doing the same thing. We were both grinning shyly by the time we pulled into the lot of the Kroger store in town.

As if the ride to the store wasn't confusing enough, the time spent shopping had my emotions swinging like a pendulum. One second I would remember something he said in Esme's tent, and my fear would flare up around me. Before I could act on it, though, his hand would brush mine as we placed items in the buggy, or he would catch my eye from across the aisle and pull one side of his mouth up into a small smile. My fear melted away every time, leaving me feeling almost blissful. I would find myself smiling back at him as if he hadn't ripped my heart out and danced a jig on it just two days ago.

I thought about the drastic changes my life had undergone recently as Edward drove us back to the cottage. Four days. My entire world had flipped upside down twice in an interval of only two days. First, I met Edward, my fíorghrá, and I became oblivious to everything around me as I focused on the gravity between us. For two days he was my only thought, my ultimate craving - but the bottom dropped out with five hate-filled words.

Now here we were, another two days later, moving around my kitchen as if we had prepared dinner together a hundred times. There was no anger at that moment, no pain, just a feeling of tranquility as we worked closely. I still didn't have answers, and I desperately needed them if I was ever going to get to a place where I could find the resolve to understand and accept.

"Tell me about your father," I said as I pulled a cutting board out of the drawer and grabbed my favorite santoku knife from the block on the counter. Edward paused, his hand resting on the pork loin he was rubbing with his homemade spice mixture.

"He was...great," he said, his eyes on his hands as he went back to covering the meat with the deep red powder. "He worked a lot, but he always made time to take me to my soccer games or to come see my recitals. He believed no education was complete without studying the arts, so he pushed me to play piano. He also took me to art museums, symphonies, operas, plays. He really made an effort to show me that life wasn't all about the things you had to do - it was also about the things you loved to do."

I watched as Edward placed the pork loin in the oven. He stood and walked toward the sink, brushing his shoulder against my back as he passed me, causing me to shiver a little. There was something so right about him working beside me in this space. I felt the fear and the distrust loosening their grip on my heart slightly as I watched him wash his hands at the sink. When he was finished, he turned and leaned his hip against the counter.

"He loved Halloween," he said. He dried his hands on a dishtowel, then swung it nonchalantly to drape across his shoulder. "Every fall he would take me to this farm in the far northwest suburbs to pick pumpkins. He was so particular about it. We would end up there for hours as he tried to decide whether to buy the tall, skinny pumpkin with the short stump, or the tall, skinny pumpkin with the longer stump. He would debate the merits of each endlessly, yet every year he ended up buying any pumpkin that caught his eye so he could cover the front porch in them. That last Halloween before he died he picked eighteen pumpkins, and I picked two."

His face looked sad as he shifted his gaze to a spot over my shoulder. I concentrated on the cucumber I was slicing to allow him time to relive his memories in peace. I may have never known my own father, but I had felt the sting of his absence on more than one occasion. I could only imagine how intense the pain from the loss of an involved, loving parent was.

"We moved," Edward said, shaking his head a bit. "After he found out about my mom and the carnies, he packed us up and moved us to a new neighborhood. He was trying to give my mom and me a clean start. He saw how withdrawn I was becoming, and he was doing what he could to fix it. He also loved my mother passionately, and he refused to give up on their marriage.

"Unfortunately, things kept getting worse. My mom was furious with my dad. If she spoke to him at all, it was to lash out at him. I was basically non-existent in her world by the time I started high school. She ignored me, and I ignored her – it wasn't healthy, but it worked for me." Edward moved around the kitchen as he talked, finding a way to brush his shoulder or hand against me whenever he passed. The light touches kept me grounded, focused solely on him instead of the sensations that usually bombarded me because of my gift.

He pulled the fresh asparagus out of the refrigerator and took it to the sink, running a fingertip softly across my lower back as he passed. I sighed and caught him smiling as he turned on the tap.

"My dad kept trying. He coddled her, threatened her, stopped talking to her, demanded they go to therapy." He walked past me once more, this time brushing three fingers across the back of my neck. My entire body trembled as he chuckled softly. He set the asparagus on some foil squares a few feet away from me and began seasoning them.

"He tried anything and everything to help her, but she refused to forgive him for coming between her and her 'carnie family'. He would remind her we were her family, and she would always reply 'It's different. You could never understand.' I really began to hate the word different." He paused, holding the pepper mill he had been grinding in the air as he appeared to get lost in his memories once more. After a few seconds, he set the grinder down and drizzled the asparagus with my basil-infused olive oil. He wrapped the foil around the green spears, creating little packets.

"Just before I started my sophomore year in high school, I came home one day and found one of her carnie friends sitting in the kitchen," he said, as he placed the asparagus in the oven and shifted the pork loin to the side. "He was older, more refined than the others I remembered. Everything about him, every look, every motion, just oozed bad energy, though. He never said he was a carnie, just that he and my mom were old friends, but I could tell he was from the carnival."

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he held his hands up in a show of defense.

"Not like that," he said quickly. "He had the same tattoo on his arm as the other guys I remembered. My mom had a matching one on her ankle. That's how I knew he was from the carnival."

I wasn't aware of any carnivals requiring tattoos or carnie groups that would have such a thing. I tucked that information away for later, not wanting to interrupt him with irrelevant questions. I nodded at Edward to continue as I began slicing the carrots. He dropped his hands and looked a little relieved when I accepted his explanation so easily.

"After that visit things with my mom got...weird. She started sleeping a lot during the day, and I would hear her moving around in the attic late at night. I think January of my sophomore year was the first time I came home to find her passed out on the couch. I didn't think anything of it at first, but then I started finding empty bottles hidden all over the house. After a couple of weeks of finding her unconscious almost everyday, reeking of alcohol, I told my dad what was happening and showed him the bottles. Can I help you set the table?"

"What?" I asked. Every word he had told me over the past hour was dancing around in my head, pushing and pulling, causing synapses to fire as the colors on the canvas began to show more detail of the picture being painted. His quick shift in subject didn't register through the commotion.

"The table," he said, smirking slightly at me. "Would you like me to help you set it?"

"Oh, sure," I replied as I moved toward the cabinets where my dishes were stored.

"It's a clear night. I thought it might be nice to eat out on the deck." Edward moved toward the doors leading outside, sliding his hand along the side of my hip as he passed me. I gasped quietly as I shook my head at him.

"All of my deck furniture is still down in the shed. I didn't get a chance to pull it out today."

"That shed?" he asked as he pointed to my storage shed at the tree line. I nodded at him and he smiled. "Is it locked?" I shook my head and he opened the door.

"We've got a few minutes before I need to pull the pork loin out of the oven. Why don't you collect the dishes and silverware, and I'll go and bring up the furniture."

He was halfway through the French door before I responded, "Okay, thanks. Just be careful."

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting at my little teak table on the deck. The sun had already moved far enough to the west to be hidden behind the roof of the house. We were left in a pocket of gray below the reds, oranges and deep yellows painting the scattered clouds, making it appear as if the sky was on fire.

"You're right, by the way," Edward said as he spread butter on a dinner roll. "This place, those mountains – it's absolutely gorgeous. I can see why you bought this house."

"Thanks," I said. "I have to admit, it was love at first sight." Edward's eyes darted to mine, confusion and hope battling behind them. I held his gaze as I took a sip from my glass of tea. "I'm not really one for doubt. When I make a decision, I stick to it. I saw this place and knew I wanted it. The neighbor called not long after to tell me it had gone on the market, so I bought it." I shrugged and placed my glass back on the table. "I had never even seen the inside, but the location alone was enough of a draw."

"That's a pretty brave move," he began cutting his pork with ease, "buying a house without taking a peek inside first."

"Sometimes you just have to make the leap without knowing what's below you. If you wait too long, you could lose the thing you want most," I said. We were both still as the words I said floated on the breeze around us.

We made small talk as we ate. I continually complimented Edward on his cooking, which he shrugged off as something he had 'picked up along the way.' When we finished eating, we brought the plates into the house, still chatting easily. I washed the dishes as he wrapped the leftover food and put it away, still brushing soft touches against me whenever he was near.

When we were done with our tasks and the kitchen was spotless once again, we moved to the swing on the front porch. The night air was warm but not uncomfortably so, and the breeze blowing across the lake kept the mosquitoes at bay.

"So, where were we?" he asked as he leaned his head against the back of the seat.

"Why don't we hold off on the rest until tomorrow?" I said, mimicking his posture. "This has been an extremely long day."

"It's been a long couple of days," he said, groaning quietly as he stretched his neck from side to side.

"How did the shows go on Sunday?" I asked, remembering that I had missed his first performances with Tanya and Irina.

He shrugged and rolled his head to look at me. "Are we really going to talk about magic shows?" he asked, smiling cautiously at me.

"We don't have to," I replied, smiling. "What would you rather talk about?"

He stayed silent as we swung gently, our eyes locked. The aroma of caramel in the air was thick, and the music of the cicadas filled the night. The energy rolling off Edward was calm, almost peaceful, as he reached out to run his fingers lightly across my cheek. My heart raced the moment his skin met mine, and I shifted almost unconsciously into his touch.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you, Bella," he whispered. The honesty in his eyes proved the truth of his statement, and I felt the cold fingers of distrust release my heart from their grasp. I placed my hand over his, resting my cheek on his palm.

"No more apologies," I said quietly. "Saying you're sorry doesn't take away the hurt from the words you used. I just want to know how you could say those things. I want to understand."

"I'll tell you everything, chéadsearc. I promise I will." His face was so open, so honest in that moment. I accepted his vow with a nod of my head before moving my hand down to my lap. He left his palm resting against my cheek for a moment longer before pulling away from me.

"I should get going," he said, his voice laced with regret.

I bolted upright in my seat. "Going? You can't drive back to Georgia now."

Edward smiled softly at my reaction. He reached out to brush his fingers in a pattern against the back of my hand, his touch calming and familiar.

"I'm not going back to Georgia," he explained. "I was just going to drive into town to check into a hotel. I'll come back in the morning."

He stood and stretched before offering me his hand to help me stand. I took it and stood slowly, my body almost brushing against his as I looked up at him. I may not have been angry any longer, but I was still confused. I knew Edward had his reasons for the things he had said on Sunday, but I couldn't see the entire picture he was painting at this point.

I knew I wanted to see it, though. I needed to see it.

"Don't go," I whispered. Edward's brow furrowed as his eyes searched mine. I brought my arms up, grasping his shirt at the shoulders and holding him in place as best I could. "Stay. I have a guest room upstairs. You can stay here, and you can finish telling me about your family in the morning."

Edward placed his hands gently on my waist. The additional contact made the need I felt for his touch increase, and I trembled as I fought the urge to lean into his body.

"Bella," he whispered. I held his gaze, wanting him to see the truth behind my words as I had seen the truth behind his.

"Please. I don't want you to leave."

He leaned forward and placed his soft lips cautiously against my forehead. My entire body stiffened, my emotions swinging wildly between fear and desire. He released me slowly and stepped away as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"Whatever you want, chéadsearc," he said. "I could never deny you."

I held his gaze for a moment before giving him a small nod. I walked past him quickly and opened the front door, holding it in place with my body. Edward didn't move. He just stood in place watching me warily, as if I would retract the invitation at any moment.

A flame of confusion still blazed in my chest, but I knew I had to take a chance. I needed to put my trust in him, if only for this one night. This was the only way to get past the fear he instilled in me when he broke my heart so callously.

"Le do thoil, Edward," I said quietly. Edward's face relaxed and he huffed as if he had been holding his breath. I nodded once, never taking my eyes off his. I may not have been ready to take the leap, but I could at last move toward the edge of the cliff.

Edward moved to stand before me, raising his hand to brush his thumb across my cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

He stepped quickly through the door, into my cottage, onto my solid ground. Perhaps he would find his own here as well.

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