My thought and prayers are with the people of Boston, and those of you who have friends and family there. My love to you all.
Chapter 7
Isabella is on the edge of sleep, her eyelids growing heavy, her mind unraveling and chasing dreams, when her phone starts to sing beside her. A burst of irritation pulls her back to wakefulness and she sits up, looking at the bluish glow of the screen.
Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting
Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting
Isabella groans, her hands in her hair, tugging through the strands. She blows out a breath, and fumbling for her patience, she flicks the lamp back on and snatches up her phone.
"Jacob, it's midnight."
She's been trying to forget the sound of his voice, deep and soft but coloured so often now with a childish whine. She used to love it, the playfulness, the sweet words that it wrapped around her, but now it has become the sound of chastisement and complaints. "No. It's eleven, isn't it?"
"If you say so, Jacob. You'd know better than I. The three clocks I can see from my bed must be wrong." Isabella knows she's being rude, but right now, she doesn't care.
"Oh. Daylight savings ended here the weekend before last. I must've forgotten to adjust for that."
"Uh-huh." Isabella buries her head in her hand. "What's up?"
"I can call you back in the morning, if you want?"
Better to get it over and done with now, Isabella decides. "I'm awake now. What do you need?"
Jacob sighs, his breath harsh against the handset Isabella imagines he's probably got tucked under his shoulder as he fixes himself breakfast. "Have you given any more thought to the things I asked you to think about?"
"No."
"Izz–"
"I mean, yes, I've thought about it, but no, I haven't changed my mind."
Jacob is silent for a beat, and Isabella wonders which weapon he'll pick up first. "So … have you spoken to Charlie and Sue about this? You're happy to just leave them to struggle with a new baby—while your dad works crazy shifts and leaves Sue with no help?"
Isabella flops back onto her pillow, eyes on the ceiling. "Actually, I have."
"You–"
"I've told you this before, Jacob. Dad has no problem with me being here, for as long as it makes me happy, and Sue doesn't need or want me around. She wants Dad to herself when the baby comes. To be honest, it's better for all of us if I'm not around. Let them do their family thing, start over or whatever." Isabella knows that her father won't ever consider her less important than his new family, but she's also sure that, for Sue's sake, it's better for her to be on the other side of the world and not getting in the way.
"They're just–"
"No. They're not just saying that."
"What about school?"
She rolls her eyes. "We've been over that, too. I'm not sure I want to teach anymore. Man the fuck up, Jake, and just say what you want to say to me."
She's almost surprised when Jacob asks the question she knows lies under all his other excuses and cajoling.
"What about me?"
She almost says the first thing on her mind—What about you?—but she swallows her bitter snark. She realises that this conversation needs to happen, that it might actually be her opportunity to put this to bed once and for all.
Before she speaks, she makes herself remember the good times; their laughter ringing through Jacob's tiny apartment, soft caresses and tender words as they made love, his arms holding her tight when her mother passed away. "Jake, look. I loved you, but it's over. I have to–"
"Loved?"
She nods, her smile sad, but then remembers he can't see her. "Yes. I loved you, Jake. You know I did. And in some way, I guess I always will." She closes her eyes against the clichés flowing from her lips. "But I've changed, I want–"
She's almost relieved when Jacob interrupts, because she's not entirely sure what she wants. His question, however, is the one she realises she should've anticipated. "Is there someone else? Already?"
Her teeth digging into her bottom lip, Isabella covers her eyes with her palm. She wonders how honest to be. On one hand, it's really none of Jacob's business; they broke up, and she made it clear from the start that she couldn't see them getting back together. She also takes no pleasure in his pain, she doesn't enjoy knowing that he's not moving on, that he's clinging on to the hope that she'll come "home" and they can pretend the last six months or so months didn't happen. It's that hope he's still holding on to, that ghost of their past relationship that he keeps trying to breathe life into, that motivates her next words. She hopes that, though her words will sting now, they'll be antiseptic for his heart.
"Yeah. There is."
Silence greets her admission.
"Jake?"
"How long?"
"What?"
Jake's voice is hard, stamping out each syllable. "How long? How long have you been fucking him, Izzy?"
Isabella chews her tongue. He's just hurt, she reminds herself. "It's not like that."
He laughs, just a huff of bitter air. "Of course it's not."
"It's not like anything yet. We – he only just asked me out today." Telling him they have a date planned for tomorrow night seems unnecessarily cruel. As she thinks about it, excitement bubbles up inside her again.
"And you said yes, I suppose."
"Yeah, Jake, I did. I really–" She breaks off. Jacob doesn't need to hear that she really likes Edward.
"Why, Izzy?"
She's puzzled by the question. "Why did I say yes?"
"Why …" Isabella can imagine him at the breakfast table in his apartment, head resting in one hand as he holds his phone to his ear, his cereal becoming a soggy mess as it goes untouched. "Why start something you can't finish?" The words seem to burst out of him and into her eardrum. "You're only there for a year—less than that now. You don't - I know you, Iz. You fall hard and fast … I mean, you told me you never understood casual dating. Even Tyler – you were only fifteen when you guys started dating and that went on for two years. We were together for three. Why start something with no future and end up with your heart broken? Just … why can't you just … I still – Izzy, don't do this to me."
Frustration pushed the words from her mouth. "Jake. I'm sorry. I don't want you like that. I'm so sorry." She sighs, rubbing circles on her temple as she stares at the shadows draped across her ceiling. "Maybe this will go nowhere. But maybe it will. It feels right, and I want to see what happens."
"But there's – it's got no future. Why waste your time? Denver to Sydney." He snorts. "You can't seriously think a relationship would survive that kind of distance?"
"No, I don't."
"So why bother? No matter how great he is—he's not worth it if it's just going to end up with you heartbroken when you come back home."
Isabella's admission is more to herself than it is to Jacob. "I don't think I'm coming home, Jake."
Anger and hurt coat his every word. "Your fucking visa was only for twelve damn months, Isabella. How the fuck are you going to stay there, huh? Don't be fucking stupid."
Something inside Isabella snaps. "Maybe I'll marry him." Regret simmers in her belly, corrosive and sour, as soon as the words leave her mouth. They hang in the air, underlined by Jacob's silence. An apology is already forming in her throat.
"He can fucking have you." The line goes dead.
Isabella throws her phone back onto her nightstand, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Frustration, anger, regret, and disappointment race each other through her veins until she's dizzy and uncertain as to which she's feeling.
Rolling over, her face buried in her pillow, she lets herself cry for a few minutes. She knows Jacob was trying to hurt her—and he succeeded. She regrets losing her temper with him—she knew those words would cut deep.
Her mind teases her with an image she's been pushing away for two years now—Jacob on one knee, rose between his teeth, and an enormous, glittering cubic zirconia ring in a black velvet box. It still makes her cringe. The tacky scene he'd created, the look on his face as she shook her head and tried to find the gentlest words possible to turn him down, the guilt that seeped into her veins like poison, making her second guess herself time and again. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying to draw a curtain on the images that her mind seems determined to dredge up.
Thankfully, he hadn't imitated Charlie and proposed in public. So there had been no one around to see his smile fall and his cheeks flush with shame when she shook her head and told him she couldn't marry him. She'd told him they were too young, that she wasn't ready. Those things were true. She told him she hoped he'd ask her again someday. That was a lie.
She'd loved Jacob, but somewhere along the line, even before her mother got sick, she changed, and what she wanted out of life didn't match what he wanted anymore. Love wore away, leaving only habit and obligation.
Jacob's hurting now, and that grieves her but she hopes, in time, he'll realise she's not the girl he thinks he loves. She hopes that will free him to find someone who can make him happy, someone who will love him as he should be loved—not because they should, but because they want to.
Sitting up, she picks up her phone and thumbs across the screen for a few moments. Edward was only half right about the ringtone she'd selected for Jake. She hadn't picked it to make fun of Jacob, but of herself. Guilt and self-chastisement had been behind its selection: the nasty girl breaking the good guy's heart. I should've never have told him to ask me again, she thinks. I should've ended this years ago, not given him false hope for a future together.
Having restored the ringtone to a generic bring-bring, Isabella rolls over again, wiping away the moisture that remains on her cheeks. She takes a deep breath, and another face flickers through her mind, bright and vivid, making her memories fade into the background. Sea-blue eyes sparkling with laughter, a cheeky grin showing white teeth. She smiles back in the darkness.
Isabella looks herself over in the tiny bathroom mirror. Her conversation with Jacob is so far from her mind that it might have happened a year ago, rather than last night. Her mind is crammed with first-date triviality. Is she wearing too much make-up? Not enough? Is this dress too formal—or too casual? She wishes Edward had been more specific in the details her gave her—or that she'd stopped flirting long enough to ask for them.
He told her he'd come for her at seven o'clock, and to wear "something pretty." She'd lifted her eyebrows and told him she didn't own any ugly clothes, thank you very much—and then enjoyed the way the colour rose on his cheeks as he stammered and shook his head. Her giggle had snapped him out of it, and he'd stepped close, hands on the counter either side of her waist, trapping her against the bar.
"Excellent," his voice was an octave lower and several shades darker. He swallowed hard, and then grinned, mischief lighting his eyes. "Then you've got no excuse to not be ready when I get there." He chuckled as she gaped at him for a moment before she snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner. She felt his smile against her cheek, and then he disappeared back out into the vineyard with a wave, his chuckle lingering as the door swung closed behind him.
Isabella is killing time at seven o'clock, sipping a glass of water. She's not thirsty.
At ten minutes past the hour, three raps against the frame startle her and she licks her lips as she's rushed by butterflies. The action reminds her that she didn't apply lipstick. The butterflies double their antics as she remembers why.
She opens the door with a smirk, with every intention of giving Edward shit about being late because he spent too long picking out his clothes. The taunt dies on her lips when she catches sight of him.
Isabella has only seen Edward in long pants once—at his aunt's funeral—and given the circumstances, she wasn't really paying any attention to his appearance. She'd been more worried about his emotional well-being than the cut of his clothes.
But now, he stands on her porch in jeans, and she can't for the life of her figure out how seeing less of him is somehow more attractive. Her eyes trace down the dark denim … to his bare feet. She blinks.
"You look beautiful."
His words drag her eyes back up to his face. The sun is sinking over his shoulder; he's backlit by red and gold.
"Thank you."
He grins, flourishing the huge, vibrant red flower he'd evidently been hiding behind his back.
"That's gorgeous." She takes it with a smile. Hand on his forearm, she lifts her face and presses a kiss to his cheek. Her stomach rolls over as her lips meet his skin. "Thank you."
"It's a Waratah," he says. He tugs on his ear. "It's the state flower – you know, like the emblem or whatever. It's uh, well, it's not strictly legal to go around picking them, but yeah…" He shrugs.
Isabella can't tell in the fading light, but she thinks he might be blushing.
"Uh, thanks. You know, for breaking the law to bring me a pretty flower." She snickers.
He licks his lips. He speaks quietly. "Nothing else felt special enough."
Isabella's stomach bounds off a diving board, turns a few somersaults and goes into freefall. "Th-thank you."
Edward nods. He blows out a quick breath and squares his shoulders. "Are you ready to go?"
Isabella slides the short, thick stem of the flower into the glass of water she's still holding and sets it on the table by the door. "Yep."
Edward looks her up and down. "Those shoes are sexy as hell, but you might not wanna wear them. Maybe. I dunno."
"Um?"
He looks at them, torn. They really are sexy, stretching her legs and making her calf muscles contract. But he also isn't particularly keen on the idea of her twisting an ankle. "Can you walk on grass in them?"
"Yes? Well, it depends how far we're walking."
Edward scratches his top lip, his eyes still on her feet. "I know. Wait here, okay? Give me like, five minutes."
"Uh, okay."
Edward disappears off the verandah, leaving Isabella wondering what the heck she's going to do with herself for the next five minutes—which she's certain are going to feel more like five hours.
She looks at the Waratah on her side table. It's not the prettiest flower she's ever seen, but it's certainly unique. There's a kind of rugged beauty to it, she decides. She picks it up in its makeshift vase and wanders back into the kitchen, setting it on the countertop with a smile, Edward's words repeating in her mind: Nothing else felt special enough.
Picking up a cloth, she wipes down the already clean counter. She washes her hands. She walks back down the hall. She steps out onto the balcony to wait for Edward.
The sun has sunk completely behind the mountains when he bounds back up the steps with a grin. "Okay," he says. You gotta turn off all the lights."
"What? Here?"
"Yeah." He doesn't wait for her to agree. He slips in the screen door. One switch, two. He plunges the whole house into darkness. "You ready?"
Isabella is completely bemused, but she answers truthfully. "Yes."
"Okay. Jump on." He moves in front of her and bends his knees a little.
"Um – what?"
He bends lower. "Jump on."
"You're going to give me a piggy back ride?" Her voice lifts with uncertainty.
"Uh-huh."
Isabella takes a deep breath and complies. She pushes her hands down on his shoulders and jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist. He sways a little but steadies himself easily.
"Hold on, okay." Isabella's arms tighten around his neck. "Not too tight." His hands slide under her knees.
Her arms hooked around Edward's neck, her thighs pressing into his waist, Isabella isn't worrying that she's too heavy, or whether he'll drop her as he walks slowly down the steps and onto the grass. She's not even wondering where he's taking her. All she can focus on is the feel of his work-roughened fingers on her skin. His thumbs rest on the top of her leg, the other four curled underneath. As he walks, his thumb slides across her knee, brushing softly over smooth skin.
Goose bumps gather as Edward carries her towards his little Tyrian block. He feels the tiny bumps rising under his fingertips. "Are you cold?"
"No." Her voice is a whisper.
As Edward carries her down one of the rows of trellised vines, she can see four flickering lights in the gathering darkness.
"Okay." Edward bends a little so she doesn't have as far to drop. She unwinds her legs from his waist and slides off him awkwardly—thankful both that his back is to her, and that she manages to land on her feet, not her backside.
"I, uh, I hope this is okay?" Edward waves a hand as she steps beside him.
The picnic blanket is squeezed between the two lines of grapevines, a lantern perched on each corner, a familiar cooler standing guard. Isabella smiles. "This is lovely."
The spikes of her heels sink into the grass as she steps carefully towards the rug. "I don't think I would've made it—walking," she says with a laugh. "I could've just put some flats on, you know." She's glad she didn't.
Edward shrugs. He's also glad she didn't.
Between the vines, Isabella understands why Edward had her turn the lights in the cottage out. As they eat crusty sourdough and smoky ham, fig paste and various artisan cheeses that Edward tells her are from the dairy just up the road, her eyes keep drifting up to the night sky above them, the inky blue expanse pierced with stars.
He pours glasses of a ten-year-old Spanish Tempranillo, smiling when Isabella identifies pencil lead and black currants, dry herbs and olives. "Your palate's amazing for someone who's heaps new at wine tasting." His lips curl into a smile as Isabella ducks her head. The compliment has the butterflies fluttering their wings where they're perched in her belly, poised to take flight.
The enclosing vines create an intimacy that contrasts with sky stretching overhead, and they talk quietly as they eat, exchanging anecdotes and histories. Edward tells her about growing up on the land and on the beach, Isabella speaks of being raised by a single father, interrupted occasionally when her mother burst back into their lives to take her on an adventure or simply rearrange all the furniture in the house before she left again, not to be seen for a year.
In the dim light, it's easier to peel back the layers and share secrets. They talk about first kisses and first times, first heartbreak and secret fears. Isabella is surprised to know Edward doesn't want to own his own winery someday, that he's happy working for someone else.
"Nah," he says. "I'm happy working for someone else—as long as they're happy to give me a bit of freedom. Carlisle's been incredibly gracious, and not just with this block." He gestures to the vines creeping on their trellises around them. "He's happy for me to take risks, try different things. I suppose it helps that he's independently wealthy—he doesn't depend on the winery for an income, so he's got heaps more freedom than a lot of the guys around here. He's got the luxury of being able to fail. Or–" he laughs "–he's got the luxury of letting me fail … What about you, though? What are your plans? You don't want to teach?"
Isabella shakes her head. "No. I don't think so. I don't – I have no idea."
"You'll work here for the year. Do you know what you'll do next?"
She sighs, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the galaxy of stars swirling above her. "Well, my visa is for twelve months, but I can only be employed by the same company for six months."
Edward's fingers twitch. He curls them into balls in his lap. "So, you're only here for another – what four or so months?" He watches her face carefully in the flickering light. She's smiling.
"No. I'll be here the full twelve months. I think I'm employed by Cullen Family Wines for the first six months, and then by … uh … Cullen Vineyards or something."
Edward nods. "Yeah, the Cellar Door is run as a separate business to the rest of the winery. That makes sense."
Isabella laughs. "I'm glad it makes sense to you. But after that – well, Carlisle can sponsor me, or I can go back to the States, or I can travel elsewhere."
He notices she doesn't mention going home.
"Anyway," she waves a hand in dismissal. "That stuff's ages away. It'll sort itself out, I'm sure."
"Can I ask you something?"
She looks at Edward, head tipped to the side. He's frowning at his hands, so she lets the You just did joke slide. "Sure."
"Esme told me you used the money that was for college to cover your mum's medical bills?"
"Not exactly." Isabella picks up her glass of wine and takes a sip. She sighs. "I would have, but by the time she contacted me to tell me she was sick it was too late—she was in palliative care. I used that money to pay rent and buy groceries and whatever so I didn't have to work for the last six months of her life. So I could spend all that time with her. Some of it went to her bills, but a lot of it was just so I could have that time with her."
She looks at Edward. The lantern light flickers on his face, casting shadows then chasing them away. "I didn't get to spend a lot of time with her before she was sick. Two weeks here, a few days there—whenever she turned up in Colorado. I didn't – I don't resent that. She's my mom and I loved her. And knowing I didn't have much time left with her – college just didn't seem like a priority. I can always go back."
He reaches for her hand and squeezes it once. "I understand that."
She smiles. "I'm twenty-three. I've still got time to figure things out."
"Of course."
She giggles. "Sorry about this," Isabella says. "I know it took a lot of effort to get me here." She straightens her legs and kicks her shoes off. Edward laughs and grabs her ankle, pulling, wanting her close.
"You're scrunching up the blanket," she tells him with a smile.
He chuckles, his thumb circling the knobbly little bone inside her ankle. He sweeps his fingers up her calf, his eyes on hers, watching for any sign that his touch is unwelcome. She smiles, goose bumps chasing his fingertips as they move across her skin.
Her quiet, "Come here," has his heart jumping into his throat, beating hard and fast. He scoots towards her, until he can feel the warmth of her thigh seeping through the denim of his jeans. Sitting side by side but face to face, Isabella's fingers find the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, gripping it, pulling him, close, until there is only a whisper of space between their lips.
His hands find her neck, fingers braiding themselves into her hair, his thumbs caressing the line of her jaw. Edward inhales deeply. The subtle floral fragrances—jasmine and gardenia—that cling to Isabella's skin are sweet and ethereal against the Valley's rich scents of earth and wood and vegetation.
She holds him there for a moment, savouring the anticipation, his breath on her lips, his eyes blinking closed, before she presses her mouth to his. The kaleidoscope of butterflies take wing inside Isabella as her lips brush against Edward's.
Soft kisses become harder, deeper, searching. Give and take. He swallows her gasp, she pulls him closer, climbing clumsily into his lap. He barely notices her knee digging into his thigh as his hands move to her hips, gripping, pulling her close.
It takes a number of awkward manoeuvres, but they find their way, Isabella's legs locking around Edward's waist as she sits in his lap. She kisses him hard, her hands tugging at his hair, forcing his head to tilt back. His hands can't settle, sliding over the curve of her hip to her waist, tracing circles on her back, even risking a cheeky squeeze of her arse. She groans her approval, rocking against him.
"'Zy–Bella–"
"Mm." She pulls away, chest rising and falling, breathing hard.
"Bella."
She smiles. "Yeah?"
He nods, his eyes glittering in the lamp light. He cups her cheek, brushes a thumb over her swollen lips. She kisses his thumb.
His hand slides behind her neck, and he pulls her mouth back to his. He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, where her smile begins, then trails his lips down her jaw. A tiny noise of frustration escapes her, and he chuckles, then pulls her face back to his. "Bella." He whispers the nickname against her lips, and then he kisses her softly, his lips and tongue following, and then she's all he can taste and smell and feel.
A/N: I've absolutely failed at replying to all your wonderful reviews this week. I'm so sorry. I do read and appreciate every single one of them. Thank you all so much for your kind words.
My thanks, too, to BelieveItOrNot, who helps me to write better and smile more. She's my favourite colour.
Love you all, Shell x
