Esme was just wiping down the dry erase board with a damp cloth after second period when the secretary buzzed the classroom.
"Miss Platt?" the voice said.
"Yes?" Esme paused, turning her head slightly to face the tiny grey box posted on the wall near the door. She focused over the din in the hallway, watching rowdy students make their way to lunch.
"I just received a phone call from Doctor Cullen. He'll be happy to meet you in your classroom around 3:30."
"Thank you, Mrs. Cope."
The box beeped twice and Esme left the board and went to make a note in her planner. A swell of nerves suddenly filled her and she sat down for a moment and told herself to breathe. This was part of her job. To talk to parents when she was concerned for the academic welfare of her pupils. Just because said parent happened to be an incredibly attractive and kind man who had treated her for a concussion had no bearing on this meeting whatsoever.
This was to help Emmett.
She could be a professional.
She sat down behind her desk and opened her laptop to scan her emails and when she saw her lawyers name, her concern over this afternoons meeting deflated, and was replaced with an anxious ball that had been tightening in her gut for a few weeks now.
She opened the email and scanned the first few lines. Then she slammed the laptop closed. Charles wasn't cooperating with the lawyers. He wanted to meet in person before he signed the papers.
Esme knew better than to put herself anywhere near him, though. If she made the mistake of going to him, she'd get hurt. It wasn't like Charles to forgive and when she'd left him, she knew she could never go back. It's why she ran.
It's why she packed up what little she could of her life and disappeared. He'd been away on a three day business trip and she'd called into the menial temp job she had, hoping the bruises would fade before her next set of shifts. It was that day, while she was trying to find a shirt that covered her bruises, that she'd snapped.
She had stopped teaching because of Charles. She had lost a child because of Charles. She'd all but given up living because of him.
She couldn't do it anymore.
She wouldn't. And she wouldn't put herself in the position to be hurt by him any longer.
She replied to the email and declined the meeting. She told the lawyer again that she didn't want anything from the man except his signature. He could keep his money and the property. She just wanted to be free.
"Hey there!"
She jumped at the quick rap, rap against the door frame, looking up to find Tammi standing there in a very red track suit. "Can I interest you in lunch?"
"Absolutely," Esme said, abandoning her desk with a forced smile.
"How do you feel about Thai?"
Esme wrinkled her nose and Tammi laughed. "Good, because there's only one decent lunch place in town and it serves burgers."
"I could do a burger," Esme agreed.
"This is why I like you, Platt."
Tammi led the way down the hall and to the parking lot.
Tammi was the kind of person who could brighten your day just by being in the same room. By the time their burgers arrived, Esme was laughing so hard her ribs hurt. So, when she returned to teach her third period, her mind wasn't exactly clear, but she'd had enough time to push her worries aside.
Mostly.
"Did she seem off to you?" Alice wondered as they left third period English. She looked over her shoulder to make sure no students were listening, though when it was convenient they tended to speak too low and fast for anyone to notice.
"She was very preoccupied," Edward said. "Every time she looked at us she kept thinking about the meeting with Carlisle this afternoon. I think she's nervous."
Alice grinned.
"There's was something else too, but she wouldn't focus on it long enough for me to make out what it was about. All I know is it's causing her stress." Edward sighed. "I think we should talk to Carlisle tonight."
"You do?"
"Yes, really talk to him. Your visions seem sure. Even more so than they ever did with Bella at first. If Esme truly is to become part of the family we need to talk about it. She has a past and history that we don't know about. It might be more difficult to pull her from this world and into ours if she so chooses it."
"Well you don't have to make it sound so dramatic," Alice huffed. "But you're right. Let's see what comes of this meeting and then we'll talk to Carlisle."
At exactly 3:29 pm there was a knock on her classroom door. Esme looked up from her desk, to the man framed in the doorway.
Her memory had not done him justice. Maybe it was because she'd been suffering from a concussion, or maybe because she had mostly just slept the last time they met, but she hadn't quite remembered just how tall he was.
Standing before her now, she was sure he had to be over six feet.
His blond hair was pushed back from his face casually, like he'd been running his fingers through it. And the pale grey tie strung around his neck was crooked, but only slightly, and it only added to his charm, Esme thought.
For a brief moment she had to remind herself to breathe.
Then he smiled and she just about forgot her name.
By some miracle she stood, and crossed the room to meet him at the door. "Doctor Cullen," she greeted. "It's nice to see you again."
He took her hand, squeezing gently. His skin was cold and she distinctly remembered thinking his cold hands had been a better remedy for her sore head than any ice pack. That brought warmth to her cheeks and when she should have shivered, she instead felt a blush creeping across her skin.
"Please, call me Carlisle. And likewise; I don't exactly envy myself the discussion we're about to have about my son, but it is good to see you up and about."
Esme nodded, realizing only then that he still held her hand. He seemed to notice then as well and let her go, though almost against his will, she thought.
"Well," she said. "Apparently I had a good doctor."
She motioned with her hands and Carlisle followed her back to her desk.
"Uh oh, flattery. Emmett must really be in trouble."
Esme made a face as they sat down across from eachother, something she hoped was sympathetic, while still conveying the seriousness of the matter. She pulled Emmett's paper from a folder and passed it across the desk. The bright red 37 was circled in pen. Twice.
Carlisle's eyes widened as he picked it up, flipping through the paper.
"He really is a bright boy."
"Yes," Carlisle smiled. His eyes scanned quickly . . . impossibly fast really. "I think people have a tendency of underestimating him because he's rather . . ."
"Easy going?" Esme offered.
"Yes, that exactly. But he works hard. I honestly have no idea how this happened."
"His work up until this point has been impeccable," Esme confessed. "He's insightful and his writing often carries some of his good natured humour, which is an impressive skill in someone so young."
Carlisle beamed at her and for a moment she was distracted. She dropped her eyes, focusing on her desk. Be professional, Esme!
"I'd really like to give him another chance," she said, looking up to find Carlisle nodding at her. "Though he'll have to meet a strict deadline of course."
"I think Emmett would be most agreeable to that."
Esme was relieved. She didn't know how she envisioned this meeting ending. She'd seen all kinds when it came to parenting styles. Some left her with concern etched into the tiny worry lines by their eyes. Others clenched their fists and grumbled about laziness when it came to their kids. And still others were indifferent. Sometimes it broke her heart.
But Carlisle was none of these. He seemed reasonable, though very much involved, and there was definitely no trace of worry etched into his flawless skin.
She caught his eyes, which seemed to be a darker shade of gold then what she'd seen at the hospital. They were still just as mesmerizing and she found herself blushing as she looked away again.
"I'm glad. I'll let him know tomorrow and give him the week to get the paper on my desk."
She stood, indicating that their meeting had come to an end, even though some part of her brain was screaming for her to sit back down.
Carlisle stood as well, albeit slowly, and his eyes flickered to her face several times, almost like he was nervous. She tilted her head to regard him, having the most peculiar urge to push the loose piece of hair that had fallen against his forehead away from his face.
"Esme," he began in a voice so soft, so delicate that she grew curious about what he would say next.
He licked his lips, swallowed, and she felt those butterflies beat against her stomach.
"I hope you don't think it improper for me to ask. But would you . . . I mean, could I take you out for a coffee sometime?"
Esme startled at his question and found herself gaping at him quite obviously. At this incredibly handsome man who was sweet and gentle and loved his work. And who so clearly loved his children.
He was everything that you could ever want in a coffee date, even if he only ever intended it as friends. And the fact that he had asked her, left her speechless. The butterflies picked up speed, hovering beneath her ribs, and danced like she'd just run a marathon.
But Charles had been that way too, at first. Handsome. Charming. Sweet, even. Then things changed. And she lost herself. She was just now starting to find her footing again, but the rest of her life was still a mess. She wasn't sure she should even be considering going out for coffee with another man, let alone her students' father. The same man who had just treated her for a concussion a few weeks back. She was sure she was crossing some sort of boundary line she wasn't supposed to.
She must of hesitated too long because his face fell—only minutely—but it was enough to make her heart thud painfully. And she wanted to make him smile again.
He began to retract, to apologize, but she held up her hand. "I'd like that, Carlisle. Very much."
Wait! What was she doing? This is not how the conversation had gone in her head. What was wrong with her?
"Great," he said, and the smile returned to his face, full and bright. "How about Saturday? I could pick you up? We could go to Port Angeles?"
"Yes. Alright," Esme agreed, feeling the butterflies do somersaults against her skin. She walked him to the door. This time when Carlisle took her hand, he didn't let it go, but first pressed his lips to her knuckles in a gentle kiss.
"Until Saturday," he said, turning and disappearing down the hall.
Esme had to grab the door frame for support, feeling very much like her legs might give out and she'd dissolve into a limp pile on the floor. She lifted her hand to her cheek, feeling the flush burn underneath. What on earth had just happened?
