That was the first thing Esme thought as Carlisle pulled up in front of her building in the early afternoon on Saturday—that he had a very nice car. Granted, she knew next to nothing about cars, though she could tell by the sleek shine of the exterior, the dark tinted windows, and the low hum that this was on the list of vehicles she'd never own, never mind drive.

Carlisle stepped out of the car before she reached the sidewalk and came around to meet her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi, Carlisle."

He smiled when she said his name, full and beaming, and the sight almost took her breath away. He was dressed casually, but smartly. His usual slacks had been exchanged for a pair of dark wash jeans and he wore a maroon sweater beneath a thin black jacket. She wondered if he was cold as she shivered in her own coat. It was thicker, more appropriate for the cold winter weather, and she shrugged inside the sleeves, feeling the silk of her blouse cling to the fabric.

She'd been on the phone with Sarah for the better part of last night. Her friend was something of a fashionista and now most of Esme's closet was still piled on her bedroom floor. They'd finally decided on a skirt and chunky black boots, though Esme has slipped on a pair of thicker nylons this morning because she'd rather be practical and not freeze.

As Carlisle met her on the sidewalk, he hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to reach out and touch her, but thinking twice about it, he simply pulled her door open and waited for her to get into the car.

The inside of the car was even more impressive than the exterior and she took a moment to consider the beat-up condition of her own used car before deciding that it had character and good gas mileage so that was good enough for her.

The roads were clear, though the ice still clung to the tree branches, but the interior of the car was pleasantly warm.

Even the seats seemed to be warmed and she sunk back, immediately at ease.

Carlisle slipped back into the drivers seat, smiling over at her before turning the key. He leaned back easily, one hand on the steering wheel, then said, "Shall we?"

"Of course," Esme said. He pulled away from the curb and they rolled through town. The houses whipped by and it wasn't until they reached the highway that Esme realized just how fast they were moving. She'd been sort of distracted up until that point, by . . . well, who wouldn't be distracted by Carlisle Cullen?

He must have noticed the look of shock on her face because he frowned as she watched the speedometer climb.

"You drive awfully fast," she said. She was holding the door handle and wondered when she'd reached for it.

"I'm sorry," Carlisle responded and his speed dropped dramatically. So much that her stomach lurched.

His hand drifted up in front of her, almost to brace her as the car slowed, though he never actually touched her.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

He seemed genuinely displeased with himself, so Esme shook her head. "You didn't. Not really, I just hadn't realized how fast you were going at first."

He nodded like he understood, fiddling with the wheel and scanning the road ahead. She watched him fidget for a moment, eyes keeping close watch over the speedometer. She couldn't help the giggle that ran up her throat at the sight of his slightly pursed lips. "This is really bothering you, isn't it? Slowing down."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "How can you tell?"

She shook her head and looked out the window. They passed a highway sign warning about serious fines for speeding and when Esme quirked her brow at him, Carlisle laughed loudly. It was a deep belly kind of sound. Beautiful and tenor.

She was struck by just how much she liked making him laugh, especially like that. How easy it had been just now between them.

They passed the drive, which took much less than the expected hour, exchanging small talk and pleasantries. He asked about her work. She asked about his. He talked a bit about his children which was information she hadn't even realized she was eager for.

"Alice spent most of the day in my closet," Carlisle confessed. "I think I'll be hanging up sweaters for days."

Esme laughed. "I have a friend like her. And I too will be rearranging my closet for the rest of the weekend.

"Well, you look lovely," he told her.

She felt the blush but was powerless to stop it and averted her eyes to her hands where they laid in her lap. "Thank you." When she felt the heat in her cheeks recede, she moved the topic away from wardrobes before she made some insane comment about how nice he looked in those jeans. "So, what did the kids have to say about our coffee date today?"

"Truthfully, they were much more enthusiastic than I anticipated. And I hoped they would behave themselves at school. It made me rather nervous. Alice can be . . . overwhelming at times and Emmett doesn't always think before he speaks."

"They were rather smiley," Esme told him. "But perfectly well behaved, as per usual."

Carlisle sighed dramatically to make her laugh. "That's a small relief then."

They arrived in Port Angeles and Carlisle found a vacant spot on a side-street just off the main shopping strip which was overflowing with cafes and antique book stores.

He parked and stepped out, reaching her side of the car and opening the door before Esme had even begun to move. At first she was surprised at his speed, but his endearing smile just made her shake her head as she accepted his offered hand and stepped out of the car.

"What is it?" he asked, eyes bright and curious.

She stared into them for a moment, feeling slightly dazed. "Nothing . . . it's just. You're like someone who stepped out of time. People—men—don't really act this way anymore."

"They should," Carlisle said.

"I guess chivalry isn't dead yet. Speeding aside."

Carlisle laughed, stepping close to her as they made their way down the side walk towards the smell of coffee. "I'm never going to hear the end of that one, am I?"

"I don't know how you didn't get a ticket," Esme confessed. "Have you ever gotten a ticket?"

"If I say no, does that make the situation better or worse?"

Esme narrowed her eyes slightly, but she was smiling. "To be determined."

They found a small little place with a coffee bean in the cafe name and a bunch of fair trade signs in the window. The interior was cozy, with low yellow lighting and brown and beige accented walls that set off the chrome tabletops well.

They ordered drinks. Carlisle payed. He insisted.

She didn't fight him on it. Didn't feel the need to defend the fact that she could very well pay for her own drink. Somehow she didn't feel threatened in that way by him. The way she had so often felt threatened by Charles as their relationship began to break down.

It felt so easy with Carlisle. She shook that thought off, accepting her green tea with honey. It was only a coffee date—well, tea date now that he had one too; she had to stop reading so much into her feelings. It was too soon for these kinds of things. She knew better now than to jump into love because of butterflies. Sometimes those flutters in your gut weren't butterflies, but moths, and they were telling you to keep your distance.

So why did she find it so difficult with Carlisle?

He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards a booth at the back of the shop. It was sheltered, with high-backed seating and plush cushions. Unless someone came to inquire about a refill, they'd be relatively uninterrupted.

She slipped into the booth, and to her surprise, he didn't cross over to the other side as propriety might suggest, but instead slid in beside her. He made sure to leave room between them, enough that they could still easily talk to each other, but if his leg brushed hers every so often, well, she didn't actually mind.

"This place is charming," Esme said, looking around.

"Alice said you had an eye for interior design."

"And old architecture," Esme added. "There's something about old buildings with modern interiors that fascinate me."

Carlisle nodded. "I spent some of my youth in Europe, and quite agree. There's nothing like walking the old cobblestone streets or exploring an old cathedral."

"Oh, I'd love to go overseas someday. Where did you stay?"

"I was born in England, actually. I did some travelling as I got older."

Esme gaped. "You were? How long did you live there before coming to the States? I can't hear an accent at all."

"For quite a while actually, but lots of practice and you can hardly tell anymore. My kids laugh at me sometimes when the accent comes through. Usually when I'm telling Emmett off for saying something obscene."

Esme snorted as she sipped her tea. "Shall I be expecting some sort of inappropriate outburst from him in class?"

Carlisle considered it. "I think Rosalie and Jasper will keep him in line. They're good like that."

"I still can't believe you're from overseas. Do you visit often? Do you have family there?"

"I haven't been back in a long time. I'd very much consider here home now. It was really just me and my parents, both of whom are gone now."

Esme nodded. "I'm sorry."

Carlisle waved it off. "That was also a long time ago. It feels like another lifetime almost." He smirked, but mostly to himself as he stirred his drink.

Esme took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth fill her. Carlisle regarded her and she could feel the blush rise up her neck.

She shook her hair out, trying to hide what was so plainly obvious, but Carlisle didn't seem bothered. In fact, he leaned closer, both elbows on the table.

"I have so many questions for you," he confessed. "An illogical amount, considering we haven't known each other all that long."

Esme felt her heartbeat pick up.

"Does that make you nervous?" he wondered.

She took another slow sip of her drink. How had he known? "Not exactly."

"You hesitated," Carlisle pointed out gently.

She had this insane desire to be honest with him, like she'd know him for years, not weeks. Like she wanted him to know her as much as she wanted to know him. But as much as she wanted him to know about her past, it still felt dangerous and risky.

"I—" she began, trying to figure out how best to answer.

"How about," he suggested, "if you don't like my question, simply say pass, and I'll ask another."

He was giving her an out.

"Alright," Esme agreed, "but only if the questions continue both ways."

"I'll accept that," Carlisle said. He settled back in the booth, though his hand rested close to hers on the table. "And seeing as we've already talked about my childhood home. Where did you grow up?"

She grinned. That was an easy one. "Columbus, Ohio."

Carlisle smiled. "I spent time in Columbus. For a medical conference a few years back before I had the kids."

Esme considered that. She had most likely left Columbus by that point and probably would have been in Ashland with Charles. If Carlisle had gone to university right after high school and then medical school and then some sort of residency program he really couldn't have been practicing medicine for that long, could he? He didn't look old enough. Nor did that leave a lot of time to be adopting kids.

"When did the children come into your life?" she wondered, trying to piece it together.

He hesitated with an answer.

"I only ask because it seems like your life would have been very busy with medical school. I know I certainly would never have been able to manage the lives of a bunch of children while I was in teacher's college."

"Sometimes it feels like forever ago," Carlisle said, though he didn't expand.

She watched him with an eager curiosity as he ran his fingers back through his hair.

"How old are you exactly?" Esme didn't know what made her ask it. But really she wasn't sure. Sometimes he seemed impossibly young—pale and porcelain and perfect. And sometimes she'd catch a glimpse of him and he looked wise beyond his years, eyes full of experiences she could never hope to understand. But that was foolish.

Carlisle leaned closer, like it was a secret. "Thirty three."

Esme waited for him to ask his next question but he seemed to be lingering.

"Does that question go both ways?" she wondered.

"If you don't mind. I'd always been told it was impolite to ask a woman her age."

Esme felt her cheeks twitch. "Well I'll bite, but only because you're older than me by two years."

"Ah, well, to be honest that went a lot smoother than I anticipated. I thought I might be wading into dangerous territory."

"It's true," Esme said. "We women like to keep the age thing quiet. But since you were so forthcoming, I thought I'd respond in kind."

They continued like that for a while, throwing out small, inconsequential questions. Favourite colour. Favourite kind of music. Places they wanted to travel. Things they thought about doing in the future. It was an easy conversation, like they'd been having it for years.

Then he threw her.

"Have you ever been in love before?"

Esme felt the corners of her eyes twitch. This coffee date had moved from easy and carefree to very personal in a very short amount of time and her mind was struggling to keep up with her body. Everything inside her told her to tell him, to just let it all out, that it would be nice to have someone who knew. Who might be able to understand. She didn't know why she felt this way about Carlisle. Why she desired to throw herself into his arms? Why she felt so out of control when he lingered near her?

But the logical part of her mind told her body to shut up and that if she revealed too much she could very well send him running. After all, she had run from Charles in the end. What would stop Carlisle from running from her? Still, Esme couldn't quite pass on the question.

"I thought I was. Once," she said and he seemed to consider that for a while, though he didn't pry further and for that she was grateful. "What about you?" she asked quietly.

"Never," Carlisle said.

She arched her brow. "I find that hard to believe. No high school crush? No young love?"

He shook his head. "I took my studies very seriously and they occupied so much of my time."

"I can imagine," Esme said. "Medical school must have been gruelling."

"I don't think I ever slept," he joked.

She chuckled.

"If I can be brutally honest," he began, "I thought I was meant to be alone. I loved my work, healing people, helping them. It wasn't until my family came into my life that I realized what I had been missing. The loneliness had become such a part of my existence that it was hard to recognize it anymore."

Esme smiled sadly. Perhaps he could relate. Especially if he had felt as alone as she had all those years. "Well, I'm very happy you found each other then."

Carlisle smiled softly. "I've been very lucky in my life."

She stared at him, slightly awed by his presence, both by just his nearness, and the fact that the more she learned about him the more captivating he became. His kindness. His spirit. His strength. His golden eyes seemed to twinkle at her and she blinked, remembering something. She looked down at her tea.

"What is it?"

When she looked up he was close again, and she studied those rich golden eyes. "It's just, your eyes. They were darker the last time we met."

He pulled his gaze away suddenly.

"I'm sorry, did I say something—"

"No," Carlisle said quickly. "Of course not. I just suppose there are things that I would pass on as well. At least for a little while longer. I wouldn't want to scare you away so soon."

"Oh," Esme said. She wasn't sure what to make of that, but again his honesty caught her off guard and she felt herself drifting closer to him, both in the booth and on some emotional level she couldn't quite grasp yet.

Carlisle spun his cup in his hands. Then he looked at her and she was almost bowled over by the intensity of his gaze.

"Promise me," he said, "that if I do something or say something to upset you, that you'll tell me. That you'll afford me a second chance." He gestured to the cafe. "I confess I am very new to this whole concept."

"Oh, Carlisle," she hurried to reassure him, "I'm having a lovely time." And that was the truth. Despite the difficulty she had with her past, this right now, today, had been perfect.

And continued to be.

They left the cafe after awhile and walked along the shopping strip, continuing their conversation. They danced around the difficult topics, but never struggled to find something new to talk about. Before Esme realized, the sun had set and she found herself walking very close to Carlisle. He slowed, matching her pace, and with a brush of his fingers against her wrist, reached out to take her hand.


A/N: And so, it begins. Part II might get posted tomorrow, if I get my life sorted out before my night shift. lol