All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.
Thanks as always, to the incredible xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story, now completed: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB
A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO
Thanks to those reading and reviewing. As always, let me know what you think.
Come join me… let's see what the rest of the night brings.
Edward
Chapter 9
The foot massage has lasted for the entire length of the first side of the Glenn Gould album, lulling us both into a state of relaxation. Isabella continues to let out contented sighs as I vary the pressure of the massage on her feet.
I hear the needle lift off the record and return to its cradle, watching while her eyes slide shut. "Hmm. This is nice," she says sleepily, letting out a large yawn and stretching her arms over her head.
I make the mistake of letting my eyes drift from her feet, up her legs, and I quickly become fixated on the creamy, flawless skin of her stomach, which is exposed, due to her sweater riding up as she stretches.
I instantly feel the stirrings of the traitor erection, and I wonder if there is actually something wrong with me. While I certainly have had erections before when I was with Jessica, they never were triggered by a mere glance.
Jessica was always the one to take the lead in our relationship. She knew what she wanted and wasted little time in letting me know what that was. As I think about it now, Jessica and I never just sat like this and enjoyed an evening together. There were restaurants to go to, movies to see, sex to be had, all on her terms, which at the time was fine with me.
Isabella moans once more, and I end the massage, knowing if I don't get some distance from her, its going to become glaringly obvious where my thoughts currently are. She's going to think I'm some kind of freak if she takes notice of the bulge that is threatening… Who am I trying to kid? She probably already does think that. "I should be going," I say, lifting her feet from my lap, and standing from the couch.
"What? No. You don't have to go," she replies, staring up at me and looking... disappointed? Clearly, the two glasses of wine are interfering with my thought processes. I should know better than to drink.
"It's getting quite late," I say.
She glances at the clock on the wall, furrowing her brow. "It's only ten."
I shift nervously, hoping I'm not offending her. "Yes, well, the last few days have been… eventful for me. I'm actually rather tired," I admit reluctantly.
Her face falls as she starts to fiddle with the tassels on one of the green throw pillows. "Oh. I get it," she mumbles.
I adjust my glasses, wondering what on earth she's talking about. "You get it?"
"Yeah. It's okay. I mean, I know I'm not that exciting."
I'm floored by her words. How can this amazing woman think she's not exciting? "Isabella, I've done more in the last forty-eight hours than I've done in months. I never expected to be spending my vacation like this. As I told you yesterday, I don't do things this way, and honestly, it's all a little overwhelming. You're a little overwhelming… in a good way. I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I'll just go."
"Wait!" Isabella vaults up from the couch, blocking my path and swaying slightly. She grips my arms to steady herself. "I think I got up too fast," she says, looking up at me. She's so beautiful, and I'm painfully aware that I am already in way over my head.
"It's the endorphins."
She smirks at me. "What?"
"During a massage, your body releases endorphins. It makes you feel light-headed," I explain.
"So does the bottle of wine I drank," she teases. "But I don't think either one of those things are the reasons I'm light-headed."
She stares up at me, and once again, I'm lost. There is no way Isabella is interested in someone like me. We are both clearly feeling the effects of too much alcohol, which is why I need to go. The problem is, even though I know I should leave, I really don't want to.
"We haven't even had dessert yet," she says. "You wouldn't want to miss sex in a pan, now, would you?" I feel my eyes grow wide as I stare back at her, utterly speechless. She giggles, pulling me by the arm back into the kitchen.
What am I getting myself into? I feel the panic start to overtake me as my mind races to what on earth she could be talking about. What is sex in a pan? Do I really want to know the answer to that?
She drops my hand and opens the aging refrigerator, pulling out a glass dish and setting it on the counter. "It's my mom's recipe. Well, kind of. I changed it a bit. I used Skor bars this time." I shut my eyes and take a series of deep breaths. "Vanilla and chocolate pudding layered on a crust of pecans. How can you go wrong, really?" she asks casually.
I open my eyes, staring at the delectable dessert in the pan. "I don't know," I answer. She laughs, fishing out two forks from one of the drawers in front of her.
She lifts an eyebrow to me, dipping a fork into the dessert and holding it over the pan. "Want a taste?"
I swallow… loudly, watching as she brings the fork to my lips. "Isabella…"
"What? Come on, don't be shy. You told me yourself you have a sweet tooth," she urges. "I thought you would like this."
"I do… I mean, I'm sure that it's wonderful…"
She lowers the forks slightly, furrowing her brow. "So, what's the problem?"
I step away from the counter, my fingers immediately raking through my hair. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never felt this way before. It's all too much… the dinner, the foot massage, her clothes falling on me, their scent permanently embedded in my brain, the dancing, Glenn Gould, and now sex in a pan. I feel myself losing control, and it's the most terrifying and exhilarating feeling I've ever had. How is it possible that I can feel such intense conflicting emotions simultaneously?
For the first time in my life, I wish I had studied psychology. I'm sure there is a term for what I'm experiencing; some sort of empirical study on emotions that would help for me to rationalize this.
"Edward?" Her voice only serves to intensify the foreign feelings coursing through me. She looks up at me, a worried expression on her face while she bites her bottom lip. "Are you alright?" I nod. "Did you want to try it?" I nod again, and her beautiful smile breaks across her face.
She stretches up to a cupboard beside the sink, her sweater riding up, my control hanging by a thread as I watch a sliver of her skin reveal itself.
I divert my eyes to the ceiling in an effort to calm down while the sound of plates rattling around fills the kitchen. "There," she says, sounding pleased with herself.
I lower my eyes to her as she hands me a plate covered with a large piece of the dessert. "Thank you." She leans against the counter, taking a bite of the dessert from her plate. "May I ask you something?"
"Sure," she says, chewing slowly while she stares at me.
"If the plates are so hard for you to get, why don't you put them on a lower shelf?"
She looks at the cupboard and then back to me. "I don't know. They've just always been up there."
"Maybe you need to change that," I suggest, eagerly taking another bite. The dessert is absolutely amazing.
"Are you saying that change is a good thing?"
I nod, spearing another piece of dessert. "In this instance, yes."
"But not in all instances?" she questions.
"Well… that would depend, I suppose."
"On?"
"A lot of things," I answer.
"Like what?" She licks the fork. My erection stirs. It seems to be a pattern.
"If the change means things become more logical, or in this case, easier for you, then it's a good thing," I explain.
"So, you like to take the easy way out?" she challenges, waving her fork at me.
"No… that's not what I meant." I sigh in frustration and take a bite, practically moaning as the dessert melts in my mouth. "This is like heaven," I rave, eagerly taking another bite.
"See? I told you that you wouldn't want to miss it," she says, her tongue darting over her bottom lip.
I swallow, staring back at her. "No. I wouldn't."
She smiles and leans across the counter, her fingers brushing the corner of my mouth.
"You have some chocolate…" I feel two fingers graze against my skin as it burns under her touch, and then, she slowly she inserts them into her mouth, sucking off the excess chocolate. "Better?"
She lifts an eyebrow to me as I let out a shaky breath. "You can't…" I shut my eyes, not even knowing how to explain myself. "You can't do things like that," I mumble nervously.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know how to process it. You're looking at me like… like…"
"Like what?"
"As if you like me," I say, my voice barely audible.
"I do like you."
I shake my head. I don't understand her at all. "Why? Of all the people there are to like, why is it that you like me?"
"I told you. You're warm," she says, smiling up at me as if that is supposed to explain everything.
"That's an irrational answer. I am not warm. I wear three layers of clothing, I am more comfortable with numbers than people, and I go to bed before most people even start their evenings. Those are not things that endear a person to another as warm. Trust me... people don't want to spend anymore time with me than they absolutely have to."
She cuts into the dessert in the pan with her fork. "Well, maybe you've just been hanging out with the wrong people," she taunts. Yes… she's taunting me. Every subtle movement, every brief touch, designed to test me, I think.
"Isabella..."
She takes a bit of the dessert, her lips lingering around the fork. "Do you like me?"
"More than I should."
"Do you want to kiss me?" she asks, once again making me struggle for my voice. No one has ever asked me that before.
"I... it's not that simple," I stammer.
"It's a yes or no answer."
"Not to me, it isn't."
She leans over the counter, inching closer to me. "Yes or no?" she asks.
"Yes," I breathe. "More than I've ever wanted to do anything in my entire life."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yeah. That's very good," she says, squeezing in between the counter and me. She's close… close enough to smell, to want, to touch.
My breathing accelerates while I struggle to keep my emotions in check. "I'm leaving in eight days." Yes. Just the facts. The facts will help. They always do.
"So?"
"I'm not the kind of person who goes around kissing women who they are never going to see again. Kissing is something extremely personal and intimate, and I would never just kiss someone because I get the urge to," I try to explain, but honestly, I'm having a hard time believing it myself.
She lifts an eyebrow. "You get urges?"
"More than I should." She really has no idea.
"You've been saying that quite a bit tonight," she says.
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be forward or offend you, I just..." I clench my eyes shut. I'm making an utter fool out of myself.
She laces her fingers with mine, squeezing gently. "When you're ready, and only when you're ready, I would really like to kiss you, too," she says quietly.
I'm sure I didn't hear that properly. Women like Isabella do not want to kiss men like me. "That doesn't make any sense. You're... you're..." I wave my arm up and down in front of her, unable to even articulate how she makes me feel. "And I'm just..."
"Amazing," she finishes firmly.
I chuckle at her description. "Amazingly ridiculous, perhaps."
"No. Just amazing." I feel myself flush at her words while she leans back on the counter, taking another bite of the dessert. "This really is good. I think I like the Skor bars on it. What do you think?" she asks.
"Well, I haven't tried your other version, but this is fantastic," I admit.
"Yeah... it is."
Thankfully, she moves back around to the other side of the counter. I eat, or should I say, devour the remaining dessert, trying to commit the flavours to memory. I'm certain I'll never taste anything this good again.
All too soon, my serving of dessert is finished, and I place my dish in the sink, turning on the tap to pre-wash the plate.
"What are you doing?" she asks, joining me at the sink.
"I was going to wash up the plates."
"It can wait," she says, her eyes growing wide as she looks out the window.
"It can?"
"Yeah, it can. Come on!" I turn off the water as she pulls on my arm, rushing out of the kitchen to the front door. "You have to see this."
I'm not sure how much more I can handle at this point, but I follow along, anyway, as she is clearly on a mission. She whips open the door, pulling me out onto the deck, the cool, night air immediately chilling me.
She tugs me to the corner of the deck, practically jumping up and down with excitement. I snicker at her enthusiasm as she tilts her head up into the night sky. "What are you…?" My voice trails, the chill of the late evening completely forgotten as I take in one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen.
Glowing, dancing curtains of light ripple and sway in the blackened, moonless sky. Muted violet, blending into vibrant green fold and unfold then suddenly disappear, only to reform in a new shape moments later. The tall pine trees that span the forest are highlighted in a celestial glow, a smattering of stars seem to dance between the colour as I watch in awe. The Northern Lights… truly unbelievable.
"It's like it's alive," I marvel under my breath.
"I know." She leans into me, her hand tucking in under my arm. "You got lucky being here now. Any later in April, and you probably wouldn't see them," she explains.
"I've never seen anything like this."
I feel her eyes on me as I watch the colour float and dance between the trees. "They're actually electrically charged particles from the Sun that react to the earth's magnetic field." My eyes widen at her description, and she turns back to the sky, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I know it's boring."
"No. It's fascinating. How do you know all that?"
"I've seen a lot of Northern Lights growing up, and Dad would always try to explain it to me. Mom and I just thought they were pretty. We used to come out and watch them, usually with Jake and Leah," she explains quietly. "The tribes in the area have a few different stories about them. Some call it the Dance of the Spirits. Others say they're torches, welcoming new souls into the afterlife. Sorry, I'm rambling."
I feel her tuck further into my side, my entire body humming and alive, and for the next few minutes, I'm not the awkward, unsure of myself, nervous fool who never says the right thing. No words are needed as we lean against the rail of the deck and just enjoy nature in its most amazing form.
I look down at her as she rests her head against my arm, and all I want is to stay like this. Just her and me, and the natural wonder of the Northern Lights. All too soon for my liking, the lights fade, and we are left with a moonless, star-filled sky. "Thank you for bringing me out here. That was..." My voice trails. I don't even know how to explain what I've just experienced.
"Sublime?" she offers.
I smile at her. "Yes. Sublime. I'd like to see them again, sometime."
"You'll have to come back, then."
I stare down at her, overwhelmed at the thought of coming back, at the fact that she seems to want me to, at the realization that I only have eight days left... well, technically, closer to seven, given how late it is. It must be after midnight, which brings me hurling back to reality.
"I should probably let you go. I've taken up enough of your night," I say, moving to her door.
"You didn't take up my night. I had a really good time."
"So did I," I admit. She smiles, leaning against the door, every movement tempting me further.
I stuff my hands into the front pocket of my pants, shifting nervously. "Until tomorrow?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself. Yes, its cold, and she's tired. I need to go.
I nod, watching as she slowly shuts the door. I stand outside of it, just looking at the wood. It's an old door that has been weathered by too many harsh Alaskan winters. Finally, I hear the sliding of the lock, and satisfied that she is safely in for the night, I make my way back to my cabin.
It's difficult for me to rationalize the emotions that rage through me. They are foreign and intense. I want to spend time with her, as exhausting as that seems to be for me. Even though it's completely irrational, I want to hear more about her past and what she wants for her future. I am starting to feel as though these next seven days are going to fly by, and I don't like that feeling.
I climb the stairs up to my room, shivering slightly from the cool air that floats to me from the forest. The temperature has dropped quite dramatically. "Dude!"
I jump at the sound of Emmett's voice. "Emmett!" I yell. "You scared me half to death. What are you doing up here in the dark?"
"I came to get you to see the lights, bro," he explains, getting up from the chair on the deck.
My heart races while he snickers at me. "Thank you, but I saw them."
"You did, huh?"
"Yes. With Isabella."
He nudges me in the arm. "Hmm. That sounds like a good night to me," he says suggestively.
"It was. One of the best nights."
"You like her," he says, waggling his eyebrows.
"I shall order your prize for figuring out the obvious tomorrow."
"Well, tell me about it! What did you guys do?" he asks, completely ignoring my attempt at sarcasm.
"We had dinner, listened to classical music, and watched the sky."
"Did you kiss her?"
"Emmett! You know I'm not about to answer that." I shake my head, pulling the key to the cabin out of the pocket on my trousers.
"But you want to, right? I mean, she's totally into you," he says excitedly.
I roll my eyes at him. "No, she's not. She's just being nice."
"You don't see her offering to make dinner and watch the stars with anyone else, do you?"
"Well, no, but..."
"But nothing." He hits me on the back, creating a bruise no doubt. "Just go with it," he says, starting down the stairs.
"That's your advice?"
"Sometimes, it's better if you don't think too much about things," he says, jumping off the bottom step and onto the ground.
"You've mastered that," I call to him, smirking and listening to him laugh while I unlock the door.
"See you tomorrow, bro," he calls to me, disappearing into the night.
I shut and lock the door, feeling completely exhausted, and quite honestly, a little out of sorts. I haven't watched Jeopardy since I got here. I've only logged onto email once, and I can't remember ever going this long without reading The Post. It's all a little unnerving.
I remove my tie and shirt, hanging them both up in the closet, away from my clean clothes. I remove my slacks, knowing I will need to press them before I wear them again. I hang them up in the closet, for now, and move to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and take a multi-vitamin, swallowing it back with a gulp of water.
I leave my glasses on the counter in the bathroom, and somehow, I manage to crawl into bed, thankful to be on my way to a restful sleep.
BTN
12:41-the fuzzy time that reads on the bear clock beside the bed while I rub my eyes and try to focus.
Six. The number of times I've heard a gentle but persistent knock on my door as I sit up in bed and try to figure out if I'm dreaming. It has to be Emmett, trying to get me to join him and Jasper on some drunken escapade. He knows what my answer is going to be, so I'm not sure why he's bothering.
One. Lock on my door that I'm fumbling to get open. It finally releases, the knock getting louder, and my patience getting thinner. "Emmett, I'm coming!" I whip the door open, my eyes falling on Isabella as she stares up at me. "Isabella…what… is something wrong?" Maybe I am dreaming.
"You forgot your jacket," she says timidly, holding it out to me. "I knew you'd be cold in the morning, and so… well, here." She blinks up at me, her beautiful face illuminated by the glow of the small lantern above the door. The wind swirls a strand of her hair across her face, and I'm speechless, standing with the door open in nothing but my boxers and my rumpled t-shirt. The wind blows harder, a glaring reminder of that fact.
"My jacket?" I ask like a fool. Yes… articulate as always. I'm wishing now this was a dream. I'm back to not being able to form a proper sentence.
"Yeah. You forgot it. It's my fault, I mean, I did just kind of shove it into the closet," she says, laughing.
I lift it from her hands, overwhelmed by her gesture. Yet another thing in the growing list of qualities that I admire about her. She goes out of her way to help people... to help me. It's not something I'm used to.
She shifts nervously, still staring up at me. "Thank you. You didn't need to do that."
"Okay, well, I should let you get back to bed. I mean… you were sleeping," she says, her eyes lingering on my t-shirt. I'm sure I look like a mess.
My fingers automatically go into my hair as I lean against the door. I'm still not sure if I'm actually awake, which is probably why I say, "Would you like to come in?"
Chapter End Notes:
Hmmm… A sleepy Edward answering the door at 12:41, all rumpled and disheveled?
Thoughts?
Twitter: CarLemon
Sex in a Pan: Trust me and Numberward. It's awesome. I have the recipe and am willing to share.
The Northern Lights. Simply magnificent: www(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%
