Twilight is the property of Stephenie Meyer. So are the Twilight characters. Other artists and musicians are cited in the text, and everything else is my original work.

Playlist:

My One Desire - Freakwater
River - Akron/Family

And you are now vast and open sea
And my mind travels you endlessly
And you beckon, toss, and toss, and swallow me
And once this spark-met kindling forgets its gentle ambling
Becoming heat, becoming steam, becoming luminescent glee
Atoms splinter, sparkling, a live and nimble symmetry
And all along, this glistening, blankets we and everything

Chapter 8: Sparks

At Muddywater's for the second morning in a week, I sat in my favorite tan pleather booth and cupped my hot coffee mug. Then I wiped my hands on my cords. My palms were sweating.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and taking in the comforting aroma of garlicky potatoes. There was something I needed to do, and I needed to do it right now. From across the booth, a pair of twinkling eyes watched me expectantly.

"Alice...I'm...well, I'm sort of...I'm going on a date with your brother."

She just pursed her lips at me and narrowed her eyes. But then her face broke into a sly smile. "Bella, I know."

"What? Oh, then...okay. But how? Did he say something?" It occurred to me that Emily could have said something. Or Leah. Or Sam. Of course, that made me recall the entire torture-by-honey episode for the thousandth time in three days and I think I blushed a tiny bit. Alice eyed me, amused.

"Well, I didn't know about a specific date, but I knew something was up last week when he dropped the chef's knife in my kitchen. I've seen Edward carve ice with a chainsaw while hanging from a harness four stories above the ground. I'm not saying he doesn't have issues, but clumsiness isn't one of them."

This was helpful information to know. And this was also a helpful mental image to file away. I considered asking Alice to describe what Edward was wearing that day. And, also, how tight was this harness? The sound of her clearing her throat softly broke me out of my daze. Right. She was his sister. It didn't feel appropriate to have her travel down that particular road with me.

"But, Alice, be serious. How do you feel about it? I can see that you two are working on your own connection, and I don't want to get in the way of that."

"See, Bella, that's just it. You noticing that? I want that quality in whoever my brother 'goes on a date' with." She made air quotes when she said this, suggesting she saw more to it than just going on a date.

I relaxed back into the booth. "Alice, I really like him. I do hope it's more than just a date." Wasn't it already more than a date? He had called me his girl. But then again, his hot and cold moods were giving me whiplash. Wait, I was mixing my metaphors. But all the same.

I thought back to his text message the morning after my birthday. All it had said was: 9/24? This, after our stairwell kiss for the record books. After I'd fainted in front of him. I'd poured my heart out about my mother. About the surgery. He had felt for my heartbeat through the cage of my ribs, no other sound but our shaky breaths in the cab of my truck.

And now: 9/24? This was his way of arranging the date he'd asked me on. And: he was making me wait ten days? I had answered in kind: 9/24 lunch? If he wanted to cool his heels, well, nothing put a damper on things like a lunch date. And his response, which I had to admit made me laugh: Well played. Whatever would I do with him?

Then the morning after our memorable trip to Sam's farm - - and our brief detour to the republic of my kneecap - - another text: OMG. Nothing could have been more out of character, which was why it was hilarious and sweet. But how was he so confidently cheeky some moments, and so guarded and brooding the next?

Alice was watching me, smirking. "I believe you. I would tell you it's not going to be easy, but I have a feeling you know that."

I nodded, looking down into my coffee.

"I said before that I hated seeing him close himself off to people like he has been. That doesn't just apply to myself and my family alone. It's people in general. Interaction is like food to him. Or, it used to be. If you could only see who he was, Bella...who he still is under all those layers he's put on. I refuse to believe..." She stopped herself, biting her lip and shaking her head.

"But I'm putting too much pressure on you. You're only just getting to know him. I only wanted to say that of course we all want more time with him, but believe me, Bella...once he defrosts, there's plenty of Edward to go around. Don't feel badly about spending time with him. If you're the person he opens up to, well, I couldn't imagine a better scenario."

She reached across the table and gave my forearm a squeeze. "Now, will you quit hoarding the honey, or can I get in on that?"

I blanched, then blushed, then handed it over.

Alice laughed, giving up all hope of interpreting my reaction. "Bella, seriously, your face is an open book. I can see everything you're feeling, even if I don't understand what's behind it half the time. I love it. I hope it never changes."

I sighed. This was the bane of my existence. "Well, get used to it. I don't think I could change it if I wanted to, believe me."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, I had my American City Planning seminar. This wasn't my core interest area, but I was equipped to teach it, and the students who enrolled were pretty motivated, so it was shaping up to be a pretty good experience. I took the class outside this Thursday, because the temperature had rebounded from the mid-40s to the 70s, and it was expected to stay this way for a mere two or three days. Indian Summer. The prevailing wisdom said this was the last time any of us in this town would feel the sun on our skin until April of next year, and seemingly nobody was letting this little weather anomaly go to waste. The steps to the classroom buildings were a mass of pasty-skinned limbs in short sleeves and sundresses. The main square teemed with students meeting with their classes or throwing frisbees.

The ground was thoroughly wet underneath a thin layer of brown leaves, which made me nix the classic seated discussion circle format. That was a recipe for damp, muddy pants. I could already see some other professor's students in a circle across the way, squirming and sitting gingerly on their own hands. Instead, I walked my class around the perimeter of the square, pausing as they picked out examples of civic planning decisions. Things like the placement of traffic lights and one-way streets and crosswalks, which reinforced a pedestrian culture on campus.

As we made our way along the sidewalk, I noticed a sculpture class was also being held outside. Benjamin Amun's class, it looked like. From what I had seen in the faculty gallery, Benji worked in traditional sculpture media - - bronze casting, metals, stone. And right now, he seemed to be overseeing a tutorial on welding. The group was gathered on the far end of the square, but the spectacle of glowing white and amber sparks shooting into the air caught all of our attention. After a moment, the demonstrator stepped back, turned off his torch, and lifted up his opaque metal safety mask to wipe sweat from his face and answer questions. I swallowed an involuntary gasp. Edward. With him was Rosalie, tag-teaming the question-and-answer session and, in that way of hers, sharply observing which students were paying attention and which were likely to be safety hazards in the metal shop she was in charge of.

I turned back to my class, determined to stay focused. The sun was especially bright, and I realized it was because the leaves had fallen from most of the trees and there was nothing left to shade the sun's rays. I stopped us near the dandelion oak tree and tried to drum up some discussion. "Other than providing a place for us to enjoy a beautiful day, why even have a town square at all? Why not develop the land with businesses that would contribute to the tax base?"

Mike Newton, a student athlete with a sweet nature but a simple mind, was ready with a knee-jerk answer, as usual. "Because the Masen family donated it."

Ben Cheney, my favorite diminutive senior, piped up. Just three weeks into the semester, he was revealing himself to be quite the civic planning nerd, which endeared him to me. "Right, but why did they? Here, Professor Cullen will know."

I spun around to where Ben gestured with a nod of his head. Edward was prowling along the path in his slow, purposeful way. When he saw a dozen heads turn his way, he slowed and meandered toward us, cautiously. He had left his protective gloves and apron behind and was in off-white painter's pants a thin white t-shirt. Soot dusted his arms and face, his stubbled jaw. Soot and sweat. It made the whites of his eyes..and the greens...pop in a way that made my knees go weak.

"Ed...ah...Professor Cullen, Ben here was just suggesting you might know why a family like the Masens would have donated land to establish a town square like this?"

He looked at me curiously, squinting like he was caught off guard. "Um..." I could see him mentally sorting through different ways to answer me. He frowned.

Ben jumped in. "Because you were born and raised here, right? You probably know some history."

This jolted Edward out of his indecision. "Oh. Yes. Well, my understanding is that members of the family had narrowly escaped a cholera epidemic while traveling. They believed overcrowded public markets encouraged the spread of infectious disease." He looked at me with one eyebrow halfway raised to see if this was helpful. Despite being momentarily distracted by the glint of sun in his eyes and sweaty, matted hair, I nodded. Edward knew things. This was better than okay.

He continued, "So, creating a wide-open space like this was better for the health of the community." There was a strange hesitancy in his eyes, like he was unsure of how much more to say.

Frankly, the exchange had made me more eager to wrap up the class and move on to the rest of my day, which involved lunch with Edward. Alone. "Mm-hmm. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." He gave me a hint of a smile. How did he manage to dazzle me like that every time? "Enjoy the day."

I wasn't as adept at playing it cool, not even in front of my students. Enjoying the day meant enjoying my date with Edward, because that was all that was left on my agenda.

"Uh huh. I think I will." Gawd. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

As I wrapped up the rest of the discussion and sent the students on their way, I noticed Rosalie lingering nearby. I smiled at her, trying and failing to interpret her expression.

She returned my smile with a nod. "Are you walking home? I'm headed that way."

We walked for a while in silence. Her long legs would have easily outpaced me, but she slowed her gait to match mine.

I hadn't had much one-on-one conversation with Rose, beyond 'please pass the bread' and have you seen my scarf?' I decided to test the waters. "I thought Edward was on sabbatical - - why is he teaching class?"

"Oh, he's just helping out. We work well together on this welding demonstration. And honestly, he feels better when he can do it himself. Some of these students are so young, they can be a bit foolhardy. He feels very...protective of them."

I nodded.

Then, without any pretense of warming up to it, she launched into a short but pointed speech. "When I first met Edward, I was totally preoccupied with how hot he was."

I was doing the math before the words were even out of her mouth - - she had been dating Emmett for only 18 months, so she would have been in town and single before Edward entered his abstinent phase, if that's what you could call it.

Noticing my questioning eyebrows, and possibly a little bit of blind panic on my face, she quickly clarified. "I never dated him. I thought he was attractive, and he fascinated me, it's true. But he always gave off a brother-in-law vibe. It took me a long time to understand that as good-looking as he is, that's the least of what he has to offer."

Oh. That's what this was: a warning. As if I were out to jump him and dump him.

"Rose, I hope you don't think...I mean...I'm not..." Actually, what did I mean? So far, getting into Edward's pants had been dominating my conscious thoughts about him, if I was honest with myself. I liked spending time with him, too, but what else was there? So much was still waiting under the surface, hidden there, lurking there...but I had to admit to myself that I hadn't seen enough to know anything. Not yet.

"Listen, Rose, I'm only just getting to know Edward." That was one true thing I could say to her. "And...I also see the way your family regards him. The way you all stand up for him, like right now. That means something to me." That was another.

She nodded. Her expression was neutral - - not judging me, not blocking me out. She finally seemed to relax the tiniest bit. "Okay, Bella. It's not that I think you're some dragon lady swooping in to corrupt Edward. I just want you to be open. Don't rush to any conclusions, if you can help it. Now, what are you planning on wearing?"

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

An hour later, I was fiddling awkwardly with the hem of my cotton voile sundress, waiting for Edward's car to pull up. What was this, middle school? No, but only because middle schoolers didn't drive cars. This dress was kind of comfortable. It was vintage-ish without bordering on costume-y. The color was a pale butter yellow, which accomplished the miracle of making my skin look more healthy than sallow. But with all that being true, there was no doubt in my mind that I couldn't wear it.

I half-tripped up the stairs and made a hasty wardrobe change. Jeans and a button-down was the only way to go. These were the nice jeans, at least - - dark and a little tighter than my everyday, with a bit of stretch. And the shirt was kind of fancy, for Ohio. Fitted, soft. Brown. And my Converse low-tops. One mustn't appear too eager. Anyways.

Edward didn't complain when he rolled up five minutes later. He grinned. He helped me into the car. He waited for me to buckle up. And then he revved the engine two times, quietly, giving a lighthearted chuckle, before backing out into the road.

That put me at ease. He was a master of the understated, and I felt like I was among a privileged few who ever go to witness it.

He peeked at me, glancing away from the road for a split second. "You look very nice."

"Thanks. So do you." He had showered and shaved since this morning. His hair was relatively tame, bouncing above his head. He was wearing my favorite flannel shirt, the one I thought looked the softest. It looked like it could have been made to measure just for him, and it had pearly snaps instead of buttons.

I recognized my feeling of strange, giddy delight from that morning not long ago, watching coffee fill my carafe in the post-dawn kitchen. The feeling had been visiting me from time to time, reminding me that it had taken up residence in my consciousness. Like a piece of popcorn skin that sticks in your teeth, only pleasant.

I was grinning at Edward. "Where are we going?"

He just looked at me, eyes crinkling. His glance said: you'll see.

I could live with that. But I still needed to get into some kind of conversational groove in order to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

"So, you started at Newcoven about seven years ago? I mean, to be taking a sabbatical?" That was the usual timeline. Sabbaticals were a way of keeping valued professors from getting burned out, while giving them time to complete major projects.

"This is my seventh year."

He glanced over at me again, anticipating the calculations I would be doing in my head.

"I'm 33. What can I say? I got started early. There's no PhD for art, only a two-year MFA, so depending on how productive you are, the timeline for getting on the tenure track can be much shorter for artists. For those of us who want that."

That made sense. A PhD in the humanities can take seven or more years, not counting the four undergraduate years, so even those of us who entered grad school straight away were almost thirty before we could hope to land any job at all, much less a tenure-track job. Even still, he was being modest. He had to be a fantastic artist and teacher to be in the position he was in.

"So, how is it? Being on sabbatical?"

"Hmm, I see how it is. Twenty questions. You realize I'm going to turn the tables on you once we sit down for lunch, right?"

I looked at him, eyebrows raised. He didn't scare me.

"Sabbatical is good. I miss teaching, but I've been getting a lot of good work done. Not to be all 'nobody understands my process' but...nobody understands my process." He grew serious. "I know everyone thinks I'm not working. I'm just not showing work. Not until it's done."

He shook his head and snapped out of his little mood. "But, anyhow, the unstructured time is really helping. That's why I couldn't make plans with you until today. For most of last week, I was in the middle of a stage where I needed to tend to stuff every ten hours, or sometimes every three hours." And then, just like that, smoldering Edward was back. "And I want longer than three hours with you."

Gulp. As much as I wanted to encourage smoldering Edward, it didn't seem safe while we were driving, and anyways, he had said something that snagged my curiosity.

"So, every three hours means...do you sleep in the studio?"

"It's a site-specific installation I'm working on, so I'm at the site instead of a studio, but yes. Sleep, eat. Just during the time-sensitive steps." He paused, tugging at his hair and frowning. "Hey, Bella, so...as much as I want to share this with you as soon as possible, please don't take this personally - - you can ask Alice, ask anyone - - I'm one of those annoying types who doesn't discuss a work in progress."

"Oh! Oh, gosh! Yes, yes - - just tell me when to shut up."

His face melted into a sweet, crooked smile. "I'm not going to tell you to shut up. Especially now that we're here. I'm taking my turn, remember?"

Ooh. Oh - - lunch. I took a look out the window and didn't see anything that resembled a restaurant. "A musical instrument store? Are we going to play instruments?"

"Come on, you'll see. This place is special."

He led me into the dark little shop, and as we passed glass cases full of brass instruments and hand drums, I could detect delicious food smells coming from somewhere. Edward pulled aside a black curtain and suddenly we were in a small, bustling little mom and pop restaurant.

"It's Cuban. And it's quiet. I thought we could talk, and students don't even know about it, and they have some vegetarian dishes because I noticed you don't eat a lot of meat..."

I stopped Edward in the middle of his sales pitch. "It's terrific. It smells amazing, and I'm hungry."

The proprietor, a little old woman with salt-and-pepper grey hair, came over and squeezed Edward's forearm familiarly. She exchanged a few words with him and seated us at a little table in the corner. A moment later she was back with soft bread and crispy fried yuca cubes. They were covered in garlic.

"Edward, did you put her up to this? Did you think you would need to ward me off or something?"

He smirked at me, leaning back in his chair a bit. "As if a little garlic would stop you," he teased. "No. This stuff is amazing, so you should eat some, in between answering every last one of my questions about your life."

"Alright. Do your worst." My facial expression contorted, but only because of how great this yuca thing tasted.

"What made you decide to come to Newcoven?"

Um. My memory flashed to that long-ago wintry tableau. Seeing Edward on his mysterious errand in the tree. I thought for a moment about what I had really been looking for then, and what I was still seeking, in a way. "Well, let's just say I saw a few things on my campus visit that told me there was something special about this place. Not just the college, but the community. Clearwater. I've never lived anywhere like this, and I wanted a fresh start...so, I just followed my instincts."

Our conversation paused for a moment while we ordered our meals.

"And where you were before...Phoenix...what was that like?"

"Oh, it was fine. I mean, beyond the obvious, er, low points. Renee and Phil were there, and a few friends I had made over the years on my visits." I knew that he knew Jacob was there, and I decided not to dredge it up here and now. "I didn't care for the dry climate. And everybody drives there, I couldn't get used to it. I wasn't miserable, but it just never felt like home to me."

"Home is Chicago," he guessed.

"Yeah." My eyes brightened, and Edward's brightened in response. "Charlie is there. And the neighbors who helped raise me...we lived on the south side, and Charlie worked odd hours as a security guard, so I was often left with the neighborhood ladies, usually hanging out in their shops or bars while they worked."

"You hung out in bars? As a little kid?"

"They were more like jazz and blues clubs, which didn't even open until late at night. So it wasn't like people were slinging booze left and right. I would do my homework or read in a booth while Ms. Ida sliced lemons and stuff. And the musicians would do their sound checks, and sometimes they would let me try out their drums."

"That sounds nice. Though maybe sort of lonely, for a kid."

"I didn't mind. There were some kids around. But I liked my books, and I liked the music."

"I'd like to see those places."

"The original Checkerboard closed a few years ago, but Ida's is still open." My mind was wandering back to those days and my favorite memories. "It's funny, maybe it's the setting of this restaurant and the music shop and everything, but when I think about it now, most of what I remember is these wonderful old, old blues men. They were always bald, or gray, often too skinny and arthritic, with ashy skin and drooping eyes. The way they walked, shifting their weight from one leg to the next like they were balancing on two stilts. And the eternity it took them to haul an amp across the room and set up all the cords and music stands. But they were patient. And when they played, I could see that they were so alive, even well into their nineties. It made me feel not so scared about getting old. About...people...getting old."

Time to change the subject. I fluttered my hands around until Edward stilled them, and I noticed tears were spilling onto my cheeks when Edward brushed them away with his fingertips.

"Bella, it's okay to feel sad about your mom. Jesus, it hasn't even been a year. Don't hide that, please. Is that why you were crying at Muddywater's with Angela the other day?" He left his hand on mine, gently stroking my wrist and the back of my hand.

"Oh. You noticed that?"

"Well, your eyelashes were all stuck together and, you know. Yes."

"Ah. Well, it sometimes comes out of nowhere, you know? Everything makes me think of her. We were reviewing some Dear Government Documents letters - -" I stopped, considering how to explain this.

But he was nodding. "I know about it." He smiled mysteriously, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Everybody knew about it in middle school - - if you sent in a question that used the words 'my changing body' they would send back..." now he whispered, "photocopied diagrams of naked women."

And just like that, I was laughing again. I pictured Edward at age 11 or 12, getting an illicit thrill from diagrams.

"Well, good. I'm glad you've been properly educated with accurate information. Some of those letters are just heartbreaking, though - - we preserve the anonymity, of course - - but simply reading the stories can be tough. And it shocks me how commonplace it all seems. So, yes, I was remembering Renee."

Edward sighed sympathetically. Before we had a chance to pursue this morose new avenue, our lunches arrived, and the conversation mercifully turned to lighter topics.

As we ate, my eyes scanned the room, and I was struck with the variety of people of all ages surrounding us. An elderly pair who looked like they had been together for decades. A trio of middle-aged men, jocular and boisterous. Young parents struggling to interest their baby in some mashed beans. I wondered what Edward and I looked like to them.

Suddenly, both of our cell phones beeped simultaneously. His message, from his mom, and mine, from Alice, both told of last-minute plans for a bonfire at Carlisle and Esme's place later that night.

He searched my face, gauging my reaction. "What do you think? I can go either way. This might be the last chance this year, though, and a bonfire night is basically always wonderful. Very low-key."

The fact that he was open to the idea was enough to persuade me. And a big family bonfire sounded thoroughly midwestern and novel.

"Well, are you sure - - me meeting your parents? Am I dressed okay?" As awkward as it might be to meet the parents on a first date, nothing about how we were going about this was conventional, after all. This was par for the course.

He chuckled. "You're better than okay. And you've already met my father."

Even though Edward had tried to defuse my worry, I looked down at my jeans and sneakers, which now seemed to project a lack of enthusiasm. Carlisle was a doctor, and I'd heard that Esme was a former Newcoven trustee. That spelled power and wealth. Maybe they were very formal and proper.

Edward watched me fret with the wrinkles in my top, lending a hand to smooth my collar down. "Stop worrying about it. You'll see. Besides, you're dressed for a walk in the woods, right? It's completely appropriate."

I had forgotten about any talk of a nature walk. I felt myself smile involuntarily. Suddenly, my silly concerns fell away, and all I cared about was Edward and how we were going to spend the rest of the day. "Yes. Nature. Let's go get...leafy."

And then we were settling our bill - - Edward was settling it, pushing my money away with not-serious but sort-of serious chivalry - - and we were strolling back to the car. And then rolling down the road, windows down, breathing in the warm, damp air. And then walking in the woods, tripping over buried roots, scuffing our shoes on muddy rocks and stones. And Edward was kissing me against a mossy tree, and there was bark in my hair. And he was carrying me over muddy puddles as we climbed toward a lookout point, and I was picking pine needles out of his shirtsleeve. And he was swinging me off my feet, steering me away from a wood and metal footbridge toward to a better place to watch the sunset. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like someone free and content, someone not defined by loss, by lack. His girl.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

As it turns out, the best way to top off a thrilling day of path-strolling and sunset-watching really is a bonfire. Particularly if that bonfire involves s'mores and an acoustic sing-along.

Jasper and Emmett took turns playing, with Alice occasionally joining in on a hand drum. They were good. I was treated to Freakwater's My One Desire, which made my ears burn. Jasper's exaggerated southern twang made Alice laugh sweetly, taking some of the spotlight off of Edward and me. Then the whole group joined in singing Last Year by Akron/Family. Edward didn't so much sing as whisper the lyrics into my hair, his arm draped around me. "Last year was a hard year for such a long time. This year is gonna be ours."

When they moved on to another Akron/Family song, River, Edward picked up a shaker to accompany Emmett's husky singing, and I watched Esme's eyes turn to watery pools across the campfire. She blinked once and the tears were gone.

Earlier that evening, when Edward and I had pulled into the driveway, the fire was already raging, a cluster of faces circling it and glowing with warm amber light. His parents had broken away from the group to come greet us, and Esme surprised me by capturing me in a tight hug before Edward had a chance to say, "Bella, this is my mom, Esme."

She alternated hugging me and fussing over me as she gushed. "Bella. I've heard so much about you, dear - - from, well, the whole family. I was beginning to think three or four people named Bella had moved to town. What's this in your hair, sweetie? Never mind, I got it. Come on over and sit, there's plenty of blankets and hot buttered rum. Do you want a cinnamon stick in it? Are your shoes wet? You'll want to take off your shoes and toast your toes by the fire, it feels great."

Esme was nothing like what I expected. She wore a floppy hand-knit wrap sweater over loose cotton linen pants, and moccasin slippers on her feet. She was beautiful, with smooth, glowing skin and wavy shoulder-length hair that looked shiny and healthy. There was no hint of anything stiff and formal, and yet, despite her rambling, there was something rock-solid in her demeanor, something deeply grounded.

"Esme, let the girl breathe." Carlisle's voice was gentle and amused. "Bella, welcome. It's nice to see you here."

"Hi, Dr. Cullen, thank you for including me."

"It's 'Carlisle.' I leave 'Dr. Cullen' behind at the hospital if I can help it." I believed him. In his cargo shorts and long-sleeved tee shirt, he could have been Edward's older brother. There was no sign of the cool, detached professional who had treated me at the hospital - - only the kind, confident look in his eyes remained.

As I settled in next to Edward on a log bench by the fire, I glanced around the yard, searching for clues about the way this family lived and how Edward was raised. I felt myself relaxing more and more as I picked out artifacts in the darkness. Tire swing. Tree house. Chicken coop. A ramshackle outbuilding overgrown with weeds that looked like it might have seen years of use as a secret clubhouse.

Rose made sure I was acquainted with the basics of s'mores assembly. I roasted marshmallows for Edward and me on a two-pronged stick, giving each branch equal melting and browning time. By the time we arrived at the acoustic songs portion of the evening, I was perfectly warmed by the fire, the friendly company, and my mug of hot cider with rum. Edward had spent most of the evening expertly deflecting attention, gazing into the fire distractedly and observing his family. He seemed more guarded and careful now, among his family, than he had been with me earlier today. It may have been because they were watching him, too, clearly hungry for signs of the Edward they missed.

Eventually, Emmett and Rose roused themselves and said good night. They headed back to the house, taking empty mugs and instruments with them. Then Esme and Carlisle went inside, Esme promising me we'd visit more in the morning. Finally Jasper and Alice packed it in, and just Edward and I were left. I rested on my side on a wooly plaid blanket on the ground, using my hand as a pillow, as he doused every last ember of the fire.

Then he came and sat next to me, pulling more layers of blankets on top of us to counteract the loss of the fire. I could sense his fatigue, the exhaustion of the day, and I tugged him to lie on his side, spooning me as we watched the last wisps of smoke rise from the ashes.

I thought he had drifted off to sleep. Then I heard his voice, low and soft, in my ear. His chest hummed against my back. "We should go in. I can promise you Esme has made up your own private guest room. It's very comfortable."

"Hmm. Any minute now."

But the minutes came and went. I didn't want to change a thing. Crickets were chirping in the tall grass. The shape of the house was indistinct in the near distance, but I could see shadows moving behind curtains. Eventually, even the dim lights within the house went out.

Edward breathed into the back of my neck. "You smell so good. You smell...human."

He couldn't see me, but this comment made me frown. "Erm. I guess that's good."

His voice was a whisper now. The night was dark and deeply quiet around us. "You know what I mean. Like...when you meet a new person, they have a distinctive something about them, it just comes at you all of a sudden. This feeling that you won't ever meet another person like that. It's exciting. Part of it is how a person smells. For me. Is that gross?" He chuckled lightly, squeezing me.

"No, it's not." I felt a weird thrill, actually. He smelled like the campfire, and his usual scent. And something else. "You smell like metal tonight."

"Metal?" I could hear the amusement in his voice, the genuine surprise.

"Yeah, like on a hot summer day when you walk through a parking lot full of cars...and you can smell the hot metal?"

"I do know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean." His whispery voice sounded high and sweet. I imagined his face would be smiling if I could see it. He went on, "It's probably from the welding demo. I showered, I promise! But it gets into the skin."

We were both silent for a moment, and Edward shifted onto his back, pulling me into the crook of his shoulder as he rolled. He hooked my lower legs with his, keeping me warm and close under our blankets.

He breathed into my hair, "You're tired, aren't you? We've had a full day."

"Mmmm. It was a very full day." I draped a heavy arm across his torso, feeling his chest rise and fall gently beneath my drowsy head.

The canopy of stars above us was thick and brilliant. Surrounded by Edward's warm skin, I was reminded of something. "You know, I read once that when they interviewed the astronauts after they came back home, they said outer space smells like burnt metal. Like iron embers. They said their space suits smelled that way when they came back into the airlock. And they said they could taste it on their tongues."

"Ahh, Bella. I never knew that. I remember about the 'sea of tranquility.' Isn't that what they say? Floating." He was barely coherent. His arms tightened around me. I could feel his lips on top of my head. So quiet I could barely hear him, he shaped the words Bella, Bella with his mouth against my hair.

We were quiet for another long while. I listened to the gentle wind in the trees. Such tall trees.

"Say something else, Bella. I like the way it feels. I can feel it vibrating in my chest when you speak." His words were slurred with sleepiness now, and I knew he would be drifting off any moment.

My heart began to race, so subtly I barely felt it. I was having a moment, and something needed to be said. I fought back a lump that thickened in my throat.

"Edward. I'm so glad you have that funny metal smell tonight because...I'm going to think of you, you know. I'm going to think of you and this day when I see the stars like this. Always."

He murmured something, a strangled grunt, into my hair. He may have said I know. He clutched me tighter for a moment, making us into a tangled ball of warmth and skin and soft clothes. My eyelids were like lead, and I felt whole. Wrapped in Edward's limbs, his breath mingling with the air of the dark, last warm night of the year, on a blanket in the yard of the house where he grew up, I drifted off into a deep and comfortable sleep.

AN: Site-specific installation art is just art designed to exist in one particular three-dimensional space, keeping in mind the qualities of the site and the frame of mind the viewer might bring when they are in that site. Unlike traditional sculpture, it can't be moved around from museum to museum (at least, not without being re-conceptualized).

A big public thank-you to two heretofore strangers, LadyExcalibur2010 who mentioned this story in a chapter of her delightful story, The Bigger They Are...and spanglemaker9, author of The Wedding Party, for tweets and other mentions! *blushing!* Until next week...