A/N Some of you may have noticed that all of our titles are derived from songs that can be found on our playlist for this fic. You can find the playlist on the profile. This chapters song is The Cave by Mumford & Sons, it sets the tone, take a listen.

Disclaimer: We do not own Twilight. All publicly recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended. Clearly what we are doing with these characters is hardly recognizable, but we want to make it clear this is all for fun.

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Chapter 10

The Cave Begins

EPOV

"Weird..." she says, inspecting the tires. "Maybe I ran over a nail or something. You know after you insisted I find somewhere to change pronto."

"Don't go blaming this on me."

"Quit sweating it. It's a flat tire. I think I have a spare."

"Think?" I shout, getting aggravated.

"Well, I never got a flat tire before. I think it's in the trunk. " I shake my head at her before walking over to the back of the car. I pop the trunk open and am shocked. It's clean, brand new vinyl clean. She peers in over my shoulder.

"Huh." She inspects the trunk. "I never even knew I had this much space back here. I never opened the trunk before."

"Who doesn't open their trunk?" I shake my head and ignore her. I start to lift the vinyl up and she stops me.

"Uu..uh..uh, Mr. C. You can't just go poking and prodding Rosie like that. You haven't even taken her out on a proper date yet." She wags her eye brows at me and proceeds to climb into the trunk—mini skirt, heels and all. She is standing up but bent over. Her ass is literally in my face. I catch myself licking my lips. She got the matching panties. Christ, Cullen. Concentrate. Look away. I hear her huffing and puffing and putting up quite a struggle.

"Here, let me—" Just as I offer to help, she flies out of the trunk, propelling us both onto the dirt and gravel.

We are both on our backs. I'm covered in dirt, and she has torn her stockings and one of her feet is missing a shoe. This day just keeps getting worse. As I get up I extend my hand to help her up.

"Thanks. So no tire..." She smiles innocently.

I look at my watch and notice it's already after 4 pm. There is no way we are going to make it to McCarty's office by five.

"I have to make a phone call. Why don't you go in there and see if your friend can call a tow truck for us." She looks insulted. Did I say something wrong?

She laughs. "Rosie does not get towed! I'll call Sam and have him bring a tire to us." Instead of looking for her other shoe like a normal person, she takes the remaining shoe off and walks into the bar—barefoot.

After I arrange to meet with Mr. McCarty first thing in the morning, I make my way back inside. Bella is behind the bar on the phone while mixing drinks. She places a drink next to the man sitting to my left. She cracks open a beer for another customer.

"Yeah, I saw Whit. I know... I know. A Statie. Aint that a trip? So, you'll help me? Awesome. Thanks, Sammy baby. I owe you one! No, do not tell Emily that. She will kill me. Alright, baby cakes. See you soon." I watch her with rapt interest as she hangs up the phone and spins a grey goose bottle in her hand, making a perfect pour. She slides it across the bar to another customer.

"Everything all set?" I ask her.

"Yeah. A buddy of mine is coming down with a tire. It will be about 45 minutes. We could still make it—"

"I already made arrangements for tomorrow. Besides, neither of us could go there looking like this. I guess we will have to find a place to stay for the night. I take it Forks doesn't have a Westin?" I'm not an idiot I'm attempting humor.

She makes a scheming face, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. "Yo, James!"

The bartender graces us with his presence. He pours himself a shot. "What can I do for you, Busy?"

"You still got the loft above the bar?"

"Still the way you left it, baby." He smiles warmly, and I start to think there is more between them then just a bartender/patron relationship.

"Rock on!" She hops over the bar and sits down next to me. "So, we got a place to crash. The car will be fixed. We're good to go." She pours some Jack Daniels into a shot glass and tosses back like it's water. "James, you got something bigger?"

He places a rocks glass in front of her. She fills it to the top, and I give her a questioning look. She's not driving so I can't really stop her. I am a little apprehensive considering she is crazy enough sober. What the hell is she going to be like drunk? For once, in what feels like forever, I decide to go with the flow. I really don't have any other options at the moment. I signal to James for a larger glass as well. She smiles wickedly before pouring me a healthy serving of booze.

I flip the buttons on my wrists and roll the cuffs of my shirt back twice. "Cheers," I offer, raising my glass to her as I proceed to drink my troubles away.

Before I have a chance to put my glass down at the bar she is gone. I suddenly hear the familiar twangy guitar riffs. I turn around to see Bella walking away from the jukebox. She starts dancing in the middle of the bar...all by herself. I am mesmerized. I watch the way her hips sway. She moves so free, like a bird flying under the summer sun and a purple-haired goddess tripping on 'shrooms. She even nails that cajun rhythm. This girl is full of surprises as the beat consumes her and she is this song.

She's a summer love in the spring, fall and winter

She can make happy any man alive...

She's got everything delightful

She's got everything I need

That exact question swirls in my brain with the newly acquired alcohol. Does she have everything I need? I watch her rip off the purple wig at the end of the song. Her hair is a hot sticky mess. She has little beads of sweat along her brow and above her perfect cupid's bow. A part of me, and at this point I'm not sure how dominant that part is, wants to lick that drop of sweat right off of her lip. She walks back over to me and sits down placing the wig on the bar next to her. I stare at her and for the first time I really look at her. She is crazy beautiful.

"I'm dying to know," I say, slurring slightly. "Where did you find that wig at Nordstrom's?"

"You think I bought this?" She starts to laugh. "I had it in my bag."

I smile. I really smile at her. Only Bella would carry a purple wig around with her. I can't lie. It makes me like her a little more.

"Well you did buy these I take it?" Holding up the pair of shoes she had abandoned here and there. They are designer shoes and shouldn't be tossed around so haphazardly.

"Oh, thanks. I almost forgot. I was a little side tracked when you were so obviously irritated with me and Rosie."

"I'm sorry. But these are expensive shoes. Maybe…"

"Wow! Two apologies from you in such a short time? And I am well aware of the cost of a fantastic pair of Louboutin's. I purchased them remember."

I just look at her in disbelief. She purchased them with my card. But I'm not an ass and I am not concerned about the money so I don't point that out. I just raise an eyebrow and take another sip of whiskey.

"You know, Mr. C, things are just things. The world is full of things. Things are replaceable..."

I listen to her words, really listen. I can tell there is more she wants to say. "I suppose you're right." She's insightful.

Then I decide in my alcohol induced haze to do something so out of character for me—nowadays. I noticed a guitar in the corner behind the bar earlier and while the crazy Swan was still changing I spoke to the sleazy blond dude about it briefly. With my new found whiskey courage, I hop across the bar this time and notice her jaw slack a bit. I tug my shirt out of my pants the rest of the way and loosen my tie further. I yank up the instrument, drag a chair to the edge of the bar and begin to strum the chords as I attempt an acoustical version of Sweet Child O' Mine.

I haven't played or sung for anyone in so long but it feels raw and real—alive. Trainwreck has done something to me or maybe I'm inebriated. Either way I guess it sounds pretty good because she is standing and swaying her hips and the few other patrons filtering in the doors are watching with hushed whispers. I finish and Sugar Magnolia-Swan, jumps on top of the bar and puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles.

"Well let's give it up for Papa C."

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