Author's Notes: Takes place during New Moon.
Glass Slippers
"I feel like Harry Potter," Jacob grumbles, trying to stretch out his legs in the narrow aisle. He's frowning at Bella, clearly waiting to be put out of his misery. She watches him warily. The further his legs extend, the closer he comes to toppling the precarious, multicolored stacks of shoeboxes that barricade the pair of them between the shelves, solitary, discarded shoes littering the ground like the casualties of war.
Bella carefully steps around an empty box; she hasn't moved in the last hour without a hand glued to the stable, solid metal of the shelves. She and Jacob have managed to create a personal hell for the uncoordinated, an obstacle course of death for the klutzes of the world. Klutzes like Bella, who isn't sure how a trip to the shoe store got so very out of hand. It's the kind of thing that would tempt her to scratch her head, if that wouldn't involve letting go of her anchor.
"Hey," she says, steadying herself again before continuing. "You wouldn't be looking at me like that if you really felt like Harry Potter."
"I would if you were his cousin."
"Great. I'm Harry Potter's fat cousin. It's always great hanging out with you, Jake." She shakes her head. "No, you know who you're like?"
He pretends to glower at her. "Nuh uh. Don't you daresay Cinderella. Or Voldemort. Not really wanting to be Voldemort, either."
Bella grins. "Well, just imagine if she had to go shoe shopping. Um. Cinderella. Not Voldemort. She had such freaky tiny feet, it would be impossible to find anything for her. She probably had to wear those glass slippers forever."
He wrinkles his nose. "That's pretty unsanitary."
"They'd be easier to clean than normal shoes," she insists, practically. "We should see if they sell any glass slippers in your size, since your shoe-buying problems seem pretty parallel to hers, just..."
"Only, like, the opposite."
"Exactly."
"Freaky big feet."
"Right."
Jacob looks thoughtful, tapping his finger against his chin. "I don't think glass slippers would have very good arch support..."
Bella laughs. The sound is so much more familiar to her now. "You're a little too into this," she says, forcing a frown at him. "I'm starting to prefer your whole 'the shoe chooses the werewolf theory."
"I think my shoes already did choose me," he complains. "Two weeks ago. Three days before they got shredded. They were the ones, until Fate's cruel hand intervened and separated us forever."
"Poor Jake. Will you ever love again?"
Her stomach squirms a little when he pointedly catches her eye.
"I think I can manage," he jokes lightly, but his expression is still more serious than she'd like. She threads nervous fingers through her hair, which is just enough of a distraction to cause her to lose her balance.
"Crap," she mutters as her knee slams into one of the shelves. Several shoeboxes that had heretofore managed to remain unscathed spill from their perches like a flock of startled birds.
All at once, Jacob is too close, picking his way over the rubble to make sure she's all right – just as he always does. He catches her shoulders before her other knee can do anymore damage.
"Leave it to you," he mutters, right in her ear.
"This is a death trap," she insists, feebly. She tries to shrug away from the warmth of his hands, and then tries not to feel a little disappointed when he lets her go.
"Now, come on, Cinderella," Bella says, determined not to fall again. "Or Voldemort. Or whoever you are. Let's find you those glass slippers." She glances out of the aisle. "Or maybe leave before that sales clerk has a heart attack."