Running for Home
Chapter 10: "Teach Me"
*.*.*
Edward
I want to make Bella breakfast. Well, brunch actually, but I have no idea what I'm doing. I take out all the ingredients she was using yesterday and stare at it all. I scratch my head and ponder what to do with it. Then I stare some more.
It doesn't take long for her to figure out my game. She all but shoves me out of the way. I pout, and she grants me permission to make the toast.
I burn the first batch.
I have never possessed much talent in the kitchen, but I've never been interested in learning until now. No one taught me how to cook while I was growing up. Once I was on my own I relied on takeout and boxed or frozen foods. It's not the healthiest, and I know better, but it's quick and easy. Fortunately I've been blessed with a fast metabolism.
"Will you teach me how to cook?" I ask Bella as we sit down to eat at the table.
"That's kind of broad, don't you think? I'm not sure you have that much time left, Gramps," she quips.
I attempt to give her the stink eye but end up laughing instead. "I want to make you dinner before we have to leave." I look at Bella just in time to watch the color creep into her cheeks.
"An entire dinner? You're setting the bar pretty high," she teases.
"Well, I was thinking, maybe, you could supervise and tell me what to do?"
"Like, boss you around? I think I'd like that." She smiles. "But only if there's a backup plan. After seeing what you did to the toast I'm not sure I trust eating something you made."
"No way! Where's the fun in planning ahead? Just think of where we'd be if we actually had a game plan," I tell her with a wink just to see if I can get her to blush some more.
She does.
"I wouldn't be here," she says and suddenly stares at something invisible on the table.
"Well, I'm glad you are." I grin.
"Do you mean that?" Bella asks uncertainly.
I don't understand her sudden change in mood. "Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"
"I kind of barged in on your life," she explains, "and I ask a lot of intrusive questions."
"Nonsense." I wave my hand dismissively. "You can ask as many questions as you want."
"Thanks for talking to me this morning." She peeks shyly at me through the corner of her eye. "I could tell it was hard for you."
"It was," I agree, "but I want you to know me." There's still so much I want to tell her. We haven't even scratched the surface yet.
"Will you tell me more?" she asks hopefully.
"Later, okay?"
"Okay," she agrees.
*.*.*
Bella decides she wants me to prepare steak and potatoes for dinner. I don't think she necessarily wants to eat steak. I think she wants me to learn because "every guy needs to know how to cook a good steak."
Even though she still has a hangover I manage to drag her with me to the grocery store. She doesn't put up too much of a fuss since she has a fair idea of how inefficient I am based on the contents of my kitchen.
Bella assigns me the duty of pushing the cart as she peruses the aisles. I watch her as she glides through the store effortlessly. It's obvious this is something she's quite comfortable doing.
I could get used to having Bella in my life. I would gladly follow her around with a grocery cart every week. I'd learn to make all of her favorite foods. I'd laugh when she cracks jokes at my expense. I would hold her every night.
Hell, I am used to having Bella in my life.
I dread the day she leaves me even more than the uncertainty that comes with tracking down my father. I push it to the back of my mind; I can't think about it right now. I am going to make the most of the time we have together.
Last night was fun. I didn't want to stop, but it's probably a good thing Bella got sick when she did. I don't want her to think I'm only interested in her body. I mean, I want her body, but I want the rest of her, too.
While I was sobering up I had decided to hold off on getting physical with her. I think it's best to wait for Bella to make the next move. I'm sure she's not as naïve and innocent as I make her out to be in my head, but I still don't want to pressure her into anything. I want to make sure she's ready before we take our relationship to the next level.
If you can even call what we have a relationship.
I want her—all of her—but I'll take whatever she's comfortable giving me. I want to leave her with happy memories of our time together. I don't want her to regret anything or feel like she wasted her time with me.
After finishing in the grocery store Bella asks if I'll bring her to a mall. She's not pleased at the thought of shopping with a hangover, but she insists going another day without a better selection of clothing will drive her crazy. I tag along behind her and offer to hold her purse while she shops. Her eyes are alight with curiosity, but she doesn't ask why. I'm glad she doesn't because I wouldn't tell her the truth if she did.
Yes, carrying a purse makes me feel like a fucking pussy.
I act as her pack mule, not only holding her purse but everything else she thinks she's going to buy. She chucks the items at me as she picks them out and laughs as I fumble around trying to hold everything—khaki shorts, jeans, sandals, and more shirts. She blushes when we enter the lingerie department.
"Um, don't feel obligated to follow me around," she says as she turns to me.
"I don't mind." I smirk.
"Isn't there anything you want to look at while we're here?" she asks hopefully.
"Nah. I don't want to neglect my duties." I hold up the pile of clothes in my arms.
Bella looks away uneasily and chews on her lip. Right now there's nothing I want to do more than watch her browse in this department, but I don't want my presence to make her uncomfortable. It's probably a good idea to leave her alone here anyway. If I know what Bella has on under her clothes it will only turn me on. There's only one thing I like doing when I get hard, and it isn't shopping.
"Actually, there is something I need," I tell her. "Meet me at the register?"
She nods and we part ways. I walk around aimlessly until I find the pajama section or sleepwear or lounge clothes or whatever the hell they name these departments. As much as I've enjoyed Bella sleeping in my shirts, I think she'd be more comfortable if she had something of her own to lie around in. Not to mention she would look sexy as hell in something that actually fit her. She was a vision of innocence in my too large t-shirt and downright hot wearing the tank top last night. I left it in the bathroom for her hoping I would get to see more of her body, but even though I loved looking at her curves and it afforded me a nice view of her legs and cotton panties, I could tell she was uncomfortable being that exposed.
I bypass the really risqué stuff and even shy away from the night gowns. I don't want to give Bella the wrong impression. Well, it would be the right impression, but I don't want her to interpret it the wrong way.
I select a couple different tank top and shorts sets. They are a bit on the expensive side, but once I touch them I can't resist. Although now I probably won't be able to refrain from touching her. The price doesn't matter; Bella's not paying anyway. There are bathrobes in the same material, so I grab one of those too. I don't want her to be cold if she wears the skimpy excuse for pajamas I picked out. Not to mention it would be hot as fuck if she surprises me by coming to bed wearing nothing underneath.
I shake my head to clear the visual and pull my mind out of the gutter.
As I navigate through the racks I find pajama pants with goofy looking cartoon turtles on them. I chuckle as I think about how much she likes Eddie. I find a pair in her size and hope she sees the humor in them too.
Bella is waiting by the register by the time I meet up with her. "What are those?" she asks apprehensively as she eyeballs the new additions to the pile I'm carrying.
"Just a few more things I thought you might like." I shrug.
"Edward, I can't afford all that," she says in a hushed voice.
"You don't have to. I'm paying," I state.
"Edward, no!"
"Hey, who says these are for you?" I tease. "Maybe I'm buying these for guests. You don't have to wear them if you're not comfortable with it." I toss the items onto the counter knowing she won't argue.
"Fine. Can I have my purse, please?" she asks in irritation.
"Nope."
Her mouth pops open as I tug the bra and pile of panties out of her hands and throw them on top of the mountain of clothing. It is extremely hard not to snoop through what she picked out, but somehow I manage.
"Wait, you're paying for all of it? Edward, you can't!"
"Sure I can." I hand over my credit card to the cashier before giving Bella her purse back.
"You are not buying my… underwear," she hisses.
"Sign here please, sir." The cashier hands me a pen.
"I think I just did," I whisper into Bella's ear before signing the receipt.
She abruptly turns and storms away from me.
"Wait, Bella," I call after her, trying not to laugh at the way she stomps out of the store. I quickly shove my wallet back into my pocket and gather the bags before heading after her. Her pace quickens as I start to catch up. "Bella, stop," I plead.
She marches all the way to the car without acknowledging me but is forced to standing there since I didn't unlock the door.
"Bella," I sigh.
"You can't spend money on me like that," she says, still facing away from me. "You can't buy me stuff."
"I want to spend it on you. Why do you have an issue with it?" I ask softly. If she tells me why she thinks it's bad I'll find a way to make her okay with it. I want to spoil her while she's with me.
"Because…," she responds. "Because I can't return the favor."
I drop the bags to the pavement and turn Bella toward me. She doesn't look at me, but I can see her eyes swimming with tears. I cup her cheeks and press my forehead into hers as I close my eyes. "Do you honestly think I want to buy you things to get something in return?"
Bella hesitates before shaking her head.
"I swear to you I don't expect anything in return. Monetary or otherwise," I stress. "I only want to make you happy which, apparently, is not working." I laugh humorlessly and open my eyes. Bella is looking up at me with a troubled expression. It takes every ounce of self control I have not to lean in and kiss the worry right off her face. "Do you believe me?" I ask.
"Yes," she answers quietly.
"Then, what is it, really? Please tell me."
"I feel bad," she admits.
"Why?" I don't understand why she feels bad about receiving a gift.
"Because you're not working, and you have important things to pay for like a house and a car, and you probably still have student loans. I don't want you to endure a hardship because of me."
I could tell Bella the truth but I don't feel like talking about it right here. Not only that, but there's really no tactful way to come out and explain it.
Well, Bella, the only family I've ever known is dead. They didn't give me the time of day while they were alive, because their social status and careers were too important. They never got the chance to spend their money before they died and now it's all mine. Joke's on them. Care to help me burn through it?
"Bella, do you trust me?" I ask sincerely.
"Yes," she answers, this time without hesitation.
"Then please believe me when I tell you there's nothing to worry about."
"But—"
"No buts. I own my home. I paid cash for my car. I don't have any student loans. The only thing I struggle with is buying groceries, and it has nothing to do with money. I just want to make you happy," I tell her honestly.
"You already do," she says. "You don't have to buy me stuff in order to do that."
"Then consider it an added benefit." In an attempt to lighten the mood I lean in and place a wet kiss on the forehead much like she did to me in her drunken state last night. She giggles in response. "Besides, it makes me happy," I tell her as I open the passenger door. "Are we okay?" Bella nods and gives me a demure smile. "Good. Now get in. I believe you have some bossing around to do."
*.*.*
"Quit whining like a little girl," Bella chastises me.
"I just don't understand why you won't help me," I gripe. She literally has not lifted a finger since I started my attempt at making dinner. I couldn't even get her to help chop vegetables or wash potatoes.
"I'm a supervisor not a doer. You didn't ask me to help you this morning; you asked me to teach you. This is me teaching. Now suck it up, Masen!"
I glare at her angrily, causing her to giggle. She thinks I'm kidding, but honestly I am a little frustrated. I know for a fact that a microwave can cook a potato a hell of a lot faster than an oven. We would be eating already if she didn't insist on an "authentic" baked potato. We haven't eaten since our late breakfast this morning, and I'm fucking hungry.
"Why the hell am I steaming this shit on the stove anyway?" I nod toward the broccoli. "They have these bagged vegetables in the frozen section that you can stick right in the microwave. Someone at my work always had them. You don't have to chop the shit or clean a pan or anything."
"Because I'm teaching you," she draws the word out slowly. "What would you do if your microwave broke?"
"Buy another one," I mutter.
"Just be glad I let you get the refrigerated dough," she retorts.
I turn the stupid tube of bread around ten times before figuring out how to open it. I jump about a foot into the air when it pops open. The tube flies out of my hand and lands in the sink. I stare at it in shock while my heart pounds out of control.
Bella bursts into laughter. It doesn't take long before tears are streaming down her cheeks. She slowly leans sideways until she disappears beneath the counter. There's a loud thump as she rolls onto the floor.
"That's not fucking funny," I pant. "Is it supposed to do that?" I lean over the sink and scowl at the offending item.
"You can't be serious!" Bella stands up and catches her breath. "You've never opened a tube like that before?"
"No!"
"You've never made Pillsbury breadsticks or biscuits or cinnamon rolls?" she asks in astonishment.
"I said 'no' the first time. My answer isn't going to change based on the content of the goddamned exploding tube!" I fire at her. I know I'm overreacting, but I can't help it. That dough shocked the shit out of me, and this whole cooking fiasco is frustrating in general.
"Oh, Edward," Bella patronizes as she moves to stand in front of me. "Relax. You're doing a great job."
She slides her arms around my waist and hugs me tightly. I wrap my arms around her in return, pressing my lips against the top of her head and breathing her in. Bella seems to always have a soothing effect on me. My frustration vanishes as we stand in each other's arms.
But, like everything associated with Bella, it ends too soon.
"Flip the steaks before they start to char," she says, releasing her hold on me. "And grease the baking sheet before you put the bread on it or you'll never get it off in one piece."
I groan in complaint but do as I'm told.
By the time we actually sit down to eat my stomach hurts from the hunger pangs.
"It looks delicious," she says approvingly.
It does look pretty damn good especially because Bella feels presentation is as important as the preparation. She had me arrange the food aesthetically on our plates and even showed me where to squeeze the potato to make the insides pop out on the top all picture perfect like. I was glad she did hers first because I had reached my limit of surprise exploding food for the day.
"I think it will be delicious thanks to your help."
I look at Bella. She's grinning widely. I'm taken aback by the proud way she's looking at me. It would be a lie to say making the entire meal on my own wasn't gratifying, but the way I feel about it pales in comparison to seeing Bella's approval of me.
"You did it on your own, Edward," she praises. "I didn't offer you any more assistance than a recipe would."
I don't argue even though I can't bring myself to agree with her. Besides, if I ever manage to follow a written recipe, it will be because Bella isn't here to tell me what to do. That is something I don't want to think about. Ever.
She's right, it is delicious, and although I would probably opt for the frozen vegetables next time, I have to admit the damned baked potato was worth the wait.
*.*.*
I wait in bed while Bella is in the shower. I put the rest of her things in my bedroom during the day in a silent request for her to share my space. I even tossed Eddie on the bed. She didn't comment on the mysterious move, but since she didn't argue I left it alone.
She enters the bedroom wearing the turtle pajama pants and one of the tank tops I bought her. It fits tightly and doesn't leave much to the imagination. I watch as she approaches the bed. Actually, I watch her nipples as she approaches the bed. I know I'm staring, but she doesn't make any movement to cover up, so I can't bring myself to feel bad about it. Besides, the deal I made with myself was not to put the moves on her. I didn't put any restrictions on looking.
I sit up and lean toward Bella. Reaching out, I wrap my hands around her tiny waist before pulling her onto the bed with me. I lay us down side-by-side and pull the blankets over us. She scoots closer and wraps her arm around me. I do the same. I am dying to kiss her or squeeze her ass or pull her leg over me, but I don't. It's hard.
So is my dick.
Instead, I settle for running my fingers through Bella's hair. She presses her face against my chest and takes a deep breath before speaking. "Can I ask you some more questions now?"
"Of course," I tell her.
"Do you have a lot of money?" she asks timidly.
"Yes." No sense in lying.
"Where did it come from?"
Sometimes I think Bella is too perceptive for her own good. "Inheritance."
"From your adoptive father?"
"And mother," I add.
"I'm sorry. When did they die?"
I take a deep breath and sigh loudly. "My father died about five years ago. Prostate cancer, ironically."
"Why is that ironic?" she questions.
"He was an oncologist," I say dryly.
"Oh."
"My mother died right before Christmas. Car accident."
"Oh, Edward, I'm so sorry," she quickly apologizes. "I didn't know it was so recent."
"It's okay. I'm over it," I say coldly.
For the record, my erection is officially gone.
"What were their names, if you don't mind me asking?" Bella sounds uncertain.
"Bethany and… and Edward," I sigh.
"Was your name always Edward or did they name you after him?"
"I was named after him," I answer vaguely.
"So… when did you find out you were adopted?" she asks curiously.
"Almost a month ago." My voice comes out in a whisper.
"Really?" she gasps. "That recently? How did you find out?"
"My sis—" the word gets stuck in my throat. "My sister told me."
"Oh," Bella says. "Of course she would know. She was so much older than you."
Yes, she would know better than anyone.
As much as I hate to admit it, I think Jane was right. When we spoke on the phone three nights ago she told me I needed closure. She told me I should visit the cemetery. At the time, it pissed me off—it still does—but after being back home and reflecting on the situation, I think it might help me. I don't think it will make the guilt go away, but I don't think it will make me feel worse either.
My mind is made up. I'm going there to say goodbye once and for all before we leave here. A sigh escapes my lips.
Bella moves away and looks up at me. She pulls her arm off of my side and starts to play with my hair. It feels wonderful. I crave her touch so much. I wanted more after I first touched her arm outside the Hyatt. The last two nights only confirmed how much I want her with me. Always.
"I love it when you touch me," I confess, tangling my fingers further into Bella's hair and mimicking what she's doing to me.
She grins in return. "Really?"
"Yes. You're the first person whose touch has been soothing to me," I admit.
"Do you mean that?" she asks dubiously.
"Bella," I say, trying to find the right words to explain. "I've never really been close to anyone. Physically, I mean. But, I don't know, with you I like it. It feels good."
"But," Bella hesitates and confusion clouds her face. "You've been with… women. Right?" she asks warily.
"Yes, but not like this," I confide as I pull my fingers out of her hair and stroke her cheek with my thumb. "I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me. I don't mean in a sexual way. I mean… not that I wouldn't like it, that's not what I meant. Because I would like it. I mean… aw, fuck."
I squeeze my eyes shut wishing I could retract my word vomit and answer her question without sounding like an idiot.
"Sex is one thing." I pause as I pop one eye open to look at her. She doesn't seem offended, only curious. "But outside of that I've never had the desire to be close to anyone. The intimacy of it has always been odd for me. After going so long without it…. I don't know." I shrug. I'm really not sure how to continue. After years of craving affection from a family who was indifferent to me I can't explain why I shy away from it as an adult.
Bella is still observing me curiously. When the silence becomes too much I go on. "I shouldn't say I've never desired it. That's not true. It's just always felt unnatural and forced to have close contact with people. And I think, in the cases of the women I've been with, they could tell I was reluctant about it. I think I came across as cold, and it's hard to maintain a romantic relationship when the other person thinks you don't give a shit."
Fuck! Shut up about sex and other women already!
"I've never thought you were cold." Bella is quick to defend me.
My eyes widen at her response. First, I can't believe that out of all the things that came out of my mouth just now, she reacts to that one. Second, she must be crazy if she honestly never thought that about me. I haven't exactly been warm and fuzzy since we met. I think back to the incident with the M&M's and our fight the other night and internally cringe.
"Maybe, before I met you, I was."
"No," she argues, removing her hand from my hair and wrapping her arm around me again. "I don't think you have it in you to be cold. Not after everything you've done for me."
"It's different with you," I challenge, pulling her against me tightly. I don't know what makes her different, but she is. I've never felt the need to be this close to someone before, physically or mentally, not even when I was a child.
I hold on to her as if my life depends on it. It feels like I am desperately trying to make up for lost time. Maybe I am, but it's better than thinking of what I may lose in the future.