Chapter 10

(Bella's POV)

A little while later, I led a shivering Lilly and excited Noah back toward the blanket Edward had spread out earlier. The grill had been set up and the briquettes were already glowing white on the edges.

Edward unfolded the last of the beach chairs onto the blanket and watched us approach. "How was the water, guys?"

"Awesome!" Noah answered. His hair, partially dried, was pointing in every direction. "When's lunch?"

Edward checked the coals. "Give me about twenty minutes."

"Can me and Lilly go back to the water?"

"You just got out of the water. Why don't you take a break for a few minutes?"

"We don't want to swim. We want to build sand castles," he said.

Edward noted Lilly's chattering teeth. "Are you sure you want to do that? You're purple."

Lilly nodded vehemently. "I'm okay," she said shivering. "And we're supposed to build castles at the beach."

"All right. But let's throw shirts on you two. And stay right there where I can see you," he said, pointing.

"I know, Dad." Noah sighed. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

Edward rummaged through a duffel bag and helped both Noah and Lilly put their shirts on. When he was finished, Noah grabbed a bag full of plastic toys and shovels and ran off, stopping a few feet from the water's edge. Lilly trailed behind him.

"Do you want me to head down there?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, they'll be okay. This is the part they're used to. When I'm cooking, I mean. They know to stay out of the water."

Moving to the cooler, he squatted down and opened the lid. "Are you getting hungry, too?" he asked.

"A little," I said before realizing that I hadn't eaten anything since the cheese and wine I'd had the evening before. On cue, I heard my stomach growl and I crossed my arms over it.

"Good, because I'm starved." As Edward began rummaging through the cooler, I noticed the sinewy muscles of his forearm. "I was thinking hot dogs for Noah, a cheeseburger for Lilly, and for you and me, steaks." He pulled out the meat and set it aside, then leaned over the grill, blowing on the coals.

"Can I help with anything?"

"Would you mind putting the tablecloth on the table? It's in the cooler."

"Sure," I said. I pulled one of the bags of ice out of the cooler and simply stared. "There's enough food for half a dozen families in here," I said.

"Yeah, well, with kids, my motto has always been bring too much rather than not enough, since I never know exactly what they'll eat. You can't imagine how many times we've come out here and I've forgotten something and have had to load the kids back up and run to the store. I wanted to avoid that today."

I unfolded the plastic tablecloth and, at Edward's direction, secured the corners with paperweights he had somehow thought to bring.

"What next? Do you want me to put everything else on the table?"

"We've got a few minutes. And I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a beer," he said. Reaching into the cooler, he pulled out a bottle. "You?"

"I'll take a soda," I said.

"Diet Coke?" he asked, reaching back in.

"Great."

When he passed the can to me, his hand brushed against mine, though I wasn't sure he even noticed.

He motioned to the chairs. "Would you like to sit?"

I hesitated before taking a seat next to him. When he'd set them up, he'd left enough distance between us so that they wouldn't accidentally touch. Edward twisted the cap from his beer and took a pull. "There's nothing better than a cold beer on a hot day at the beach."

I smiled, slightly disconcerted at being alone with him. "I'll take your word for it."

"You don't like beer?"

My mind flashed to my father and the empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon that usually littered the floor next to the recliner where he sat. "Not too much," I admitted.

"Just wine, huh?"

It took me a moment to remember that he'd given me a bottle. "I had some wine last night, as a matter of fact. With my neighbor."

"Yeah? Good for you."

I searched for a safe topic. "You said you were from Santa Monica?"

He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. "Born and raised. I lived in the same house until I went to college." He cast a sidelong glance at me. "University of Washington, by the way. Go, Huskies."

I smiled. "Do your parents still live there?"

"Yes."

"That must make it hard for them to visit the grandkids and Rosalie's mother."

"I suppose."

Something in his tone caught my attention. "You suppose?"

"Rosalie's mother is the kind of grandmother who wouldn't come by, even if she lived closer to us. She has seen the kids only several times each year since Rosalie and her husband died. She has been very busy and trying to occupy her time." He shook his head. "After Rosalie's death, her mother became even more distant," he went on, "but my parents have so much interest in them, aside from sending them cards on their birthdays and gifts at Christmas. But for now, they are traveling Europe or doing whatever it is they are doing."

"That is nice!"

"And they truly deserve it. Taking care of three boys and a girl who all went to good-standing colleges, is not an easy job on-top of their own busy, demanding jobs. They visited me in college many times and of course came to my graduation. I was a swimmer and swam well enough to get a full scholarship, they came to every single race whether it was a major event or not. Even if I lived across the street from them, they'd want to see the kids. That's one of the reasons I reconsidered moving back to Santa Monica?"

"What about the other set of grandparents?"

He scratched at the label on his bottle of beer. "That's trickier. They had two other daughters besides Rosalie who moved to Florida, and after her grandfather sold me the store, him and his wife moved down there. They come up once or twice a year to visit for a few days, but it's still hard for them. And they won't stay at the house, either, because I think it reminds them of Rosalie. Too many memories."

"In other words, you're pretty much on your own."

"It's just the opposite," he said, nodding toward the kids. "I have them, remember?"

"It has to be hard sometimes, though. Running the store, raising your kids."

"It's not so bad. As long as I'm up by six in the morning and don't go to bed until midnight, it's easy to keep up."

I laughed easily. "Do you think the coals are getting close?"

"Let me check," he said. After setting the bottle in the sand, he stood up from his chair and walked over to the grill. The briquettes were white and heat rose in shimmering waves. "Your timing is impeccable," he said. He threw the steaks and the hamburger patty on the grill while I went to the cooler and started bringing the endless array of items to the table: Tupperware containers of potato salad, coleslaw, pickles, a green bean salad, sliced fruit, two bags of chips, slices of cheese, and assorted condiments.

I shook my head as I started arranging everything, thinking that Edward somehow forgot that his kids were still little. There was more food here than I'd kept in my house the entire time I'd lived in Southport. Edward flipped the steaks and the hamburger patty and then added the hot dogs to the grill. As he did, he found his gaze drifting to my legs as I moved around the table, noting again how attractive I was…I guess.

I seemed to realize he was staring. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"You were thinking about something."

He sighed. "I'm glad you decided to come today," he finally said. "Because I'm having a great time."

As Edward hovered over the grill, we settled into easy conversation. Edward gave me an overview of what it was like to run a country store. He told me how his in-laws had started the business and described with affection some of the regulars, people who could best be described as eccentric, and I silently wondered whether I would have been included in that description had he brought someone else to the beach.

Not that it would have mattered. The more he talked, the more I realized that he was the kind of man who tried to find the best in people, the kind of man who didn't like to complain. I tried and failed to imagine what he'd been like when he was younger, and gradually I steered the conversation in that direction. He talked about growing up in Santa Monica and the long, lazy weekends he spent riding bikes along the boardwalks with friends; he told me that once he discovered swimming, it quickly became an obsession. He swam four or five hours a day and had Olympic dreams, but a torn rotator cuff in his sophomore year of college put an end to those. He told me about the fraternity parties he'd attended and the friends he'd made in college, and admitted that nearly all of those friendships had slowly but surely drifted away. As he talked, I noticed that he didn't seem to either embellish or downplay his past, nor did he appear to be overly preoccupied with what others thought of him.

I could see the traces of the elite athlete he once had been, noting the graceful, fluid way he moved and the easy way he smiled, as if long accustomed to both victory and defeat. When he paused, I worried that he would ask about my past, but he seemed to sense that it would make me uncomfortable and would instead launch into another story.

When the food was ready, he called the kids and they came running. They were covered in sand, and Edward had them stand to the side while he brushed them off. Watching him, I knew he was a better father than he gave himself credit for; good, I suspected, in all the ways that mattered.

Once the kids got to the table, the conversation shifted. I listened as we chattered on about the kids' sandcastle and one of the shows on the Disney Channel they both enjoyed. When we wondered aloud about the s'mores we were supposed to have later—marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers, warmed until melting—it was clear that Edward had created special, fun traditions for his kids. He was different, I thought, from the men I'd met in my past, different from anyone I'd met before, and as the conversation rambled on, any vestiges of the nervousness I'd once felt began to slip away.

The food was delicious, a welcome change from my recent austere diet. The sky remained clear, the blue expanse broken only by an occasional seabird passing overhead. The breeze rose and fell, enough to keep them cool, and the steady rhythm of the waves added to the sense of calm.

When we finished eating, Noah and Lilly helped clear the table and pack away the uneaten items. A few items that wouldn't spoil—the pickles and the chips—were left on the table. The kids wanted to go boogie boarding, and after Edward reapplied their suntan lotion, he slipped off his shirt and followed them into the waves.

I carried my chair to the water's edge and spent the next hour watching as he helped the kids through the breakers, moving one and then the other into position to catch the waves. The kids were squealing with delight, obviously having the time of their lives. I marveled at the way Edward was able to make each of them feel like the center of attention. There was tenderness in the way he treated them, a depth of patience that I hadn't quite expected. As the afternoon wore on and the clouds began to drift in, I found myself smiling at the thought that for the first time in many years, I felt completely relaxed. And not only that, I knew I was having as much fun as the kids.