A/N: Disclaimer: I don't have a beta, so all the mistakes are mine. Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters, obviously, but I'm the one who makes them do all the weird stuff. Sorry about the mistake with this chapter - I don't have my computer right now and am working out of temporary places! Summer keeps messing with my posting schedule - Friday is my regular day, but right now I try to get one chapter up around each weekend. Thanks for your patience!

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

T.S. Eliot, East Coker

Chapter 10

BPOV

Saturday is different. I wake up around my usual time, visit the bathroom, crawl into my sweats and pull my hair into a ponytail, but when I walk into the kitchen Edward is there, in sweats, waiting for me with a pot of tea ready. This Saturday he starts at eight and this means he has time to accompany me on my morning run, before taking off for the café.

Running with Edward is…different. He doesn't try to engage me in conversation, probably aware of the fact that I don't have the focus or the stamina to make small talk while running. He himself seems effortless, adjusting his pace to mine, finding that flowing movement, with a spring in his step, that I have always envied in others but so seldom seem to find myself.

I am at the same time more and less self-conscious running with Edward. More, because I can't help feeling older and sweatier and less co-ordinated. But also less, because with him at my side, he is suddenly all I can think of.

His breathing, his muscular thighs, the long hair flopping into his eyes, his arms, his half-clenched hands, his chest under the clinging t-shirt, the clean, salty smell of his sweat, enhancing that sweet, musky smell that is all Edward – everything distracts me from thoughts of the inadequacies of my own body and paradoxically, I find myself enjoying my run, hypnotized into that rhythm I sometimes find, this time by his mere presence. Running with Edward becomes a kind of zen experience, transported to another plane, where he fills my consciousness, pressing out everything else that usually disturbs me.

We turn around before we reach the café, and run back to the house, in time for him to have a shower and a quick breakfast before he heads out again. I linger over my tea, enjoying the ache in my limbs and the smell of my newly-washed hair drying on my shoulders, and I look out at the big blue sky, my head filled with images of him. And I think to myself – what if Rosalie has a point? Maybe it would actually be possible for someone like me to have a relationship with someone like Edward? I blush as I remember my dream last night.

I was standing on the beach with Edward in the moonlight, a balmy breeze blowing across my skin, no one else in sight. I was wearing a dress of some kind, with spaghetti straps and a billowing skirt of some gauzy material, much like Ginger Rogers in some old black-and-white movie. Edward, inexplicably, is wearing dress pants and nothing else, his naked chest luminous and pale in the white light of the moon. I feel his arm around my waist, and then I am leaning into him, tracing his shoulders, his collarbones and his chest lightly with my fingers, feeling him shudder slightly as I skim over his nipples and trace my other hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He bends his head to me, following my cheek and jawbone with his nose, lightly nuzzling my ear and neck with his lips, and I tingle all over, pressing myself to him. But just as I am sure we are about to kiss, he steps away from me and slowly backs away across the sand, his gaze still fixed on my face. "Edward!" I cry. "Edward. Don't go!", but he smiles sadly and evaporates into the night. Instead, I find myself dancing across a hall with a shining floor under a starry sky with Fred Astaire in tails and a red cape, while a crowd of my students take notes, watching us.

I sigh. It's the usual, cock-blocking type of dream, but I haven't had that type of dream involving Edward before. Clearly the amount of daydreaming I have been trying to suppress is now surfacing when I sleep instead. As I clean up after breakfast and get ready for another day of work, I give the matter of a relationship an attempt at serious, objective consideration.

Rosalie's point , that she's been trying to bring home almost every time we meet, is that since I am on the rebound from a too long and too awful marriage to the wrong person, a way for me to heal my self esteem and get me up and running again would be to have a brief but physically rewarding relationship with someone who cares enough about me to make me feel good about myself. That, in itself, seems like an impossible paradox, which is what I have been trying to tell her.

First, because of my marriage and divorce, I am hurting, and I am afraid to let anyone inside my defences. Dating would require me to at least pretend to want to let someone in, which I really don't. Second, I have never been cavalier about sex, the way Rosalie implies I should be: pleasure, for me, has always required a certain amount of psychological intimacy first, and for that to happen I need to feel trust, which brings me back to the part about letting someone inside my defences. Casual, enjoyable sex, clearly a no go.

And then there is…Edward. While I feel an inexplicable sense of trust with him, which is quite effortless and natural, and while I am also attracted to him, much more than I want to admit even to myself (I shift uncomfortably in my seat while the laptop starts up), I can't see an actual relationship happening. There are simply too many obstacles in the way.

First, there are the undeniably tenuous circumstances under which we live: I am on temporary leave in a borrowed house, and come August, my "real" life is waiting for me back in San Francisco. He is on the run from God knows what, and needs to get his life back on track before anything else, probably in a completely different part of the country, where he can finish his college education and start working on his real relationships.

But even if I try to dismiss these realities, I still feel pessimistic. What would have happened even under the most ideal circumstances? What if I had met Edward at some singles bar, or university function, or, God forbid, he had turned up as one of my PhD students? Would he have looked at me twice? Would I have given him more than a fleeting, admiring glance? There is the difference in age, life experience, where we are at in life: he is starting out, while I am unsure if I have what it takes to start my life over after a midlife collapse.

And then Edward is so obviously out of my league to begin with. I met guys like him when I was hanging out with Rosalie in college, the handsome, self-assured, sometimes academically brilliant young men, who normally never gave me more than some minutes of polite conversation before moving on. Rosalie was their romantic target, their social equal, and they knew it.

I took some psychology classes in college, and I remember the experiment where people were asked to grade photographs of men and women according to how attractive they were, and then other people were asked to match the photographs into "likely couples". The test showed what most people instinctively know: that it is the Edwards and the Rosalies of this world who belong together.

I stare blindly out through the window over my desk, out at the rustling leaves, dark green and light green, dappled with sunlight. I think back to our conversation the other night. Edward is mature for his years, smart, considerate, a good companion, but he is a guy. And like a guy, when he sees a pretty girl, friendship is not the first thing on his mind. But he has gone out of his way to be a good friend to me. And this should tell me all I need to know, that even the idea of a "fling" is ridiculous and disgusting.

He may be in a desperate position in his life right now, but he is surely not desperate enough to let himself be seduced (if I were even capable of such a thing) by a woman twice his age, just to make sure he can have a place to stay? Heck, anyone in their right mind would take him in! And it would be distasteful and immoral of me even to imply that his staying here is contingent upon his sleeping with me. I shudder silently as I imagine the horror on his face while I simpering try to convey the message. He would run for his life, and he would be right to run!

No, I think sternly to myself, as I rifle through my notebooks to find the one pertaining to Twelfth Night, I will put Rosalie's nonsense out of my head, before it messes with my feelings anymore, and get on with my work. And tomorrow Rosalie will come over for lunch, and once she meets Edward she will see that he is not some kind of seedy escort boy, and she will put these kind of thoughts out of her head too. Unless, of course…

I hesitate and feel a shadow of fear pass through me; unless she takes one look at him and realizing his potential decides to ask him to chuck the café and come take a menial desk job at her firm. Through the years, there has been a trickle of law students doing internships at Rosalie's firm, and some of them have been extremely good-looking young men. I don't have any proof that anything inappropriate has ever taken place, and Rosalie herself would never stoop to sexual harassment in her work place, but I know for a fact that she has dated, however briefly, at least two of these interns after their internship was terminated. Rosalie has never had any problems dating younger men; she herself is way too confident, and she knows the effect she has always had on men of all ages.

I push these thoughts away, and set about dissecting the relationships of Olivia and Viola, with a fury that is not merely academic. Unrequited love – my specialty. Outside my window, the leaves are still rustling, their disquiet like the restless running of tiny feet across a parquet floor.

EPOV

Saturday morning isn't as busy as the weekday mornings, but around eleven the place is buzzing with people out enjoying the beautiful weather, meeting friends for coffee, heading out for a weekend at the beach. I postpone my lunch break to help Carmen out, and she shoots me a grateful smile with brilliant white teeth in her brown, handsome face.

"Wanna come out for a drink with us tonight?" she says over her shoulder, as I am passing her by with a load of dirty cups. "Kate and me and some friends are meeting up at eight to check out a new place over on Madison. They have Margarita night tonight!" Another brilliant smile, and I hesitate briefly, going into the kitchen.

"Thanks for the invite, Carmen. Let me think about it, alright? I might have plans for tonight." "Bring the plans, Edward!" she laughs, as I duck and run for cover in the kitchen.

Carmen is nice, but I'm not sure I'm up for this – it might mean complications. I don't have a valid ID, and I don't know if that place is carding on a regular basis, probably on a Saturday night. And while I enjoy working with the girls, I'm not sure if I should get too friendly with them: once you get close to people, they start expecting things from you, answers, confidences, little heart-to-hearts. It's tiresome keeping your defences up, keeping your stories straight.

And I don't want to bring Bella to a night out drinking with my friends from work, she is someone I want to keep to myself, compartmentalized in the safe bubble that is the beach house. And actually, that is another reason I am hesitant to go out with Carmen and her friends tonight.

I have been toying with the idea of taking Bella out for a meal, now that I have some cash again. Just a quiet dinner at some small place, nothing fancy, but a gesture saying that I want to take care of her too. I've been talking to Jim, the cook, and he has recommended an Indian restaurant that does good vegetarian dishes, and which isn't too far away from the beach. I just haven't figured out how to ask Bella out. Is it a date, or will that make her uncomfortable? Can I just leave it up to her to put a label on it? A little after 1:30 I take a belated lunch break, and bring my sandwich and lemonade with me to a bench with a view of the palm trees and walkway along the beach.

People are playing beach volley ball, fooling around in the water skating or strolling in the sun. It really is a beautiful day. While I eat I enjoy the feeling of the sun on my skin, the breeze from the water and the sounds surrounding me of kids playing, music from passing cars blasting away, gulls crying. I'm in the middle of a lot of life going on around me, and while I feel like I am on the outside of everything, I can still look on and enjoy it vicariously. I'm not thinking, not feeling really, just being.

Suddenly, I'm aware of someone sitting down next to me on the bench, and when I look over I'm surprised to see Kate nursing a cup of coffee. She's dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt and must have just come in for the day because I haven't seen her earlier. She meets my gaze and smiles, but doesn't say anything, and so we sit in silence for a while, just sharing a break. Then Kate says, lightly, with her eyes still on the beach:

"I heard Carmen was asking if you wanted to come along tonight for a drink. No obligations, but if you want to I think you should come. And bring Bella. I haven't talked to her much this week. It would be nice if she came along. She seems like a great lady. You're staying with her, right?"

Her eyes are blue as the sky and innocently open as she turns her handsome face to me, but I think I hear something that sounds like a warning behind her words. I speak slowly and clearly, to avoid any misunderstanding.

"Yes, Bella really is a great lady, which is why she's letting me lodge at her house for now. I will tell her you asked, but it's entirely up to her if she wants to come. Since I've promised her to help her around the house in my free time I usually let her decide, so if she's already made plans and needs me for something else, that takes priority. Maybe another time?"

We stare at one another, my stare is hard, Kate's is…amused. Then she looks away and I relax slightly, but tense up again with her next comment.

"So, Edward, what happened? How come you ended up here as a beach bum? You're a bit too young to be running away from child support now, aren't you?"

I slump forward and roll the wrapper from my sandwhich into a tight ball between my palms.

"I don't like to talk about it, Kate. Do you really need to know?"

Her wide open blue gaze is on me again, and I feel exposed and vulnerable, cold in the warm sun.

"Edward, I don't know you, and I have no right to pry but I just want to know the basic facts. Are you wanted by the police or did you have a bad break up with your girl friend? I've given you a job, and I see you hanging out with Bella, and I just feel the need to know that this is going to be okay. I don't need the story of your life, but I would like to know something of what you did before you came here."

I sigh, drop the trash into the trashcan by the bench and stand up, dragging my hands through my hair.

"Walk with me, Kate." I pause before I continue quietly, my eyes on the water because I don't want to look at her face. " I don't think I owe you to spill my guts, but I am grateful for this job and I'll tell you why I'm in a spot right now."

As Kate rises I start strolling down, crossing the walkway, and going down to the water. The wind and the sounds of the crashing waves make a backdrop of sound that makes it unlikely anyone passing by will hear what we're saying. As Kate catches up and starts walking alongside with me I angle my body towards her so that she will hear me better.

"It's a long story, but I'll try to keep it brief. My parents divorced when I was younger, I lived with my Mom when my Dad died, but my stepdad was an asshole and we never got along. I finally went to college with the money my Dad left me, happy to get away for four years and I hardly ever came home after that. But then I had a change of plans this spring break, and turned up at their house, it wasn't planned and they weren't expecting me. Mom was at home, she had bruises and a cut lip and that's when I found out that he had been beating up on her. I don't know how long it might have been going on. I never saw that happen before. I couldn't believe it, and I was livid. I sent my Mom off to her sister's, told her to keep away, and then I waited until he got home and confronted him." I clench my jaw, speaking about it.

"It was bad. He's always been a bastard to me, but I thought he loved her and treated her okay. Obviously, that wasn't the case anymore. We came to blows, and I knocked him down, but he fell badly and hit his head and passed out. There was blood, everywhere." I shudder at the thought of all the blood.

"I panicked. I called an ambulance, then took off, didn't even take my things, just walked out of the house and didn't look back. I jumped on a bus with the cash I had, then started hitch-hiking across the country. I just wanted to disappear. I figured I couldn't go back to school, because I didn't know how badly hurt my stepdad was or if he set the cops on me. So, to answer your question, I don't know if I'm wanted by the police or not. And I don't know if I want to find out."

This is where I need to look at Kate, to make sure that she believes me, so I do. Her eyes are narrowed and there's an expression on her face I can't read. She breaks eye contact first, and we walk in silence for a while. Then she asks:

"Did you try calling your mom? Could you talk with her? Find out what happened? She must be worried about you, no matter what happened to her husband."

I shrug. "I'm not ready for that. I know she should be okay with her sister even if that asshole came out of hospital a day later. Her sister is a tough lady and she would never let her go back once she saw that black eye on her. And I don't care what he said to the cops when he woke up, if he made it. When they found out he's been beating her, they would take whatever he says with a grain of salt. And anyway, in all those years, she never stood up for me. I've done more for her than she ever did for me. We were finished with each other a long time ago." And this is the truth.

Kate sighs. "Things don't always work out the way we think, Edward. She could be back with him right now and in real danger, if he's abusive. Or he could be hurt or dead, but then you're probably in a lot of trouble even if the police labeled it an accident. Running doesn't look good to the law and it doesn't solve anything. Sooner or later, you'll want to go back and connect with your family, get your things back, finish school. You're no Jason Bourne who can go around the world with a different identity every year. You need to get back to your life and face up to what happened. The sooner the better."

Just as I'm clenching my hands in my pockets, starting to think that I will have to take the next bus out of town, she continues, in a low voice:

"But I won't push you. It's your responsibility, your life. You're an okay guy. Keep doing a good job here for a while, show us that we're doing the right thing in giving you a shot. Try calling your mom. Find out what actually happened. Then you can decide what to do next."

She quickly turns her head, remembering something: "Have you told Bella?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. There hasn't been much time. But I'll have to, I guess. It's just that she seems to have a lot going on in her life and I don't want to burden her with my shit."

Kate looks away. The café is just up ahead.

"I don't really know her, Edward, but I think you're right that she is a very private person and keeps things to herself. But she let you in. She deserves to know what's going on with you, especially if it will mean trouble to her if someone found out you're staying with her. You'll have to decide when it's a good time to tell her." She gives me a small smile and gestures with her head. "Let's go back to work."

I put my hand on her arm, briefly. "Kate, please don't talk to anyone about what I said, okay? Let me decide whom I tell and when. Please." I give her my best pleading look. She doesn't exactly melt, but her eyes soften some and she nods in agreement.

"Fine, we'll keep this between us for now. But remember what I said?" She gives me a light tap on the shoulder and jogs ahead of me, to the kitchen entrance.

I am left standing alone, feeling my tense shoulders, willing my body to relax and myself to believe that everything will come out alright. Some things are broken beyond repair, but I have to believe that what little I have right now won't be destroyed too. That somehow, it will all be alright.

A/N: So what do you think? Is it true that couples tend to pair up according to their level of physical attractiveness? Is Bella right? Would you be wary of a relationship with a big age difference or not? And what would you have done if you were Kate right now? Run for the nearest police station? Put your home address in the envelope with Edward's next salary? Please leave a review if you can: I love to hear from you!