For AccioBourbon, always. :)
We don't own Twilight.
Jessica was laughing hysterically.
Rosalie stared at her with the same expression she'd just stared at Emmett with when he fled the diner seconds ago. It was a look of utter bewilderment. Was it possible that the people in this town were crazy? Perhaps there was something about the lazy pace of life here that drove them slowly insane. That was the only explanation for what had just happened.
After she'd stuck the apology note underneath Emmett's windshield wiper, hands shaking and knees quaking, she'd gone to the diner every morning, hoping he'd show but half expecting him not to. She knew a few words cleverly placed on a crossword puzzle wouldn't make up for the way she'd treated him but she'd hoped it would at least represent an olive branch, a chance for her to say she was sorry in person.
The days passed by and Rosalie realized that maybe he simply wasn't interested in hearing what she had to say. She was used to getting her way, had never had to work hard when it came to men. She'd always been chased and that she suddenly found herself as the chaser was new and strange, a little scary. That Emmett apparently didn't want to be caught threw her even further off-kilter, but then he had that affect on her regardless.
Every morning she watched the front door, waiting for him to pass through it. Every morning, it seemed that every resident and visitor of Folly Beach passed through those doors but him. In any other situation, she would write him off or get angry, but she only felt disappointment and a dwindling sense of hope. She thought once or twice about going to his shop, but that felt perilously close to begging and Rosalie Hale didn't beg. If he didn't want to accept her apology, she'd have to swallow that bitter pill and move on.
This morning she'd thrown on her running clothes, laced up her old, trusty sneakers and took off toward the diner, hoping to burn off the energy trapped inside her body from not seeing him all week and desperately wanting to.
How had he gotten so far under her skin in such a short period of time? Regardless of the conversation she'd stumbled upon the other day, there was something about him, something inherent and almost elemental that spoke to her. The harder she tried to fight it, the further she got pulled down. And so she decided with the warm air rushing over her damp skin and the crisp smell of salt in the air, that she wouldn't fight it anymore. If, by some miracle, he decided to see her and accept her apology, she would let it happen. If he didn't, which seemed like the most likely possibility, she'd let that happen, too. She was tired of being in absolute control, not that she had any in this situation anyway.
It was with that thought that Rosalie breezed into the diner and immediately skidded to a halt. If she'd been a cartoon, a dust cloud would have formed at her feet.
Emmett was sitting at the counter. And in the most ridiculous of ways, it made sense. He never did what she expected of him. If she thought he'd show, he didn't. When she came to terms with the fact that he wouldn't, he appeared like some sort of gorgeous mirage, wearing a soft gray t-shirt and worn Red Sox hat.
She hadn't been able to stop the smile that spread across her face when his head turned, his eyes sweeping over her. The flicker of hope that had all but gone out flared up low in her belly, moving up through her lungs and spread across her cheeks. She'd probably looked ridiculous grinning goofily at him, but she couldn't help it. He was here, tangible and right in front of her.
And then it had gone so, so terribly wrong. He'd been agitated and jumpy, gulping at his scalding coffee. He'd risked death by choking and a burnt tongue just to get away from her, had flinched when she touched his back to help stop his deep coughs. He'd teased her with his presence only to pull it back and then disappear again and now here she sat, deflated and defeated, not to mention sweaty.
Rosalie looked down at his Business Week, dragging it over to her with her pinky, looking back up at Jessica, who was still laughing and wiping at her eyes.
"That didn't go very well, did it?" she sighed, fraying the edges of the abandoned magazine absently. She could still feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt on her hand and little bolts of electricity pricked at her palm.
"I'm sorry, Rosalie, I don't mean to laugh, it's just…" Jessica trailed off, leaning her hip against the counter. "I've never seen him get nervous like that."
"Are you sure it was nerves and not horror that I talked about shot-gunning beer?" she replied, her cheeks going red at the memory. His edginess had transferred over to her and she'd found herself saying whatever had come to mind first in an attempt to salvage the situation.
Jessica laughed. "I doubt it. I've seen Em do much worse. You, on the other hand, I can't imagine doing something like that."
"It was a long time ago," Rosalie responded, looking down at the headlines on the front page of the magazine. She thought of the summer boy who'd taught her the technique, how the watery beer tasted going down her throat. It wasn't something she'd ever thought she'd do and her parents would have been horrified to see her participating in those local parties with the local kids. She'd felt relaxed, though, and not just because of the alcohol running through her veins. For those moments, she didn't need to worry about her grades or expectations. She hadn't been Rosalie Hale, daughter of one of the most affluent families in Rochester. She was just Rose.
"Hey, Jess?"
"Hmm?" Jessica hummed, looking back at her as she filled another patron's coffee cup.
"Do you think there's any possible way to salvage this?" Rosalie asked. She didn't want to give up, but she also didn't want to make a fool out of herself or look for the possibility of something in a place it didn't exist.
"Are you kidding? I haven't seen him react to a girl like this since…" Jessica trailed off thoughtfully, pursing her lips and staring off into the distance. "Maybe ever. I don't know what's gotten into him, but I can't imagine that whatever happened between the two of you isn't fixable."
"It's just your average case of assumptions and miscommunication," Rosalie murmured, looking out the window. The parking space Emmett's Defender had vacated remained empty.
"That doesn't sound fatal by any means." Jessica paused, tapping her pen against the counter top. "He's a great guy, Rosalie."
Rosalie nodded with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm realizing that I missed that."
"He's probably at his shop right now. The rush doesn't really start until about eleven."
Rosalie's gaze shifted back to Jessica, who was looking at her expectantly, her pen beating out a staccato rhythm. Her body was tensed and coiled, ready to make a move when and if her mind allowed it.
Was Jessica right? Was it possible that she still stood a chance at showing him that she wasn't the ice queen he thought she was? Was there even the slimmest of chances that the picture she'd inadvertently painted of herself could be wiped away, the slate proverbially cleaned?
She didn't know, but she wanted to find out, for reasons that weren't even fully clear to her. She wanted to at least try.
She stood and threw down some cash, then rolled the magazine up and tapped the counter. "I'm going to take his magazine back to him."
"Okay," Jessica replied with a knowing smile. "You do that. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Rosalie echoed, taking off out the door. Her legs carried her swiftly down the street. She tried to keep it to a steady walk, but soon she found herself jogging swiftly, darting past meandering tourists toward the surf shop. She would probably be sweaty by the time she reached her destination, but she didn't care.
Emmett was standing behind the cash register when she got to the surf shop, smiling easily at a woman and an acne-ridden teenage boy. But when his eyes wandered over to the door she had just stepped through, the smile wavered.
"Uh…" he started, his hand stalling over a bottle of sunscreen.
She walked over to the register, setting his Business Week on the counter. "You forgot your magazine."
He raised an eyebrow, his expression morphing from shock into something hovering between perplexity and amusement. "You ran all the way over here to bring me my magazine?"
She could feel the woman's eyes on her face and the boy's somewhere vaguely lower. She shot him a warning look before turning back to Emmett, who was frowning at him, too.
She hadn't wanted to do this with an audience, but he wasn't budging from behind the counter and she wanted to get this out. She needed him to know she regretted how she'd treated him.
"No, I…you ran out of there before I could tell you that I owe you an apology," she replied, her words rushing out of her mouth. "You were just trying to be friendly and I've been a bitch –"
"Hey!" the woman interjected, placing her hands over her son's ears. He rolled his eyes in Rosalie's direction. "Watch your language."
Rosalie huffed, her cheeks flushing with irritation under the woman's glare. "Lady, he's a teenager. I'm sure he's heard it before."
The woman snorted and rolled her eyes, then focused her attention back on Emmett pointedly, pushing the sunscreen bottle toward him.
"Listen, this probably isn't the best time for this conversation," Emmett said, looking down at the bottle and the woman before finally settling his gaze back on her face. "I'm a little slammed right now."
Rosalie couldn't help her heart from sinking slightly at what felt distinctly like a dismissal. "Of course. I'll let you get back to work."
She turned on her heel, making her way quickly toward the door, toward her escape.
"Rosalie?"
She stopped in her tracks, a frisson of energy dancing up her spine at the sound of Emmett saying her name. She turned quickly, her ponytail whipping against her cheek. "Yeah?"
"See you at the diner?" he asked and he wasn't smiling, but one corner of his mouth twitched slightly, just enough for Rosalie to know that all hope wasn't lost. Not yet.
"Yes," she replied and she couldn't help the small smile that pulled at her lips. "See you at the diner."
Progress! At least they're talking to each other, huh?
LightStarDusting makes it pretty (though Surfmett adds a little somethin' to the scenery, too).
You know the drill by now – we'll see you tomorrow!