I'm still overwhelmed by all the response I'm getting. Thank you to everyone who has recommended, favorited, reviewed, alerted, etc. I'm apparently up for another award, with Bare, at the All-Human awards. Thank you for nominating me for 'Most In-Character.' Thanks to my Twilighted girls - my thread is getting very active, and I'm thrilled! Thank you to my four betas, windtrails, doitforyou, le moulin and vanilladoubleshot. You catch my errors and send me Rob pictures and make me laugh. I love you.

I keep getting asked what I am reading, and I share the same favorites as most of the fandom, I think. But I do enjoy a little (huge) story called Age of Consent by the extremely lovely mylittlesecret84. I can't gush to her enough about how much I love it - try it on for size.

And lastly, I am now on twitter: .com/pinkeveningsky

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; I do it all for the nookie.


A Three-Fold Utopian Dream

Bella tried to diplomatically look back on her life and find a time when she was happier. Her mother's camaraderie had been wonderful. Her school career, while boring, was educational and shaped her mind well. She had been a well-fed, carefree child, with a pink bicycle and jack-o-lantern teeth and a short-lived ballet career. She had laughed and loved and cried and lived a full life.

But as Bella walked into the Cullen household to help Esme with a dinner that would include Charlie that evening, she decided that this – this was the way to live. Sometimes she felt she would burst with happiness, and little pieces of contentment would rain down on those who were caught in the storm.

As she walked into the kitchen and spied Edward elbows-deep in flour, she knew who would take the brunt of the shower.

"What are you doing?" she laughed, shrugging off her raincoat and draping it across a chair.

"Thank God you're here," he said. "Esme has gone 'round the coo-coo's nest."

"I heard that!" trailed a feminine voice from inside a deep cupboard.

"She is insisting we make fresh pasta," Edward said grievously.

"I can't feed the Chief of Police pasta from a box." Esme made her way out of the cupboard, olive oil in hand. "Hi, sweet."

"Sure you can," Bella laughed. "I do it all the time."

Edward snorted. He was just about to make some sort of remark, Bella was sure, when Esme uttered a tiny curse word.

"Sugarfoot!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I knew I forgot something at the grocery store. Edward…"

"No."

"Oh, please! I just need lean ground beef for the sauce! Oh, and a couple other things, I know I have a list here somewhere…"

"No!"

Esme dropped her arms, walked over to Edward, and drew him into a hug. Bella could tell the exact moment Edward caved, because he both groaned and wrapped his arms around Esme. Then he backed away.

"I hate you."

"You are my favorite son," she told him with a smile. "Despite what Jasper and Emmett may think about themselves."

Bella smiled at the pink on the tip of Edward's ears. He tried not to look pleased. Then he rounded his stare onto her. "Come with me?"

She balked. "No, I really should be helping Esme. I promised – "

"Oh, I'm fine here, sweet." She had a very evil smile on her face.

"Bella?" Edward said, walking over to her slowly. "Come for me?"

She blamed writing that blasted erotica piece for their notebook on her filthy mind. She nearly dropped the spatula she was playing with. "Um, what?"

"Please, will you come? For me?"

Clearly, it's not a good idea, if I can't keep my mind from construing the image of you asking me that in an entirely different situation – no, stop it, Bella! It was a perfectly innocent question –

"Bella? Do you feel all right? You look flushed. Edward, maybe it isn't such a good idea – " Esme started.

"No, it's fine," Bella said quickly, desperate to get attention off her flaming cheeks, red as the label of the Coke on the counter. "Ready?"

"Ready," Edward acquiesced, smiling in a way that eighteen-year-old boys shouldn't know how to do.

"Oh my God, this isn't a little list! She's such a contriving – "

"Wonderful woman," Bella cut in, snatching the list from Edward's hands as they walked into Thriftway. The doors slid open and that strange grocery store smell hit her nostrils; the fluorescent lighting against the dark backdrop of the day's sky was enough to make her squint in distaste.

"There are like, ten things on that list! A couple things, my ass…"

"Hush," Bella told him. "I'm a professional at grocery shopping. Go get a cart."

She could sense a whine about to come from him, so she pointed sternly in the direction of the carts. He moved sulkily to get one, and she had to stop for a moment and wonder when she had gained the confidence to boss beautiful boys around.

As he walked back over to her, squeaky cart in tow, she mused that even though she still recognized he was clinically gorgeous, there were many more parts to him that made her stomach feel like it was about to leap out of her skin.

"Okay," said Bella, setting her purse in the front of the cart. "Ground beef. Rice. Two cucumbers. Velveeta. Corn tortilla chips. Edward, you're so whiny; this list is a piece of metaphorical cake…" She looked up at him, and he was staring down at her with a huge grin on his face. "Yes?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You're just rather domesticated, aren't you?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"It's like that joke – you have tiny feet because it allows you to be closer to the stove."

He was very plainly teasing her; he had never shown any signs of chauvinism, and really, he was a very nice person, so why she allowed herself to be hurt by it, she didn't know.

When she didn't react, he stopped the cart. "Bella?"

"I'm domesticated, as you say, because I would have starved if I hadn't rounded up the groceries for Renee every week. She was so scatterbrained and involved in her own life, she often forgot to make a run to Wal-Mart. So, yes, I suppose I am domesticated." She crossed her arms over her shoulders, embarrassed at herself for feeling so vulnerably upset.

"Bella, I'm sorry." When she didn't say anything, he put his two warm palms on either side of her face. She turned up to look him in the eye, and she was met with blatant remorse. "Truly, I am."

"It was nothing," she insisted, staying still in his scrutiny. "Really, it's not even a big deal."

"You are utterly absurd," he whispered. "Anything that hurts you is a big deal. Please, I just… I'm not good at this. But I'm trying."

"Can I get through here?"

Bella and Edward jumped apart, startled. They had been blocking the opening of the aisle with their cart, and an annoyed man was waiting to enter, looking like he wanted to use his own cart to barrel them out of the way.

"We're sorry," Bella apologized, moving the cart out of his way, and then studiously examining the array of grape juice she was standing by. Her face was flaming, red and gold and orange, the color of Edward's canvas on an angry day.

She collected herself, and then turned to him with a smile. "Shall we?"

He returned her smile tentatively. "Lead the way."

They made their way through the aisles, remarking on particular foods they liked and didn't, reminiscing about the days finding something at the bottom of a cereal box was exciting, and just enjoying each other's company. She hadn't forgotten Edward's admission the week previously, when he had scalded her skin with hot tears and his own fire, burning deep in his gut. She knew there was more to him, even more than the death of his parents, but she was waiting for him, for that feather soft stroke to bring it forward.

He was brilliant – strong and funny, quiet and pensive and talented. Her heart was so thoroughly written all over him she didn't know where the sentences stopped and started, and he hadn't even kissed her yet.

"Oh, hell," Bella said, looking down at the list as they went through the frozen foods. "We forgot the Velveeta."

"Don't move," Edward said. "I'll go grab it."

"Thanks," Bella smiled. She watched him go, happiness bubbling up inside her. She turned back to the cart, looked up, and then looked back down again.

Lauren Mallory was standing at the other end of the aisle in shorts way too short for this weather, her keys in hand. She seemed to be surveying the selection of ice cream, and Bella prayed she was too captivated by dairy to notice her.

She could never forget the cruelty Lauren had shown her by stealing her note to Edward and dropping it in his locker. She had inadvertently caused the first fight between Bella and Edward, or at least triggered it, and she could feel her armpits prickle with adrenaline as her heartbeat kicked in. She had been so mortified, so terribly mortified –

"Well, well," she heard, and cursed. That voice was unmistakable. "Bella Swan."

Bella turned from the frozen pizzas, like she had only just noticed Lauren was there. "Oh, hello."

"How's your summer been?" Lauren asked, smiling without it meeting her eyes. "Written any more notes?" Then her eyes widened, fixing on a point behind Bella.

"Rather good ones," said a low voice. "Thank you for asking." A warm hand was on her back, long fingers trailing up her spine and then her hair was being moved off her shoulder, and hot, damp lips were on her neck.

Bella gripped the cart so tightly her knuckles were white.

"I see you two are very happy," said Lauren, her voice dripping with disdain, jealousy white-hot.

"We are," said Bella, who finally got a hold of herself when she realized what Edward had done for her. She reached out his hand, and Edward's fingers met hers, and their fingers clasped together in the middle, sweet and simple, soft and subtle. "You actually did me a huge favor, that day. So, really, thank you."

Lauren scoffed, but Bella could barely hear it – she kept recalling the feel of Edward branding her with his lips, the first time she had had a mouth anywhere on her but her cheek, and oh my God, if he would only do that and mean it –

"We'll see you in September," Edward called as Lauren walked away.

As soon as Lauren was out of sight, Bella sagged. Edward caught her elbows with his hands.

"Thank you," she whispered, both for his actions and his words.

"Don't let anyone ever make you feel less than you are," he told her fiercely, replicating the exact sentence Esme had told her not even a month ago.

"I'm not good at this. But I'm trying," she said, repeating what Edward had said earlier.

He nodded and drew away. "Are you ready?"

She had the feeling he wasn't exactly asking about her being ready to leave. "Yes," she said plainly, answering whatever questions he was willing to ask.

Edward took Bella's hand again, and didn't let go.

XxXxX

"I never apologized for being so brash about your note," Edward said to her as they unloaded the groceries from his trunk. "It was a really lovely thing of you to do, but I completely misinterpreted it, even though I swore I didn't – "

"It's okay," she insisted, shutting the trunk. "It was really naïve of me to word it that way. I'm not used to having to construct my thoughts so carefully. When I write, it's all very intrinsic – as you know by now – and sometimes I forget that other people read what I'm writing."

As they walked up the porch steps, Edward was quiet. But as she put her hand on the doorknob, he said, "Don't ever stop doing that. Forgetting, I mean. You should never censor who you are. Because… you are captivating, intrinsically and otherwise."

He opened the door for her, and she went inside, barely feeling her feet on the floor. If asked, she would swear she was floating.

The next two hours, Bella helped Esme make spaghetti Bolognese while Edward sat at the bar and supervised. By supervised, she meant he ate nearly everything edible in his proximity and threw in a lot of asinine comments, but he had she and Esme laughing so hard at some points, they could barely boil water.

The others floated in occasionally. Alice and Jasper came in with clasped hands, wondering what smelled so good and why Bella had a flour handprint on her forehead. The culprit was obvious; Edward had a flour-covered hand. Rosalie came in and tied Bella's long hair back off her face and ran her long nails against Bella's scalp for a few moments before heading off to work. Emmett dipped his huge finger right in the middle of the sauce, which caused Bella to whack him with the ladle, setting off bouts of laughter from everyone around.

The doorbell rang at seven, announcing Charlie's arrival. Esme ran to answer it as Bella and Edward set the table.

She was about to say something when she noticed the slight way Edward's fingers shook as he set the fork next to the knife on the linen napkin.

"Are you nervous?" she laughed, delighted.

"He's the Chief of Police!"

Bella laughed even louder. "Oh my God! You are nervous. You've met him before, remember?"

"Yes, but – "

She put her hand on his bare forearm. "You met him right after you saved my life. Well, the first time you saved my life."

"I didn't – "

"Tyler's van of doom screeching across the asphalt?"

"I was simply at the right place at the right time – "

"Saving me from that man who cornered me in Port Angeles – "

"Again, all circumstantial – "

"Edward," she said sternly, pointing a butter knife at him. "I won't have you trivializing the fact that I'm here – happy and healthy – because of you. Stop insulting my best friend."

"I thought Alice was your best friend."

"Alice and I have a much different relationship than you and I. Yes, she's my best friend. But you and I have a closeness that I can't compare to anyone else. So, I think best friend covers it pretty accurately."

He glowed, the gold ring around his irises contracting as his pupils dilated. "I've never had a best friend."

"Well, then let me give you some pointers," she said playfully, poking him with the knife. "Best friends tend to get angry when you insult their other half."

"I like the sound of that better."

"What?"

"Other half. It eliminates that pesky 'friend' word very nicely."

Bella ducked her head to hide her smile. She had no idea how to respond, so she was very grateful when Charlie, Carlisle and Esme walked in.

As dinner wrapped up, Charlie patted his full belly and smiled warmly down at Bella. Her father was not an affectionate man, but she couldn't help but glow under his brand of it – she was secretly a daddy's girl, and being away from him for years only amplified that.

"So, are you gonna hang out a bit longer, Bell? Or follow me home?"

Bella bit her lip, swishing her piece of bread in and out of the oil dip. She wanted to stay the night more than anything; the looks Edward had been giving her all day were driving her dizzy and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself up in his arms and fall asleep to the sound of his breath in her ear.

"She's welcome to stay the night, Charlie," Carlisle put in, rubbing his wife's hand with his thumb. "I'm sure Alice would love that."

"Alice," Charlie repeated, glancing towards Edward.

"Dad," Bella chastised.

Charlie held up his hand to Bella, and then leveled a stare at the good doctor. "May I be frank, Carlisle?"

"Please," agreed Carlisle, setting his napkin down on his plate like he knew what was about to come.

"I'm a little weary about letting Bella stay the night here. I was young once, not real long ago, and… well, I have a lot of respect for you and your family, but your living arrangements are a bit… different, and I don't want my seventeen-year-old daughter sleeping in a bed that's occupied by a seventeen-year-old male. I'm just not comfortable."

"I completely understand your concern, Chief – "

"It's Charlie."

Carlisle smiled. "Charlie. I know our lifestyle is a bit strange, especially to those who don't see what goes on here on a day-to-day basis. But, I also have a seventeen-year-old daughter, and even though her boyfriend lives under my roof, it doesn't mean we turn into a brothel when the sun goes down."

Charlie chuckled despite himself. "I didn't mean – "

"I know you didn't. Just a little joke. We have very firm rules. What they do on their own time, away from my house, is not regulated – much like you can't regulate Bella when she is not under your supervision – but when it's under my roof, each of my children have their own rooms and beds, and that is where they sleep each night."

Charlie nodded slowly. "I meant no disrespect."

"None taken. We all care for Bella, my wife and I included, and I treat her as one of my own. She will, of course, sleep with Alice, or in one of the spare bedrooms, as she always does. If you are still uncomfortable with that – "

Charlie held up his hand again. "Say no more. Thank you for… explaining that to me."

"You had every right to be concerned. I'm glad to hear it. Thank you for being so candid." Carlisle smiled. "Now, if that's all… I think Bella and Esme prepared a cheesecake? Would you like coffee, Charlie?"

Bella's smile was so large it was painful. She loved these people, every single one of them. Her heart was so full of adoration she felt it would burst. She locked eyes with Edward from across the table, and he made a motion with his hands that meant 'phone' – thumb to the ear, pinky to the mouth.

She grabbed her cell phone out of her cardigan pocket, saw she had a text from Edward, and flipped it open.

How does it feel to know that Carlisle just lied to an officer?

Bella spent a few hours with Alice, talking and laughing about things that had transpired over the summer. She had been so wrapped up in Edward lately, she almost had forgotten the importance of girl time. Alice brushed out Bella's long hair, making it shine in understated waves down her back. Bella told her about her childhood in Phoenix, and Alice told Bella about her dream job: fashion journalism.

As the hour crept towards eleven, Alice began to yawn in great gasps of air that set off giggles between the girls. Her eyes kept straying towards the door, and Bella knew Alice was ready to go lay down next to her mate.

"Go to him," Bella said, squeezing Alice's hand.

"Go to him," Alice repeated to Bella, tugging on her hair.

Bella sucked in a huge gulp of air, and then did just that.

She found him by the music, the straining lilt of piano notes hitting her eardrums, soft and butter yellow, clear and sky blue. She followed the sound into his studio, where he sat at the piano bench, a pencil between his teeth and an open book in front of him, perched on the piano.

"Do you sing, too?" she teased softly.

He turned around, smiling around the pencil. He took it slowly out of his lips, and she watched, transfixed, hypnotized, alive. "Why do you ask that?"

"You do everything else artistically. Write some, paint some, draw some, play piano some, write music some, apparently… it would just figure if you could sing."

He shook his head. "I can't sing at all."

"Not at all?"

"Isn't it tragic?" he joked. "The musician who can hear exactly how terrible he is."

"It isn't tragic at all," she told him. "Here I was, feeling hopelessly inadequate. It's nice to know you're human once in a while."

"It's nice of you to remind me." He stood up from the bench and stretched. His shirt came up, exposing a strip of ivory skin, with a faint dark strip running from navel to under his waistband.

"Alice has retired for the evening," she told him. "And I find myself lonely."

"Are you begging me for company? Is that what I am now? Cheap entertainment?"

"Free entertainment," she corrected.

He made a face at her, which she returned. It might have been ferocious, but she was smiling too much. He held out his hand to her, and she took it, feeling the thick pads of skin on his fingers and palms, armor against his art.

"Shall we, then?"

Just walking with his hand in hers made her light-headed; it was nefarious how much power he held over her, extreme in its intensity, crushing in its weight.

He led her into his room and closed the door behind them. He didn't immediately reach to turn on the light; everything was quiet, and all she could hear was the sound of their rapid breathing and the beating of her heart. Then he crept towards her, loping grace carrying his weight.

"Paint me."

The words were out of her mouth before she had registered her brain firing up. His progression stopped, and he turned slightly away from her.

"I can't, Bella."

"Yes, you can. I want you to."

"You don't understand. I'm cursed, Bella, completely – "

"I know, I know you think you're taking my soul, but you – you have everything else of mine, so you may as well just take it and wear it on your sleeve, like I wear my heart, every time you walk in the room – "

"I don't have everything of yours."

"You can have that, too."

Their eyes met in the darkness.

"Do you have any idea what you're saying?"

"None," she whispered, and then he was to her, suddenly, all there, his hands against her back, trailing up her spine, gently cupping her neck, and –

And nothing. He was away again, too far, when everything in her was crying out for him, red and passionate, pink and virginal, green and organic.

"Bella, I adore you in frightening ways." His voice was low, rough, black. "I'm doing everything I can not to destroy you. Please stop making it difficult for me."

"What's destroying me right now is the fact you aren't kissing me."

She watched him press the heels of his hands to his eyes, and she was suddenly enraged. She threw up her hands and stalked over to his paints, opening the already mixed Tupperware containers.

"So you think I'm too stupid to know what it is I want? Too naïve to see who you really are, and still care for you? Is that it?"

"Don't be melodramatic, please."

She found the black paint and dipped her fingers in it, all ten, and then raked them across her cheeks. She knew she looked like some crude interpretation of a warrior, or maybe just a football player, but when she turned to him with the colors on her face – the red flush of her cheeks and the black smears of paint – she put it on a level he could understand.

"I am stronger than a canvas to be painted," she told him, "thicker skinned than a flimsy sheet of paper to be shaded. You draw me pictures of myself, always interpreting my beauty as something reverential, something to be… cherished. When I look at you, I don't see what you're afraid of – the ghosts in your past. I see you, and how much I want you all the time, and how I'll die if you don't kiss me, right now."

As her last words came out, he was already walking to her, and by the time she was finished, she barely had another breath to take before his lips were on hers, taking her first kiss, solidifying her love.

It was so sweet and achingly gentle she felt it down to the spongy marrow in her bones. His hands came up to cup her face, and he held her steady, even as she wanted to lie down with him and give in to the weakness in her knees, the weighted pull in her stomach. She felt hot air on her face as his breath hitched, and she pressed closer, knowing she was smearing the black paint all over his face, making him stronger, too.

When he backed away, their lips breaking with a sweet sigh that left her mouth, he put their foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"I can't paint you, Bella," were his first words on heavily bated breath.

She pressed forward again, flying on impulse, knowing her kissing skills were lacking because she had no idea where she was going or what she was doing, except that her lips were against his again, different this time, because she had caught him while his mouth was open, and she drew in his bottom lip, and he made a quiet, desperate noise in his throat, and she made one back, and she wanted to hear it over and over and over –

"Paint on me, then," she said suddenly, between short, plucking pulls of lips. "If you can't paint me, then paint on me. Make me into something beautiful – use me as your canvas, make me into your creation, make me yours – "

"Bella," he complained in a groan, wrapping his hands in her hair. "Stop."

"Say yes," she begged. "I have to have some part of you, something – "

"You silly girl, you have my heart; is that not enough?"

She pressed her face into his chest, feeling the organ he had just proclaimed as hers beat against her cheek. "I'm afraid it never will be enough with you. I'm afraid I'll keep wanting things, and one day, you'll tell me no and I won't know what to do."

"Have you not discovered that I can't say no to you? I hate denying you of anything. Don't use that to your advantage, please."

"Can I get that in writing?" she asked, and she felt his laugh rumble through his lungs, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight, and she had never been happier.

He breathed in a couple times, and then he asked, "Where? If I paint on you…"

She thought for a moment. "Anywhere. Somewhere on my back, maybe?"

He drew back from her, looking her in the eye. "But for that, you would have to be…"

She nodded. "Bare."