A/N: Thanks to Plummy and Happymelt, without whom I would have given up long ago.
Thanks to all of you who read, alert, favorite and review: you make writing this story a magical experience.
Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
o o o
Jasper studied almost nonstop for two days, so when Esme mentioned she was short of milk he jumped at the excuse to get out of the house. The snow that had fallen on Sunday hadn't stuck, but it was getting colder, and the next precipitation was guaranteed to bring ice with it. The rock-salt he promised to get was becoming a priority.
As he drove the few miles to the store, his mind kept running facts and dates in a loop, the steely self-discipline he'd learned over the years making it hard to let go of the concentration he had achieved in the previous forty-eight hours. He'd immersed himself in his studies with even more determination than usual, trying to ignore the now familiar worries, the soul-sapping weariness, but also the unexpected and as yet undefined desires that his brief encounter with Bella had ignited.
Now he used the same willpower to force himself to forget the law, to forget cases and practice tests, if only for a few hours. He knew he needed the mental break. He was ready to let go of the rigid compartmentalization he had so painstakingly achieved. And, if he was honest, he wanted to let himself feel, even if it meant confusion, even if it meant vulnerability.
The aisles of the Thriftway were nearly deserted on a Tuesday afternoon, and the few customers seemed to be taking their time, wandering slowly, grabbing items only to put them back when something shinier or cheaper caught their eye, doubtlessly trying to extract as much mindless amusement from their shopping trip as he was. There was nothing much to do in Forks on an icy December day.
Jasper took his time, purposefully exploring the whole store, fascinated with the experience of shopping on a weekday, in this small town all-purpose supermarket that stocked such an eclectic mix of items — you could find pretty much everything here, from nails, to underwear, to milk and books. And yet it seemed barren, austere compared to its Californian equivalent and the mind boggling display of hundreds of varieties of the same item.
Everything was slower here, colors more muted, familiar brands duller and less enticing.
The people were different, too, their clothes and hair unfashionable, their expressions softer and detached; placid, yet sluggish. Even their steps were quieter, a consequence of slow walking and utilitarian footwear.
He pushed his big empty cart around and took it all in, enjoying this sense of detachment and boredom, the quiet, unchallenging predictability of this day. He wondered whether he seemed as alien to others as they to him, whether they saw him at all.
And then he saw her.
He turned into the houseware aisle and there she was, standing in front of a display full of socks, completely absorbed in thought, a basket on her arm.
Once again, he surprised himself by recognizing her immediately, despite her bulky coat and the hair that was covering half her face; it was something in the way she held herself, or perhaps it was simply that he'd been unconsciously waiting and hoping to see her again, so that it seemed absolutely natural and fitting that she should materialize in front of him.
She held a pack of bright blue thermal socks in her hand, and Jasper smiled briefly at her puzzled expression — as if she was unsure, mildly scared of them.
Carefully, hesitantly, Bella moved the pack into the basket, rotating her body towards him as she did. When she lifted her face, she found herself staring right at Jasper, who had advanced so that he was only a few feet away from her.
Surprise colored her features, and her mouth opened slightly, her eyebrows rising in alarm. For a split second, Jasper thought that she might be embarrassed or displeased at seeing him, but her face quickly opened up in a smile, and he relaxed at her spontaneous display of delight.
"Hey, Bella"
"Hi," she answered in that soft, gravelly voice he had noticed the other day. At the time, he'd thought it was a one-off thing, perhaps due to a temporary cold, but he now realized it was just the way she spoke, low and deep, a sound that went straight to his chest. Two letters, one syllable, were enough to make him feel that surge of energy he'd experienced in his mother's kitchen all over again. It was delicious and addictive and he craved more of it.
"I see you're also spending the afternoon in Forks' finest establishment," he continued, and the teasing, gentle tone of this words surprised him — he couldn't remember he last time he'd spoken like this, so easily, so lightly, to anyone who wasn't his mother or father, to anyone he barely knew.
"Uhm, yeah." Bella's eyes didn't leave his, her face lit by a look of pleasure and trust. "I thought I'd go crazy if i didn't get out of the house... but once I got going I realized there aren't really many places to go around here, so..." her words trailed off.
"No, there really aren't. I guess the grocery store is where it all goes down."
Bella smiled and looked away, not wanting Jasper to catch the excitement in her eyes, the anticipation: the longing for something to happen, right now, right there. It was all so new — she didn't think she could hide it, and she didn't know whether it was okay to show it. There must have been rules for this kind of thing, but she had no idea what these rules were, whether she was breaking them, and whether it mattered.
She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders and moved her basket to the other hand, unsure of whether and what she should say next.
They stood in the aisle, neither daring to move, each reluctant to interrupt their fortuitous shared moment.
Jasper leaned into his cart and observed her, her body coiled in anticipation, the way she stood unnaturally still, holding on to her basket as if it was an anchor, her posture and expression betraying her expectation, her desire for their interaction to last longer.
He broke the silence, because he sensed she wouldn't, understood she couldn't.
"Anyway, I'm almost done here. Just looking for that rock salt I promised Esme — our driveway will become a sheet of ice if it freezes tonight." He paused. "Not that we get many visitors anyway."
Bella nodded, unsure whether his mention of visiting was meant to encourage her or discourage her from doing just that. Probably neither, she quickly chastised herself.
"Yeah, I think I'm pretty much done too. There's only so much excitement I can cope with in one afternoon." She smiled, hoping her lame attempt at humor would not fall flat, but was rewarded with a gentle laugh from Jasper and the sight of his eyes crinkled in amusement.
He looked younger when he smiled, she noticed.
"Right. Rock salt will be the pinnacle of my day." He held her gaze as he spoke, loving the way she didn't look away, loving her open eyes and the way her lips looked full and perfect as a smile lingered on them. "Help me find it?"
Bella could have screamed in happiness at his request, delirious that he was asking anything at all, that he was giving her a way to stay close to him for a few minutes longer.
Instead, she merely nodded and started walking next to Jasper, trying to somehow shield her basket from him, hoping that he wouldn't examine the contents too closely — the ugly thermal socks were lying right on top of a few assorted snacks of the kind Charlie, and with him any responsible adult, would doubtlessly disapprove of. The items spoke of loneliness and boredom and weakness, and she didn't want Jasper to think of her that way. She wished she'd bought something more grown-up, more substantial — meat, or vegetables, or towels; she could picture the items lying in her basket in a dignified, perfectly plausible arrangement, nothing like the sad looking composition she was laden with.
If Jasper noticed her discomfort, he didn't give it away, and continued strolling ahead with long steps.
They found what they were looking for almost immediately after turning the corner, and he lifted three huge bags into his cart.
"This should do," he huffed as he deposited the last one in.
He made his way to the checkout and Bella hesitated, finally opting to choose a register right next to him – there were no lines anywhere, but she felt silly standing right behind him, hated the thought of being idle and awkward, even for a few short minutes.
She made quick work of paying for and stuffing the items into her grey backpack. When she turned around, Jasper was still not finished, and she paused, wondering whether she should get going or wait for him.
She stood awkwardly, watching, allowing herself the luxury of admiring his long legs in his old, worn jeans, the way his leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, the wavy blond hair that curled at the nape of his neck. When he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, Bella's breath caught, her eyes fixing for a very short moment on his backside. She shocked herself by how much enjoyed looking at it.
She'd heard girls comment on boys' butts before, but had never understood the allure, never understood what exactly they found cute, or attractive, or interesting.
She certainly understood now.
Simply watching Jasper was wonderful, and joy blossomed in her chest, a delicious tingling feeling in her stomach as the pleasure reverberated in her whole body. I wonder what it would feel like to touch him, she thought, before she could censor herself. She shuddered, a jolt of something primal and unfathomable causing a quick, sudden spasm in her lower stomach and at the top of her legs.
He put his wallet back in his pocket and turned to her, raised eyebrows in expectation, unknowingly breaking her reverie. "Ready?"
Bella startled, hoping she hadn't been too obvious in her gawking, and walked towards the exit without a word.
As the doors opened, the frigid air hit her and she shivered, pulling the zipper of her coat all the way up. Vanity prevented her from lifting up her hood, though, so the wind beat down cruelly on her, pushing her hair every which way. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Jasper had pulled a black beanie over his head.
They stood side by side in the mostly deserted parking lot for a few long minutes. Eventually, Jasper started pushing his cart towards the parked cars, but he stopped after only a few steps.
"Listen," he said as he turned towards her. His words were hesitant but his voice was strong. "Are you in a hurry to get back home? Wanna grab a cup of coffee?"
o o o
The diner was only a few blocks away so they decided to walk, leaving their cars in the store parking lot. The wind was icy and merciless, making the day feel much colder than the thermometer suggested. The sky was already darkening.
Everything around them was grey — the road, the low clouds, the cars that drove past them as they sped down the road. No one else was around as the walked, hands in pockets, heads bent because of the wind, and it occurred to Jasper than no one in Forks ever walked anywhere — that the very fact they had decided to do so marked them out as bizarre, out-of-towners.
It was not a pretty walk. The trees were dark and ominous, the few buildings they encountered — motels, and furniture shops, and a few houses — seemed deserted. The air was heavy with the imminent snow, the scent and feel of it already lingering over the town.
They walked for almost ten minutes, in silence, each wondering whether it had been a terrible idea.
Bella worried that she'd have nothing to say to Jasper, that he'd find her young, and shallow, and immature. She wondered how on earth she could hold his attention – worldly and sophisticated and experienced as she knew him to be.
Jasper, for his part, felt like he was overstepping an unspoken boundary, one that had marked Bella as firmly belonging in his brothers and his parents' world, hitherto firmly shielded and protected by their presence and prior claims. Alone with him, she was someone else, unknown, alluring, vulnerable.
o o o
Bella's face was red, her teeth chattering as she sat down in the booth.
"Cold?" he enquired, somewhat redundantly, feeling bad for having made her walk, guilty for the way she was shivering and blowing into her hands to warm them up.
She peaked out from under her hair, nodding as she tried to get her teeth under control.
Her tone was apologetic. "I'm always cold these days. I guess I'm just not prepared for this weather."
"Hence the socks?" Jasper's teasing, gentle voice was back, and she stilled, her eyes growing wide in surprise and mortification. He had noticed, after all. She buried her face back in her hands, and took a moment to re-emerge.
"I was hoping you hadn't spotted them."
"Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled, yet secretly delighted at her embarrassment.
"Oh god. They're the ugliest socks ever. They're like... granddad socks."
He laughed out loud, making her relax with his easy stance and obvious, unexpectedly light-hearted mood.
"They're what you need in Washington. In case you haven't noticed, no one cares much for fashion round these parts." He gestured around the old, ugly diner, with its faded booths and faint smell of burnt coffee, to the handful of patrons sitting around, none of whom looked like they'd spent more than one minute wondering about what they were going to wear.
She looked around, furtively, but it didn't make her feel any better that he was comparing her to the middle-aged patrons with the bad haircuts and the pastel-colored fleeces.
She felt slightly dejected as she turned back to face Jasper, because the last thing she wanted was for him to think about her in this way, with thick electric blue socks and shapeless clothes, shivering from the cold, her hair wild and her nose surely red now.
But when she looked back at him she found him smiling, charming and knowing, and she relaxed again, finally lowering her hands onto the table.
"Next things you're gonna need are a serious pair of gloves and hunting hat with furry ears," he continued, enjoying the way she was thawing, in every sense, relishing her loosening posture and her retreating reserve.
Bella couldn't help but laugh, as she realized that his teasing was not meant to embarrass her but rather to include her in some kind of private joke she couldn't quite fully comprehend yet.
"I've always wanted to have a hat with furry ears," she said, "I guess now is my chance.'
The waitress handed them menus and poured coffees without so much as a word. Bella grabbed the hot mug immediately, grateful for the warmth, momentarily lost in the relief and distraction it brought.
The ice was broken, and he could finally look at her head on, directly, fully. He'd observed her in his kitchen a few days before but now he could take his time, let his gaze linger on her features, memorize her big brown eyes, thick eyebrows, the way her skin was so pale and fine, almost translucent. Her hair looked messy and unstyled, soft waves that framed her face and curled up around her wide shoulders. She had a long, graceful neck, barely visible in the thick purple sweater she was wearing.
There was an elegance to her movements, a fluidity that he didn't think he had ever seen before in any of the girls and women he'd met: for while her words and face betrayed her shyness, her body seemed possessed of a powerful confidence of which she was entirely unaware.
He remembered, from that camping trip and their brief moment swimming together, that she's been strong and fast, lithe and dynamic; and that strength, that power lingered on, somehow, intermingled with a languid, limpid calm.
She was pretty, for sure, tall and slender, but it wasn't her looks that drew him to her, for he didn't want simply to admire her: he wanted to make her smile and blush and laugh and furrow her brow. He wanted to make her come alive.
He took a sip of his coffee, noted it was mediocre and bitter, and spoke again, wishing to dispel any lingering traces of awkwardness, and to change the subject in his mind, away from visions of Bella in bathing suit.
"You're from somewhere South, right? New Mexico?"
Bella shook her head.
"Arizona," and the way she said it, with that throaty quality he was becoming so fond of, the way her tongue seemed to hug the consonants, sent his mind spinning.
"Right," he continued, "it must be a huge change, from the desert to the rainiest place in the USA. It must be strange for you." He paused, taking another sip of his coffee. "Forks, I mean."
She paused, stirring her coffee.
"Well, I know Forks. I used to come here all the time in summer, you know, and I always loved it." She looked away, her chin on her hand, remembering how much she'd looked forward to her summers of freedom as a kid and teenager. "All the green, and the moisture in the air, and the scents... everything's so alive here, compared to Phoenix."
She had no way of telling whether her memories of Forks were in any way relatable to Jasper. What was Forks to him? How had he experienced it? She had no idea. He'd been here, of course, but always at the edges, part of the scenery, somehow, of what made Forks vibrant and alive. He'd been a mystery to her, his presence casting a shadow of apprehension, his absence unspoken of, and yet always felt.
"But winter... it's a different story. I'm not sure I like the cold much, and the days are so short... It's nothing like I remembered it."
Jasper realized that all his memories of her took place outdoors, and he remembered she was active and full of energy, roaming the woods with his brothers all summer long, camping with them at that music festival a couple of years ago.
The last time he'd seen her she'd been wearing shorts and flip-flops, sunkissed freckles adorning her cheeks, exhausted and elated from three days in the mud and music.
But here she was now, alone and unaccustomed to the rain and sleet, visibly uncomfortable in her winter clothes, shivering from the cold. The contrast couldn't have been greater. He wondered whether she felt as miserable right now as his memories of his winters in Forks were.
"I used to hate winters here, growing up. Couldn't wait to move away, go somewhere warm, with blue skies and short nights. No rain."
He chuckled, the irony of the fact that he'd spent the last five years in California indoors, either at the library or in an office, not lost on him.
Bella looked at him quizzically, but didn't probe, and seemed content to let silence linger between them awhile longer.
"I hope you don't mind me asking but... what are you doing here? I mean, why aren't you in Arizona, or in college?"
Bella hesitated, her eyes falling to the table. Her hands stilled. Jasper held his breath, wondering whether he'd gone too deep, too soon.
"Your Mom didn't tell you?" she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I didn't ask."
Bella spoke again, still without looking at him.
"I was gonna go to University of Arizona. I had a swimming scholarship. I was all set." She paused, the next words stuck in her throat, hard to let go of, but even harder to swallow back. "I got sick. Last summer. A bad bout of mono, except it took months to shake it."
She took a long sip of her coffee, and then finally looked back at him for a brief moment.
"I've basically been asleep for six months."
Jasper briefly considered making a joke about Sleeping Beauty, but it seemed inappropriate in light of the monotone voice in which she'd told him what he guessed must have been hard for her to share.
"So no more swimming for me, no more scholarship. And I kind of missed the beginning of term... I was too weak to go anywhere." She lifted her eyes to his, her smile a bit more pained now. "So here I am."
He waited for a moment before speaking again.
"But you're okay now?" somehow this mattered enormously, that she should be okay, that she should be fine, that whatever it was that had broken inside her was fixed now, or at least on its way to being fixed.
"I am. The virus is gone, if that's what you're asking."
"I meant if you feel better." Jasper wished, above anything, that she would look at him now, that he could see what she felt and thought. " If you feel like yourself again."
Bella's eyebrows furrowed, as if she was pondering the question. In truth, she had never thought about this before, and it was hard to answer in a way that was true yet didn't give too much away.
"Myself? I don't know. I do feel much better, but nothing like I did before I got sick. My whole life has changed so much," she said wistfully. "I've changed so much."
"You have." Jasper's voice startled her, her eyes widened, confused. She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and diffidence.
"What do you mean? How do you know?"
"I remember you, from two summers ago. The concert, you know? I was your chauffeur, if you remember." He paused, enjoying the way she processed his words, witnessing the memories bloom behind her eyes. "And before, too."
His words made no sense to her. "You remember me?" she asked, incredulous.
Jasper put his hands up, smiling in return.
"Of course I remember you." He leaned back, resting his arm on the back of the chair next to him. "You were always around. You were like, my brothers' shadow."
Bella had done a good job at hiding whatever awkwardness she'd been feeling up to now, but right then she couldn't help but blush, embarrassed and secretly elated.
He remembered her.
"Or maybe they were yours," Jasper continued, "I could never figure that one out."
They were silent for a long time after that. Outside, darkness was falling, and the headlights of the few cars reflected in the diner's window, rhythmic and hypnotizing.
They stole glances of each other, each enjoying this quiet, reserved, unexpected dance of mutual discovery.
There was a peace in their interaction: the energy was still there, humming and vibrant, but it had acquired a natural and easy quality, a sweetness that lingered and bound. It made Jasper's mind still and Bella's heart flutter; it made them both hyperaware of themselves, and of each other. It made strange, complete, irrational sense.
It was Bella who spoke again after a long pause, her words clear and determined.
"But I'm going. To college, I mean." She sat up taller as she said it. She was volunteering too much, perhaps, but she didn't care. She didn't want Jasper to think she was a loser, some kind of victim. "After Christmas. To Northern California."
Jasper nodded, unsure of what to say. He remembered being excited about college, planning, looking forward to the future. He envied Bella even as he pitied her for all the disappointment she was bound to encounter. The he remembered that she'd already experienced so much of it.
"I'm sorry about your scholarship," he said, looking at her intently, and he realized he really was, inexplicably and undeniably sorry for her. Bella, lovely Bella, so strong and fragile, so mesmerizing and so unaware, Bella shouldn't have had to suffer, she shouldn't have had to give up anything she wanted.
But her smile, pure and true, luminous and unguarded, put his mind at rest.
"Don't be. Maybe it's better this way."
And in that moment she really believed that it might, in fact, be better this way, that perhaps there was a reason for it all. Relaxed, light, she allowed herself to look at Jasper, his blue eyes so deep and dark, his beautiful, beautiful face so close that she could almost touch it.
The words formed in her mind, danced on her lips, and before she could stop them or reflect, before self-consciousness could overtake her, a new, unexpected daring pushed them out.
"And what about you?"
The change in his demeanor was sudden and stark. His hands clasped the menu, his jaw hardened, and he visibly fought to keep his eyes focused on her. They were clouded, harder, and she hated the way she felt—small and young and inexperienced—all the things she did not want to feel in his presence.
"What about me?" His voice was an octave lower than it had been till then, and while the words echoed her question, his tone made it clear he did not really want to answer it.
He was not ready to tell her about himself. He was not ready to share his recent past, to expose what he'd done, how he'd broken down, to reveal how he'd given up his dignity in pursuit of sexual obsession and his integrity to grasp an ephemeral professional success. He couldn't tell her how his father had saved him from diving headfirst into a pit of defeat and disgust, how he'd had to ask for help, how he'd fled and come back home hurt, small, scarred.
Perhaps he never would be ready, for how did one share such thing with someone so young and trusting, what words did one use to describe, honestly, without scaring and shocking?
He observed her flounder slightly, fidgeting with her coffee spoon, the silence laden with expectations, and in those brief moments he saw her decide, win over her shyness, raise her eyes to his once more, wide open, brown and trusting and devoid of any traces of deceit or malice.
He'd scared her maybe, but he hadn't scared her away.
And now he wanted her words, all of them, he wanted to know whatever it was about him that she cared about. He might not be ready to answer, but he wanted all her questions.
"YouÖ you were supposed to be in California. In school, or working. Seth told me."
Jasper nodded slightly
"But you're here now." It was a question, but it was also an affirmation, and it was a request.
"Yeah." He smiled at her, and relished the smile he got back in return. "I'm here."
"Perhaps one of these days I'll tell you all about it."
o o o
Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you think.