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Chapter 14:

"Tonight I can write the saddest lines:
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me, too."
- Pablo Neruda

Inevitably, because this was my life we're talking about and not some lucky person with a normal existence, the night ended up being absolutely disastrous. But in retrospect, maybe I should have known it was going to be a strange day the moment that Leah Clearwater showed up at my front door - completely unannounced - about an hour before Paul was supposed to arrive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked almost stupidly at the sight of her standing on my front porch with her arms crossed over her chest. Several inches taller than me and made of what looked like pure, lean muscle, Leah cut an intimidating figure that normally would have sent me running in the opposite direction. But there was something about her easygoing and casual posture that made me feel at ease. "Not that I'm, you know, not glad to see you or anything, but –"

"Emily was going to come over to help you get ready for your date – out of the goodness of her heart or something," she made a face, "but she wasn't really feeling well when she woke up this morning so she asked me to come in her place." Leah shrugged, her expression saying, 'What can you do?' "Besides," she added as a last minute thought, "I didn't have anything better to do and I think you deserve a bit of a heads up on what to expect tonight – warnings that Emily probably wouldn't give you."

"You aren't actually being reassuring right now; should I be scared?" I questioned wryly, but I still stepped aside to let her into the house. "And it's not a date, as I've been making it clear to every single person who's asked."

"Details," she waved away my words with a careless hand. "And whether or not you need to be scared is debatable. Paul wouldn't let anything happen to you, but being alone with Paul is torture enough as it is. Honestly, when I first met you I thought you had better standards."

"I do have high standards," I shot back, unable to keep the harsh bite from my tone. "Which is why this is just a dinner between friends – not a date."

Leah turned and gave me a piercing stare. "Who are you actually trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

I fell silent. Then, quieter, "It isn't a date."

She simply rolled her eyes.

I pushed past her, heading toward my bedroom and gesturing for her to follow. "So you and Emily are aware that I'm not fifteen, right? I'm perfectly capable of being a grown up and dressing myself for a –"

"'Not date?'" she finished innocently.

I gave her a bitter look, all but shoving open the door to my closet to find something in it to wear. "Tell me about this place he's taking me to. He all but refused to tell me anything about it when I asked. Are we talking casual, semi-formal, formal…?"

"A little between casual and semi-formal," she shrugged one shoulder. "Wear comfortable shoes and a sweater if you have it, because they usually keep it pretty cold there. Portions are small, the food is really rich, and Paul is only going to that particular place because he thinks you'll like it."

I turned to her. "Are you serious?"

"Sam recommended it to him because it's one of Emily's favorite places," she stated, smirking as she made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed. "The food is pretty good; it's just that the guys, Paul especially, aren't really… cultured sort of people. Paul's more of a meat-and-potatoes guy instead of lasagna and garlic bread. Besides, you've seen how they eat. By the end of the meal, he's still going to be starving."

I made a face. "Then why did he choose the Italian place?"

She gave me a stern look, as if I should know what she was thinking. "Does Paul really look like the type of guy who knows what to do with a girl he isn't technically dating? Come on, Katherine; he isn't exactly Mr. Congeniality. He's going because he thinks you'll like it. But don't get me wrong; Paul was nearly pissing himself in his excitement when you agreed to go with him, so you could probably wear a garbage bag and insist on eating leftovers out of an alley garbage can, and he would still think the sun shines out of your ass."

Despite the sarcasm, her words struck deep, and it felt as though I suddenly realized exactly what I was doing. Was dinner with Paul really a good idea? Was I just leading him on when I knew it wouldn't go any further? "This is a mistake. I shouldn't even be going with him," I found myself confiding. "I don't want him to get the wrong idea or… I don't want to give him false hope."

"Because you don't want to be with him romantically?" she asked bluntly, curious but not at all blunt with her words.

I hesitated, because that wasn't the reason at all. It was because I couldn't be in a relationship with him, not because I didn't want to – and it was hard to even admit it to myself. But did that really make a difference? Did it change anything? "It's not that. I can't be with him romantically, even if I wanted to," I said evasively. "It's never going to happen."

"Why?"

I narrowed my eyes in her direction. "Since when have you become a Paul sympathizer? I have my reasons and I don't have to explain them."

"You're right," she conceded, to my surprise. "And trust me, I'm one of the last people who would judge you on shitty choice in boyfriends and reasons for not having one," she said, a far-off look on her face, "but as much as the bastard annoys the hell out of me… even I have to admit that he cares about you. A lot. More than I've ever seen him care about anyone."

"That doesn't change anything."

"No, it doesn't," she nodded. "But as you've been insisting, we aren't talking about romantic relationships here. We're talking about friendships, and you're perfectly happy having a friendship with Paul. How is it any different than having a friendship with me or with Emily?"

"Because Paul's a man and you and Emily – as far as I know - " I eyed her, "are women. It's a completely different situation. Besides, Emily could make a friend in an empty room, and you and I have similar personalities so I guess we just get along well with each other."

After a moment of silence where I turned back to the closet full of clothes but didn't reach out to take anything, Leah spoke again. "I don't have many female friends," she admitted. "I hang around with the guys a lot, so I'm pretty in tune to their thoughts, so to speak. Despite the whole 'dick in the personality' thing, they're not so different than us. Especially when it comes to you and Paul. You're basically two peas in a pod."

"Why do you hang out with people you claim that you dislike?" I asked.

"Why do you?" she shot back, casually getting to her feet and moving past me to look in the closet. "Why does anyone? It's because we don't have anyone else."

Leah's words rang so true that they made me pause. Because we don't have anyone else. How insane – that people continue to associate themselves with people that don't make them happy just so they wouldn't be alone. How people continue to be around and talk to those that hurt them, that cause them pain, that make them nervous, just so they wouldn't be lonely. It wasn't the most impossible thing to comprehend; you see that type of behavior in abusive relationships all the time – when a woman or man gets so used to the abuse and their abuser, and that abuser has brainwashed them and taken them away from their friends and family, then they believe that if they leave the abuser, they won't have anyone left.

Not that Paul was an abuser, not in the slightest, nor did he cause me any pain or anguish - at least, not in a bad way that could have been seen as abusive. It was just that I spent my whole life being around people I secretly hated that it was hard to get out of the habit, and now I put those thoughts and feelings into my relationships with people I had nothing against – people that had never been anything but kind to me.

But before I could even open my mouth to respond to her question, a knock came from the open door. "Katherine," Isaac leaned into the room, sending a confused look at Leah's back when he saw her digging in the closet. "I can't find my physics textbook. Do you know where I left it?"

"The living room?" I guessed, frowning when Leah tossed two shirts behind her to the floor into what I was assuming was her rejection pile. "Probably under the coffee table or something. Weren't you doing your homework down there yesterday? Leah, can you not make a mess of my room?"

"Oh, don't be a baby," she called back.

My lips pursed. "Aiden, I don't know if you met Leah at the bonfire – did you? Leah is Seth's older sister."

Isaac nodded, and from the look on his face he had probably heard a lot about Leah from the other boys. "Nice to meet you."

Leah barely glanced behind her. "Same here. Katherine, you have horrible taste in clothes."

I gave her an exasperated glance. "I live here, not at the Moulin Rouge. What were you expecting? Sequined lingerie and a stripper pole?" Isaac made a face, so I explained, "Leah showed up and apparently decided that I needed help getting dressed for tonight."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "For something that you keep insisting isn't actually a date, you're really going out of your way to look nice."

Leah snorted, but didn't say a word. More clothes flew over her shoulder, landing in the ever-growing pile. She seemed to have absolutely no qualms to barging into my home and destroying my room, but I found that I couldn't bring myself to care. I liked Leah, and I liked her attitude; in fact, she reminded me of myself in some ways. There was a pain behind her eyes that she tried to keep hidden, but I could see past it because I... I understood.

Once Isaac had left, I turned back to Leah. "So what else should I be expecting tonight, if I decide to actually go?"

"When you go, there isn't really much to expect," she shrugged, critically studying a pair of jeans, and then she quickly tossed them over her shoulder with the rest of the clothes. "He'll come pick you up with a bouquet of roses in hand, wait on you hand and foot, and you'll have your very own fairytale ending in the middle of an Italian restaurant."

"This isn't the time for jokes, Leah."

Her expression said that I should clearly know better than to ask stupid questions. "What were you expecting? It's Paul. You've met him, haven't you? You're going to put on this dress," and with that, she pointedly shoved a piece of violet fabric in my hands, "and he's going to be so shocked that he's going to stare at you in a way that's probably going to make you uncomfortable, he'll no doubt say a bunch of stupid shit and accidentally insult you, then he'll make a fool out of himself when he thinks he's being suave. That's just how your non-relationship works."

I glanced down at the dress, one of the only pieces of clothing that I was able to scrounge from our home before it had burst into flames the next day. The dress was made of soft polyester that hugged the figure, something I would have worn for a simple day at the office or if I was going out to lunch with a colleague or business partner. "No. It'll give him the impression that I'm trying too hard."

"If you ask me, you're already trying too hard."

"Well it's a good thing that nobody asked you, isn't it?" I replied snootily.

"Put on the dress," she demanded. "You're going to a nice restaurant so it's either this, or jeans and a t-shirt. If you want to wear that, fine, be my guest and embarrass yourself in front of a bunch of people. But if you want to look good and impress him with your sophistication, wear the dress."

It was like she knew exactly what to say to get me to consider it, and by God, it was tempting. I had always liked showing off – I wasn't exactly bad-looking, and being cocky did appeal to my stubborn and slightly narcissistic traits…

Damn it.

"Fine," I snapped, storming out of the room with the dress clenched in my hands. "I'll wear the damn dress, but I'm not going to like it!"

"Whatever you say, Katherine. Whatever you say."

oOo

"This is a mistake."

Sitting impatiently at the kitchen table as the clock ticked painfully slowly to six o'clock, my fingers incessantly tapping at the tabletop as I tried to distract myself from my feelings. Leah, who had left almost twenty minutes ago after deeming me appropriate for what she had officially deemed my 'not date,' would probably be laughing her ass off if she could see me at that moment.

"You have enough common sense in you that if it really were a mistake, you wouldn't even be going," Isaac commented casually, not even looking up from where he chomping down on a sandwich. "Stop trying to convince yourself that it's a bad idea. It's not a bad thing to be excited, you know?"

"I know," I said. "That's not what I'm afraid of." No, what I was really afraid of was that I would enjoy myself too much. That was my big fear, because getting my hopes up when I knew that I would just suffer in the end was just the worst form of self-torture. "Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment."

Isaac stopped mid-bite and gave me a scathing look. "Audrey, you seriously need to give it a rest. This whole 'woe is me' thing isn't like you at all. Buck up and live your life. Who cares who your friends are if they make you happy? Maybe you could give Paul a shot in the relationship area." He grimaced. "As disgusting as it is to think about my sister dating anyone, you have my full support – as long as you just stop with the self-pity thing."

I opened my mouth to shoot back a sharp retort, but barely got the chance. From my seat at the table, I could see Paul's truck approach the house through the open curtain surrounding the kitchen window.

Isaac didn't follow my gaze to the window; instead he kept his eyes on me. "Wow," he said amusedly. "I don't think I've ever seen a person's face change that many colors in such a short amount of time."

With a scowl and a nervous churning in my stomach, I shoved away from the table and snatched up my purse. "Oh, don't be an ass. I'm leaving; don't stay up late, make sure Thomas goes to bed on time and no sweets after 6:30. You know how he gets when he has sugar. Same to you; make sure you get some sleep and don't stay up."

I didn't wait for a response because the look on his face was too amused for his own good. In the living room, I stopped to bend over and give Luke a quick peck on the top of his head where he was playing with blocks on the coffee table, before heading toward the front door.

There was a brief moment where my hand touched the doorknob where I felt that I couldn't move. My body stayed frozen, and I realized that the moment I stepped out that door… well, I wouldn't be able to go back. There would be no rewinding and starting the day again after what happened tonight, no looking back and wondering 'what would have happened if I had stayed home and just not gone?'

Because deep down, I think both Paul and I – and everyone else - knew that this wasn't just a simple dinner between friends.

And with an anxiety in my heart that surprised me and an excitement that I refused to question, I shoved open the door.

On paper, this little dinner may not have been a date, but that didn't stop Paul from dressing like it was. It's weird how you see a guy wear the same thing every day that when you see him in something uncharacteristic that it takes you completely by surprise, because Paul looked damn good in what appeared to be brand new jeans that fit so well it should have been illegal, and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows that showed off the veins in his muscular arms. He hadn't even made it to the porch when I stepped outside, and he came to a halt a few feet away from the bottom step, grin nearly blinding when he spotted me.

"Well, you clean up nicely," he stated much too cheerfully, shoving his hands in his pockets as he waited for me to come to a halt beside him. "The dress is a surprise."

I wrapped my sweater tighter around my shoulders, feeling completely self-conscious, but to Paul's credit and my surprise, his eyes barely strayed from my face. "Yeah well, I didn't have anything else appropriate to wear."

"You look nice," he stated simply, looking down at me. "Ready to go?"

I nodded. As ready as I'll ever be.

oOo

The ride to Port Angeles was more awkward than it should have been, because there was that huge elephant in the room that hung between me and Paul - secrets. The conversation was so generic and forced that I had to resist the urge to cringe, frantically searching through my thoughts for a decent conversation topic.

Eventually I settled on one topic that I had been thinking about for much of the afternoon, and figured that Paul was just as good as anyone to discuss it with, but just as I turned in my seat to voice my thoughts, he spoke. "So," he started casually. "How did your... business with Jacob go?"

I gave him an exasperated glance. "Don't tell me you're still on that." At his blank stare, I merely rolled my eyes. "It went fine. Jacob was very helpful."

There was a pause. "So you're still not going to tell me what the two of you were doing?"

"You're hopeless."

"I'm just curious!"

"No, you're nosy," I corrected scoldingly. "I'm surprised you didn't just try to wrangle it out of Jacob."

"I did," he huffed. "He wouldn't tell me, even when I threatened him. Said he was more afraid of you than he was of me, which is absolutely ridiculous."

I snorted a laugh, shoulders shaking. "Aw, am I ruining your street cred with the rest of your little friends?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Paul scowled, but his tone was playful. "And don't pretend that you aren't using it to your full advantage."

I chuckled again and shook my head. "I guess I'll just have to take pity on you, then. I'm buying Jacob's old truck - the Chevy."

Of all things I could have said, that was obviously the last thing that Paul was expecting. "Are you serious? What for?"

"Aiden's eighteenth birthday is coming up in three weeks, so it's going to be a present for him." I cleared my throat, awkwardly smoothing out the bottom of my dress. "I was supposed to get him one months ago - before we ever moved here - but things have just been so hectic, and he needs something to help him get around. He's stuck in the house a lot doing nothing now that he doesn't have his team practices -"

"Team practices?"

"He used to play soccer back at his old school," I explained. "Damn good at it, too. One of the best on the team, in my opinion, though obviously I'm a bit biased. It was his favorite thing about school but Forks doesn't really have much in the way of sports. Just a football team and that's about it, and he's not a big football fan."

"So you think the car will help cheer him up a bit?"

"I'm hoping," I answered, shrugging one of my shoulders. "It won't be what he's expecting, but it has four wheels and an engine and it'll get him from Point A to Point B so I'm sure he'll be grateful."

Paul nodded absently as we pulled up to a stop at a red light, and I noticed that the trees were slowly starting to thin out in favor of buildings and actual civilization. "You're a really good sister. And a good mom, from what I've seen."

"I try my best," I replied simply. Then, because the topic was getting much too sensitive, I changed the subject. "Can I ask you something? It doesn't really have anything to do with what we were talking about, but I've been thinking about it ever since Leah came over today."

Paul gave me a confused glance, the car lurching forward once again. "Wait a second, why did Leah come over?"

"She stopped by the house today," I confessed. "Something about making sure I was prepared for tonight, but honestly, I think she was just lonely and wanted some company. She said – "

"What did she tell you?" Paul forcefully interrupted, sounding both fearful and furious. "Because I swear, whatever she told you isn't true."

I highly doubted that was the case but I didn't voice that to Paul. "Relax, she didn't say anything incriminating. Well, she didn't say anything I didn't already know. The conversation was about you, but not in the way you would think. It was just… something she said in passing confused me."

"Which was?"

I bit my lip. "Reasons behind the conversation aside, she said, 'I'd be the last person to ever judge you on shitty taste in boyfriends and reasons on not having a relationship.' It's probably none of my business but… was Leah in an abusive relationship?"

The immediate response I received surprised me, and the assurance in Paul's voice left no room for questions. "No. Definitely not."

"You sound sure of yourself."

"Because I am sure. Leah's had some bad luck when it comes to relationships, and that bad luck obviously left her bitter and scornful, but she was never abused." Paul shifted awkwardly in his seat, running a hand over his face. "She'll probably kill me for even telling you this, but you would have found out sooner or later so it might as well be from me. A few years ago, before Emily even moved here, Leah and Sam were engaged."

I whipped my head around so fast that I felt a pain in my neck. I felt bad for Leah, yes, but the thought of her with Sam just seemed… wrong. Now that I thought about it, it felt odd to picture him with anyone but Emily. They were just so right for each other, like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly. Leah and Sam… no, their personalities would just clash too harshly - all brass and angst and... superiority. "No way, are you serious?"

"I couldn't be more serious," he said. "They were happy – that's what I've heard, at least. But one day Emily came down to visit from the Makah rez and something inside Sam just clicked. It was love at first sight. Not long after he met Emily, he broke the engagement with Leah, and not long after that he was engaged to Emily." He shrugged. "They've been together ever since."

I snorted. "Love at first sight, right."

"Oh come on, Katherine," he gave me a slightly scolding look. "You've seen Sam and Emily together. You know how great they are for each other; they level each other out. Was he supposed to marry Leah when he didn't feel anything for her anymore? When he knew they were wrong for each other?"

"Of course not," I replied quickly. "But you can't just lose feelings for a person and gain them for someone else that fast. That's not how it works. Those things take time."

"No offense, but you aren't really the first person I'd go to if I'm looking for expertise on relationships and love at first sight."

There was a pause, and an expression appeared on Paul's face that clearly said that he thought he went too far. "Touché," I conceded in the end. "I still think it's shitty deal, though."

"Never said it wasn't," Paul stated sincerely. "Hurting Leah was and still is one of Sam's greatest regrets, but he knew that it would just be better for both of them in the long run. He and Leah were happy at the time, yes, but he knew they wouldn't be happy forever, so it was good that he saved them the trouble. And now he and Emily are happier than ever with a baby on the way –"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself from saying them. "And Leah's got the short end of the stick, stuck hanging around her ex-fiancé and boyfriend-stealing cousin."

It was the first time I had ever seen Paul legitimately angry, his eyes flashing with something close to fury and aggravation, as if this was a conversation that he had had more than once with someone, and with the way he was talking about it, I was sure that this wasn't the first time that he was forced to defend Sam's actions. "Don't talk about them like that," he demanded, his knuckles turning white as his long fingers curled around the steering wheel. "You can't talk about things that you don't understand. Sam and Emily were meant to be together, and if Leah still has trouble understanding that after almost eight years, then that's her problem."

"I'm not saying it to badmouth Emily and Sam," I shot back, tossing up my hands in exasperation. "But Leah is absolutely miserable in La Push; I barely know her and it's not hard to figure out that she hates it here and that she would rather go somewhere else. I don't understand why she doesn't just leave if she's so unhappy."

Paul grimaced, his jaw tightening, and he mumbled something under his breath that I couldn't hear. "She can't just leave," he said firmly. "This is her home, her family is here."

"So?" I asked. "She shouldn't have to spend the prime of her life in a place where she's miserable. She's smart, independent; if she left, she could find a place in the world where she actually has an opportunity to be happy."

I hadn't even noticed that we had arrived at our destination until Paul pulled into a parking spot near the restaurant. "Why are you arguing so hard for her welfare if you're doing the exact thing that you claim she shouldn't be doing? It's no secret that you were miserable when you moved here – I have quite a vivid memory of a sore crotch that will attest to that –"

I frowned.

" – but you came here for a reason, didn't you? Even if you didn't want to? Leah has her reasons for staying. So you either need to practice what you preach or stop arguing for Leah's wellbeing when you don't know what you're fucking talking about."

Silence.

A weary sigh. "Katherine –"

But I was no longer listening. I shoved open the door to his truck, climbed out, and immediately headed toward the door to the restaurant. From behind me, I heard him mutter 'Fuck,' but I didn't even acknowledge the fact that he had jumped out of his truck and was rushing to keep up with me. "Katherine, could you just wait –"

I whipped around, ready to scold him in the middle of the parking lot and not caring that there were people slowing their pace to watch. "Let's get something straight here," I snapped, voice low and threatening. "The only reason I'm staying right now is because I don't want to pay an exorbitant amount of money for a cab back home. Second, I didn't move here of my own accord – I came to La Push because I had to, not because I wanted to, so the two situations are completely different. Thirdly, Leah Clearwater is a grown woman who's been wrongly scorned by someone who probably didn't deserve her in the first place, so she has every right to leave a toxic atmosphere if it's making her unhappy. Hell, I would gladly join her if I could – maybe then I could get away from the idiotic Cro-Magnon's with their 'me man, you woman' attitudes that live in La Push!"

My chest was heaving, having hissed most of my rant in one long breath. Without giving Paul a chance to respond, I stormed to the entrance of the restaurant, stopping only momentarily to snap, "What the hell are you looking at?" to two people who had stopped, gaping in interest, to watch our fight.

The hostess had on a bright smile that instantly faded the moment she saw the stormy look on my face. "Good evening, ma'am; how many in your party today?"

Before I could spitefully say, "Table for one," Paul appeared behind me and answered 'Two.' I frowned at him, crossing my arms over my chest, but he merely raised an eyebrow in my direction. When he moved to put a hand on my back to press me forward, I swatted him away and moved to follow the flustered hostess.

Our table was almost in the very back of the restaurant, in a quiet and scarily intimate corner that appeared to be miles away from anyone else. The hostess barely said two words before she left us alone, and I angrily pulled out my chair, not caring as it scratched against the floor.

"Are you going to pout and scowl at me all night?" Paul asked. "Or are you going to act like a mature adult?"

"Mature adu-" I scowled darkly, shaking my head in his general direction, "Oh, you have got some nerve."

Something glinted in his eyes, a determination and an unwillingness to back down that was very familiar. "I'm not going to apologize for what I said. You're only this pissed at me because you know it's true."

I pursed my lips, not saying a word.

It was at that moment that our waitress chose to appear. When she gave us a hesitant smile, it was obvious that the hostess had told her to use caution when coming up to our table. "Good evening," she said, handing over two menus. "Do you know what you want to drink? Maybe a nice glass of wine?"

I immediately peered at her from over the top of my menu. "What kind of red's do you offer?"

She perked up, obviously glad to be able to answer my question. "We have an Italian Chianti that goes well with any of our meals, especially the oil based sauces, but if you were planning to get a dish with red sauce then might I recommend the Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Masseto?* It's a Merlot and not quite as harsh as the other reds."

"Isn't that the winery that imports directly from Tuscany?" At her confirming nod, I added, "What year?"

"2006."

"Excellent," I nodded. "I'll have a glass of that, and some water, please, with lemon."

"Good choice," she beamed. "And for you, sir?"

The conversation that I had just had with the waitress had to have been absolutely gibberish to Paul, because he was staring at me in befuddlement. I merely rolled my eyes, and turned back to the expectant waitress. "He'll take the same."

"I'll have that out for you in just a moment, then."

When she was gone, Paul leaned forward over the table. "How do you know so much about wine?"

"I like wine," I simply stated. "And I'm going to need a glass if I'm going to make it through this dinner without losing my mind. I take it you aren't really a big wine fan?"

He ignored my obvious dig and shook his head. "Not really," he gave me a pointed look. "I don't really drink."

I sent him a questioning look, and I was sure that my cheeks heated in embarrassment when I realized what he was implying. His father was an abusive alcoholic; of course he wouldn't like to drink. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to order it for you; I didn't even realize –"

"No big deal, nothing wrong with a glass now and then. Besides, alcohol doesn't really affect me as much as it used to – higher tolerance, I guess – but it's really the principle of the thing."

The chair squeaked slightly as I shifted, grateful for a break in the tension when the waitress brought over the tray of drinks.

Now, it's needless to say that our night out didn't really start out as well as either of us had expected. We spent much of the time fighting or saying things that brought too many awkward silences, but it was at this moment that the night finally took a turn for the worse, because when the waitress moved toward our table with the heavy tray of wine and water, she tripped over her own two feet and the glasses went flying…

Right into my lap.

Everyone in the restaurant froze, too in shock to move as they gasped and watched, paralyzed. I stared down at the red wine that slowly seeped into my dress and pale sweater, and the freezing ice water that chilled my already cold skin. The waitress looked frantic and frightened, and Paul had an infuriating expression of amused horror.

Then everything was moving at once. Many people tried to stand to get a better view, while several other waiters and waitresses rushed over to clean up the mess before it got out of hand. "Oh, my goodness!" Our waitress exclaimed, snatching up my napkin from the table to automatically wipe the liquid away from my chest. "I'm so sorry, I can't believe I just did that – ma'am I cannot tell you how sorry I am –"

Across the table from me, Paul was obviously trying to hold back his laughter.

I simply reached out and forcefully took the cloth napkin from her hands, pushing my chair back. Piece of ice and heavy splashes of water and wine fell to the floor, and I grimaced down at the ruined fabric, dabbing at it half-heartedly. "It's fine," I begrudgingly stated, not wanting to cause any more of a scene than I already had, "It's completely, absolutely okay."

With my strained tone and the expression on her face, it was obvious that she didn't believe me in the slightest.

Paul stood and walked around, taking the napkin out of my hands and gently pushing me to the side. "Go clean yourself off in the bathroom, just make sure to watch your step so you don't step on any stray pieces of glass."

I did as he asked, rolling my eyes when I saw the waitress follow close behind, muttering quick apologies under her breath and wringing her hands together nervously, acting like I would suddenly reel back and slap her. She even went so far as to rush in front of me to open the bathroom door, her cheeks bright red.

My shoes clacked against the polished marble floors, and I stared pitifully at myself in the mirror. Dark stains seeped throughout the dress and bits of my skin near my chest and legs seemed to be tinted red from the wine. I grimaced at my reflection, reaching out to take several paper towels to dab at the stains, but knowing that the dress was ruined.

The waitress did the same. "Really, I can't tell you how sorry I am for this. I just tripped, and – oh goodness, those stains probably won't ever come out, will they?"

"Probably not, no," I said honestly, blunt.

If anything, her cheeks went darker. "I'm really, really so-"

"Please stop apologizing," I interrupted, turning to give her a stern look and gently pushing her hand away from the dress from where it held napkins already stained red from where they attempted to seep up the wine. "It's fine. Accidents happen." And they always seemed to happen to me.

She fell quiet, but her apologies were still written all over her face.

I rubbed at my eyes with my free hand, glancing at the pathetic form I portrayed.

"It honestly isn't that noticeable," the waitress said, trying her hardest to be friendly and make light of the situation. "As for your boyfriend – well, he wasn't really looking at your dress –"

I gave her a scathing look. "He's not my boyfriend. And it is noticeable." I straightened myself up, and then softened at the embarrassed expression she bore. "If you'll excuse me…" At my pointed glance, she stepped aside.

Back in the actual restaurant, a tall man that I assumed was the manager was talking to Paul, obviously apologizing profusely from the way his hands were waving back and forth. Both of them looked up when I approached. Paul's lips twitched, but the manager looked horrified.

"Signora," he said, accent light and lilting as he gestured to a bottle of wine on the table, "my most humblest apologies for our little mishap. To make up for it, we're going to give you a free bottle of the Merlot in an attempt to make up for our little mistake, and hope that you won't let this sully your view of our humble establishment."

"Va bene," I replied with ease, but there was a heavy tightness to my voice that I was unable to keep out. Both men raised their eyebrows when I replied in Italian. "È stato un incidente." Then I turned to Paul. "For some strange reason I find that I'm not really in the mood for Italian anymore. Do you mind if we go someplace else?"

He stared at me for half of a moment as if he was going to say something, then shrugged. "Fine with me."

"Grazie for the apology, signore, but I think we're just going to go," I told the manager, snatching up my purse and the bottle of wine from the table. "Buena sera." Without another word, I pushed my shoulders back, held my head high, and walked straight out of the restaurant with whatever pride I held left.

Paul followed close behind, falling into step beside me and twirling his keys between his fingertips. "Well that was... interesting. Since when can you speak Italian? Or is that on a 'need to know' basis."

"Let's never mention it ever again," I mumbled, handing him my purse and the bottle of wine so I could successfully rid myself of the soaked sweater. "And I took Italian in college. I'm not fluent but I know enough to get by if I ever found myself in Rome."

Paul eyed me curiously as I tossed the ruined sweater over my arm, reaching back to take my purse from him again. "A woman of many talents, I see."

I sent him a look.

"Not the time for jokes. Got it."

Once we were in the car, I huffed, tossing my purse to the seat in between us and taking the bottle of wine so that he could start the car. "I cannot believe this."

"Shit happens," he said. "So our plan for Italian food crapped out, so what? No harm done. There are lots of places we could go."

"Like where?"

He hesitated, pulling out of the parking spot. "Well, there's this deli nearby that makes pretty great Panini's. It isn't exactly Italian food with red wine but it's something; one of my favorite places in Port Angeles, actually."

There was something about the simplicity that sounded positively heavenly. "Sounds good to me."

oOo

*'Tenuta dell'Ornellaia Masseto' is a real winery in Tuscany, Italy, and a single bottle of their 2006 Merlot can sometimes go for over $940.

*Grazie - thank you; Va Bene - it's fine; Buena sera - good evening; È stato un incidente - it was an accident.

Next Time: oh, this one is a doozy by far (and one of my favorites); it involves a near miss, heartfelt conversations about experiences, Carlisle Cullen, and Audrey pondering the concept of soul-mates.