Hi. Sorry for the wait on this one. I won't make excuses, because all I have is that I can't write during the summer months. I think the heat does something to my brain. It's been nice and cool this weekend, and the scene I've been editing for weeks suddenly just clicked into place in under an hour. So yay, back to posting.

For anyone worried about it, I just want to repeat that I'm not going to abandon this before the end - I have all but the last couple of chapters and epilogue pre-written, so it is going to be finished, even if my nitpicky last-minute editing sometimes causes worryingly long breaks. So if you stick around - thank you, so much.

Anyway. I hope you guys enjoy this one.

Chapter 14

'Hey' becomes my new favorite word.

'Hey' when he passes me in the hallway. 'Hey' when he comes and stands next to me in Gym. 'Hey' when he walks by my desk in English.

'Hey', murmured on a smile before he bends down to kiss me.

The first time he does it, the day after we make the plan, I can't do anything but smile back in a confused sort of way. At least, I hope it comes off as confused. Maybe I just look nervous and constipated.

It happens by my locker. I hear Emmett's booming laugh, and Edward's softer one, and I'm just distracted enough by my phone to forget to ignore the impulse to look up. They're heading straight towards me, the crowd parting for them as they move down the hall.

He does it perfectly; he turns away from the story Emmett's entertaining him with, throwing me a glance. Our eyes meet — his casual and relaxed, mine wide and surprised — and he says, simply, "Hey."

He doesn't break his stride, he doesn't stop to gauge my reaction. He doesn't even slow down. He tosses the word in my direction, and turns back to Emmett, all in one maneuver.

The next day, he parks his Volvo next to my truck. I'm still sitting inside it, gearing up for another day of school, and I look over just as he gets out of his car. He tips his chin up at me, and then walks away.

In English, it's a smile, and then later, in the hallway, it's that word again: "Hey."

My reactions to these moments aren't at all what I thought they'd be. I don't want to melt through the floor, or disappear. I don't blush out of embarrassment when people look at me, startled, as if they hadn't realized I was there until Edward pointed me out. I don't run and hide in the bathrooms, or feel queasy.

I just feel… seen. Not by everyone else, but by Edward, and I had no idea how much I wanted that until he showed me what I was missing out on.

The next day, I say "Hi" back. His answering smile is beautiful.

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19 October 2011

"Do you want to come over? After school?"

I blurt these words out to him, and he glances over at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. We're in Gym, waiting for Coach to show up and start the class. I've been sitting on the question all day, nervously wondering when I'll get a chance to ask him. I don't think I'll get a better opportunity than now.

"Today?" he asks, shifting on his feet to face me more fully. We're all standing around, more or less in our pairs. I keep my voice low, so no one can overhear.

"Yeah. I, uh— Dad's driving Mom to Port Angeles after work. She has an appointment with the optician, to get new contact lenses or something, and then they're going to go grocery shopping, at that new store, you know? The one your mom likes." I'm babbling, picking at the handle of my badminton racket. Edward watches me with curious eyes.

Last night, when Mom told me about her and Dad's plans, I had a reaction I've never really had before. It wasn't the usual relief at getting the house to myself for a few hours. It wasn't the usual longing to be left completely alone. Instead, it was an immediate orientation of all my focus to Edward.

To thinking about bringing Edward back to my empty house, seeing him in our living room, in our kitchen… In my bedroom. To having him all to myself for a little while, without having to worry about putting on a show.

Our plan has been in action for exactly a week now. I think it's going well so far, but it's kind of exhausting. The way Edward and I actually became friends was so organic and natural — it just sort of happened. What we're doing now is the opposite of that, and I need a dose of the real Edward, and the real me that I am around him.

We've both been busy with school, and him with basketball, so I haven't actually hung out with him in what feels like forever. I'm feeling a little desperate, even though I'll never admit that to him.

"So, anyway, they won't be home until late," I continue, and his eyes go from curious to blank with understanding. "And I thought we could hang out. At, uh, at my place."

He blinks, and blinks again. "Okay." He adds a nod, an awkward, bobbing kind. "Yeah. Yes."

I smile a little, just as Coach opens the door to his office and tells us to gather up for attendance. Edward's head tilts in his direction, but he doesn't move; he seems to struggle to tear his eyes away from mine.

Grinning to myself, I duck my head and walk ahead of him, glancing back over my shoulder only when I hear him jog to catch up.

Later, after school, I head home, watching in my rear-view mirror as Edward pulls out of the parking lot just behind me. It's pouring with rain, droplets pounding like bullets on the roof of my truck. My windshield wipers can barely keep up, so I take it slow. I can almost hear Edward's exasperated sighs.

I pull in to the driveway, and Edward parks on the street. Flipping my hood up, I jump out of my truck and make a run for the porch, a small scream leaving me as the rain picks up in intensity, washing over us like a white sheet. Edward isn't far behind, and he skids to a stop next to me when we're under the roof, laughing as he looks down at himself; his shoes are soaked, and his jeans are wet up to the knee.

"Jesus christ," he mutters as I busy myself fishing my key out of my bag.

We both take off our raincoats outside, hanging them on the pegs by the door. Our shoes are next, but I tell him to bring them inside, so they'll have a better chance of drying.

"Come on," I say, holding the door for him. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

I lead him to the kitchen, dropping my bag by the foot of the stairs as we go past; he does the same. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck, and the fact that we're alone-alone trickles through me, plucking at some string inside my chest.

I turn to him when we get to the kitchen. His eyes move around the room, seeming slightly taken aback by the colors.

I put my finger against my cheek, scratching an itch that isn't there. "Uhm, Mom paints the kitchen every, like, two years." He nods slowly. "She only did the cabinets this time."

The cabinets in question are a bright, cheery yellow. The wall opposite is a dark red — accent walls were all the rage when Mom did that one — and I kind of hate it. A large cork board takes up much of the space, though, crammed full of recipes, receipts, and flyers. I don't think anyone's actually touched it in about a decade. I'm sure there's a drawing I did in first grade under there somewhere.

The curtains framing the window are obnoxiously green, with a butterfly-print. Mom painted the table and chairs to match the cabinets.

It's a far cry from his own granite-top, stainless steel kitchen. Not that it matters, but his at least doesn't hurt the eyes quite as much.

"It's cool," he says, making me laugh. He cracks a smile, watching me. "What?"

"No, I've just never heard my Mom's design choices described as cool before."

He shrugs, stepping closer, all casual-like. "First time for everything. Et cetera."

"True."

He lets his eyes sweep over the place again. Drumming his fingers against the countertop, he says, "So this is where the magic happens?"

I look around, too. Settling my gaze on him, I raise my eyebrows. "Is it?"

"Yeah." He rolls back on his heels, a pointed look on his face. Enunciating very carefully, he continues, "Cookie magic."

I roll my eyes, biting back a smile. Turning around, I stand on my toes to grab the box on top of the fridge. Edward comes closer as I peel back the lid, offering him the contents.

"Chocolate chip. I made them yesterday."

He snags the biggest one he can find. "You're amazing."

I shrug, trying not to be too obvious with how pleased this makes me.

"These are good," he mumbles behind the crumbs. He licks his lips, and I look away, my lungs shrinking for a second.

"Thanks." I put the box on the counter, turning away to grab two bottles of water from the fridge. He smiles with his mouth full, busy chewing, accepting it as I offer him one.

We stand there for a while, him eating, me sipping my water. I try to think of something we can talk about, but then I meet his eyes and find him staring at me, only for him to look away almost playfully. Lips twitching, I watch him until he glances back, and then it's my turn to sweep my attention elsewhere.

I hear him snuffle a tiny laugh, and I watch as he places his half-eaten cookie down on the counter next to his water. I glance up through my lashes, catching his eye. He doesn't look away this time. Brushing crumbs from his fingers, he steps closer.

"Hey," he says, smiling as he gazes down at me.

"Hi," I say back, smiling just as wide.

He slips his arms around my waist, and for a moment, all I can hear is the rain thundering down outside, and the soft sound his fingers make against my shirt as he slides his hands across my back.

He kisses me slowly, and softly, a warm press of his mouth against mine. I wind my arms around his shoulders, slipping my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth, he moves down my cheek and jaw. His lips brush against my throat, and I close my eyes at the feeling. Tightening his arms around me, he buries his head in my shoulder, and I rise up on my toes, hugging him back.

We stand there for a moment, parts of me pressing against parts of him. I can feel him breathing, and I lean my head against his, unable to stop myself from playing with his hair.

"This is nice," he mumbles against my shoulder, and I sink back down on my feet as he pulls away to look at me.

"You're nice."

He smiles winningly. "I know. No wonder you want to make out with me."

I laugh, untangling myself and grabbing the box of cookies and my water. "Do I?"

"Of course you do."

"What makes you say that?" I ask as I incline my head towards the doorway.

"Well, I have a sneaky suspicion, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's loosely related to the fact that your parents aren't home."

Hiding my smile, I shake my head, walking out of the kitchen. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhmm."

Walking ahead of him, I lead him to the stairs and up, pointing out the bathroom in case he needs it. He shakes his head no. Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I head inside. Dumping the bottle and the box on my bedside table, I turn as he steps over the threshold. He takes everything in with curious eyes, his gaze sweeping over the walls.

I tidied up last night, once I'd decided I was definitely going to ask him to come over. My desk is still a mess, and I'm sure he can tell I mostly shoved everything that was on the floor under my bed, but it's clean, and he can't see any underwear, so that's a win.

"I like your room."

"Thanks."

He walks over to the south-facing window, overlooking our backyard, and peeks outside. Maybe he's trying to see his house through the trees. I almost tell him it's no use, but maybe that's a bit too revealing.

I sit down on the bed. It squeaks a bit, making him turn around. He smiles as if he's relaxed and smooth, but the way he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands tells a different story.

"So how do you think our plan's going?" I ask, to get him talking.

He takes a moment to consider it, gaze travelling once again across my room. He walks over to my bookshelf, on the other side of my bed. "It's going okay, right? It's definitely getting easier."

"I think so, too." I turn so I can see him better, folding my left leg up beneath me.

He pulls out my copy of Stardust, smiling as he looks over the cover. He loves Neil Gaiman. "I think Gym is helping. Makes everyone used to seeing us together, you know?"

"Yeah, exactly."

He pushes the book back in place, and taps the hat on my Gandalf bobblehead. It bobbles, as advertised.

He sits down on the bed next to me. Reaching over, he takes my hand and plays with my fingers, studying them in silent contemplation.

With a lopsided grin, I ask, "Wanna make out?"

He snorts. Looking up, he pretends to think about it and finally concludes with a shrug. "Ehh."

Laughing, I bump his shoulder with my own before leaning in and cupping his cheek, pulling him close. His lips are still stretched in a wide smile when I kiss him.

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"I mean, okay, I see your point, but I'm just not that excited about it," Edward says. "I thought it would look better."

"It's the first trailer!" I throw my hands up, staring at him incredulously. "You can at least wait until the second one before deciding the whole movie'll suck."

"But that's the point of the first trailer, isn't it? To get you excited about stuff. I think it looks kind of lame. Really disjointed, you know?"

"You're— You know what? No. You're lame and disjointed," I say, poking him in the chest indignantly. "You're doubting Joss, and I'm not going to let you."

He blinks down at me once, twice, completely deadpan. He's lying next to me on his side, one hand cradling his head, the other next to my hip, his arm across my stomach.

"You're being ridiculous," he informs me.

"Well, you're being dumb. I can't believe you."

"We've had this conversation before," he says, with a measure of exasperation. "You knew I wasn't impressed when we watched it last week."

"Yeah, but I was hoping you'd start to see reason after a few days to sit on it."

"Don't you think it's possible you're the one not seeing reason? Like maybe you're clinging a little too hard to the fact that Joss Whedon's involved, like that automatically means it's going to be amazing? Not everything he does is good, you know."

I stare at him, aghast. "Who are you?"

"I'm the dumb idiot who has some mild doubts about the Avengers movie. Apparently." He widens his eyes and rolls away from me, flopping onto his back.

I follow, putting a hand on his stomach as I push myself into a half-seated position. He grunts, doubling over slightly.

"You love The Avengers."

"I know," he grumbles, lifting my hand away from his stomach.

"No, I mean, you love The Avengers."

"I know," he says, frowning as he imitates my tone.

"You need to be excited on principle. This is your thing, the center of your nerdiness. You defend it blindly, even if it sucks. Especially if it sucks, some might say."

"Did I mention before how you're being ridiculous?"

"You're being ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, you're the one making out with me."

I pull back an inch. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. I'm just saying."

"Saying what? That I'm ridiculous by association? That still means you're ridiculous. You're the source of it."

His lips twitch, on the edge of a smirk. "Maybe, but five minutes ago I was touching your boobs."

I try really hard not to blush furiously. "What's your point?"

"No, no point. Just wanted to remind myself," he says, crossing his arms behind his head. The smirk is no longer on the edge — it's center stage, under a massive spotlight.

Failing spectacularly at not blushing, I fall back on the bed by his side, eyes resolutely on the ceiling. "Gloating is not an attractive quality, you know."

"Says the girl making out with me five minutes ago," he murmurs, rolling onto his side and dipping his head to my neck. He sucks lightly on my skin, before trailing kisses up to my ear. My breath stutters embarrassingly.

"Repeating the same argument over and over doesn't mean you're right," I mutter, slipping my fingers into his hair, clenching tightly.

"Mhmm."

I swallow tightly. "I know what you're doing."

"What's that?" He murmurs the words into my skin.

"You're trying to distract me."

"From what?" His voice is innocent, but with his hand thoroughly exploring the inside of my sweater, it lacks credibility.

"From talking about why you hate The Avengers."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He kisses me before I can say anything back, rolling a bit more firmly on top of me. I arch into him, giving up immediately. I only started talking about the movie because I accidentally brushed against his groin five minutes ago, and I needed a break to get my bearings.

Because things were… felt.

Pressed against.

Made evident. Things were evident.

Or, I guess, thing. Just the one. Singular.

Ahem.

Feeling this evident thing pressed against me had certain implications. Good implications. Great, even. But also kind of scary and nerve-racking implications. And talking about something that doesn't matter was a good way of avoiding a freak-out, letting me come to terms with the fact that Edward has a—… that he— that certain things are… things. Because of me. Possibly more precisely because of my boobs.

Which are attached to me. So by association… because of me.

It's a lot to take in.

But kissing Edward is far better than not kissing Edward, and as things once again become kind of evident, I quickly realize the good implications outweigh the scary ones by an unquantifiable amount.

Edward pulls back just enough so I can see his eyes. I lick my lips, and he glances down for a second, momentarily distracted. When his eyes find mine once again, he looks slightly nervous, and he swallows quickly before asking, "Is this okay?"

At the same time, he flexes his hips carefully, to make it clear what he's referring to.

And maybe I should be blushing, or look nervous, same as him, but my face responds without much input from my head, because the clarity of my feelings doesn't need it. I smile at him, wide and unabashedly, before bringing his lips back to mine without a word.

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20 October 2011

I pull my truck into the an empty parking space at the far side of the lot. I've already spotted Edward's car, so I know he must be here.

Scanning the yard, my eyes land on him after a moment. He's by the front doors, with Emmett — and therefore also with Rosalie, unfortunately — but both Alice and Jasper are there, too, which should hopefully make what I'm about to do a little easier.

I take a deep breath, and reach for my bag next to me on the seat. But after gripping the strap tightly, I freeze. Can I do this? Really? Or am I going to chicken out at the last second?

Motionless, I look at the group again. Maybe if I just pretend Rosalie isn't there. Alice and Jasper are fine, and Emmett's… well, I'm not sure yet what he is. But he's not bad. If anyone else from the basketball team was there instead of him, I'd abandon the idea right away.

So that's something.

"Come on. You idiot," I mumble to myself, ducking my head and forcing my arm to move, forcing my hand to close around the door handle.

I slip out of the truck and land on slightly unsteady legs. My mind goes a little fuzzy and blank. I have no idea what I'm actually going to do when I get up there. I practiced a million times last night, and a million more this morning, but as my feet carry me towards them, I'm no longer sure if what I practiced is going to be what I end up doing.

My inhales start being bigger than my exhales; my lungs stagger and stall, and I turn all my focus on not panicking myself into hyperventilating, which ends up being a good idea — coaching myself to breathe like a normal person means I can't freak out about what I'm about to do.

I lift my eyes once I reach the first steps. They're to the left of the doors, leaning against the poured-concrete planters lining the stairs. Alice stands in front of Jasper, her whole back against his chest, holding his arms wrapped around her. Rosalie's sitting on the ledge, legs crossed and eyes on her phone.

I can totally do this. I'm fine.

I flick my eyes away, pulling my face into a nonchalant expression as I start walking up towards the doors. Just as I glance over again, though, Edward crouches down with his back towards me and starts digging through his bag.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I can't say hi if he's not even looking at me. What if he doesn't hear me? I'll literally die of embarrassment.

My steps don't falter, but the small amount of confidence I've mustered while walking over absolutely does.

At that moment, Emmett catches my eye — he glances away from watching Edward's bag-exploration, and looks straight at me. I'm almost level with them now.

He smiles quickly, but with friendliness, and nods his head at me, as if he's done it a thousand times. A wordless, simple, 'Hey.'

Emmett McCarty just said a wordless, simple, 'Hey' to me.

Automatically, I copy his gestures, a small smile forming as I nod back. My stomach jolts in surprise at the ease of it, but I don't let it show through on my face. I don't think, anyway.

I continue past them, my eyes only sweeping across the top of Edward's head as I turn away. No snagging, no staring, as if I don't care if Edward notices me at all.

My fingers are shaking when I reach for the door, pulling it open and heading inside. I automatically keep walking toward my locker, and the door swings shut behind me.

Well. That didn't go at all how I'd practiced.

Unbelievably, I think Edward's done such a good job of the first phase of our plan that it's now normal for his friends to say hi to me even when he doesn't. I exhale slow and steady as I relax, relief sweeping through me now that the thing is over.

I did it.

Kind of.

Maybe not to the person I'd planned, but I said hi to someone in public, in front of other people. My decision to head into the unknown, to not just stay the same, boring old Bella that no one actually knows or acknowledges, might be easier to pull off than I thought.

I bite the inside of my lip, trying not to smile.

I can't wait to tell Edward.

Thanks so much for reading, you guys.

Until next time xx