A/N: At an appointment with sis, for sis. 5 hours in a crummy hospital chair, balancing a laptop, while I'm cramping on my second day. So, here you go, another (short) chap you can file under, "WTF was that? I hate this fic." I'm gaining sooo many fans. LOL. But I hear ya, and I get it, and I love that there is love and hate for these characters. I think I love and hate them, too. Thanks for your honestly. Let's get these two slowly together so we can move on with life (or at least mine), shall we?

Happy almost Friday.

Chapter 26 - Close

I slam the door and lean on it, shoes dangling from my fingers. I launch them across the floor and pull my hair over my face to cover it with bunched-up hands. I scream a little and fall over the bed.

Someone's knocking at the door. I jump up. I straighten and look through the peephole. It's Kate with a bottle of wine in hand and two Solo cups.

I let her in.

"So? How was it? I want to know everything, because I'm bored with a man who's asleep in bed and not fucking my brains out right now."

I sit on the bed again. I play dumb and shrug. "It was fine. All fine. Everything was lovely, and the food was good, and all was… fine." I clear my throat.

She stops pouring a heaping portion into a cup and looks at me.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't take an hour blow-drying your hair and dealing with your shit so you can come here and tell me it was fine. Start talking. Now."

I sigh. "I mean it. It was fine. Everything was fine," I repeat on a loop.

I fidget.

"Up until, you know, I made out with Masen by the bathrooms like a dirty, filthy porn star. And all while Townsend waited at the table. I'm a two-timing whore!" I dive onto pillows.

Kate screams for joy. Wine splatters everywhere. She's cross-legged on the bed and jumping.

"Oh, my God! That's the best plot twist a sucker for romance could ask for!"

The pillows muffle my screams.

"How in the hell, woman?" She's practically screaming the words.

I tell her moment-by-lip-sucking moment.

"Every night after that? He said that?" She falls back. "Man, I didn't know he was that intense. Why didn't I fuck him before you did?" she says. I glare.

"Because he's mine!" I gasp and slap my mouth shut.

Her eyes go big. She dies laughing. She rolls and rolls on the bed until she falls over onto the floor. It goes on for a good half hour.

I just sit here, red and rage inside.

"What was that?" she shouts from the carpet below.

I shake my head. "I don't know what just happened," I argue. I don't know anything. Not yesterday. Not tonight. Not ever. She doubles over again. I roll my eyes.

"Fuck off," I spit. Then my shoulders are bobbing along with hers. I kick her out of the room, her laughter loud the entire way out. It's an off night, and I need to be alone.

The shower pounds down on me. I don't see tiles or soap or steam, just him. I'm a walking zombie until I climb into bed. It's pitch dark but for the images of his eager hands and mouth, like once upon a time before our lives parted. It takes all of me not to rush out of here to find him.

Damn him for what he did, what he knew he was doing. And me for falling for it. I let out a growl and stare at the ceiling. I tumble over sheets until I find comfort and sleep.

Tuesday isn't any better. I'm daydreaming when I'm not looking over the streets, wondering if he's walking around. I'm hoping I run into him, grab his hand, and skip work for the day.

Townsend is sweet but hesitant at work. After the kiss last night, I was a mess. He could tell something was off. We paid the bill and left. We were in the lobby when he kissed the back of my hand, the one that gripped Masen's hair just minutes before. He left, and that was that. I think I'll definitely need to fill his position soon.

I take the elevator down to the street after work. Masen is standing there.

My excitement is tangible. I suppress it.

Kate grins and lays a hand on his arm as she passes by. She leaves us. He looks at me, fire in his eyes as he extends his hand for me to hold. I do without question. Might as well. This is going straight to shit now. I've given in.

We walk down the streets quietly. For blocks, his greeting is in a form of soft lingering kisses on the back of my hand. It's a different man doing the same gesture; only this time, it blossoms in my belly, making me nervous, excited, and breathless.

"Hungry?" he asks, relaxed and calm. I sigh contentedly. I've missed this, us. We were a great team.

"Very."

We settle in a comfortable silence. He looks both ways before crossing streets and pulls me close. I watch him. His confident strides and ease navigating down the busy sidewalks are fascinating. He shuffles his steps to keep me on the safe side, away from other pedestrians and bumping shoulders. He always did take charge of everything he did.

He stops by a street stand and waits behind a lengthy line.

"Trust me?" he asks. I look toward the front. I see the chaos of many people waiting for tacos. Our aim is a small and humble stand that's piping steam and has workers moving quickly.

I look up at Masen. "Of course. I love tacos. Seems like these are good."

"The best." He grins. "I'm going to show you all my favorite places."

I bite my lip to contain myself from smiling silly big.

He chuckles low to himself. "What?" I ask.

"I was always in search of places to eat. I don't cook, so I had to or I'd starve."

I smile. "So, what you're saying is that brunch from the other Saturday was all purchased?"

His shoulders drop. "Fuck. I'm an idiot. Corner deli. I hid all the bags down the trash chute."

I giggle and knock his shoulder with mine. I dare to. I lean into him and wrap an arm around his. I blink slowly when I feel his warm lips linger on the crown of my head.

We're up in line. He takes charge of the ordering. The workers are loud and obnoxious, but he's shameless and concise. He catches me staring as we wait for our order. He winks and steps up to grab the hot pouches from a worker. I redden and try not to melt right into a drain close by.

We sit by heavy pedestrian traffic and people-watch as I munch on the world's best tacos. I can't take it. I groan. He looks over and chuckles around a bite.

He reaches over to give me a bite of his that's different; spicy and citrusy. I hesitate, but he insists with a hum and a nod.

His eyes are on my lips when I lean in. The flavors explode on my tongue. I groan and close my lids. This is better than any fancy restaurant you have to dress up for. Fingers, napkins, and a drink are all you need.

"Dude, I've been missing all of this? What in the heck?" I protest, mouth full. He laughs and throws his head back. I watch him and realize that maybe you'd also need a great companion, preferably one so good-looking.

When he sobers, he catches my stare. We stupidly linger there, nursing the feeling. He pops a finger over to wipe at my lip. I redden.

I rush for a napkin as he continues eating, licking his fingers dry, index first, his jaw going. His sleeves are pulled up, his arms leaning on bent knees. Crazy how street food can be this captivating to watch when he's involved.

I flush all over.

We don't say much. It's not like we need to. Just being together is enough. The streets are loud with people. An open market lines the road we walk onto, so we shop around. He finds this hideous baseball cap, and that's when I know he hasn't changed much.

"It's already broken in," he argues, bending the bill. I reach up and slap it off. I pull on his arm. He just chuckles behind me.

"You've been doing great. Don't ruin it," I say, tugging him along like a tugboat.

"You like what I've been wearing?" He gives me a look.

I don't need to look at his attire. I've been watching him for an hour now. The way he moves and looks in his jeans. The shirt that looks like he purchased it elsewhere, not at Walmart. His leather jacket I could slither my hands over and commence to devour his exposed neck. Leather shoes, not ugly sneakers, on his feet. Oh, I've looked.

"Who's been dressing you, anyway?" I ask instead of answering him. He smirks.

"You like it."

"I asked a question," I point out.

He makes a face. "Sam, I guess. And this girl at the studio."

I kind of stop in my tracks and look back at him.

He ignores the pause and keeps walking, a smug grin playing at his lips. Touché. I see how it feels now, questions forming and riling me up. I don't ask. To my relief, he continues to speak.

"She and her husband have a family-owned tailor business," he enunciates. I roll my eyes. "She gave me the contacts and told me to grow up, basically. I guess my attire wasn't great for PR or whatever. Sam just looked at me with disgust every time I'd meet him. I never see him without a suit on." He shrugs.

"Thank God for small miracles… and tailors," I say. He nudges me. His arm comes around my head for a quick lock. I laugh.

"Well, you look good," I mumble after a block of walking silently. Too good. I don't look at him.

"Does that explain the odd shopping spree you lavished me with?" I sneak a peek at his face. "Your newfound love for… fashion?" I tease, but I really want to know.

He's sheepish. He shakes his head a little, trying to find the words. He's kind of red all over.

"That bad, huh?" He scrunches his nose.

I shrug. "Surprising," I say.

"Nah. That was just a stupid suggestion from this guy at work and an overly dramatic 'I owe you' for the shoes. Lesson learned. Never get pointers from guys, let alone single ones."

It takes a moment, but he smiles to himself. "Did you at least enjoy it?"

I look away. This time, I smile. "Well… Maybe you should ask Kate. She took advantage of it more than I did. I only got a bra." And a dress he's already seen, but I don't say that part. "Don't worry. I'm having her return everything."

"That little shit," he says chuckling. He shakes his head. "Ah, well. Guess she deserves it, with all the bullshit I've put her through. I've bothered her too much. She's probably sick of me."

Curious, I ask, "When did you bother her?"

He's hesitant for a second, but he's smiling with embarrassment. He bites his bottom lip. It reminds me of how he bit mine. I hold myself together.

"When I found out you were in New York and when I wanted you to see the gallery. I probably drove her nuts."

"Oh." I think on this. "So, you wanted me to see the photos."

He looks down at me like I have two heads. "Of course. It was my best work and you looked… still look…" He shakes his head. "I wanted you to see how unbelievable you are."

We walk silently for a while. I let the blush settle. His words, his praise—they always set this fire off, making me feel big.

"A bra, huh?" he says suddenly. He bites the inside of his cheek, all smug and trying to keep the smirk at bay. He fails.

I roll my eye and scoff. "The one detail…"

He looks down at me like he has x-ray vision. "What color?"

I elbow him hard. He has to catch his footing and chuckles low.

"That's not all I got, by the way. I got a number." His smile turns to a skeptical look. "You're looking at the new potential model for a spread on Vanity Fair."

He furrows his brows.

I grin. "This magazine editor recognized me in Saks and gave me her card. Weird, huh?"

He looks far away, over the sidewalk and street, lost in thought. "Wow," he says. He looks proud.

For a long moment, he just watches me as we walk. "Will you do it?" he asks.

I shrug. I can't speak. I thought he would laugh at the incredulousness, but he's serious.

"I know her, you know. She had a project with the studio for some photo shoots. I can make it comfortable, get you in there. We can take the shots."

I laugh. "Right! That's ludicrous. I would never… It's hilarious she would even come up with that."

"Not even if I took them?" He watches me.

I sigh. How did we make this turn? But just imagining him with a camera in those hands of his kind of does something to me.

"You don't see yourself, do you? Everyone sees, but you." He rolls his eyes. "You're gorgeous, Bella. It's a wonder why so many men follow."

Instantly, I remember what he said once, on my couch, trailing his finger over my skin. He said those words, "Drive men wild." Lies. Apparently, all men but the one I want.

Said man walks silently beside me with his hands in his pockets, and all I want to do is hang on for dear life, pound my fists on the pavement, and plead for him to fight for me above all other men.

"It bothered you… last night," I say.

His jaw goes sharp. It relaxes again. He licks his lips. "Did it bother you?"

I don't expect that answer, but I know what he means. I ask myself if it did. His presence. His patience. That change in him. Then the knee-buckling kiss. No. Those things didn't bother me. They ignited something in me. They woke me. I've decided.

I peak at him from under my lashes.

He finds my eyes. "Like hell," he answers my question. I look away.

"But it's your choice, your life. I won't interfere… or try my damn hardest not to." He guiltily refers to the kiss. "And it was obvious. You never were good at hiding your feelings. Anything he said rolled right off you. You looked terrified."

I'm appalled. I scoff. "How are you so sure?"

"Because there's one thing I know like the back of my hand, for years now, and that's you."

I swallow heavily. All I can do is sigh, breathe, swallow the tears. I look over the streets and keep them at bay again and again. It takes a few more tries.

I see his hand between us and remember that hesitance once… but not anymore. I slip my hand in his, fingers woven together, because regardless of it all, we're here and I've chosen him.

I always have.

He takes my hand and does what he does when there are no words left: he places a lingering kiss straight to my heart.

...

We don't speak until we're leaning over the railing, watching the sunset over the Hudson.

He's behind me, his cheek by my ear, his hand trailing invisible lines from my fingers to palm. When he gets to the left hand, his index follows the ring finger. It warms my limbs with the touch, but I still tense a little.

"Where is it?" he whispers. I bite my tongue. I look over the water.

He gets it when I don't answer. It doesn't hold him back from turning his head and skimming his lips over my cheek.

"Why did you give it to me?" I ask. He pauses for a beat, his sigh coming slow and soft.

"I couldn't find it in me to return it. I bought it for you. I thought you should have it."

"To have and to hold, or neither?" I feel him grin behind me.

"I don't know. I guess… I'm too much of a coward to make it clear."

"Why? What do you think I'll say?"

He hums. "Probably to fuck off. And then you'll run away." I push a laugh through my nose.

He's quiet, though. I dare to look at his profile. He's serious, sad even. I let him get out whatever's on his mind.

"Thing is… I don't want you to run. I never did."

"But you did." It's a low blow, but I say it.

"Right," he admits. His eyes squint at the fading sunlight. "But it was only because I was… certain I'd ruin you."

I shake my head. "You're not able. It's not your job to ruin me; it's mine. There's no giving something up on presentiment alone. Your family history won't repeat itself, if that's what you're afraid of."

He buries his face in my hair. His nose skims my neck between strands. "How are you so sure?" he whispers.

"Because if you would've asked, I wouldn't have let you go." I tell him point blank.

He seems to freeze over, the regret palpable. I grab his hand regardless. I place it on my neck. His fingertips find the ring hanging on my necklace inside my trench coat. He rubs the warm metal, and then he wanders. The ring falls back in place, heavy on my chest, as his hand delves deeper into my shirt, right over my heart.

"Close enough," he says about the distance between the two. I try not to react when my chest warms up to him, too, so quickly, like we've never been apart. The words are true.

Again, I swallow thickly when he turns my head toward his. A soft kiss. He doesn't know I'd answer him right now, without fear or thought, if he dared to ask the question.

He doesn't.