A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the delay. Real a/n at the bottom. For now, enjoy!

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Walking away from Bella that morning was torture. All those romantic notions in my Gram's old books were right; I felt a tug at my chest as soon as I left the bedroom, and it grew as my boots echoed over the floorboards, farther away from my girl tangled in the sheets. I hated leaving her alone, especially after the horrors of last night, but I'd given that damn police officer my word.

As I wrenched open the door to the station, I shook my head, thinking I should just head back and make Bella breakfast or brew her a cup of tea—there was no real point to me being here besides red tape.

Walking into the station house made my balls want to shrink back up into my body after only two steps as I was assaulted by a freezing blast of cold air. The outside August heat was oppressive, but who seriously kept the air on that high?

"Boy."

I looked up, knowing that voice before even seeing the mustache. Chief Swan stood behind the main partition with a coffee in one hand and files in the other, raising an eyebrow at me.

Clearing my throat as I walked forward, I said, "Hull-o, Chief Swan, I'm here to speak with agent Strauss about the accident last night. He told me to come in, in case there were any extra questions."

"He's out today. You can talk to me."

"Oh."

Great.

Ten incredibly stressful minutes later, I was released from Chief Swan's bear claws and sent on my way. He didn't need my telling of the incident past the statement I'd given the night before, and a few extra details the Chief jotted down this morning, which took all of two minutes. The rest of that time, Chief Swan, not so subtly interrogating me about his daughter. All I could focus on the entire time—besides being distracted by the Chief's twitching mustache—was a string of internal musings along the lines of: your daughter and I had sex last night. . . three times. . . She was on top, straddling me. . . You own a gun. . . It's on your belt right now. . . I slept with your daughter. . . Christ, please don't shoot my dick—I love her.

Then, in the middle of my ridiculous diatribe of silent guilt, a realization hit me: the Chief was worried about his daughter. It was plain as day and so damn obvious I wanted to smack myself for not being more sensitive. He'd seen the reports from last night—of course he would be. He wanted to make sure she was okay. For a second of pure insanity, I wondered if I should suggest he call her, but then I remembered she hated the phone.

No wonder they wrote letters to each other.

After placating the Chief as best I could without giving too much away about how twistedly devoted I was to Bella, he walked me out of the station house and gave my bike a disdainful look when I climbed on.

"Does Bella ride on that thing?"

My mouth went dry while contemplating if I should lie to the father of the woman I loved. . . who happened to carry a gun. Apparently, my silence was all that he needed as he grunted and adjusted the holster on his belt.

Ho shit.

"She better wear a helmet."

"Yes, sir."

Shaking his head, Chief Swan walked away, grumbling under his mustache about wanting to ban all motorbikes from the local roads. As I drove back to Bella and the bungalows, I wondered if he had the jurisdiction to make that happen.

. . .

Standing on the lawn, I studied the patch of wet grass that had been sprayed too hard to wash away Rose's blood. My eyes went wide with the memories, hearing the screech of tires match that of Rose's wails and the sickening thud of skin and bone against metal.

How had everything become this fucked?

Small hands wrapped around my waist, and my eyes closed, shutting out the screams. There was no awkwardness in her embrace, no hesitation or 'day-after' insecurity, and I sighed from the relief of it. Being careful around her would have killed me.

Her cheek pressed to my shoulder blade, and I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Bella," I whispered.

"There's sweet tea in the kitchen."

I smiled at the gesture, feeling warmed and loved but also hallow in my stomach. Behind me, Bella's belly groaned out its sympathies, and I took her hand in mine and pulled her with me, away from the grass and the porches, down the street towards the ocean.

"Where we going?"

"To get some chow."

Bella's hand tensed in mine, and I tucked her under my arm, holding on tight to her slim shoulders, trying my best to reassure her with everything I had.

"It's early yet and a weekday. Not many people will be around. Don't worry."

She nodded, stiff and strained at my side, but I kept up the pace of my strides nonetheless. It was about time I'd taken this girl out for a meal, and while I didn't consider this a proper date—in fact, my Gram would smack me on the ass for my lack of decorum—it certainly moved us in the right direction.

Tiny steps forward. That's how we did things.

. . .

I gave a sigh of relief as we reached the small cafe along the beach, seeing only a few old men sitting at the makeshift bar inside the opened french doors. I pulled out a chair for Bella at one of the tiny tables on the patio and sat down next to her, so she could rest her head on my shoulder. I enjoyed the feel of her next to me and the silk of her hair sliding down my arm; I certainly wasn't going to complain.

"I haven't been here in. . . ever," Bella said, a note of surprise in her voice.

"Really? But it's so close to the bungalow."

"Yeah, I don't get out much." She looked up at me with a sheepish, knowing expression, and I smiled back at her until the waitress came to take our order.

During the meal she commented on the amount of butter I put on my grits, and I flicked a droplet of moisture at her from my water glass. I gave her a stern look when she pushed away her plate, having eaten barely half her short stack of pancakes, and she poked me in the side for trying to get her to eat another bite.

It was odd being outside and so exposed together. It was different and soothing at the same time.

It was. . . nice. I wanted to repeat it. I told Bella just that, and she agreed with a small nod of her head; my insides jumped at the prospect of taking her out again. The idea of it was more than just a date or a chance to get out of the house. It was a change of routine for Bella, and she willingly accepted it.

Another tiny step forward.

. . .

The lazy, surreal feel of the day lingered as we rocked on the porch swing and looked pointedly away from the dampened patch of grass on the lawn. An odd sort of eerie calm in the air that blew through Bella's hair and tickled at the back of my neck. When the smell of rain came not soon after, I breathed out, accepting the peculiar tension for what it was: weather.

As we walked inside, away from the drizzle coming in off the water, Bella squeezed my hand.

"What were you talking about before?"

"Hmm?" My mind was still stuck outside, watching the oncoming rain.

"This morning. You said you wanted to give me something."

"Oh." I shook my head of its cloudy thoughts and ran a hand through my hair, feeling foolish. "I dunno. . . "

Bella eyed me with knowing wisdom. "Liar."

I snorted and relented, letting go of her hand and walking back out to the porch. "Give me a minute."

Running to my house through the rain, I considered if giving her a gift right now would be extremely stupid or just plain idiotic.

I decided on the latter, since idiocy seemed to always be coupled with unintentional, so if she frowned upon my idiotic gesture, as least I had the justification that it wasn't intentionally meant to upset her.

"God, you're an ass."

Great, now I was talking to myself.

Grabbing the case out of the hallway closet, I quickly ran out the back door of my house and dashed across the lawn to Bella's back porch. For a moment, I wondered if I should knock and then I shook my head since I hadn't knocked on Bella's door in months.

What the hell was wrong with me?

"Jasper?"

I looked up and saw Bella standing inside the screen door, her eyebrow arched. She was so cute when she did that.

Focus.

"I brought you something," I offered, still standing outside.

"I see that. Did you want to come in?"

"Oh, yeah."

I stepped inside and suddenly felt out of place. God, I was making this awkward. Bella was wringing her hands and biting the hell out of her lip. She hadn't done that so blatantly in weeks.

"Jasper!" She sighed, her eyes closed. "You're freaking me out. What the hell is wrong?"

"Nothing. Uh, let's sit."

She sat down hard at the kitchen table and glared at me. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"This morning, when I said I wanted to give you something. . . " I hedged, lifting the case covered in raindrops and placing it on the table top. "I meant this."

Bella looked at me, confused and apprehensive, but I flipped the clasps and opened the lid, knowing she'd be too nervous to do so herself.

Inside was a Dobro. A beat up ol' bastard I picked up off a bluesman down in Tennessee when I was young and niave, but it was the best slide guitar I'd ever owned and probably ever would.

There was magic inside that guitar.

I knew how many stories it could spout out of its hollowed belly, and I knew how well it would fit into Bella's capable, gentle hands. It was a crowd pleaser and a storyteller, which was what Bella needed: a way to tell her story.

The tarnished, rust-kissed resonator looked almost antique, but there was a beauty to the thing that I hoped Bella would appreciate. The guitar was like her: perfect in its own way, despite how the years and previous owners had abused it. I showed it love and a bit of polish, and it played wonders for me, like I hoped it would for her.

"Do you like it?" I asked, unable to hold back.

Bella nodded, hiding behind her hair. I pushed the strands off one side of her face and saw the tears in her eyes.

"Shit."

Her head snapped up at my curse, and she shook her head. "No, you don't understand—"

"I'm sorry, Bella—"

"No!"

I looked at her then, pale and small before me, cradling the guitar to her chest like a child. She smiled at me, weak but steady, and I held back the regret stinging at the tip of my tongue.

"I love it, Jasper."

"Really?" God, I sounded needy.

She nodded again, a tear slipping down her cheek, and I brought my hands to her face, catching the tear with a brush of my thumb.

"Don't cry, cher."

"I'm not," she said as another tear slid down her pale skin. I kissed that one away with my lips.

As gently as I could, I took the guitar from her hands and rested it on the table as I pulled her to me. Her legs dangled over my thighs, and her arms snuck around my waist as I wrapped her up tight and held her close.

"Thank you," I heard, mumbled into my hair, and I smiled into the dim light of the kitchen as the rain came down around us, feeling like I'd finally done something right by her.

"Love you."

"You too."

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A/N: *sigh* I'm tying things up now. Only a few chapters remain, maybe two.

Big thanks to Mac who beta'd this in record time and took down the nasty passive voice passages with an axe and a flourish. I also learned the meaning of the phrase "comma splice" thanks to her. She really is quite something. *hugs* :-)

Till next time. . . thanks for reading!