I've been a terrible fail in replying to reviews lately, but I listen to all your encouragement and criticisms, and sometimes I'll elaborate or lessen, so you do influence me. Thank you for every word you send.

Love to Ipsita, Nic, VampyreGirl86, and SarcasticBimbo for your help with this rather long chapter.


Chapter 29

With so many ideas to include, the answer for Maria turns into a small essay. She's surprised but delighted when I hand it to her, stating she never expected me to deliver it so soon. I tell her the perfect world concept gave me the freedom to think without boundaries, but that many of these answers were already in my head. Until now, I've been focusing on the things I don't want, and I've tried to write this from a positive perspective.

As she reads, I imagine what it would be like to inhabit that world.

I live in a small town, in a place with four distinct seasons and snow in winter. The nighttime sky is full of stars. My house is near mountains and forests, where it's not uncommon to sight a wild animal, but still an easy drive to a major airport. Agreeing with something Edward said, there are people living nearby, sending comfort in the lights from their homes.

I have a vegetable garden, a compost bin, and even a few chickens. I'm still undecided about a dog. People feel welcome to come and stay, and I bring out my grandma's good china when I entertain.

My partner is someone who can embrace my ideology of protecting the planet. We're not so similar we never disagree, but our arguments enhance our relationship. He is accommodating with my friends and family, just as I am with his. It's important he trusts me and my love, and understands there is travel in the career I've chosen. We'll travel together and come home inspired by what others are doing in the world. He is open to trying new things, enjoying different cultures, music, and ideas. We are equals who stay together because we want to, not because we've signed a contract that says we're legally married. I don't see a reason to go down that path again.

Maria looks over her glasses. "Your aspirations are simple, Bella. You have no desire for wealth?"

"I do want to be comfortable," I clarify. "I don't want to live in a shack and freeze in winter."

She stares at me and asks, "Have you spoken to him yet?" right out of the blue.

Shaking my head, I don't have to qualify who she's referring to. "No."

"What you've laid out here shows you've come a long way in just a few weeks, and he has reached out to you once. If Edward is the partner you see in this future you've described, then you have some decisions to make. He won't wait around forever if you don't give him hope."

What? The thought of losing him makes me feel sick. Surely, the Edward I know would tell me if he was going to move on.

She must see the turmoil I'm in because she adds, "We'll talk about it some more on Wednesday. Everything will be fine."

By the time I get home, I'm trembling, itching to call him, but what do I say? Defining my perfect world for Maria is one thing, but I don't know how to go about achieving it. Angela asks me what's wrong, and I look at her but shake my head, retreating to my room, rehearsing endless versions of a conversation that might end with him rejecting me.


The next morning, it's chilly and bleak. I haven't slept much, but I have to finish the Rainier images if I'm going to meet the deadline. This eastern edge of the park is somewhere I've never photographed before, and my mind drifts to other locations I'm missing by tying myself to Washington. I've known for a long time that living in Seattle will never fulfill me. I will always come back this way to visit my parents, but it's definitely time to find somewhere new.

The photos I'm submitting are sunsets and sunrises, swirling fog, cotton ball bridges, and milky water flowing over stones—even the misty hat that sat atop the mountain for a brief moment in time. Surprisingly, the one shot I can't part with is Mike Newton, staring in wonder at a bashful marmot. I only discovered its potential when I zoomed in and saw the two subjects sharply focused in an ideal composition, and felt it was worth keeping for something important. Mike's expression encapsulates the reason people come back to national parks again and again—the magic in connecting with the natural world.

After I send in my images, I follow up with an email, asking for advice. I need to find new avenues of work, and there are several photos I took in Yellowstone that are good enough to submit, but I don't have a contact. The response I get is more than I could have anticipated. Receiving an offer to recommend me, I email back immediately, thanking him for his help.

Sifting through the shots from that exceptional trip, I try not to linger on those containing Edward. The rest of the day becomes a blur of filters, tints, and contrasts—most of which I abandon. I know I'm trying too hard when the primeval essence is already there in the photographs of the hot springs, enhanced by the ominous sky. Once I start trusting my instincts, I find a dozen images to submit, and hold my breath when I send them. They only need to accept one to open the door that could lead to work outside of Washington State.

In a perfect world, I would be shooting in Rainier, Yellowstone, Crater Lake, Redwood, Yosemite, Death Valley, and Joshua Tree.

Coming out of my room, I interrupt the lovebirds in a passionate kiss. They're different in their own place, and I'm starting to feel like an intruder, reminded of how Edward and I were when we were alone.


Wednesday is name change day, and I have to present myself at the King County District Courthouse at ten o'clock to submit my petition, birth certificate and divorce papers. Approval and signing doesn't take place until one, but at least I'll get it all done in one day. The official papers won't arrive for weeks but, after today, I can officially begin the daunting process of changing everything back to Isabella Swan. The enormity of the task reinforces my decision to never change my name again.

Killing time, I drive over to REI. I love getting my hands on all the cool stuff they sell in the store, losing myself in the camp and hiking section. As I'm parking the car, my phone rings with "James" on the screen.

"James," I answer curtly, wondering if he knows he's been found out.

"You're a nasty little bitch."

"How so?" I answer, quite taken aback, but interested to hear what I'm supposed to have done.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Esme Cullen called and cancelled the campaign."

Whoa. That got my undivided attention.

"Nothing to do with me. I haven't spoken to her in weeks."

"You liar. She called me a snake and said she doesn't want her family's name associated with our agency."

I can't help the laugh that tumbles out when the word suits him so well. "It sounds kinda personal, James."

"This is payback for the other week, right?"

He's wrong if he thinks I've wasted my time on retribution, and I refuse to acknowledge his actions inconvenienced me when I'm more than happy with the shots I took. Knowing James, the swap took place because he was covering his ass for missing something he should have taken care of.

"I told you I haven't spoken to her."

"Jake called me, Bella. I know he told you it was me."

"Aro Volturi, James? Seriously? Jake only confirmed you're not very clever. You forgot to make the booking for your photographer, didn't you?"

"Fuck off."

"Yeah, I thought so. Now everything makes sense." I smile to myself, pleased I guessed correctly. "Did Vicky make the call to the ranger service and postpone on my behalf?"

It takes him a couple of seconds to respond. "Correct."

"And you have the nerve to call me a nasty little bitch."

"Jake was supposed to accompany you."

"Like that was ever gonna happen. He's a snake, like you."

"Look, I'm going to be in deep shit over the loss of this campaign, and you're going out with her son. Couldn't you speak to her for me?"

That's the end of this conversation—he's unbelievable. "Bye, James." I hang up, curious about what went down for Esme to cancel the contract, probably losing money in doing so.

Maria is amused when I tell her about James, saying she loves it when people get what they deserve. She questions me about Esme, pointing out it shows Edward cares deeply for his family, wanting to protect them from someone like James. I can't help pouting, admitting I thought she'd suggest he did it because of me.

"Bella, we're talking about the same man who got on a plane and came to your rescue. Why would you doubt he cares for you?"

"Okay," I say, promptly put in my place.

"Now, get yourself comfortable." She hands me a glass of her delicious white wine. "I'm going to talk tonight." When she sits down with her book of notes, I park my butt on the couch, eager to hear what she has to say.

"I'm ready," I announce, taking a sip of the wine.

"I haven't found any of the usual causes of low self-esteem in your background. You maintain a healthy relationship with parents who love and support you. You have suffered trauma, but I think you dealt with that very well without outside help. However, I see isolation from your peers and young men in general while growing up. You said none of the boys asked you on dates because your father was the chief of police, but you did have acquaintances and attend parties, so it wasn't like they ostracized you. I think you discouraged them, preferring your close friendship with Angela and the company of your father with a fishing rod in your hand.

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with wanting to spend time with your dad. Those experiences have led you to find a fulfilling career, but you skipped a formative part of your life where you learn about men—how to tell the good ones from the bad. When you've never held a sweet boy's hand, or received a love note or even a flower, your complete lack of experience exposed you to someone like Jake taking advantage of you.

"Essentially, he's been restraining you for years, and now you see the open door, you're fearful of what's on the other side."

I look away with tears in my eyes, amazed she's come up with these insights in just a few sessions.

"And yet people who live with this kind of fear don't easily come up with a bright future like you have. It takes many sessions to let go of negativity and see yourself free of the constraints in your past, but you did it on your own in one weekend."

"I did say I had most of it already in my head."

"It shows me you're resolving this on your own. You're stronger than you think."

I tell her I don't understand how I missed Jake controlling me, and she says there were no obvious warnings in anything I recounted. She asks me to imagine a frog that startles and jumps away when it's exposed to hot water. The same frog, placed in cold water and gradually heated up, will become accustomed to the change and not distinguish danger until it's too late. It's kinda gross, but it makes me understand and feel grateful I got out before I boiled alive.

"I can't forgive him, Maria."

"Well, it's unlikely he'll ever ask for forgiveness. For what it's worth, I don't believe Jake ever meant to hurt you. From what you've told me, his world is one-dimensional, focused purely on something he sees as a right. In achieving it, he finds his escape."

I look at her and frown, not grasping her meaning.

"When a mother abandons her family and leaves a child to care for a disabled father, the child yearns for a time when the enormous responsibility is over. It's a terrible thing to process, racked with guilt and all kinds of strong emotion, and don't forget Jake had no siblings to share the load or moderate his behavior."

"It's no excuse," I state, accepting there's definitely something in what she says, but knowing he had help from the Quileutes.

"I'm not asking you to excuse what he did, but you've called him a monster and condemned yourself for marrying him and, in my experience, very few people are evil. We all have our defects and reasons. Some of us recognize them and try to do better. Others don't see them or can't face them. Jake's situation and bundle of character traits make him unique, and he's all you've known, so don't make the mistake of comparing his conduct to anyone new."

I drop my head to my hands and start crying. With Maria's warm arm around me, so many pennies fall into alignment at once. I'm actually not a fool after all, and neither is my father. We were both trying to fix someone, not understanding how badly broken he'd become. I should have seen it in Jake's cold disinterest when I gave him countless opportunities to talk about his mother. Maybe he was finding escape when he gravitated to the Swans because we had what he didn't. Sadly, it may have been because we were the only people outside the tribe who accepted him.

Blowing my nose, I can't help regretting he never sought help, because he could have had everything he wanted. Now, I'm not sure what he'll become, but whatever happens is not my problem.

"Are you all right?" she asks, offering me a box of tissues.

"Yes." I look at her, feeling an inexplicable freedom, like a weight I didn't realize I was carrying has gone. "Much better," I add as I dab at my eyes.

A plate of chocolate squares appears on the coffee table—wonderful, smooth, jaffa. She watches me closely as I lick my fingers when the third one goes down.

"I have two more questions for you. You say you weren't ready for a new relationship so close to your divorce, so why did you jump into one? If the answer to the first question is what I think it's going to be, then tell me what it will take to bring this man into your world."

When I start to reply, she stops me. "Uh-uh. I want you to do an exercise." Walking over to a cupboard, she pulls out several sheets of paper, handing them to me. "These will help with your answer."

Looking down, I recognize the list of questions Angela had me answer about Jake.

She must have got them from Maria, and now I wonder who she evaluated. Her parents? Did she use them on Ben?

We don't have a date for the next session because it's about to get busy, and I hug Maria like I've hugged my mother many times, not knowing when I'll see her again. This goodbye has that same feeling of uncertainty.

No one is home when I come back, and I sit on my bed and stare at my phone. I want to call him so badly, but Maria has asked me to do the exercise, so I pull out her sheets and revisit the things that make or break a relationship. Jake scored poorly in nearly every category, but when I look at them with Edward in mind, it's easy to see why the attraction was so strong. I don't really know his attitude on bringing up children, but I've seen him with two nieces who adore him, and I can only guess it's because they know he cares for them.

The list makes me ashamed of the way he would rate me. If I have a hope in hell of getting him back, I have to think about his happiness from now on.

I pick up my phone and text him. "I'm sorry." It doesn't seem like enough, but it's the only place to start.

A minute later, he sends back, "So am I," and I pause, worried he's telling me he's sorry we didn't work out, but I take a big breath and respond. I'm so sick of being scared.

"You have no reason to be sorry."

"Oh, yes I do."

Smiling, I hear him say the words in my head. We might be okay after all. Gathering up every bit of courage I possess, I call him, and he speaks before I can even say hi.

"I should have listened when you kept saying I was rushing you."

"I hate that I hurt you by pushing you away. All I can say is I was in a bad place after Jake..."

"If I'd stayed, we would have ended up fighting."

"Yes, and now I've had time to think over a lot of things."

"And?"

He deserves more than a half answer. "Can I have a little more time? I promise I won't take long."

I hear him sigh. "You take as long as you need. Call me when you're ready."

"I will, Edward." I don't want to screw it up by telling him I've been seeing a shrink, and seconds pass before either of us speaks.

"Well, it's great to hear from you, Bella."

"I have wanted to call you so many times. I miss you."

"I miss you, too, and I'm here. Anytime, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you," I answer with tears stinging my eyes. "I'll call you soon. Bye."

Hanging up, I flop back on the bed and replay every kind word he just said. I love him, and I will find a compromise where we'll both be happy.


Photographing Tyler's team in the lead up to Fashion Week is exhausting. I've always known he is a perfectionist, so I shouldn't have been surprised at the early starts and late finishes, unpicking and re-stitching, temper tantrums and high-pitched phone calls over unavoidable delays.

The first model I meet is Laurent, a stunning man from New Orleans. He's arrived early so I can take photos for a small catalog Tyler plans to distribute. He's also using the photos to launch his commercial website.

At twenty-five, Laurent has been modelling since he was seventeen, and he makes no secret of his ambition to model for Tyler when he's famous. He is easy to photograph, especially when the clothing oozes class. My friend is a master with a perfectly positioned pleat. His talent has always been in tailoring and an appreciation of quality fabric, and every suit in this collection is made from wool blends. They fall so beautifully, without creasing, hugging the human form without being tight.

We edit as we go, shooting in color, but creating a black and white version for the catalog. Getting the contrast right is essential when Tyler wants to highlight the subtle sheen in the fabric, the gloss on a black leather belt, or the reflection in the "C" belt buckle he has designed as a signature piece. Other shots reveal a seductive stare, a hand thrown casually in a pocket, a jacket slung over a shoulder. Laurent has all of these looks in his basket of tricks and he's just as good showing off the elegance of a long coat when we take him out walking in the street. Tyler knows exactly what he wants, making it easy for me to use the skills I have to achieve it. He plasters my cheeks with kisses and grins when he gives me the go ahead to upload the finished images for his graphic designer.

All sixteen models are in town by Tuesday, so it's chaos juggling final fittings with their haircuts, skin treatments, and manicures. They are a mix of age and race, and Laurent quickly takes over as alpha of the group, charming everyone with tales of his past.

He demonstrates how they are going to display Crowe's apparel. Rather than changing, the models will return to the catwalk after stripping off layers from overcoats right down to their slacks and shirts.

The collection is not haute couture, so Tyler's showing is on Friday. He has designed a range of ready-to-wear attire, intended to span the gap from business wear to evening dress. Tyler's aim has never been to adorn the shoulders of the rich and famous for a couple of weeks and discount the rest to clearing houses. He wants people to feel good about saying they own a "Crowe" jacket or pair of pants, pieces that will remain in their wardrobe for years.

During the fittings, I note the suits are black, charcoal, navy and plum. The classic dark themes come alive, however, with the introduction of highly colored waistcoats. We're not talking cyan or yellow, but the autumn hues are no less striking. Alistair soon emerges as another leader, appreciating the concept immediately and showing off his talent. I can see already they're going to be great.

Tyler's female models, Gianna and Siobhan, have similar suits, fitted perfectly for feminine curves. When I see the change of shoes for the warmer months of the year, I tell him I'm seriously coveting one for myself. He says he'll make me one for free if I walk down the catwalk, scoffing when I admit I'd probably trip over and ruin the show.

Thursday is rehearsal day, and Ben is with us, so I confer with him, taking shots and adjusting for the interior lighting as the models practice to music. It's a vibrant remix of something I recognize, more poppy and synthetic than I remember, but it works on the catwalk and I'm dancing along with the models as they do their stuff.

"Is this that Gwen Stefani song?" I ask Ben when he comes up and watches.

"No, it's a remix of the original from 1984."

"Really? I honestly thought he'd drag out George Michael for this one."

"Nah, way too expensive," he says, bumping his hip against mine. He has to rush off to King Street Station where he'll be working at the technology, art and music exhibition taking place concurrently with the fashion shows.

People pull Tyler in many directions at the meet and greet at the Thompson Hotel. He and Laurent are even interviewed for the live stream being broadcast for the event. When they start drinking and networking, I get to go home at a reasonable hour before our big day tomorrow. Everything is ready, and it was good to have a practice run today, but it takes time to ferry everyone over to Union Station. Tyler kisses both of my cheeks and spills champagne on my shoulder. On my way out, I take one of his new catalogs, admiring the shot of Laurent on the cover before shoving it in my bag.

I come home and dump my camera bag on the dining table. While the last week has been fun, I'm ready for the whole thing to be over.

"All done?" Ben asks, brewing a cup of coffee.

"Yep," I answer, unpacking my cables so I can start charging. "He was right in his element tonight. He doesn't seem stressed."

"God, I hope he pulls this off."

"I think he will. The clothing is outstanding." Suddenly, I realize I have the catalog with me, so I pull it from my bag and place it on the counter. "Take a look for yourself."

Leaving him to his coffee, I go into my room and insert a memory card into my laptop, copying the images over before I start uploading. I've done very little editing this week, my main priority making sure I don't lose the images I've taken. Tyler is coming over next week to sit down with me and choose what he wants.

I'm plugging the chargers in when Ang pokes her nose in my door. "Did you finish?"

"Yeah, we're ready. I'm over it, though. Once I'm happy with this upload, I'm going to bed."

"Good luck tomorrow," she says, squeezing my shoulders.


When I arrive at Tyler's studio, they're already rolling the garment rack up into a truck, and Tyler's physically reacting to every wobble and jolt.

"A little early?" I ask, worried he's freaking out.

"Slow and steady, Miss Swan. Slow and steady." I pull out a camera and take a few shots of him and his babies leaving for their big coming out, feeling very confident he's headed for success.

Inside, Laurent is directing everyone, making sure they all know the drill. He pauses and looks at me closely before continuing, as if he's imparting top secret information. He's been amazing this week, taking the pressure off Tyler when needed, and I walk around and record them all listening to their final instructions.

When we arrive at the venue, the team is restless, waiting for space allocation for makeup and dressing, so I escape when I feel the tension rising. The Great Hall at Union Station looks fantastic. The dome and the arched windows form an interesting backdrop to the event.

Finally, we're ushered in to our given area and black cloths are spread on the tables. Even though this is mainly a group of men, there's a ton of makeup and product being laid out. They each take their turn in the chairs, given deeper set eyes, hints of lashes, cheek contours and edgier jawlines. Tyler inspects every finished product, even snipping a few imperfections he sees in their hair.

People stare when the boys strip down to their underwear, making me wonder if some of them have worked professionally before. Most of the males I've worked with in the past thought nothing of being seen naked.

It's intoxicating watching Tyler with his hands on his garments, and I try to capture the movement and feeling correctly. He loves the fabric and the lines he's created, perfectly fitted and finished. With ties matching the color of their vests, I have to admit there are some fine-looking men in this group.

His tailored suit was one of the first things that attracted me to Edward Cullen, and now I wish he had agreed when Tyler asked him to model.

I'm pulled from my daydream when they remind us we're next, and I find my way down the back. White folding chairs line the outside walls with two rows down the center, making the circuit a U-shape, rather than just an up and back, and I spot Angela and Ben sitting at the side. The previous designer is bringing her models down together and everyone is applauding. In fifteen minutes, this will be us.

Taking over from the previous photographer, I remind myself I have a job to do, and I'll stand in front of anyone with a phone held high if they get in my way.

The music starts and Alistair strides out confidently. He's stunning in black, all the way from his shiny shoes to the collar of his long overcoat. As he walks, he's undoing his buttons, and suddenly, nearly every woman in the crowd lifts her phone. By the time he reaches me, he's pulled the coat to the side, revealing the suit underneath. With a wink, he struts away up the other side and out.

Following him is Gianna, in another long fitted overcoat and fabulous boots peeking out from the hem of her pants. Her coat has an oversized collar, so she only has to spread it and undo one button for a peek at the jacket and cleavage beneath. Spinning, she gives me a quick smile before moving on.

The music dictates the speed of their steps, with a new model appearing every thirty seconds. Each outfit looks different, but there's a common sexuality in every walk down the runway as if they feel good in the clothes. It wasn't alive like this during practice yesterday.

Gradually, they strip out of their suits and show the variety in their waistcoats. The girls' necklines are round and lower, and Laurent's is very low, complementing his bow tie beautifully.

They come back for a final walk, some in just shirts, casually undone, others still wearing their ties with their jackets slung over their shoulders. The girls are now in those shoes.

When Laurent finally disappears from view to loud applause, I know that Tyler has done it. There are even people on their feet when they all come out together, but I only get a chance to take a few photos of them enjoying their triumph before it's time for the next group to start. As I work my way out the side door, I feel sad Tyler didn't get to see any of it, or feel the electricity they created for him. I only hope there's some of it in the photos I took.

Ben is hugging Tyler when I reach the dressing area, and I make sure I capture them. Angela hugs me as well, as if I played a part in it. I'm honored to have recorded this for my friend, and I'm crying when she lets me go.

After group photos, we join them for drinks back at the studio, where I show Tyler some of the images from tonight, but he's distracted by other people wanting his attention. Then I see his response to Laurent kissing his lips, and realize it was obvious they were bonding during the week when Tyler was giving him more and more freedom to manage the models. It certainly paid off, and I can only wish Tyler the best.

Ang and Ben grab a lift with me back to the townhouse, and Ben opens a bottle of wine while I take my bag to the bedroom, plug in my memory card and start copying. When I come back out, I look at the catalog, sitting where I left it on the kitchen counter.

"I still haven't seen this," I state as he hands me a glass of wine. "What did you think?"

He glances at it, then gives me the strangest look, so I turn it around to face me to see if something's wrong.

The cover is perfect. His graphic artist has found the right crop and place for the single word CROWE without compromising the image. It looks fine to me, but when I turn the page, I narrow my eyes, finding shots of another model, wearing Tyler's clothes with the same backgrounds as those I used. They're all close-ups that don't show his face, but I've seen enough of that body to know those slim hips and broad shoulders when they're in front of me.

Did they honestly think I wouldn't recognize him?

"Who took these photos, and when was he here?" I ask, understanding why Ben was being weird.

"Ang?" he calls out for support, and I instantly know they're all in on this.

"When was he here, Ben?" I persist.

"What's up?" Angela asks innocently, smiling when she sees me. I hold up the catalog to face her, and her eyes fall on the images of Edward.

"Oh."

"When were these shots taken?"

"Yeah...Edward didn't fly home right away."

Stunned, I ask, "Where did he go?"

"He stayed at Tyler's place."

Glaring at her, I'm angry, finding out weeks later, and I pace up and down, trying to get my head around them keeping this from me.

"Don't overreact," Angela cautions, side-eyeing Ben.

I plonk down on the couch and pick up the catalog, taking a closer look at the pages. It's impossible to tell these shots were taken by two different photographers.

"So, Edward goes to Tyler to find out why I'm a nut case."

"We don't know that—only that he stayed there."

"And Tyler gets something in return for information." I toss the catalog on the coffee table to demonstrate my point.

Angela stares at me defiantly. "Tyler would never take advantage of him, and you know it."

"Why did you tell me not to call him?"

She looks at the ceiling before her eyes meet mine again. "Because you weren't ready."

"Does Edward know I've been seeing a shrink?"

"No, of course not. That's your own private business."

"How long was he in Seattle?"

Ben answers. "I drove him to the airport that Wednesday. I didn't even know he was here until then."

Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I sigh, knowing I could be jumping to conclusions. Downhearted, I ask, "What did he say in the car?"

"He was still pretty pissed at Jake, and said everything was going great until he fucked up the weekend. He stuck around in the hope you'd call him back."

God, he was waiting here the whole time while I slept and felt sorry for myself. "It's a wonder he doesn't hate me."

When I press my fingers to my eyes, Ben puts an arm around me. "He doesn't hate you, Bella."

"I called him, you know, and he told me to take all the time I need."

"Probably a keeper, then," he says, tapping my knee.

Looking up at Angela, I see her eyes brimming with admiration for her man. As she leans down to kiss him, he rubs her backside, and I so desperately want that same intimacy with Edward. All of a sudden, it's clear the whole time I've been thinking about a perfect world, I've been picturing a solar-powered house at the base of the Beartooth Mountains, and he's always been there, sharing it with me.

All I have to do is go to Montana.

Taking my phone to my bedroom, I know it's too late to call, and we can talk whenever he has time tomorrow, but I'm bursting to tell him I've finally made a decision, so I send a text now.

"I need to talk to you."

Thanks for reading xo