Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but Carlisle Cullen owns me.

Pure Morning

Bella Swan's Point of View

I woke up in my bed with a mild headache and serious cotton mouth, but as soon as the memories of the previous night drifted back to me, I found myself smiling.

Carlisle kissed me.

Well, okay, I kissed him. Where I had gotten the nerve to do that, I would never know. It was insane, and reckless, and twelve different kinds of stupid, and for a while there it looked like I had made the biggest mistake of my life. But then he kissed me, and it was the most incredible thing I had ever experienced.

My experience with kissing had been less than stellar. My first attempt at it had been with Jacob. One summer when I was twelve, he and I had been screwing around while Charlie and Billy fished, and I told him I wanted to try kissing someone with tongue, just to see what it was like. We were both sort of awkward and naïve, and neither one of us had any idea what we were doing. But we tried it, and we tried it again, and by the third time we had both decided that it wasn't all that great.

The second had been . . . him. My stomach lurched just thinking about it.

After that, kissing became a tool, a means to an end. There was nothing to enjoy really–at least not for me. Kissing just moved you on to the next step. I thought that was all it would ever be to me, right up until Carlisle's lips had touched mine. At that moment it was like the whole world shifted into color. Everything that had been dull and gray was suddenly bright, vibrant . . . beautiful. As long as I lived, I would never stop craving the feeling of his body pressed against me that way, or his cold hand on my back.

I gave a happy little sigh and rolled onto my side, checking my alarm clock. It was just after seven, and I knew Jacob would be waiting impatiently for me to get up and go over there. Stupid early risers, anyway.

I rolled out of bed and shucked the costume that I had never managed to change out of the night before. I found a pair of jeans and a brown turtleneck and changed quickly, then ran a brush through my hair and went downstairs in search of something to drink.

Carlisle must have heard me coming, and he anticipated my needs. When I got to the kitchen, he was already there, holding a glass of juice and two Tylenol. "Good morning," he smiled, handing them to me.

I laughed. "Good morning. Thank you."

"How did you sleep?" he asked.

I swallowed down the pills, appreciating the orange juice for getting rid of the awful taste in my mouth. "Good. Beer puts me right out."

He chuckled softly. "Have a seat and I'll make you some breakfast."

"Um, actually," I said hesitantly, "I'm due at Jacob's. I told him I'd have breakfast with him today."

His eyes tightened slightly. "That's right, you had plans to visit him, didn't you?"

"Um . . . I mean . . . unless you want me to stay here." What was the etiquette here? I basically made out with the father of two of my best friends, who was staying with me while my own father was away. Was I supposed to check with him before I went somewhere? Would he object to me spending time with another guy?

And what were we? Was this a relationship, or was I just a way for him to pass the time? Yet another secret for him to keep in his very full closet of secrets.

He was shaking his head, smiling softly. "No, of course not." He hesitated. "Just call me if you need anything."

"Okay." I chugged the rest of my orange juice and thanked him for it again before heading toward the door.

"Bella," he said, stopping me with my hand on the knob. I turned, and he moved hesitantly toward me. His cold hands sought mine, drawing it away from the door knob and squeezing it gently. His eyes locked with mine in a heated gaze and he held me there for a long moment, the warmth and intensity turning my knees to jelly, and I leaned back against the door for support. Finally he dropped his eyes and brought my fingers gently to his lips.

"Have a good time with your friend."

"Uh huh," I said, a little dazed.

He smiled softly and left me by the door, disappearing up the stairs.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, before shakily letting myself out of the house. I kept my truck well under the speed limit on my way to La Push, fully aware that my trembling hands weren't responding quite as quickly as they should be.

When I parked in front of Jacob's house, I saw him pull aside the living room curtains, and then a moment later he was bounding out of the house, still dressed in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a white tank top, his feet bare. He pulled open my door and lifted me down out of the truck, wrapping me up in a hug.

"It's about time you got here!" He released me and grabbed my hand, barely letting me shove the truck's door closed before dragging me into the house. "I'm so hungry I was about to start breakfast without you."

He pulled me to the kitchen and picked up a bowl full of a lumpy beige glop.

"What is that?"

"Batter," he grinned. He turned on an electric griddle and sprayed it with cooking spray.

My eyes widened and I stared at the bowl, horrified. "You didn't actually put marshmallows in pancake batter, did you?"

"What? I told you I was making marshmallow pancakes."

"I thought that was a joke!"

He gave me a reproachful look. "Bella, you're going to hurt my feelings."

"You're going to hurt my digestive tract," I countered, eyeing the bowl in his hands. "You're not seriously planning on eating that?"

"Why not? I eat it all the time."

"Does Billy know you eat like this? Where is he? I'm telling on you."

Jacob shrugged. "Sam Uley showed up a few minutes ago and dragged him off to some council meeting."

"He's gone?"

"Yep." He started scooping out portions of batter and pouring them onto the griddle. "It's just you and me, totally unsupervised." He shot me a mischievous grin.

"Good. Because I want to tell you something, and I don't want your dad to hear."

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Really? Is it juicy? What'd you do, knock over a convenience store?"

"Psh. Please. Would I be spending my weekend with you if I had the cash to make a run to Vegas?"

Jacob laughed, spooning out the last of the pancake batter, and put the bowl down. "Okay, so spill. What's the secret?"

I gnawed anxiously at my lip. "I kissed Carlisle."

Jacob dropped his spatula. He just stared at me, not bothering to pick it up again, and I shifted uncomfortably. "Are you kidding me?"

I shook my head, biting the insides of my cheeks.

"Are you kidding me?"

I leaned down and picked up the spatula, unable to maintain eye contact anymore. I took it to the sink and washed it, then dried it with a dish towel and turned back to face Jake.

"Okay, tell me," he said, taking the spatula from me and setting it on the side of the griddle.

"I kind of had a little bit to drink at this Halloween party, and then he checked me for a concussion because, you know, I'm me." I shrugged. "And he was just so close, and so perfect . . . and I kissed him."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "And then he told you to knock it the hell off," he said flatly. "Right? I mean, that is what happened, isn't it?"

I hunched my shoulders. "Kind of."

Jacob drew in a deep breath and turned to check his pancakes. "What does 'kind of' mean?"

"He . . . stopped me and said that it was wrong."

"And . . . that's the end of the story?" Jacob asked, and from his voice I could tell that he knew it wasn't.

"Well, then I sort of started crying, and then he kissed me."

He shot me a disapproving look. "You guilted him into kissing you?"

"What? No! I didn't . . ." Crap. I chewed at a thumb nail. "You think he only kissed me because he felt guilty?"

"Bella!" Jacob cried. "Are you kidding me? I mean, it's one thing to have a cute little crush, but it's another thing entirely for you two to be kissing!"

"Jake," I said, my eyes pleading for his understanding. "It's not just a crush. I'm in love with him."

He shook his head, checking the pancakes again. "No, you're not."

"Since when are you such an expert on how I feel?"

"Look, I get it, okay?" he said. "This thing with your dad, it really sucks. And then Carlisle steps in and saves the day like some superhero, so it's only natural for you to get attached to him."

I shook my head. "It's not like that, Jacob. I've felt this way . . . as long as I've known him."

He gave me a skeptical look. "That's funny, because the last time I saw you, it was just a little crush."

"No. I lied. I downplayed it, because I wasn't really ready to deal with it. I still might not be. The way I feel is just too much, all the time. I need him."

"Bella," he said sympathetically, "we're talking about a married man. With kids."

I chewed at my thumb nail again. "That's actually not entirely true. Everybody thinks Esme is his wife, but she's really not." I looked up at him quickly. "But don't tell anybody that."

"They're not married?" he asked, turning the pancakes on the griddle.

I shook my head. "She's his sister."

His expression was dubious. "And you think that's not just some line he used to get you into bed?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know, you're this close to losing your place as my best friend."

"Please," he scoffed, rubbing a hand suggestively over his chest. "Like you could ever replace this."

"Alice has better fashion sense than you," I pointed out. "And Edward has a nicer car."

His jaw dropped. "Oh, you did not just insult the Rabbit." He pointed the spatula at me warningly. "You'd better watch it, little girl. I know where you live."

I folded my arms and humphed disinterestedly. "Maybe you do. But these days I'm hanging out with a crowd of vampires, remember?"

He laughed out loud. "Damn," he said, snapping his fingers. "I need to conjure the spirits of my dead ancestors and get myself a pack of wolves to take them out for me."

I giggled. "Day-walking vampires versus ghost wolves. You bring the popcorn, I'll get the sodas."

Jacob laughed and started setting the table with plates, butter, and–as promised–butterscotch syrup. I helped him get silverware on, and by the time we were done the pancakes were ready. He scooped them onto our plates, grinning.

I eyed my stack suspiciously. "I'm not sure this is a good idea," I told him.

"Aw, come on." He squirted syrup onto them and letting it drip down the sides. "Don't you trust me?"

"I haven't trusted you since you cut off my ponytail with your dad's pruning shears."

"Hey, we were like six years old. How long are you going to hold a grudge?"

"It depends on how bad these pancakes are." I cut into my stack with my fork and speared a bite, looking at it warily. "It's awfully gooey."

"It's melted marshmallow," he said around a mouthful of his own pancakes. "It's good."

I took a deep breath and then stuffed the sticky mass into my mouth.

I nearly gagged. I chewed a couple of times, my face screwed up in disgust at the overpowering sweetness, and then forced myself to swallow it down.

"Oh," I gasped. "Oh, no . . . oh." I shook my head, wishing it would clear that horrible taste out of my mouth. "There are no words!"

Jacob was laughing uproariously over my reaction, slapping his knee in delight. "You should see your face!" he cried gleefully.

"Tell me this is a practical joke," I choked.

"Aw, don't be like that, it's good!" He cut off another bite and shoveled it into his mouth.

"That's just . . . it's wrong, Jacob. I's a crime against nature!"

He snickered and grabbed my plate, pulling it to him as he swallowed down his latest bite. "Fine. I'll eat yours, and you can just have cereal."

"Cereal!" I cried, jumping up. That would get the vile taste out of my mouth. I fled to the pantry and found a box of Cheerios, quickly pouring myself a bowl. I grabbed some of the dry bits and popped them into my mouth, clearing away the lingering sweetness on my tongue.

"Would you quit being so melodramatic?" he teased.

I laughed and added some milk to my bowl, returning to sit with him. "Jacob Black, you're a terrible cook."

"You just have an unsophisticated palate."

"Those are sophisticated?" I challenged, nodding toward his pancakes.

"Hell yeah!" He took another bite. "Okay, Bella, I have a question," he said, shifting the subject abruptly.

"What?"

"When you and Dr. Fang were getting your grope on . . . how could you stand the smell?"

"What?" I asked, tilting my head curiously. Carlisle smelled incredible; his cedar-and-cloves scent was one of the most enticing things about him. "Why do you think he smells bad?"

"Um, because I've been in close proximity to him, maybe? Whatever cologne that guy wears is awful. It's so sweet it burns." He rubbed at his nose over the memory.

"You're crazy," I told him, shaking my head. "I love how he smells."

He shook his head. "You know what the worst thing about this whole thing is?"

"What?"

"You were at a party . . . where there was drinking." He raised an eyebrow at me. "And you didn't invite me."

I snorted. "You would have hated it. It was lame."

"That's because I wasn't there." He winked at me.

I rolled my eyes. "You have a hard time fitting that head of yours through doorways, don't you, Jacob?"

He shrugged. "So you really made out with the vampire doctor?"

I smiled at the memory of his mouth moving insistently over mine, and his cool hand pressing against my skin. "Yeah." I brushed my fingertips absently over my bottom lip–the lip that his tongue hand brushed across, asking for entrance.

"Oh my god."

I broke out of my reverie, glancing up at Jacob. He was staring at me, stunned.

"You really do have it bad, don't you?"

I bit my lip and nodded solemnly. "Yeah, Jake, I do."

He shook his head dismissively. "Whatever. Can you say jail bait?"

I picked a Cheerio out of my bowl and threw it at him, scowling. "That's it. Edward is my new best friend."