Streetlight People
Part Four: Working Hard To Get My Fill

Chapter Eight

A week later found Edward sitting at the breakfast counter at Platt's. His head in his hands and elbows resting on the marble surface, Edward waited for someone to serve him.

All right, not just someone.

Bella.

Bella, Bella, Bella.

He had to stop himself many a time over the last week from consciously looking for her and asking of her. And the prying looks and dissatisfied sighs Esme kept throwing in his presence didn't help. If anything, all the simpering and passive-aggressive behavior fueled to annoy him, keeping him even further away.

No, it wasn't the need to see Bella that had him crawling into Platt's. Really, he hated to be there, he hated that he was bowing down to Bella in whatever game they were playing (as he had indeed begun to think of this situation in terms of a very hard and very complicated game). What drove him out to the restaurant was one simple thing: hunger. When he had woken up that afternoon, his stomach had protested from the lack of nourishment. A trip to his fridge landed him nowhere (though he was almost desperate enough to eat the carton of spoiled pad thai; the only thing stopping him in that regard was that he hated to vomit and bad shrimp was sure to land him on his knees praying to the porcelain god) and the only really decent food he knew was Platt's so he pulled on his big boy pants and drove out.

"Edward." He looked up and saw Esme's falsely bright smile in front of his face.

"I can't deal with you right now, Es," he mumbled, his head sinking back down as his stomach growled audibly. "Just bring me a coffee and whatever Emmett's got ready to go. I'm starving."

As he stared at the white and grey swirls in the marble beneath him, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He knew what it was, who, but he looked up anyway. And when he did, he was blown away.

There she was, bright smile on her face as she served some customers in a booth by the window. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she had cut her bangs to fringe across her forehead. A few wisps of hair had strayed from their place but they only served to make her look natural, effortless.

Damn.

She turned as he was staring and something flashed behind her eyes before being replaced by the sunny bright look once again.

"Good afternoon, Edward," she said politely.

Edward. She called him Edward. He didn't know what to make of it. All he could do was nod in response.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Esme poured him a cup of coffee. He stared at it as she walked away, aware of the way her eyes were glued to him.

Bella walked out of the kitchen, tray balanced on her left hand and shoulder, and as she passed him she slid a plate under his nose.

It wasn't warm, it wasn't appetizing; Edward sat up and poked the pale, doughy looking meat slices. Light, tinkling laughter sounded in his ears and he looked up to see Esme trying her hardest not to fall over.

"Esme, what the fuck is this shit?"

"I do believe, Edward," she giggled, "that someone is trying to send you a message."

"The fuck?" The meat was cold when he poked it and he was pissed.

"You, my friend, are looking at a plate of cold turkey."