There are just not enough hours in the day! And I'm finding it harder to squeeze productivity into each dwindling hour. I run around so fast trying to cram things in that I have bruises on my hips from crashing into the furniture (okay, maybe I am a bit of a Bella in this respect.)

So here I was actually finishing my chapter in a completely acceptable amount of time and – because I am crazy and distracted and rushed – I accidentally send the unedited chapter to a friend of mine (who doesn't even know I write fanfiction) instead of my beta.

Imagine my horror when I realized my mistake! I'm beyond embarrassed! I'm sure she was thoroughly confused too. I mean, how much sense could she make out of this chapter without the context? She's read the Twilight series though, so I'm sure she recognized the character names. *hides under rock*

So, when I finally discovered my mistake I sent the chapter to my beta and, despite her busy life as a cake-making diva extraordinaire, she rushed this out to me as fast as she could. Thank you !

Disclaimer: SM owns. I'm out of clever ways to say that I am not her and I claim no ownership over these characters.

It is amazing how much things can change in just a few short months. It wasn't long ago that I didn't even consider how unhappy or dissatisfied I was with my life. I just plodded along, going through the motions, getting up every morning with little enthusiasm to go to a job that left me largely unfulfilled. I dated a man who I had no real feelings for, allowing my gay friends to plan and organize my social life for me.

There were moments of contentment – when I wrote a well-crafted line of prose, or when I held a giggling, effervescent Olivia in my arms.

But mostly I was drifting and I felt acutely alone.

Somehow, miraculously, only two months later, I felt entirely different. I'd become a new person, with a wholly reformed perspective on life. The world wasn't frightening; it wasn't boring or dull. It was rife with possibilities, with opportunities.

Even as I drove in the relentless rain along the windy highway that wrapped around Sequim Bay, I felt the optimism flow through my veins. As I got closer to Forks, I was almost tingling with anticipation.

I couldn't resist smiling as I glanced over at the passenger seat where I'd carefully draped my black bridesmaid dress. Black and grey were not very traditional wedding colors, but they were typically Alice. Even her dress was grey - a very simple, but elegant chiffon. And her bouquet was comprised solely of grey pearl roses, wrapped in black ribbon.

I was anxious to see all the wedding details come together, but not as anxious as I was to see one particular groomsman. It had been nearly two months since Edward had returned to San Francisco - the longest months of my life. It was two months of waiting, two months of promises, two months full of blossoming hope and expectations.

I couldn't help but smile when I thought back to all the calls, letters and packages I'd received since we'd parted. Edward's persistence was persuasive; I was convinced he wasn't giving up on us. His campaign was like a slow and seductive dance that didn't just keep us connected, but brought us infinitely closer.

I didn't know if it was his choice or mine, but at first, we didn't mention Heidi when we wrote or talked. Somehow though, I knew that Edward had been good on his word. He told me that he'd returned to San Francisco with a focused mind, hinting several times about the changes he was making.

He began to speak more and more about Forks, his family, and his regrets that he'd gotten so lost. I reminded him of how good a doctor he was, encouraging him to look into finishing medical school. Our conversations were riddled with hope, tentatively optimistic about our possibilities for the future.

Because I knew that if we were ever to have a future together, I had to have faith in the future as well as faith in him. So I trusted Edward and was confident that he'd developed some sort of plan to extricate Heidi from his life. It seemed like he'd jumped to action on his plan because only a few days after Addie's party, I received the first of many packages in the mail.

I remember how thrilled I was when Angela ran to my room with a smile on her face, holding the shoe-box sized package in her hands. I opened it to find a bouquet of dried wildflowers wrapped in yellow tissue paper. There was a small letter in the bottom of the box where Edward explained that he had picked the flowers for me in a meadow in the hills north of San Francisco and dried them so that I could keep them forever.

That night he called. It was one the first of many calls throughout the month.

It was on the phone that we really got to know one another again. After talking with Laurent, I'd realized just how little I knew about the man that I loved and I was desperate to know him better. And for him to know me too.

It was during these conversations that I learned that Edward no longer read poetry, that he loved working with his hands, and that he was teaching himself to play classical guitar. He hated avocados, had developed a love for clam chowder, and on balmy nights he sat on the deck of the boat he lived on and listened to blues music.

I told him about my writing – not what I wrote for the paper, but what I wrote for me. I talked a bit about how I'd met Angela and Tanya and how we'd grown into a family. He asked me about Garrett and other relationships I'd had and though I was reluctant to admit that I hadn't had an emotional connection to any man but him, I forced myself to tell him the truth.

"Can I ask you something?" he prodded gently and I braced myself for his question.

"Okay."

"How many men have you dated?"

"Oh," I inhaled, hesitating to answer. "Only a few."

"A few?" He sounded surprised. "You're a beautiful woman, Bella. You must have had a lot of men interested in you – in college, and at work? Before Garrett?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so…a few…in college…there were a lot of guys around all the time…I got asked out a bunch. But…Edward, I mostly said no. Don't you see? I was in love with you for so long," I admitted. "I just didn't want to go out with anyone else. They didn't compare."

"Oh," he replied and I couldn't help but wonder if he was pleased by my confession or upset by it.

"I just wish…we hadn't lost so much time." It was after admissions like this that I craved to see Edward in person. I wished so badly that we weren't just talking on the phone, that we could touch, hold each other…kiss. And yet I knew we needed the distance. I needed the distance. He still had to follow through with his plan; I couldn't commit to him until he was free.

Our late night phone conversations also often revolved around Alice and Jasper and how they were coping with the aftermath of losing their baby. We were connected by our love and concern for them and our hope that they'd move past the tragedy and be happy once again.

When Alice told me that she and Jasper had decided to go through with the wedding, I could hardly wait to talk to Edward about it. When he called, I blurted the news excitedly, thinking he'd share my joy. But I was met by silence on the other end of the line.

"Edward? Did you hear me? Alice and Jasper are getting married at the end of next month?" I repeated.

"That's only three and a half weeks away." His voice was worried. I could sense the stress in his tone.

"Aren't you happy for them?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Yes, of course I am. It's just…well, it doesn't give me much time."

"Time for what? What do you mean?"

"To straighten things out. I just want everything to be settled. This gives me a timetable. I just hope it's enough time…"

"I hope it is too," I agreed, my stomach all of a sudden fluttering with anticipation. Did this mean he planned to be free from Heidi by the time of the wedding? I was afraid to hope.

"I want…you to be my date, Bella. I don't want…Heidi to be there. At all. I want it all to be fixed by then."

We avoided talking about Heidi on the phone for several weeks. Edward sent me letters every other day or so that said no word of her either. Instead they he told little bits of his day, moments when he'd thought of me, promises for our future together.

Dear Bella,

I went to the farmer's market today and found myself at the cheese vendor's booth. Knowing how much you like it, I bought a large hunk of blue cheese to eat with my baguette. I sat down at the edge of the pier and watched the seagulls fight for crumbs while I ate and listened to the waves lapping at the shore. It was delicious, but it would have tasted much better if I were sharing it with you.

Why is it that everything I do reminds me of you?

You have enchanted me.

Someday soon, will you sit by my side and watch the seagulls and share my bread with me?

Forever Yours,

Edward

I cherished his letters, tied them into little bundles with ribbon and placed them in a box under my bed. I would have written him back, but he asked me not to. Instead he encouraged me to write my thoughts and feelings in my journal and to share them with him when he next saw me.

So instead of letters, I wrote to him each day in the beautiful leather journal he bought for me. I wrote about the man who cut me off in the line at the coffee shop and the parking ticket I got on my car. I wrote about the bizarre horror movie I watched with Tanya about a possessed tire that kills people in a desert town. I wrote about my sore abdominal muscles and the progressively cold weather and the dull ache in my heart that wouldn't go away.

At first, I tried to make most of my journal entries positive or, if writing about the annoyances of life, at least witty. But after a particularly bad day at work, I found myself hunched over my journal, venting about the frustrations of the day.

For several weeks, since we'd had our last altercation at work, I'd been fairly successful at avoiding Garrett. Since I largely worked my own hours, sometimes in the office, and other times at home, I'd been able to ensure that we were not at the office at the same time. But I knew I could only avoid him for so long.

I'd come into work that day knowing I had a meeting to attend and that he would most likely be there. I had stopped at my favorite coffee shop on the way to the office to get a large mocha, thinking it would help to make me alert and raise my spirits. Instead, it just made me jumpy and on edge.

I went into the meeting with my heart racing and my hands trembling. Garrett thankfully kept his eyes averted, looking down at the notepad on the table in front of him, while he twirled his pen with his fingers. I kept my eyes focused on our editor, a short balding man, who was standing at the front of the room, trying to get everyone's attention.

Idle chatter instantly died down as he cleared his throat and began to talk about our current issue in his razor-sharp, blunt way of speaking. He was straightforward, unapologetic in his criticisms, killing ideas and defeating topics in one breath, while developing and expanding others in the next. I was so low in the hierarchy of writers, my articles so irrelevant, that they were never mentioned in these weekly meetings and I often wondered why I was forced to sit through them.

Despite feeling a bit of sympathetic embarrassment for the current journalist that was the target of our editor's biting disapproval, I usually found my mind wandering at these meetings. I'd capture an idea that was thrown around, expound upon it, develop it, composing clever dialog in my head. I'd craft stories, articles, and news stories that no one would ever read, the trains of thought fading before the agenda was even concluded and everyone returned their desks.

One of the main topics that kept coming up was the recent national census data that revealed more same-sex couples than ever before were claiming to be in long-term monogamous relationships, most of them considering themselves to be married. To me, this data seemed to reflect what I already knew to be true – that there were many committed gay couples in this country who simply wanted to create their own family units and live quiet, "normal" lives.

Voices continued to bounce around the room while I thought of how to personalize a potential story, how to garner responses to the data from both the gay community and perhaps an opposing conservative Christian viewpoint. I would focus a story around how the data possibly suggested that we were on the cusp of a general shift in American's perception of homosexuality and the family unit.

Our editor's deep tone as he posed leading questions to one of the news journalists cut through my internal musings. I had already answered his questions in my mind. While they'd been chattering about gay marriage laws in different states, I'd already thought of questions to pose, publications to quote, where to gather supporting data. I felt my ideas and opinions float into my mouth, waiting for me to say them, for me to boldly present them to the room.

I took a deep breath and waited for an opening. When there was a lull in the flow of ideas, I shifted forward in my seat and grasped my chance. Even though I felt the heat surge to my cheeks, I boldly raised my hand, saying, "Excuse me."

"Yes?" the editor asked with an irritated glare and I momentarily panicked, wondering if he'd forgotten my name.

I paused, my eyes searching the room only to land on Garrett who stared at me unabashedly, his mouth hanging open in surprise. His eyes seemed bigger than normal, almost crazed as his pen fell from his fingers and skidded across his notebook.

"Bella? Did you have something to add?" our stocky editor asked, not even bothering to acknowledge that it was the first time I'd dared to contribute to one of these meetings.

"Yeah. Um…I was thinking that a good focus for the article would be on how the census data…um, shows that attitudes toward the gay community are changing. And that we could…um, interview um…"

"Yes, yes, that's pretty much what we were saying, wasn't it, Felicia?" he spat across the room, effectively cutting me off and switching topics to the next story idea.

I was walking dejectedly back to my cubicle when I heard footsteps approaching from behind me. I stopped and turned around to find that Garrett had followed me. I caught him in the process of raising his hand to grab my shoulder, but I stepped back to dodge his touch.

I felt nothing as I looked at him. The meeting left me deflated, with no energy to avoid whatever Garrett had in store.

"You shouldn't have done that," he chided. "Do you really think they care about your ideas?" he asked heatedly.

I opened my mouth but couldn't really think of anything to say. He'd voiced my own insecurities. Truly, I'd been thinking the same thing before he'd approached.

"They all write what they want to anyway. No one really cares what we think," he whispered hotly, grabbing on my forearm.

I snatched my arm from his fingers, feeling the ire rise within me.

"You may be right, but I won't ever get a real piece to write unless I prove myself somehow," I seethed.

"I think you should be happy with where you are, Bella. You're great at writing your column, honey," he said, his tone softening, becoming more patronizing and less hostile.

"You shouldn't reach for something that's beyond you." I took a step backwards, feeling like I was looking at a stranger. Did I ever really know Garrett?

A vivid, but detached memory of Garrett's thin lips clumsily pressing, prodding, searching against mine pushed its way to the forefront of my mind. I repressed a shudder as I remembered how it felt when I allowed him to pull me against his chest, his angular arms locking me in place as his fingers dipped lower, possessively squeezing the flesh of my bottom.

The memory left me cold. Garrett's touch had never moved me, never excited me or had me anxiously hot with desire. When we kissed, and he awkwardly snaked his arms around my waist, I always retreated to somewhere deep inside myself. I had never allowed any man to break through my barriers…except for Edward.

I'd always felt like no one ever really knew me. And yet, I'd never allowed anyone to. Garrett may have used me, but I'd used him too. Having felt a small taste of true passion with Edward made everything else seem like a pale substitute. I'd wasted so much of my life. But no more.

I swallowed my pride and felt a rush of gratitude that I never allowed Garrett into my heart. His words only hurt because they forced me to face reality. Deep down, I knew that there was a bit of truth to what he'd said.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I threw back at him. "Look Garrett, keep your opinions to yourself. You don't get to comment on my life anymore. Understand?" I only felt a brief pang of remorse at my harsh words before I stomped back down the hallway toward my cubicle, flopping down hard into my seat.

I glanced at the bouquet of pale pink peonies that had been delivered earlier that morning and instantly felt better. I opened the little envelope that had come with the delivery and reread the card.

Dear Bella,

I want you to know that I never stop thinking of you. You are always on my mind. When I wake up in the morning, I stretch in my bed and wonder if you are awake yet. While I'm eating my bagel, I imagine what you are eating for breakfast.

When I walk down the streets of San Francisco, I see you everywhere. The woman in front of me has hair the same length as you, though it's not quite the same color. A young girl walking with her father has a tear in her jeans that reminds me of a pair you used to wear.

When I got a cup of coffee at my favorite café I tried to remember if you liked coffee. I sat down to read the paper but couldn't concentrate on the words. I just kept seeing you in my mind, sitting across from me, sipping your drink, smiling your beguiling smile, and warming my heart.

Maybe someday – someday soon – we can get a cup of coffee together and spend some time just sitting and drinking and talking. I can't wait to get to know you again.

I hope these flowers make you think of me as I am always thinking of you…

Love,

Edward

I leaned in to sniff the peonies, inhaling their sweet, though faint scent and pondered my situation. The flowers didn't just remind me of Edward; they felt like a beacon, tugging on me, urging me to him. As I looked at the wild, curled petals, tucked so snuggly around each other, I realized that I had the strength and the courage to do what I needed to do.

I'd felt so stifled, so unfulfilled in my job for a long time. I'd never quite applied myself because I'd never completely embraced the process. I knew I was a good writer, but writing about honey farms and eccentric artists was not really what I wanted to be doing. Somehow I'd lost my way. I never set out to be a journalist. It was no wonder that my career was floundering. I didn't even want it.

I grabbed my bag, my laptop, my notebook, and my vase of flowers and marched out of the building. I wished it was for the last time, but I couldn't quit my job until I had some sort of plan worked out.

I didn't often take a bath in the middle of the day, but I needed the comfort of the warm water. My body felt relaxed, but my mind was whirring with errant thoughts. I wanted to figure out what my next step would be, but I couldn't focus; all my ideas were incoherent, jumbled. Edward was the only clear thing on my mind. He invaded every dream, every notion, every fantasy I had.

I saw us together as he often painted us in his letters – sitting side by side on a bench near the wharf on a breezy San Francisco afternoon, drinking coffee in his favorite café, holding hands as we walked down a busy downtown street – and could almost feel it in my grasp. I could see us taking a bath together, my back resting against Edward's broad chest, his hands on my thighs.

I placed a hand on my breast as I imagined his hands roaming across my stomach and up to my nipples, the soapy water making them slick and sensitive. My eyes fell to the silky tendrils of my dark hair as they spilled down across my breasts. A tremor of tingling energy shot to my core as I shifted my hips, widening my legs.

I slowly moved my hand down my body as I closed my eyes, dropping my head against the edge of the tub. My fingers meandered along the ridge of my stomach, crawling slowly downward when I heard a startling creaking sound, followed by the squeaky grinding twist of the bathroom door knob. I shifted my weight with my eyes trained on the door, sending a wave of tepid bath water sloshing over the side.

"Hey baby," Tanya cooed as she stepped into the steamy room.

"Tanya! Get out!" I yelled, covering my breasts with my hands.

"Oh, come on, Bella. I've seen your glorious breasts before." She waved her hand in my direction, reluctantly turning her gaze away.

"Why are you in here? Can't you give me a few more minutes?" I whined imploringly.

"No," she said plainly, plopping down onto the toilet seat and turning back in my direction.

"Your phone has been ringing incessantly since you got home. I'm trying to work on my thesis today and it's really starting to mess with my mojo. Plus, you've been in here for like an hour. That's plenty of time to get your groove on," she smirked knowingly.

"I wasn't getting my groove on." I huffed, splashing my face with water so that she couldn't see my blush, momentarily forgetting to be modest.

"Yeah, whatever. Don't you need to work or something anyway? You usually take your baths at night."

"I just needed one. I had a bad day," I explained, scooting down so that only the top of my head was above the water. I ran my fingers through my hair, ignoring the muffled rumbling sound of Tanya's words.

"Huh?" I asked as I slid upward, swishing the water around me.

"I asked you if you want to talk about it," Tanya repeated. Her expression turned from playful to serious in one breath, her obvious concern for me reminding me why I put up with all her quirkiness. She may not respect my boundaries, but she was a good friend and she genuinely cared.

"Not right now. I need some time to think things over first."

"Okay," she said as she stood. "You know where to find me."

"Thanks. Give me a few minutes and I'll get out and deal with my phone," I said to Tanya as she walked down the hall, leaving the bathroom door wide open. I swallowed back my irritation, knowing that Tanya just wasn't wired to consider that I might want some privacy.

I heaved myself out of the tub, dried quickly and padded across the hall to my room. My phone beeped at me twice while I tugged my yoga pants onto my damp legs. I huffed in irritation when I was finally dressed, flopping down onto my bed and finally glancing at the little screen on my phone.

Six missed calls from Alice. My heart jolted in my chest. Why the urgency? I dialed her quickly, hoping with all my heart that something bad hadn't happened this time. While I listened to the phone ringing on the other end, I was reminded of all the things that had been left unsaid between us – all the things we needed to discuss. I wondered if it was she was going to finally ask me about Edward – about what she suspected – or what she knew. I almost hung up - not sure if I was ready or if I would ever be ready – when she answered.

"Bella, I really need to talk to you," she blurted in lieu of hello.

"Oh…okay. What's up?" I asked timidly.

"Well, I've been trying to talk to you about something, but stuff has just gotten in the way. I was going to bring it up at dinner the other night, but things…well, they were just weird. It didn't seem like a good time." She sighed heavily, pausing.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"I just don't want to wait to tell you about this anymore," she said, piquing my curiosity. It didn't sound like she was talking about Edward. The tension rolled off my shoulders and down my back. I scooted backwards on my bed, getting more comfortable.

"Go on," I prodded. "Whatever you need to say, I'm here for you," I added.

"Oh, it's nothing bad…nothing like that. It's actually really good – an opportunity," she explained and I recognized the hint of excitement in her voice.

"What kind of opportunity?" Her excitement was catching. I could feel it surge through me. I stood and began to pace.

"I don't want to say too much over the phone. And I don't know how you're going to take it. I mean, you might not even be interested." I continued to pace, my toes squishing into the shag area rug.

"If you don't want to tell me over the phone - when?" I asked.

"Whenever," she squealed enthusiastically. "I know you're busy with work, but can you come over…like now?" she asked impatiently and I could practically hear the smile in her voice.

After the day I was having, work was the very last thing on my mind. I welcomed the distraction. "Sure. I'll be there in fifteen."

Thank you for reading! Please leave me some love. 3