o

"Of course you'll be happy," she laughs, and tickles his chin.

"I'm always so broody," he complains. "You said so yourself."

"You're not broody, Edward. You just take things to your heart."

She smiles, her blonde curls sparkling in the sun until she dissolves into bright light.

o

Edward groaned, fumbling for the bedside lamp and downing a glass of water.

Earlier, he had gone to his studio while dialling Bella's number, sitting in his armchair as they talked. And talked. For almost two hours. Time had flown by while they shared childhood memories and favourite films, TV shows and anecdotes about their dogs.

They'd only said goodbye when Bella hadn't been able to suppress her yawns any longer.

"You need to sleep, sweet girl."

"I know." Another yawn.

"I'll call you tomorrow?"

"I hope so."

"Okay. Good. Splendid."

She'd giggled softly, but it merged into another yawn.

"Sleep," he'd said. "Sweet dreams, sweet Bella."

It had taken them another ten minutes to say goodbye, and when he'd ended the call, he had resumed working until after three.

Now, it was six, and he was horribly tired. He switched the light off and buried his face in the pillows, visions of dark eyes and soft lips guiding him back to sleep.

.

He met with his agent Michael later that day. Michael had been pestering him about the new exhibition, and Edward finally felt confident enough to set a date. Michael wanted to know everything about the new series of paintings, but Edward was reticent. He'd know in time, he said, and that had to be enough.

Michael grumbled that Edward was his most difficult client, and that he might be so much more successful if he opened up a bit more, doing a bit more press, attending a few more events.

"Yeah," Edward replied, patting Michael's shoulder. "And that is exactly the reason why you are my agent, Mikey. For leaving me alone."

Edward bought some vegetables on his way home, already looking forward to Bella's advice. He spent the afternoon painting, losing track of time as he flourished in his profession.

His fingers and forearms had splotches of blue and yellow as he took a break around seven, going to the kitchen to fetch a glass of wine and call Bella.

"Hello!"

His heart hiccupped at the sound of her voice.

"Hi, It's me, Edward."

"Yes, I know." She laughed softly, and it was the sweetest sound. "Even my prehistoric phone has caller ID."

"Oh, good to know," he chuckled. "And here I was trying to be polite."

"You're nothing if not polite, Edward," she said, and he had a flashback of last night. She'd felt so fragile and warm in his arms, instilling this crazy urge in him to protect her.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Meh. Boring."

"Did you work at the Barbican again?"

"Yes. Same procedure as yesterday. Coffee, lunch, coffee."

"And tomorrow?"

Edward sat down at the kitchen table and took a sip of wine.

"The same!" She sounded exasperated, but in a sweet way.

"Oh dear. I hope he pays you well."

"He does. And it's usually fun to work with him and Alice."

"You're friends with them?"

"Yes. I've known Alice for years."

"Do you work the weekend as well?"

He was drumming his fingers on the table.

Was he moving too fast? Too fast for her? For himself?

Was he ready to move on?

After five years?

Edward squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

Yes, God, yes, he hoped so.

oOo

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