A/N: Hello again. Thank you so much for reading. I love hearing from you.

And thank you to Fran and SunflowerFran. Any errors are on me because I fiddle.

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 28

While Edward freshens up in the bathroom, I place two toasted bagels on a small paper plate. After pulling butter and cream cheese from the fridge, I set everything on the table. I pour coffee into two paper cups and some of it sloshes on my hand as well as the yellow countertop.

"Ow," I mutter as I quickly clean it up and carefully wipe my hand.

Starting over, I pour the coffee again, making sure both of the cups have equal amounts before I sit and watch Oliver as he lays on top of a small, plant-less plant stand I bought for him, lazily licking his paws.

Edward steps into the kitchen and drops down into a chair opposite me. "Thank you. This looks great," he says. "How are you feeling? Do you think you can eat a little bit now?"

Reaching for a bagel, I tear off a tiny piece. His hair is damp and slicked-back, and the bags beneath his eyes makes him look like he tussled with the moon all night. And lost.

Grabbing a knife, he slathers on a thick layer of cream cheese. His gray hooded sweatshirt has black scuff marks across the front of it, I'm assuming from moving boxes. My eyes trail to his feet, where his black socks rest, missing their boots.

Leaning back, he takes a big bite. "Mmm..." he hums, nodding, his cheerful yet exhausted eyes widening. It's like I'm feeding him a steak dinner instead of a lowly piece of bread.

I take a sip of coffee and think I should be uncomfortable. Edward is here, right now, eating breakfast with me, yet it feels okay. Like he belongs somehow.

"Your cheek looks better," he says between bites. "The swelling has gone down. Are you in any pain? Any dizziness?"

I shake my head, disguising the fact that I just downed several painkillers while he wasn't looking. "I'm really sorry about last night. What you saw..."

"I'm glad I was here, and there is nothing that could ever happen that would make me change the way I look at you. Nothing."

I don't have any words, so I take another bite of my bagel.

"What are you going to do when she comes back?" he asks as he rests his ankle on his knee. "I'm not going to lie, Bella, I want to take you home with me right now, so I can protect you. The thought of her laying a finger on you again makes me crazy out of my mind."

The bread sticks in my throat, and I choke a little. And take a quick sip of coffee.

"Do you have anyone you could stay with, at least for a little while?"

I know Maggie would welcome me, but I'm not going anywhere.

"Would you consider staying with me? And before you say no, it would be completely platonic. Just a friend helping another friend."

"I can't, but thank you. For everything. I'll be more observant." I don't tell him that I've had no need to be observant because I haven't seen my mother in two years. And that she tracked me down. "I have things I can protect myself with; she just caught me off-guard."

"Will you please reconsider? I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"I'll be fine. I promise."

I need to move again; somewhere where she can't find me, but I just signed a one-year lease, and I don't have the money.

I could touch Jacob's money...

But I immediately shelf that idea. I'll never touch that money. I'll have to come up with another way.

"I'm not happy about this, Bella, but here," he says as he digs a small piece of paper from his jeans pocket and slides it toward me. "It's my number. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing, I'll answer."

My fingertips touch the crinkly paper, and I draw it close. "Thank you."

"I think I'll call a cab here in a few minutes. Do you need to go to the doctor or anything? I would feel so much better if you get checked out. I can take you."

"No, I need to get ready for work."

He holds his bagel in mid-air. "Work?"

"Yeah, it's Monday."

"But you need to stay here and rest. You shouldn't—"

"I have a job, and I need to be there."

I can see the wheels turning ... in the wrong direction. "Is this about money?"

"No, it's not."

"Bella, I have plenty. Let me help you, I—"

"No," I say emphatically. "It's not about money. It's about not letting my mother have the power to interrupt my life."

Picking at my bagel, I feel his gaze on me. His eyes that see me; see beneath my chaffed skin.

"Well, let's at least share a cab."

I don't shower even though I need to. It would be inappropriate, considering the size of my apartment. So after quickly cleaning up the best I can, I get dressed. Leaning towards the mirror, my eyes widen when I see the swelled left side of my face. My whole cheek and eye area are the color of a purple octopus.

Yanking open a drawer, I pull out some concealer and powder that I haven't used in years and do my best to cover it. I tuck both of them in my pocket for later touch-ups.

Avoiding Edward, I rush out of the bathroom and slip on my boots and quickly gather my things. I get down on my knees and retrieve my gun from underneath the couch and shove it in my bag just as I hear the taxi honk. I figure I'll skip lunch today since I didn't have time to make one.

When we get outside, we're both on edge. My eyes scan every which way for her, and so do his.

We don't talk much. We pull up in front of my building, and I let Edward pay. Mom stole all of my cash, so I'll figure out a way to repay him later.

We stand close, me looking up and him looking down as crowds of rushed workers dart around us. The wind wickedly whips, and he mutters a "whoa," and grabs onto his raggedy blue baseball cap that almost flies off. I shiver and pull my scarf tighter. "Does she know where you work?" he asks, and I'm surprised by the question.

"No."

At least I hope not...

"Good. That's good. Would you have lunch with me today? At the bookstore?" he asks.

Nibbling on my lip, I nod.

He grins. "What time?" he asks as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and dances a little due to the freezing temperature.

"Noon?"

"It's a date," he says walking backward, which is the equivalent to walking straight into rush hour traffic. Someone bumps into him from behind, and he nearly trips. "I'm good. Don't worry about me, Bella," he hollers. "I'll pick you up here, on your doorstep. Soon."

I keep my head down as I make my way through the crowd and into the bank. I try to stay unnoticed, like white paint, and blend into the background like I normally do. I'm putting my things away when I hear a voice. "Bella, what happened?" Angela, one of my co-workers, asks stunned.

"Nothing."

"That doesn't look like nothing."

"Well, it is."

"You know there are ways out of these kinds of situations, right?" she asks. Her voice holds compassion, not judgment. "I can try to find something for you."

"I don't need help, but thank you."

"Well, I'm here if you need me."

I nod and busy myself with my bag.

"You can still carpool with me if you want."

"Thanks," I mumble, trying to keep my face hidden. She's asked me several times before, but I've turned her down every time. I keep my head lowered until I hear her footsteps as she walks away.

Instead of being white paint, I turn into bright orange enamel. I catch people staring, hear whispers, customers ask me point blank what happened. One woman gives me a card for a battered woman's shelter. I sneak away as often as I can and check my make-up, but because of my pale skin, it just doesn't provide the coverage that I need.

I check my phone periodically. No calls and no texts. From her. And I find that to be odd.

Noon arrives, and a warm eagerness blooms in my belly. I find Edward inside the bank standing by the rotating doors, his eyes roaming the crowd. The dusty, dark blue parka and baseball hat from this morning has been replaced with a gray coat and a black knit cap. His face is handsomely smooth, but I have to admit I miss the golden scruff that peeped from his skin this morning.

His face brightens when he sees me, but dims slightly when he glances at my cheek. He tries to hide it, but I see it.

"How was work?" he asks.

"Okay. Were you able to get your Jeep? Will you please let me pay something on it?"

"No need. I knew a guy there so I paid practically nothing," he says with a wink.

I can't imagine how much it cost him.

He lets me go first, and I carefully crowd into the rotating doors, making sure not to trip or get my bag stuck. We push our way through the blustery wind down the block and around the corner. The blue awnings on his old building look like they could shred at any moment, but their faded color displays their ability to somehow weather the worst of winters.

Opening the door for me, I step inside and breathe in the warm, antiqued air.

"Hi, Bella," Sue calls out, waving at me. Edward must have told her what happened because I know she can see my face, but her expression never changes. It only reflects excitement at seeing me. "I would love to sit and chat, but I know you two have limited time, so enjoy it."

I give her a small wave back.

"Let me take your coat," Edward murmurs. After hanging it on a rack, he says, "Come this way."

He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to one of the huge picture windows in the front of the store where books are on display. Two battered-looking wooden chairs are pulled up to it, and he has pushed the books back far enough to make us a small table. Two sandwiches encased in wrappers, along with two drinks, sit on the edge.

We share a smile as he pulls out my chair. I murmur my thanks and sit. Staring out over the tops of the books, I watch as people scurry past, and I study the letters NESAM on the glass.

I turn towards him, and he's carefully watching me. "This is perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His faces grows sunny; pleased that I'm pleased.

"I got us some sandwiches from around the corner. I hope you like turkey."

"I do."

We open the packages, and I'm starting to get my appetite back, so I take a bite. We eat quietly for a moment, watching people from our perch behind the books.

"You know, I like the winter and the seasons and all, but it starts to get old. I can't wait for spring," Edward says as he stares out the window.

I follow his gaze and watch the sleet that has just started to fall. The wind sprays icy droplets against his surname on the window, and I watch as they warm and slip slowly down the glass.

My body loosens, and I relax into my chair. The comforting smell and warmth of the store, the food in my belly, Edward's company...

It brings something out in me.

"I own ten acres of land just outside of the city," I say quietly. "There's a lake. It's a deep green, and in the shallows, you can see all the way to the bottom. It's full of bass and bluegill, and you can see them dart back and forth, chasing each other."

My lips curve, picturing it.

"There's a small boat; it's beat up with dents in it but no holes. The place is wooded—full of silver maples, box elders, green ash—and there's a cabin on it nestled between two big oak trees.

"But my favorite place is the dock. It creeps out across the water about thirty feet. I used to sit on the end of it and with my toes splashing in the water, I'd lift my face to the sky, and let the warm rays streak across my face..." I say as I close my eyes and lift my face heavenward.

"And I'd think how truly wonderful my life is..." I finish silently to myself.

Opening my eyes, I stare out the window again. The bell dings over the door, and I hear a customer moving somewhere behind me. Unhurriedly, I people-watch through the glass for a time before I finally look at Edward.

Leaning forward with his head cocked to the side, he looks like he just opened a love letter from an anonymous admirer. Rolling waves of curiosity, wonder, and surprise alight his countenance.

"That sounds like an incredible place," he says.

"It is."

"Do you go there often?"

"I used to. I haven't been there in a long time."

"I'd love to see it sometime."

"Maybe," I say.

But I won't go back.

As I take a sip of tea, the back of the displayed books leaning on their golden easels in front of me draws my attention. "I love this store, the history of these books," I say. "I love to read. I worked in a bookstore in college. Everything was new, though, nothing like this."

"You went to college?"

"Yes. I have an art degree. I'm an artist. I mean, I used to be an artist."

He sits there, immobile, with his mouth gaped open. He sits there so long that I think I've said something wrong. I frown at him, and he finally snaps out of it and scrubs his hands down his face before laughing.

My frown deepens.

"Bella. My mom was an artist. She worked full-time as a massage therapist, but every spare minute she had, she was painting."

"Huh."

I look back out the window. "I worked in a gallery. And I had a show. Once. I sold five of my pieces."

Umbrellas scurry past. I see a pink one covered in flowers and a yellow one with rubber ducks on it. They seem so odd in the middle of winter.

"I sometimes wonder where they are..." I trail off, my mind going to places I don't want it to go.

"Can I see some of your work?"

There's nothing left to see … Jacob made sure of it.

I fold the paper over my half-eaten sandwich and set it to the side. "Um, I should probably get back to work now."

"It's okay if you don't want to show me," he adds quickly. "I completely understand if that's something personal for you."

"No, I just can't," I say as I stand and search for my coat. Within minutes, I'm out the door.

And back to the safety of the bank.

Where I can put on my fake smile and pretend I'm someone else.