A/N: Thank you to SunflowerFran and thank you for reading. ;)

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 31

I need to get ready for work, so I place my blooming treasures in my bedroom to protect them from a playful and curious Mr. Oliver. Reaching for Edward's phone number, I place it in the small zipper compartment of my bag.

My eyes fall on the money he left, which must be returned. I place the bills in a small envelope and tuck it inside my coat pocket.

"How am I ever going to thank Edward for his gift?" I moan to my empty living room with only Oliver as my audience. He meows in response, and I wish I spoke 'cat.'

I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to say because a thank you just doesn't seem enough.

And then I think of that kiss...

Groaning, I dash around the house. I brush my teeth twice, irritably rearrange my scarf I don't know how many times before I finally grab my things. I open the door and jolt, muffling a loud screech when a shadowy figure stands.

"Bella, I'm so sorry," Edward says. "I thought I would walk you to the bus stop."

With my chest rising and falling from the start he just gave me, I secure the door and hang onto the knob, trying to regain my wits. I scramble for something, for anything, to convey my feelings to him, my feelings for him.

I grab the handrail and move down a couple of steps to him. Stepping close, I reach my gloved hand up and place it on his cheek. "Thank you," I whisper. "I don't have any words. It meant so much to me."

Reaching his gloved hand to mine, he covers it and presses it closer to him. "Did you smile?" he whispers back.

"So many times."

"That's all I need."

I stare up at him, hoping he can see everything in my eyes; everything I can't say. But they only stay on his for a second or two before they trail down to his lips, his beautiful plump mouth. That dream was so vivid I feel like I've already touched them; like I've already felt them pressed against mine.

But that was just a dream, and those lips, his lips, are right here, right now, just a breath away, soft and sumptuous...

I glance up and his hooded eyes are on my lips, and he licks his, and I want to grab him and crash my mouth to his but instead, I quickly slip my hand from him and step away.

I stand there in the cold, trying to regain my composure.

After a moment, Edward roughly clears his throat. "Well, we better get going," he finally says in a deeper voice.

Without looking at each other, we begin silently treading through the inch of snow that fell during the night.

"I wanted to call you," I blurt.

"My number is only there for when you need me."

We reach the stop, and I adjust my bag. "I can't accept your money."

"It's a gift just like the flowers."

"No, it's not."

"It will hurt me if you don't accept it."

"I just can't." Pulling out the envelope, I push it out to him, but he jams his hands in his pockets. "I'm not a charity case."

Brows pulled together; he steps close. "I would never think of you like that. Ever."

I stare at my boots. "I know."

Shivering, I look down the street before looking back at him. "I don't want it to sound like I don't appreciate your gift because I do. It's just that money is an issue for me. I know it seems like I live a humble existence with my dumpy apartment and how I always take the bus, but I actually have money. I just don't touch it."

He stares at me for a moment. "Well, this money is different. You've touched it so you can use it."

I try not to laugh, but his smile is infectious, so I give in and tuck the 'touched' money back into my pocket.

And a thought hits me.

"Oh. I almost forgot. My mother called last night. She's in jail. She got a DUI."

"Thank God," he says with a "whew" that sounds like a whistle. "Bella, I know she's your mother, and I do not want to be disrespectful, but I am so happy she's there. Maybe I can now stop popping Tums every five minutes."

The bus arrives, and we board. We find a seat together and remove our gloves. The space feels smaller, tighter. He's so close that our elbows rub together. "Thank you for your thank you," he murmurs softly, but I barely hear his words because I'm staring at his lips again.

I cough a little and squirm in my seat before I loosen my scarf because it's a furnace in here. The bus definitely needs to check the thermostat because the heat must be stuck on 'high.'

"You're welcome," I mumble as my eyes dart around everywhere except in his direction.

"Bella."

My wandering eyes reluctantly find his.

"I want to touch you," he whispers.

My eyes expand to the size of tangerines as my lips part, and I huff some wind.

"Just something small," he says before looking down at my hands clasped tightly in my lap. "Your wrist. I want to touch the inside of your wrist."

"Wha...?"

"I'll just use my fingertip. Can I? I need to feel you, Bella. Just lay your arm out, palm up."

I gulp as irregular, quick breaths push from my lungs, and blood rushes through my veins. I cannot let him touch me. That would be inappropriate, but that's ridiculous because it's just my wrist, and we've already had our first date so I guess it would be appropriate, but I've experienced his touch before, just barely and I know what that did to me, and amidst my rambling thoughts and already responding body, I lay my arm out, palm up.

"Pull your sleeve up just a bit," he rasps, his breath heavy against my hair.

With my other trembling hand, I tug just the slightest until I expose the small sliver of skin. With my eyes on the back of the person sitting in front of me, I almost leap from my seat when I feel his finger. Fire licks across my skin before a shockwave of cooled bumpy flesh flashes from my wrist outwards to every inch of my body.

Closing my eyes, his feathery finger traces slowly back and forth along the creased line that connects my hand and arm. It tickles, tingles. It shoots a spearing heat between my legs and hardens my nipples.

"You're so soft," he whispers raggedly. "I'm on fire for you, Bella."

I yank my arm away, every nerve ending igniting. My heart drums—echoing in my ears—yet I can still somehow hear Edward's breath rushing like mine.

It was the simplest of touches, yet the most intimate, and I suddenly feel awkward and uncomfortable like a hidden, naked part of me has been exposed.

"Don't pull away from me because of this, okay?" he breathes against my ear.

I don't answer. I'm still muddled.

"Okay?" he repeats, and I can feel the heat from his mouth in my hair.

Swallowing hard, I nod.

"I just ... I'm so hungry for your skin."

Sitting like a statue, I stare straight ahead with a volcano in my center that has boiling, molten lava about to rupture through the marble.

Clearing his throat, he blows out a quick breath before he leans down and retrieves his ratty notebook from his backpack. "I wrote," he says gruffly before he coughs and again clears his throat. He waits for a few seconds like he's still trying to recover. "I ... I wrote a couple of pages last night. I thought you could look over them. Tell me what you think." He tries to keep it light, normal, but his voice has a thickness, a roughness to it saying something else entirely.

He pushes the notebook towards me, and it takes me a second to revive.

As I silently try to read, my wrist burns from his touch, and I have absolutely no ability to focus. Words blur. My eyes move from left to right, and it looks like I'm reading, but I'm not. All I can think about is the way his finger felt on my skin. But then he starts pointing out parts he's struggling with, chuckling over his perceived terrible sentence structure, and I'm finally able to concentrate and relax. He jokes, making me laugh, and we begin to talk easily until he excuses himself and stands to let an older gentleman with a cane take his seat.

I rub my burned wrist until we arrive downtown. I exit the bus first and wait for him outside.

"Up for another lunch?" he asks like nothing happened.

Twisting my lips, I hesitate. I really don't want him to buy my lunch again. He's already spent too much money on me as is.

"You can't say no. Ever had a Phillychanga?"

I start laughing. "No, I can't say I have."

"It's from Waylan's. Think Philly cheesesteak wrapped in some kind of dough, deep-fried, and drizzled with cheese."

"Interesting."

"No, delicious. And don't say no."

His beautiful face. I just can't resist him. "Okay. I won't say no."

He grins. "Noon?"

I smile my response.

We reach my building, and instead of saying a quick goodbye, we stand there, looks more lingering, knowledge in what we did unspoken but apparent.

We finally part, and I watch him as he walks away. He looks back twice, smiling.

Once inside the bank, I'm tugging my boots off to change into some flats when I see Angela approaching.

"Hey, Bella," she says.

"Hey."

"Wow, yesterday was scary, huh?"

"Yeah, it was."

"He looked like a crack head. Have you ever been in a robbery before?"

"No. I've only been a teller for two years."

"I haven't either, thank goodness, but it makes you think, doesn't it? I forget that our jobs can be dangerous."

"It's a reminder always to be aware."

"Definitely," she says, adjusting her square black glasses. "You seem to be doing better today."

"I am. And thanks for being concerned yesterday. I didn't mean to be so..."

"That's okay. I just wanted to be helpful. I'm still here if you need me."

I think of Edward sitting in the cold on my steps earlier, having woken up who knows when, having parked in who knows what kind of dangerous spot, and having walked who knows how far.

I am not okay with him putting himself out like that.

"Um, I thought I might want to carpool with you. If you don't mind."

"That'd be great."

"Can I ride with you this evening?"

"Absolutely."

All morning, I touch my wrist and stare at it between waiting on customers. Edward arrives at noon, excited to take me to lunch. The unusual chimichanga is delicious, just like he said, but my anxiety makes it difficult for me to eat. Somehow, I have to tell him I won't be riding the bus, but every time I get up the nerve, he grins, or laughs, and his face sparkles, or he makes an animated expression that endears him to me. He looks refreshed and invigorated. I don't want to be responsible for erasing any of it, yet I cannot let him continue troubling himself with this unnecessary nonsense.

We arrive back at my building, and the words are there. I feel them there, waiting on the tip of my tongue, ready to be spoken, but I swallow them down. I chicken out.

My afternoon ticks by so slowly. Customer traffic into the bank stays light, so I have spare time to sit and dwell. My worry puts an ill taste in my mouth and a sickness in my stomach. I want to ride with Edward on the bus; I want him to pick me up in his Jeep. I want to be with him, but I need to put his needs before my wants. He has classes and friends and runs the bookstore and has a whole other life that I don't even know about yet, and he doesn't need to be wasting hours chasing some broken nobody on a bus.

As usual, I find him waiting for me outside, fighting the wintry air. I think of his dependability. A character quality so hard to find in people today.

As he approaches, I turn to Angela. "Can you give me a minute?"

She curiously tilts her head to the side. "Sure, no problem."

Edward doesn't seem to notice Angela. He probably just thinks I told her goodbye. "Hey, there was this estate sale I've been waiting on," he says. "An old professor who taught literature passed away, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I got his entire library."

"Really? That's amazing."

"It is. The books are being delivered on Friday, and I wanted to see what you're doing that evening. I'd love for you to go through the boxes with me and see what kind of treasures we can find." He has that grin again—the one with the sparkles that hurts.

"I'd love to."

He starts walking, but I stay put. "You know," he continues not realizing I haven't moved, "there's nothing more exciting than to see—"

He stops and turns around. I push the words out with effort. "I have something to tell you."

"Sure," he says, his enthusiastic face feeding my guilt.

"I..." I say before I drop my head, disgusted with myself. I heave in some cold air. "Edward, I'm not comfortable with you riding the bus, and this has absolutely nothing to do with what happened this morning. I just think it's too much, and I know you're making sacrifices to do it, and it makes me feel guilty so I'm going to ride with my friend Angela starting this afternoon."

It comes fast and all in one breath.

Just as I feared, I wipe his face clean. He steps close, a chain reaction of fear, panic, and disappointment bouncing around. "We've been over this, Bella, why do you keep bringing it up? I want to spend every possible minute with you. It's not an inconvenience for me; it's a pleasure. It's the best part of my day, actually. Don't you understand?"

"No, it's better this way."

"No, it's not," he says, his voice harsher, louder. "I told you I need to be near you. It hurts me when I'm not. Just let me pick you up. That'll solve the problem."

"It won't solve the problem because it's still out of your way and an inconvenience."

His eyes narrow to slits and his jaw tightens into a square. "Fine," he says bitterly. "If that's what you want, I guess nothing I say is going to matter."

And with a shove of his hands into his pockets, he disappears into the crowd.