While some parts of their living together fell back into familiar patterns, others did not. Bella was no longer a child, and even though she still lived under Charlie's roof, he'd been clear that he now regarded her as an adult. Their daily dance around who would do which chores reflected the newness of this potentially more equitable relationship.

Some things remained definitely less than equitable. Bella noticed that beyond that first night, Charlie hadn't volunteered to wash the dishes or clear up after meals, and while Bella had missed cooking, she hadn't missed scrubbing pots, plates, and pans. Though she reminded herself that she wasn't paying the mortgage, it didn't increase her enjoyment of the domestic drudgery.

In other respects, Bella could see her father trying very hard with this new stage in their relationship. He didn't welcome Edward into their home, but he did politely acknowledge Edward's presence when he was there. Bella felt as if she inhabited no-man's land every time the two men were under the same roof. Fortunately, that wasn't often, and Edward timed his visits generally when Charlie was away or asleep rather than present or awake.

Over breakfast, for which Bella made sure she was awake so she could join Charlie, they sipped at their respective coffees, each with a section of the Seattle or local paper. She let Charlie take the local news section while she mulled over the coverage of international events. On the first morning, Charlie had lifted an eyebrow at her newly acquired coffee habit but said nothing, only making a bigger pot the next day. He harumphed over a cup of this beverage now, grumbling something about Seattle.

"What?" Bella asked.

Charlie shook his head. "Seattle," he said as if this explained his displeasure. He folded the paper back up and plopped it onto the table. "Reading about it makes me glad that I live here. Better folks and living this side of the sound, which reminds me: we have dinner plans tonight. The Blacks have invited us to a big potluck out by the beach."

"Oh." Bella's stomach twisted.

"Don't you want to go?"

"No, no. That sounds like a lot of fun." Bella drummed her fingers against the side of her cup, working to keep her face neutral. She could imagine someone who wouldn't want her to go. Or possibly two someones. Jacob hadn't returned the two messages she'd left at his house. She wasn't sure if he was angry with her. "Was it Billy who invited us?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Just curious," she said.

"Hmm," Charlie said, seemingly distracted by the paper he had just tossed down. "Should I tell him you're coming? Or do you need to clear it with someone else first?"

Her cheeks warmed, but she kept her voice even. "No, I'll come." Given what she and the Cullens had discussed theory-wise, she knew Edward wouldn't be comfortable with it, but it wasn't his decision to make. She didn't like that Charlie was suggesting Edward might be making that choice for her, either. Of course, as she thought of it more, she realized it wasn't just Edward's feelings that would be of concern. Just how much "supervision" did the Volturi expect? Could she go? She bit her lip, eyeing Charlie. Would she have to wiggle her way out of this so the Cullens wouldn't be put in danger?

Charlie glanced up and caught her watching him. His eyes narrowed when he spotted what must have been the indecision on her face. "Bella? You look like you have something on your mind. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Of course, Dad."

He held her gaze. "I know you've been dealing with a lot and I, well, I just want to make sure that everything's really okay with you, that you're not worried about anything or . . . anyone."

"Why would you ask?" she said carefully. Where was he going with this?

Charlie shrugged and started fidgeting with his coffee cup, giving it his full attention. "It's just that, lately, you seem a little, well, uncomfortable around some people. You, uh, flinch sometimes when people move too quick and . . ." He heaved a sigh. "I guess I just want to make sure it's from what you told me about Italy and that none of that . . . followed you here."

Oh. She should have known that Charlie's well-honed skills of observation were no match for her pathetic attempts to act like her former self. But she hoped his thoughts weren't straying where she thought they were. If so, that needed to be corrected immediately.

"Are we talking about Edward, Dad?"

He shrugged and met her gaze again. "I don't know. Are we?"

Bella shook her head. "No, we're not. Edward has been nothing but respectful, and I care for him a lot. And he did save my life."

Charlie nodded, still looking unconvinced. "I understand that, but even if that's true, I hope you don't think you—owe him anything. Like protecting him if—"

"Dad, no." Bella said firmly. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how little Charlie trusted Edward, but the idea that he was physically abusing her after what she had truly suffered at someone else's hands was so ludicrous it was almost laughable. That was a truth Charlie would never know. "That's not what's going on. I'm okay and I am safe with Edward. He's not . . . controlling me, or whatever it is you think is going on."

Charlie eyed her for a moment longer and was quiet when he spoke again. "Okay. If you say so." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm just . . . lookin' out for you."

"I know, Dad."

Charlie stood and stretched out his arms with a small groan. "All right. I'll see you later."

"Have a good one."

He came around to her side of the table to give her a hug, which she returned with a contented sigh. She'd missed hugging her dad.

It was only after he left that she realized he'd left his coffee mug and breakfast plate on the table along with his discarded newspaper. She shook her head at the tiny annoyance. It would not be much longer that she had to deal with such things—such little things. Perspective, she told herself. After gathering the dishes and filling the sink, she began scrubbing them clean, then rinsing and setting them on the drainboard to dry.

Though she didn't like washing dishes, the activity had the virtue of occupying her hands and making it easier to think. It had been a couple of days since Edward had administered treatment to her, so she was due today. That would mean that after Edward came by later she should be safe to be on the reservation even if Carlisle's theory was correct. She tapped her wet fingers on the counter. She would drive herself, just in case she needed to leave early. Charlie would understand that. After her conversation with Carlisle, she didn't doubt that Edward would stay as close by as he could.

She didn't like that Edward couldn't come onto the reservation. Despite the rigid fear her body held onto with his physical touch, it made her nervous to have him far away. Love, craving, revulsion—the contradictory feelings were so strong. She thought of how good it had felt to touch his hair and his cheek and tried to summon that feeling.

She wanted Edward to be able to touch her in a romantic way—not just clinically—though even as she simply thought of it, a physical shudder went through her frame.

Not yet, then.

She dried her hands. More practically, she considered what she and Charlie could bring to this potluck. No doubt, he'd want to arrive with his usual offerings of pizza and beer. Fine, she thought. She'd make pizza. Grabbing her keys, she got into her truck and went to the store. With a basket on her arm, she wandered the aisles collecting yeast, flour, pine nuts, and olive oil—good olive oil. When she arrived at the produce section, she frowned. Wilted stalks of basil sat in plastic boxes beside pasty-looking tomatoes. The other vegetables appeared similarly dispirited. Ambling towards the cashier, she thought about driving to Port Angeles, but it was hard to justify such a long drive, even for good produce. As she walked by the aisle of cleaning goods and other products, she paused in the spot where she'd last encountered Jessica. This led to thoughts of her other friends. Didn't Mrs. Weber have a vegetable garden? And it would be really good to see Angela. The Webers lived only a few minutes away.

Her throat tightened. She hadn't reached out to any other friends to let them know she was back. She hadn't really needed to. Mike had called her the day after she'd seen Jessica. He had been kind and chipper—his usual self. From his conversation, she'd understood that Jessica had informed everyone of her return—yes, Edward had been right—and announced that she and Edward were a "thing" again. She'd missed Angela's call, though, her friend's soft voice a little timid on the answering machine. Bella wasn't surprised by this timidity even though she didn't like it. Of course her friends would think she'd abandoned them—she had. It had been for their own safety.

Surely though, it couldn't hurt to see them now. She could protect them with the same lie she'd given Charlie.

She found herself sitting in the Webers' driveway, hands nervously clutching the truck's steering wheel. She considered several ways she might start her conversation with Angela. Her truck, though, had spared her the need to announce her presence.

"Bella?" Angela's voice called from the upstairs deck. "Oh my gosh, that is you! I'd forgotten how loud your truck is. I'll be down in just a sec!"

Angela opened the door, looking suddenly nervous herself. "Hi," she said to Bella.

"Hi," Bella replied.

Angela stepped forward, hesitating a bit.

Bella did, too, feeling awkward. Did Angela actually not want to see her?

This mild impasse ended when her friend took one more step and wrapped her in a gentle hug.

Like Charlie's and even Jacob's embrace, this one was acceptable, too. It seemed it was only the icy touch of vampires that unsettled her. "I'm so sorry I didn't write, Ang. I really missed you." Tears were pricking at her eyes. She wanted so much to tell Angela everything that had happened.

"I figured there was a really good reason," Angela said, returning the hug. "I mean, I think I might forget to write to people if I was in Italy."

Bella wiped at her eyes as the embrace ended, chuckling at Angela's comment. She had been a gracious friend before, and clearly she intended to carry on in the same way.

Angela's house was usually a noisy one, so its quietness now was unnerving to Bella. She hadn't realized how much she'd expected to find it full of people.

"Mom and Dad took the boys out for the day. I cannot tell you how amazing it is to have the place to myself," Angela said, sighing. "I've been reading on the deck."

And here Bella was, horning in on her private time. "I've totally interrupted you. I'm—"

"Oh no, no—I'm so glad you're here. And I'm totally glad that we aren't going to be interrupted by a request to watch or play with trains."

Bella laughed. Yes, the boys were pretty enamoured of trains. She'd spent her fair share of time hanging out with Angela's younger siblings before. "If you're sure."

"So sure." Angela squeezed her hand. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Seated in the warm sun on the Weber's deck in the equally warm company of her friend, it was easy to talk and share what she could of her time away. In fact, it was so easy, she found herself on the verge of sharing with her, too, the entire story she'd given to Charlie. Her well-exercised sense of caution prevailed, and she circled back to the pretty anecdotes she could relay. Most centred around her many hours of coffee-shop observations and interactions with the merchants she'd encountered in Volterra.

"Well, you didn't miss much here, that's for sure," Angela said.

"Not even prom?" she asked. It hadn't been something she'd wanted to attend, but she knew her friends had looked forward to it.

"There were a lot of drunk people. It got pretty tedious, pretty fast." She shrugged. "But graduation was good. Jessica actually made a decent speech." She said this with more surprise than she'd obviously intended. "I mean—"

"No, no, I get what you mean," Bella said, giggling a little. God, it felt so good to laugh.

The sun had risen to its zenith by the time Bella glanced at her watch again. It was getting late, especially if she was going to tackle making pizza. She also didn't want to entirely deprive Angela of the opportunity for some quiet time in her own home. "I should get going, though."

"I hope it's not because you think you're inconveniencing me," Angela said. She swept her hair out of her face, tying it up in a ponytail. It was warm. "I've missed you, Bella."

"I've missed you, too," Bella said, smiling. She really had. Angela was easy to talk to. "Unlike you, though, I haven't graduated from high school yet, and I should go get some studying done for my GED and then get started on dinner." This made her think of her initial reason for visiting, which she'd momentarily forgotten.

"What's for dinner?" Angela asked.

"Well, if I can buy some fresh basil and tomatoes from someone, maybe pizza?" Bella turned her head in the direction of Angela's garden.

"Buy," Angela said, chuckling. "As if my mom would let you pay for anything. Come with me, and we'll pick some good stuff for your pizza."

The basil filled the cab of her truck with its heady scent, as did the fresh head of garlic Angela had also pressed on her. A small paper bag of ruby tomatoes kept the rest of her purchases company. It was a short drive, but an increasingly warm one. The cloud cover was creeping back in from the ocean, sealing in the day's muggy warmth with it.

At home, she changed into a tank top and shorts and then spread her ingredients out over the countertop. Consulting the single dog-eared cookbook in the house, she began measuring the dry ingredients for the pizza. She would need to make several batches of dough, if she hoped to make a dent in the appetites of her and Charlie's Quileute hosts.

The quiet knock at the door came just as she began adding flour to the frothing mixture of yeast, sugar, and water. Dusting the flour from her hands, she wiped at her forehead, hoping she didn't look as if she'd fallen into the flour bag.

"Hi," Edward said, standing on her porch.

"Hi," she replied, trying to breathe regularly. The first sight of him was always shocking to her eyes. His natural features were only accentuated by the well-fitted blue shirt and khaki trousers he wore.

"Is now a bad time?" Edward asked.

She had obviously lingered too long in her staring—it really did take time to acclimate herself to him.

"No!" she said, "I was just—you—you're just really . . . beautiful."

Edward chuckled. "Beautiful?"

"And very welcome to be here." Her cheeks were warm and not from the weather. Before she could embarrass herself further, she turned to walk back towards the kitchen, hearing Edward follow. Though she knew he could make his steps silent, even over her house's creaky floors, she appreciated that he made them audible for her sake. After months of being surprised by sudden vampiric appearances, it was a relief to know when others approached, Edward included.

"Pizza?" Edward guessed, his gaze taking in the disarray in the kitchen.

"Yes." Scanning her ingredients, she supposed it was obvious, but part of her wondered if he'd been listening to her conversation with Angela.

He leaned against the farthest section of the countertop, hands in his pockets. "How's your day been so far?"

"Good," she said, tipping in the waiting cup of flour, drizzling olive oil on top. She began mixing, watching the ingredients begin to turn from a crumbly texture to a smooth one. "Were you close by?"

She looked up to catch his nod. There was something rueful there. "I try not to listen to your conversations, Bella."

"I know. I understand."

He nodded again. His hands slipped from his pockets, resting on the counter behind him.

The dough was stiffer now and much more difficult to stir.

"Can I help?" he asked.

She thought of who would be eating this food and wondered if they'd be able to smell his scent on it. Would the cooking alter it? She considered how to tactfully address this point, as well as the more important question around Edward's more practical objections. But what would he object to? Her going because it would keep them physically apart and interfere with his desired supervision? She nearly grimaced at the thought, quickly smoothing her face. Or would he object because, well . . . because he was still bent on being controlling? She reminded herself that Edward had been reasonable about the situation with the sedatives Carlisle had given her, once they had discussed it. She took a deep breath, deciding to approach this the same way: head-on. "Well, I suppose that depends. Do you think Jacob or the other wolves will be able to tell you helped make it?"

She braced herself for various responses: arguments, anger, attempts at control. Her shoulders tensed, hand clutching the wooden spoon tightly.

"I'm not sure. I haven't done much cooking for wolves." When she glanced at him, he seemed amused by the idea.

Her grip loosened on the spoon.

"But, given that Jacob ate the food you prepared," he continued, "despite your smelling a great deal like me right now, I don't think it will be an issue."

"I smell like you?" she asked, immediately regretting her tone.

"Well . . ." His shrug was apologetic.

"Of course. I'm sorry," she said, dropping the spoon and facing him fully. "I didn't mean—"

"I know." He smiled at her.

She smelled like him? Makes sense, she thought, frowning. How had she not even considered this? Closing her eyes, she sighed a little. In the scope of things that had happened to her in the last few months, this was a small thing to miss.

She opened her eyes again. Edward was in front of her, not being his normally overprotective self and still looking amused.

"So," she said, cocking her head, "You don't seem at all bothered about your . . . scent being all over me."

The mischief now dancing in his eyes was unmistakable. "I can't say that I am."

The tension her body had been holding onto slipped away. Not only was Edward not arguing with her as he had the other night, he was teasing, almost flirting with her. She thought of how she'd been able to touch him, albeit briefly. She hadn't touched him since that night. Of course, he had to touch her, though she didn't like to think of what he had to do as any kind of meaningful contact. It was medical when he treated her addiction, too rooted in what Demetri had done to be anything but treatment. She stepped towards him, reaching her hand in the same direction, quickly letting it fall back to her side. She was very sensitive to such touches being permitted or invited.

Edward's gaze snapped to the movement, and he matched her step so that they were within easy reach of one another.

Recognizing the permission his chosen proximity gave her, she risked brushing the edge of his shirt cuff, hearing him swallow at the touch. Her heart beat steadily, despite the pleasant thrill of gooseflesh that travelled up her arm. With her lightest touch, she traced one of the patterned lines on his shirt to his elbow, his bicep, past the collar and finally to his hair.

Edward's moan was a tiny truncated thing. He stood perfectly still as she gently teased the hair just behind his ear.

At the small of her back, tenuous fingertips pressed her shirt to her skin. "Is this all right?" he asked.

She nodded. The touch became the press of a cool palm. With the lightest pressure, it made small circles there. A gesture of comfort. One that promised to become nothing else.

"I miss you when you're not here," she murmured.

"I miss you too." Another hand joined the one already at her back.

Slowly, so that she didn't push her body beyond its limits, she pulled her hand away from his head, bringing it to rest on his shirt front. The thin cotton was buffered by what she could tell was another, thicker shirt beneath. She'd noticed that while he appeared dressed for the warmer weather, he was always clad in several layers, no doubt to insulate her from a temperature that made her shiver, and not because it was cold. Another inch closer and then another, and she rested her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around him.

She wasn't afraid. She was hugging Edward, and she wasn't afraid. It was like summiting Everest. She wanted to both squeal aloud in triumph and simply relish the experience, it was so momentous.

The tiny victory was fleeting. As the chill began to creep from his chest into her fingers, Bella pulled herself back, the stirrings of fear arriving with the falling temperature.

Keeping her gaze safely on the floor, Bella gave herself the span of five slow breaths. When she looked up again, Edward was eyeing the pizza dough.

"Why don't I mix that for you?"

"Sure."

Edward followed her instructions, watching her as she showed him how to knead. When she was sure he had the technique mastered, she began the next batch. Their quiet work allowed her to process what had just happened. While she was still thrilled by the physical contact they'd been able to establish, she was also puzzled by his reaction to her news about visiting the Quileutes.

"So, I kind of expected you to freak out about me visiting the reservation tonight," she said, "for one of several possible reasons."

Edward didn't stop kneading the dough, but he gave a rueful smile. "It's rather miserable to have your choices dictated by others. I'd like to think we could navigate any difficult ones together."

If the guilt didn't stab like a knife. And here she was, making a decision that she knew would make life difficult for him. "I'm sorry."

"I didn't say it to make you feel bad, Bella." He folded the dough over and pressed it back together with his knuckles. Perfect technique. A perfect response to her flailing for independence like a five-year-old. "I've made many unilateral decisions on our behalf."

This was true. He had. Part of her wanted to deny this, to protect his feelings. She had done the same at least once, after all. She bit the inside of her cheek briefly. While it was a difficult habit to break, she needed to stop placating others' feelings at the expense of the truth. She nodded slowly, thinking of how to at least be gentle moving forward. "I know that my seeing Jacob is . . . difficult for you."

"Please don't think of it that way," he said. "I am concerned for your safety, particularly given our theory, which is still just a theory. But this isn't about your friendship with Jacob. We're learning as we go with what's happened to you and that's the part which is . . . difficult for me to accept. I will be as close to the treaty line as I can be, though, in case anything does go awry. I trust you to be careful with yourself, and I know they've never intentionally hurt you. It appears that it's only Emily who's ever suffered for their lack of control."

He couldn't possibly know that from only being near Jacob. "How do you know that?"

The dough was now a smooth and perfect ball on which he seemed very focused. "We've had to speak with the pack."

"Why?" Her voice rose on the one word. Carlisle had promised she would be involved in the conversation—

"Each time we return here, our treaty requires that we communicate with each other. It seemed best to do so in person and explain that we will only be here for a short time. We didn't say why."

"Okay." She chastised herself for not being more trusting. Carlisle and Edward had agreed that she would be part of discussions that involved her future but she couldn't deny that the Quileutes and the Cullens had a long history of which she'd not been a part. She needed to trust them to keep their word. But doing so ran against the grain of what she'd learned in the last months.

"I would like to make sure that your symptoms are well managed before you go tonight just in case there is an . . . adverse reaction."

Of course. That was perfectly logical. With the pizza dough needing to rise for at least the next hour, Bella supposed now was as good a time as any. She couldn't completely disguise how much she loathed what he had to do, but she worked very hard to keep those feelings as concealed as possible. "Sure," she said, washing her hands.

Edward did too, and when he'd dried them, pulled something from his pocket. "Would these help?" he asked. He shook out a pair of gloves and what looked like a long toque—no, Bella corrected herself, a long ski mask.

She burst into laughter. "If we're robbing a bank, yes."

He grinned. "Maybe not the ski mask, then."

Hands at her midsection, she calmed herself enough to speak again. "Thank you. I really do appreciate how much you're trying to make this easier for me." She hoped her laughter hadn't offended him. He was trying so hard to alleviate her unease with what her body needed. She thought again about how glad and grateful she was that it was him doing this and not one of the other Cullens, not only because it would be insanely awkward, but because she was, well, glad it was Edward. She wanted to be close to him, and if she had to acclimatize herself to it for medical reasons, well—

"It makes it easier for me, too," Edward said softly.

"Why?"

"I can feel how you react when I touch you. I don't want to do that to you."

All humour fled. So much for thinking she'd been fooling anyone. She looked at the mask again.

He grinned a little. "I think it might be hard to wear this now with you laughing at me."

She chuckled in reply. He had both a sense of humour and a good point. "The gloves could help."

He put them on and then held out his hand. "Lead the way, Ms. Swan." he asked.

Tentatively, she put her hand in his, returning the tiny squeeze he gave. "So far so good," she said. The gloves did make it easier.

"Good," he said.

And for now, she would take what good life presented her, particularly when it was wrapped up in Edward Cullen.


A/N for 2020-09-25: Well folks, I hope this Friday finds you well. After two weeks of teaching, I feel about as intelligent as a root vegetable most evenings. So, when I say that I owe massive thanks to my betas Chayasara and Eeyorefan12, I mean it - they that you can understand this chapter is courtesy of these two fine women.

See you next week!

Erin


DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.