Andddd I'm back! Did some soul searching (AKA read approximately six books to recharge my spark and reload my vocabulary) and I now have renewed intensity, etc.

But seriously. Sorry for the break. I know two weeks isn't that big of a deal, but it feels like it to me.

Katie

Today is my third-to-last first day of school ever. It can't come soon enough. I have this semester, and then one more year, and then I'm done with college. With the first days, especially.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't constantly wreck my sleep schedule on breaks. But how can I resist Seth, cozy and warm and always placing kisses on my cheeks and shoulders when I try to climb out?

It's worth it to look like a zombie today, just for ten more minutes.

I'm taking four classes this semester, and they're all on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It leaves me time to work in Port Angeles on the other weekdays, and the diner on the weekends. I can already tell this schedule will work much better for me, being able to separate school and work and other work into the boxes of my planner.

I've got one measly general education class – philosophy – and the rest are photography. I'm taking Native Art of the Pacific Northwest that I think Seth's more excited for than I am, a random printmaking course, and a portrait photography elective taught by Rich.

Parking is, of course, a nightmare. I go to spin my rings around my finger, and groan. I forgot them. Again. I need to just glue them to my finger.

This class is much fuller than the one I'd been in last semester, and Rich's signature circle of chairs is nearly full. I slide into the only empty seat.

Wordlessly, Rich stands from the desk at the front, moving with authority to the middle of the circle. He introduces himself in nearly the same way as last semester. Richard. Rich. Dick. Bitch. Not Professor. I try not to smile.

"Right," Richs says, clapping his hands together. "Introduce yourselves. Counterclockwise. Katie, you start." He doesn't bother looking at me.

I'm used to Rich's teaching style by now. He likes teamwork, collaboration, and discussion. Oh, and being blunt. The class looks confused, and I feel my cheeks burning as I clear my throat. "Katie Clearwater."

Every pair of eyes in the room lands on me, and I can tell Rich's brusqueness has shocked them. I'm used to it by now.

Only a second of awkward silence goes by before the boy to my right also clears his throat. "Jordan Johnson."

"Leslie Anderson," the girl chimes from his other side. She gives a small wave to no one in particular. "Hi."

"Group one," Rich interrupts. "Keep going."

I stifle a groan. I've yet to meet a single person in my college career that likes group projects.

Until Rich asks us to get to know our partners, instructing us to turn our chairs into smaller circles, and I meet Leslie. She's outgoing and bubbly in the way that Bailey is, the way that Rachel and Kim are. It makes me feel a little more at ease.

She's got chin length mousy brown hair that she keeps tucking behind her ear. It falls in her face because she keeps moving so much when she talks. Moving everything. Wide jaw, wild hand motions. She's buzzing with energy.

I can't decide whether I like her or despise her for her extroversion.

"I'm sorry," she breathes. She's been talking for three straight minutes about how much she loves portrait photography, how excited she is for this class. "What's your name again?"

The boy next to me shifts in his seat. "Jordan. That's alright, I don't have as much to say as you do," he breathes. I catch the joke behind his tone, and I can't help but laugh.

When I do, he sits up a little straighter in his chair.

In my quick assessment of Jordan Johnson, he seems shy. He's pale (not Cullen-pale, but pale enough to make me think he's spent most of his life in this area), and he's got dark blonde hair and green eyes. I bet he played basketball in high school. He looks like someone Bailey would have a crush on.

"What about you?" Leslie asks, choosing to ignore Jordan's comment and turning her gaze to me. "Katie, right? How does Rich know you already?"

"Oh," I say, my cheeks going pink. I was hoping my group mates would let that slide. "I had a class with him last semester."

"Is he hard?" Leslie asks.

I shrug. "He's… talented."

"So he is hard," Leslie sighs. "Great."

Rich clears his throat, and Jordan and I reshuffle our chairs back to their original place in the circle. "You'll be in these groups all semester. You'll take turns, collaborating with each other. You will be each other's muses, inspirations, and subjects. No switching. Hope you like where you sat today."

There's an uncomfortable shift in the room, and a few students groan. All semester? Rich must have had either a really good or a really bad break.

"Let's talk syllabus," Rich says.

By the time class is done forty minutes later, Rich has already given us our first assignment, due next week. It's a first impression portrait – I'll take one each of Leslie and Jordan, and they'll each take one of me. The thought makes my skin crawl. I've just barely gotten used to the idea of Seth taking my picture.

Leslie stands, backpack hanging off her shoulder. She's taller than me – but who isn't – at maybe five feet five. "Should we meet to go over ideas and stuff? Maybe this weekend?"

Jordan lifts himself to his feet with a sigh, too. He's not as tall as Seth, but he still towers over me. "First week of class and we're already pushing it to the weekend? Maybe I'll call Rich 'Dick' after all."

"I work all weekend," I say, fighting another laugh. "Maybe you all could come by on my lunch break, though? At the diner in Forks. In Place."

"We should swap numbers," Leslie says, nodding. "But that works for me."

After we all pass out our phone numbers, the room is nearly empty, so it's only natural for the three of us to walk out together.

I give a slight wave to Rich on the way out, and he gives me a head nod in return. I yawn.

"Coffee?" Jordan asks softly.

"Ugh, yes, please," Leslie responds, pulling on her winter gloves. "Let's go. We can start brainstorming now."

The three of us walk to the coffee cart, bundled in our winter gear. The sky is a flurry of sleet and slush. I can't wait to drive home in that. Or hear Seth tell me how much winter tires cost.

It might be awkward, if not for Leslie's ramblings. She talks about everything under the snow-blocked sun. Her camera, how it was a gift from her parents on her sixteenth birthday. I tell her mine was, too.

"Where are you from? You have an accent or something," she notes, fiddling with her wallet to deposit her loose change.

I'm surprised she picked up on it from all the talking she's doing. "Montana," I say. "Great Falls."

"Have you been to Glacier National Park?" Jordan asks, stepping to the counter when his name is called.

"Yeah, several times. It's one of my all-time favorite places. I went over break with my—"

"Katie?" the woman working the cart calls, and I give Jordan a small smile, holding up a finger as I scramble to get my coffee.

By the time I return with my drink, Leslie's already leading the way to the tiny library, to get out of the wind and flurries.

I don't think I like winters in Washington. I was miserable the last two years in Olympia, and I'm miserable now in La Push on my drive home.

My only solace is that I'm married to a freaking furnace. Seth's at home, waiting for me when I get there after school. Ready and willing to cuddle me to my heart's content, warm my frozen fingers.

"Is your heat going out in your car?" he asks worriedly when he feels them.

"Just cold," I murmur into his chest.

We talk about my day and his, me tucked into Seth's chest, his hands thawing my frigid muscles knot by knot. I tell him about my classes, the professors I think will be challenging and the classes I'm not looking forward to.

"How was Rich's class?" he asks.

"One big group project," I groan. "I'm stuck with Jordan and Leslie all semester."

He chuckles, tightening my hold. "Do you like them, at least?"

"Leslie talks a lot. So much. More than…" I pause, thinking briefly. "More than drunk Kim and drunk Rachel combined."

Seth chuckles. "Oh, Katie, baby," he says with sincere sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

I love it when he calls me that, and it sends a spark up my spine. I'm thoroughly defrosted now, and his heat is spreading over my body in a new way.

"I don't have any homework yet," I say, craning up to his face. "So my night is free."

"Before we get too carried away, I wanted to ask you something," he says, evading my attempt at a kiss. He laughs softly when I deflate. "It's not bad. But Jake's getting ready to start working on the cabin, and he offered to pay us for helping."

"Oh," I say. "Are you going to do it?"

Seth shifts under me, but he tightens his grip on my hip. "Only if you're okay with it. It'd be nights and weekends. It's good money, and most of the other wolves have already signed on."

"Even Leah?" I snort.

Seth laughs in turn, and it breezes through my hair. "Yes, even Leah. It might be a good chance for me to start on that damn new year's resolution. Work on being friends and not just roommates or siblings."

I nod into his neck. "That's a good idea. I think she'd like that."

I'm about to say I'm not sure why we ever moved out in the first place if we both miss her like crazy, but Seth's stomach audibly grumbles, and his focus is shifted to food.

And after dinner, it's shifted back to where I'd wanted it the whole time. Me.

My shift at the diner Saturday starts like any other, too early for light to even think about filtering through the clouds.

It reminds me of the morning I met Seth for the first time, and that's what I think about as I help the other morning shift waitress open the blinds and brew coffee.

There's a steady stream of customers all morning, and I hardly find time to drink coffee for myself, let alone eat breakfast. Seth wouldn't be pleased. Neither would Carlisle. I make a promise to myself to add granola bars to the grocery list.

That's one thing I'm trying to work on this year. Keeping my promises. Not just to Seth, but to myself.

When the bell clinks over the front door, I hardly look twice. I'm peeking through the order window back to the kitchen. I need to see if Larry's almost done with the order for table four; they've been waiting a bit too long for comfort.

"Hey," I call over my shoulder. "Grab a seat wherever and I'll be right over to grab you some drinks."

"Uh, hey," a deepish voice says. "It's me."

I turn around, because I don't recognize the voice, even though it so clearly recognizes me. It's Jordan.

"Oh!" I breathe. "Lunch already?" I wipe my hands on my apron. "Um, grab the corner booth, then. I need ten minutes. Do you want something to eat?"

He shrugs, gripping the strap of his falling-apart backpack tighter. "What's good?"

I grab a menu from behind the counter, holding it out for him. "All the sandwiches. The burgers get a little…" I trail off, making sure to drop my voice so Larry can't hear me in the back, "greasy."

Jordan grins, nodding, and heads to the corner booth as instructed.

I swing by the booth after I drop off the order for table four, and Jordan holds out the menu.

"I don't like ordering food from you," he says softly.

My eyebrows scrunch as I hold the menu tentatively. We each have one end of it. "It's my job. For five more minutes, and then I'm on break."

He studies me, and I get a prick of discomfort in the pit of my stomach.

I'm saved by the bell as Leslie bounces through the door. "Oh, God, there you both are. I'm sorry I'm late. Are you guys eating? I'm starving."

"I think Jordan was going to order something," I say, removing my hand from my end of the menu. "I'll give you a minute to look it over."

Leslie's voice carries through the entire tiny space, and I hear her decide out loud what to eat. It makes it much easier for me to decide when to mosey back to the table.

I take their orders and add mine to the bottom of the ticket, sticking it in the window for Larry.

"Friends of yours, Katie?" Larry asks as he plucks the ticket.

"School project," I clarify, unknotting the apron at my waist. "I'm going on lunch. Just yell when it's ready."

I prepare drinks for the three of us, balancing a trinity of cups between my tiny hands. As I approach the table, Jordan reaches out to help me.

"Thanks," I breathe, lifting my eyes from where they'd been focused on not spilling the drinks.

"No worries," he murmurs.

Leslie's talking animatedly about her ideas for our project, and she talks with her hands. I might get a black eye if I sit too close. I make a split decision to slide into the booth next to Jordan.

"Okay," she says, clapping her hands. "What are you all thinking? For the project? For Jordan, I was thinking something grayscale, sharp lines, shadows. You're just so quiet," she says, hardly taking the time to look him in the eyes. "And for Katie, I imagined something lighter, but tiny. Maybe something that juxtaposes your size with the world around you. You know?"

I cough. "Is that your first impression of me? Tiny and light?"

Leslie pales, pausing to pull a piece of hair out of her mouth. "Um, yeah? You probably weight ninety pounds sopping wet. And you're five feet tall."

Color rushes to my face. "Five one," I correct, studying the lip of the table.

She's not wrong. She's just stating facts. It's what makes me lift my gaze again, popping my elbows onto the table and laying my palms flat.

"Ooh, pretty," she says, picking up my hand and bringing it to her face. I have to stretch across the table to allow it. "Do you wear this so you don't get hit on by guys?"

I resist the urge to snatch my hand back. And I challenge myself even farther when I meet her questioning gaze. "I'm married."

Jordan coughs, jaw clamping shut as he swallows his drink roughly. Leslie's mouth, on the other hand, is hanging wide open.

"Married," she repeats. "Okay, so you're a five foot one, ninety-pound, married tiny and light human. What a first impression." She's not upset, or offended. I almost hear some admiration behind her tone.

I decide that I won't be upset or offended, despite feeling both pairs of eyes on me. I let Leslie study my rings until she's content, and she drops my hand back to the table.

"What do you think about me?" she asks. "You can be honest."

"I think we're putting too much thought into this," I blurt. If I was going to be honest, I'd tell her I still can't decide whether I like her. Leslie grimaces, and I'm quick to continue. "I mean, it's a first impression. They don't have to be cohesive. We should just do it now. Today. I have my camera in the back."

"Do you carry it everywhere?" Leslie asks.

I nod, my cheeks coloring.

"I do, too," Jordan says, gesturing to his backpack slung next to the window.

"Committed," Leslie says with an impressed tone to her airy voice.

I shrug, sliding out of the booth. "You have to be. You never know when inspiration will strike."

After I grab my camera bag out of my locker, I slide by the order window, grabbing our tray of food on the way back to our table.

"Food or pictures first?" I ask, sliding the plates off the tray.

"Food, please," Leslie groans, pulling her plate in front of her. She got a burger, a big and thick and greasy one (but honestly, that's the only way Larry makes them).

Jordan heeded my advice and got a sandwich and chips. I pull my soup and salad off the tray and go grab napkins for Leslie.

I plop the napkins on the table when I return, and Leslie mumbles a thanks through her overcrowded mouth of food. Jordan picks up his sandwich.

"You didn't need to wait for me," I say, picking up my spoon. "It only stays warm for about twenty seconds."

He laughs. "Good to know."

We eat quickly, because my break is over soon, and Leslie's also pressed for time. Leslie offers to go first although she didn't bring her camera, and Jordan offers his up with the promise that he'll email her the digitals.

Leslie instructs Jordan first, and then me, although her main instruction is to act natural. I hate that. If I ever photograph people on a more regular basis, I will try my hardest not to use those words.

Jordan snaps a picture of Leslie next, one and done.

Since she has to leave, I wrack my brain quickly, trying to decide how to best capture Leslie Anderson in a photo.

I lift my camera to eye level as I perch on the edge of the bench next to Jordan, across from her. "Tell me about… your favorite thing."

Her eyes go wider, and they catch the dim gray light from the window. Her hands lift out of her lap as she explains her favorite feeling in the world (it's when you finish a book and you're left reeling, like you're in another dimension) and I snap the shot. And I snap and snap and snap. She keeps talking, and I keep snapping.

I wonder if I've ever read a book that's left me reeling. I wonder if I ever talk about anything like that, in a way that makes a room light up.

Leslie's phone chimes, and it brings her out of her reverie.

"Oh, shoot," she mumbles, hopping to her feet and scooping her purse off the bench. "I really have to go. Don't forget to send me those, please, Jordan. In a few different file sizes, if you can. I like to have options when I edit." She throws a ten-dollar bill on the table and is out the door.

I'm left feeling more awkward than when we started, and I stand to my feet.

Jordan coughs, and I can tell he's feeling just as awkward as I am. Leslie's a good buffer. When she's here, we don't have to talk.

"Um—" he says at the same time I say, "So—"

He chuckles. "Ladies first."

"I was just going to ask if you'd want to go outside," I say, balancing on the sides of my shoes. "I have a good idea for your portrait."

He grabs his backpack and follows me outside and across the street, to the bushes that decorate the exterior of the Forks Motel.

He lifts his hands to his sides and drops them back down. "I'm at your mercy, Katie."

I blink a few times, lift the camera to my face. "Um, this is going to sound weird, but can you stand in the bushes?"

He obeys, albeit a little hesitantly. "Like this?"

"A little more there," I say, pointing. "And, um, put your face closer. Yeah, that's good."

I find him in the viewfinder, focus the shot, but shake my head. "Different lens," I say quietly, digging in my bag for the right one. After I've got the focus readjusted, I chew my lip.

"Do you want to hear about my favorite things?" he asks softly, mumbling through his lips to keep from moving. But the corner still tugs up, and that won't work for the shot I want.

I take a breath. "No."

His mouth falls back neutral, maybe even more toward a frown, and I snap.

"Hey," he breathes. "Not fair. Leslie was smiling in hers."

I shrug, reviewing the shot. It's good enough. It works. I put up my camera. "My first impression of you wasn't smiling."

He nods slowly. "Okay."

My phone dings, letting me know my break is over. "I need to go."

"This won't take long," he says, lifting his own camera. "Don't move."

I freeze, but the awkwardness of the moment makes me shift, and a strong breeze plucks a piece of hair from my short ponytail and flaps it across my face.

Instinctively, I reach up to tuck it behind my ear.

I hear the shutter click, can almost imagine the shot he just captured. "Perfect," he breathes.

"Got what you need?" I say, turning back to the diner so he can't see my reddened cheeks. I don't think I like this. "I really should get back to work."

In my periphery, he falls in stride with me easily, and we both run across the street before an oncoming string of cars makes it impossible.

"I need to pay for lunch," he says, pulling out his wallet. "Will this cover the rest of the ticket?" He's holding a twenty.

"Too much." I pull Leslie's ten from my pocket and offer it to him.

He only pushes the twenty into my hand and closes his fist around it. "For yours, too."

"Oh, no," I say, almost in a bark. "No, I can't—"

He's already turning away. "See ya Tuesday, Katie."

Now I know I don't like this. At all.

What I don't like even more, as I work on the pictures at my desk that night, waiting for Seth to get home from Jake's cabin, is that the picture I took of him turned out well. It's exactly what I pictured. As much as I don't want to admit it, he has a photogenic face.

I really don't like group projects.

I don't get to see how Leslie and Jordan's pictures of me turned out, because Rich has already moved on to our next assignment. It will be a fast-paced course, I can tell that much.

I know that, because January passes faster than it ever has in my life. It's February, almost Valentine's Day, and I'm stressing about what to get Seth.

Whereas last year, I'd set a twenty-dollar budget for each of us, Seth told me this year that there was no budget. I'd groaned but conceded. As long as it wasn't a car, I'd told him, I'd try and look past it.

Seth's picking up a patrol shift tonight (the Friday before Valentine's Day) so he can have tomorrow night off. I think he traded with Quil for it.

I send Leah a text before I set out for Port Angeles that morning – Wanna drink wine and help me think of last-minute gift ideas? I can be at your house by six.

Her response is ready and waiting for me by the time I pull into my parking spot an hour later – Red, white, or rosé?

Any and all of the above, I text back.

When I pull up to Leah's house after work, I'm fully expecting this year to be the same as last, where Leah and I drink wine on her couch, eat oven pizza, and watch trashy rom coms.

But when she pulls the door open, Leah is electrified with an energy I can't pin down.

She holds the door open for me, but doesn't speak until I'm sitting on the couch with my feet tucked under me and a glass of wine in hand.

"You're being weird," I tell her, taking a large sip.

Leah grins, and her eyes do this thing I don't think I've seen them do before – they sparkle. With… joy? "Katie," she says slowly. "I need you to tell me more about this big guy in the sky that's looking out for me."

I know the wine isn't what makes my head go foggy. And I also know (think) Leah didn't bring me over here to have me convince her why Jesus loves her. "I'm sorry, what?"

She chuckles knowingly. "Do you remember after your… incident in November, and we sat in that bathroom over there—" she jerks her thumb down the hall— "and I prayed for a sex god imprint?"

I'm glad I held off on taking another drink, because I'm sure I would have choked on it and died. "You didn't," I breathe.

"I did. And we did. Last night. Twice."

"You're telling me you—"

"I imprinted, Katie."