I do not own Twilight.

An extra long chapter because I appreciate you all.

Enjoy!

Peter is nice.

Like, really nice. He's one of those all-around good-guy dad types. The kind that annoys your friend, but you're secretly jealous of how interested their father is in their life. Charlie's great. So was my biological father, even though I barely remember him. But Peter is something else. He cares. Really, actually cares about Esme and Edward.

"I've heard a lot about you, Bella," Peter says over dinner, a smile on his face. He is handsome and I'm happy for Esme, but I'm surprised he's heard anything about me. The way Edward had practically ignored him when he came home made me think he'd hardly ever spoken a word to him.

But then Esme smiles, embarrassed, and leans into Peter's side. From beside me, Edward stares down at his plate. I don't know if it's the idea of his mother being with another man, or the idea of his mother being a real mother that has him off kilter, but he's clearly not comfortable.

I smile and answer Peter, getting into a discussion about my job, about literature and editing and magazines. He tells me about his job. He's an emergency room doctor at the local hospital and he's lived here his entire life. He says he could never see himself leaving Portland and then he kisses Esme on the head and says he could never see himself leaving her, either.

I feel like one of her children. Like he's trying to prove to me, too, that he can take care of her.

I believe him, even if Edward and Emmett don't.

"I'll take your stuff to my room."

Edward grabs my suitcase after dinner. Esme moves to pick up the duffle bag that sits beside it, but Edward grabs that, too. I don't know if it's a show of independence or annoyance, but the way Esme relents without a word tells me he's like this with her a lot.

"Guest room, Edward," Peter states as Edward makes for the first step. He pauses and stares ahead. I can see his jaw click into place and I know he wants to argue. "I hope you understand, Bella," Peter adds. "I'm a bit more old-school than some may be."

"That's okay," I say with a smile. "I don't mind." I think to say that my mom would appreciate it, but I don't want to upset Edward any more than necessary.

Esme sends him a subtle warning, his name in a lowered voice and I can see he's going to say something and I'm sure it's going to be something he regrets, so I press my hand to his back and grab the strap of my duffle bag.

"Come on." I push him forward. "I'll take this one."

He looks at me out of the corner of his eyes and his jaw ticks once before he relaxes. He nods once and I know it's over. For now.

The guest room is just as nice as the rest of the house. A queen-sized bed and a fluffy white comforter. I wonder for a brief second whether Esme is helping Peter pay for anything, but immediately feel guilty for thinking that.

"Edward, it's okay—" I start as he puts the suitcase in the middle of the bed, but he stops me by placing his hands on either side of my face. His eyes have an emerald sheen to them and it's a look I know all too well. One of conflict; of disdain.

"He goes to bed early, anyways," he says and a slow smile spreads to his face. I know this look, too, and I can't help but to roll my eyes. I'm pretty sure the smile on my face cancels out any disagreement I'm trying to show. "You won't be in here alone for long." He kisses the spot beneath my ear.

I squirm away from him with a laugh.

"You don't like him," I say. It's not a question.

Edward sits on the edge of the bed. "He thinks he's my new dad or something."

I sit down too and take his hand in mine, playing with his long fingers. "He's just trying to give you a role model, I think. I mean, I'm sure your mom's told him about how your dad was with the two of you."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess." He looks down at our hands and curls his fingers around mine. He smiles up at me and I can see the new man inside of him. He really is trying, and he's doing a great job. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

I think for a second. "Can I see your school? And the baseball field?" I know he's started playing again for his school, though I'm sure it's just to give him something to do; somewhere to be besides here.

There's a knock on the door before he answers and he swears under his breath. Peter opens the door a crack and then, after glancing in, opens it a bit wider. "You know the door policy, Ed."

Ed? I have to try not to laugh. The only person that ever called him Ed was Emmett, and that was when he was looking for a fight.

"Sorry," he mutters and Peter does his best to ignore Edward's hostile side. He smiles at me. "You up for some pie and wine?"

I laugh and I think it's mostly residual from hearing him call Edward, Ed. "Okay."

Esme asks a hundred questions about everyone from home, keeping a wide circle around one specific person, which is good because his letter is still burning a hole in my bag.

"He hasn't wanted to come down for a visit," she says about Emmett and Edward tips the rest of his beer back.

"He's been busy with work," I fill in. "He spends most of his weekends with Rosalie."

"I know," she says sadly. "I'm happy for him. I just wish he'd come to see me." Peter wraps an arm around her and she smiles sadly up at him. I don't want to say anything, because it's not my place, but I think it's good she isn't forcing him to see her.

"What's Rosalie like?" she asks when I don't say anything and Edward laughs, sputtering on his last mouthful. I roll my eyes. He got used to her the few weekends before he moved here. She was at Emmett's apartment most of the weekends he was still there.

"She's tough, but she's great for Emmett." I put down the empty wine glass I had unintentionally finished in my haste to quell the awkward tension that radiated through the room between Edward and Esme and Peter. "They really love each other, I think."

Esme smiles and nods. "I'm glad," she says quietly, but I can see it still bothers her that they haven't spoken since she showed up unexpectedly. And even then, I'm not sure the two of them did much talking.

Eventually Peter and Esme go upstairs and, like Edward had predicted, it's early in the night but he's already looking at me from where he sits on the couch, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. He's had too much to drink; I can tell by the light to his eyes. The wine isn't doing much for my inhibitions either so when he tells me that I'm too far away, I don't hesitate.

He kisses me and the idea that Esme and Peter are just upstairs is a thought in the far recesses of my mind. "I missed you," he breathes against my mouth. "All of you." He moves his fingers to the waist band of my jeans. "Everything about you." And then his fingers are beneath the fabric.

I gasp and then exhale against his throat, my mouth pressed to his jaw. I want to finish what we had started earlier in the night; what we hadn't been able to finish because Esme and Peter had returned too soon. "Your mom. And Peter," I manage to get out as his fingers work me over again.

He kisses me and then rests his forehead against me. "If you're quiet, they'll never know."

"What if I'm not?" I challenge and regret it immediately because he smirks and moves his fingers beneath my underwear. My moan is instantaneous and involuntary. It's been too long since I've had him, but he covers my mouth with his hand, his other hand freezing.

"Fuck," he breathes and stares, his eyes moving between mine and I'm hit with a sudden need to be close. Skin against skin. Breathing the same air. He seems to understand. "Give them fifteen minutes and we can go to my room, okay?"

I nod against his hand and he dips his head to kiss along my throat. His fingers reanimate and I moan in warning. He kisses me and then replaces his hand over my mouth.

"Doesn't mean I can't play in the meantime."

I wake in the middle of the night, wrapped in his arms. I want to stay, but I know I can't. I wouldn't want to upset Peter or Esme, so I quietly sneak from his bed to the door, pulling on one of his shirts as I go. I notice as I move that I'm sore in a way I haven't been for a couple of months. I smile to myself. It slips from my face almost instantly, though, when I spot my bag on his desk.

Before I can lose my nerve, I place the letter on the pillow beside his head. He needs to read it, and he needs to read it alone.

I kiss him softly and tiptoe to the room across the hall.