Posted 2021-10-11; beta'd by Eeyorefan12

Bella had always found literary and television representations of pregnant women craving things like pickles and ice cream to be completely unbelievable. This was, of course, until she woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like her life depended on procuring and devouring the better part of a watermelon.

Sadly, the practicality of getting to work outweighed her ability to indulge her pregnancy-related craving. For lunch, though, she was determined to find herself a watermelon, even if it meant lugging the darn thing back to the office on foot.

She'd stopped driving to work, wanting to maintain the habit of walking as long as was possible. Though it would be feasible in winter, she wasn't sure that it would be probable, given the latter stage of pregnancy she'd be in. But until then, there was no point in getting lazy. Boston's walkability was one of its best traits, and pregnancy was no excuse for acquiring bad habits.

It wasn't like she was going to take up any other activity to compensate, after all. Having cursorily explored prenatal yoga classes online, she'd concluded that she was more likely to hurt than strengthen herself in attempting one.

Her morning went well. She felt . . . not exactly good but a little bit better, and this left her feeling almost giddy. She took it as a promise of things to come: less physical misery, at least.

She was picking up her purse from her desk drawer when the receptionist interrupted her. "There's a call for you on line two. Do you want me to take a message?"

"Oh, thanks, no. I'll take it." She put her purse back down and picked up the line. "Bella Swan speaking."

"Well hello, Bella Swan."

Edward?

"Um, hi. How can I help you?" His tone sounded light but still, she hoped nothing was wrong. Why was he calling her on a work line?

"I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch together."

Odd. He'd forgotten about her limited diet. Her silence was longer than she'd planned.

His next words seemed a bit rushed. "I figured it could start in the aisle with the applesauce. In the grocery store near your work?"

Even odder.

"Edward, why are you calling me at the office?"

"Because you didn't answer my text or phone call. I thought you might have forgotten your phone."

Again. He didn't have to say it. Yes, in her newly-discovered absentmindedness—was this what they called pregnancy brain?—she'd forgotten her phone at home yesterday and had admitted it to him during his call the night before.

Sure enough, yes, she saw a missed call and a text message on her phone. She hadn't looked at it since she'd gotten into work.

Since their meeting last Saturday, she'd bought herself some peace by giving herself a date—one by which she would tell Edward that she was pregnant. With his child. Even the reminder of this obligation made her tense. Her self-imposed deadline wouldn't make the task any easier, but it gave her some space in which to breathe.

By thirteen weeks, she reminded herself. In twenty-one days. Lots of time left. She relaxed with this reassurance and then reminded herself to reply. "Yeah, uh, sure. Oh, do you have a knife you could bring?" She couldn't resist adding, "You know, maybe strapped to your ankle or something?"

"A . . . knife?" Edward asked, ignoring the rest.

"For the produce aisle," Bella amended. "I mean, I need a watermelon—I'm going to buy a watermelon. For lunch . . . and I forgot to pack a knife."

"Ah." He sounded relieved. "No problem, can do."

They settled on where and when. Hanging up, Bella grabbed her bag and headed out. It was another pleasant summer day, and she enjoyed her saunter to the nearby grocery store. As promised, Edward was in the produce aisle. He had a watermelon under his arm.

Is that a watermelon, or are you just happy to see me? She bit the inside of her mouth to keep herself from giggling. She was feeling even giddier after her short walk to the store, not sure what was going on with her.

Pregnancy hormones? Good weather? Seeing Edward without that dreaded and self-imposed pressure of having to tell him right now?

Or maybe just seeing Edward.

"We meet again, Mr. Bond," she intoned.

He tilted his head slightly, momentarily puzzled, but then his expression cleared and he smiled.

"Never mind," Bella said, shaking her head and waving away the lame joke, trying not to blush. Talk about sounding like a dolt. "Hi."

"Hi," Edward said. He held out the watermelon. "I got here early. This one looked good." He pointed his thumb behind him, "I mean, unless you want to pick?"

"How do you tell?" Bella asked. Watermelons had never been her thing before. She peered into the large cardboard box behind him.

"Well, my mom always knocked on them to see if they sounded hollow." He demonstrated by rapping his knuckles on the one he held easily in his hand. "And my grandma Annie taught me these brown streaks are 'bee marks', and it means the bees thought this one was sweet."

Huh. "Good to know." She reached out to take it from him, but he shook his head.

"Nope, I've been burned by your lack of coordination before. I like my toes, thank you very much."

She couldn't argue with that assessment, she supposed, and gave a good-natured roll of her eyes as they joined the line for the cashier. "As long as you don't go all Gollum on me, I can accept that."

Pretending to hiss and clutching the watermelon tightly to his chest, Edward turned slightly away and gave her a baleful stare over his shoulder.

Her surprised snort and giggle were loud enough to attract the attention of the elderly woman ahead of them in line. Bella turned back to face Edward, shaking her head in embarrassment and lowering her voice. "I do not know what is up with me today. I feel like I left half my brain at home and am operating solely on my seriously questionable sense of humor. But you, mister, are not helping!"

Edward grinned unrepentantly. She liked seeing the expression. He'd seemed a little . . . off on Saturday when he'd left her house. But maybe that had just been her. She was so emotional these days that it was hard to figure out which way was up sometimes.

"Yeah, what was up with the Bond comment?" Edward looked down at his clothes, tidy but business casual. "I left my tux at home, obviously."

"Oh, um. You know. Cloak and dagger? You brought the dagger, I forgot the . . . cloak?"

Barely suppressing his smile, Edward lifted his chin to indicate something behind Bella. She turned to see the same woman staring at her.

Oh.

"You brought the knife for the watermelon, right?" she said loudly enough that she hoped no one thought she was planning on massacring anyone.

Edward was bent over slightly, trying to manage his laughter—clearly having a good time at her expense.

"Don't drop my watermelon, Cullen," she warned him, wagging a finger and stepping up to the register to pay. She was impressed that he let her.

They settled down in a nearby park, sitting at a picnic table adjacent to a relatively quiet playground. A few small children were toddling around, their parents and caregivers hovering nearby.

That'll be me soon enough. With a pang, she set the thought aside, pulling out a plate, napkins, and a cutting board from the cloth bag she'd brought to work.

Edward appeared to be mentally inventorying her supplies. "So, you remembered all that," he said, "but you forgot the knife? How were you planning on eating this thing?"

She leveled her gaze at him and, lowering her voice and channeling Sulpicia, produced her best Italian accent: "I was planning on cracking it open on a rock like the heads of my enemies."

Edward shook his head, chuckling and pulling out a large pocket knife—which was not strapped to his ankle, she noted.

"Though that would likely be more your line," Bella added.

"Touché," he said. "I didn't realize you were a Godfather fan."

"My dad is." She smiled. "Yeah, I know, kinda ironic given his profession. And on second thought, I'm realizing that probably wouldn't be your line, would it?"

He smiled gently at her but didn't say anything. Then she watched him do a visual sweep of their surroundings before returning his gaze to hers.

Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Discretion, remember? It was definitely not the best idea to bring up his mafia connections in the middle of a public park.

Glancing around, Bella noted that no one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Edward shook his head, still wearing that soft smile. He held up the knife. "How're your hands? Actually, scratch that. Let me ask the more important question: has your coordination improved since Saturday?"

"Oh, screw you!" she muttered and then froze, blushing. Again.

And the smooth moves continue.

Edward grinned at her accidental double entendre but chose not to comment. "Well, given that you can't give me any assurances on the motor skills front, maybe you'll let me do the honors?"

"That'd be lovely, thank you."

He did a good job of it, and Bella closed her eyes in bliss, taking the first bite. "That tastes so good. Are you sure you don't want some?"

He'd politely declined her offer already, clearly very invested in what looked like a roast beef sandwich. He shook his head, holding up his lunch. "Best sandwich in Boston."

"And it's all yours," she said, closing her eyes and trying not to think about his food. She chewed purposefully on her little bites of watermelon.

She heard Edward wrap up his sandwich. When she opened her eyes, it was out of sight.

"You barely ate anything."

He shrugged. "I had a pretty late breakfast. I'll finish the rest of it later."

"Slacking off, Cullen? Or wait, what was it that Saul said to you?"

"Oh." He chuckled. "Skating. It's Marine slang for just that—slacking off."

"Ah." Another little tidbit of information to tuck away for later.

He fiddled with his pocket knife, now closed, turning it over in his hands. "How is work these days?" he asked. "Are you feeling better about things since we talked before?"

Oh, no. No way. She shook her head.

"You don't like it?"

"I like it fine as is, Mr. Boss Man. Don't interfere."

He shook his head quickly. "I wouldn't ever do that, Bella." He nudged his eyebrows together. "You understand that, right? It's your life. I'm not going to butt into any part of it. But . . ."

The trailing off of that keyword made her stomach churn. She put her watermelon down, waiting for the other and more proverbial shoe to drop. Was this where he gave the real reason for asking her to lunch? Some new way they had to demonstrate loyalty—oh God, please no—to Aro or someone else? The idea freshened the brutal rejection she'd worked so hard to face.

Deep breaths, Swan. Deep breaths.

She was so overcome that she didn't hear him start to talk again.

" . . . your friendship a great deal. I don't want to lose that—or you."

Oh. Oh.

Pregnancy made any emotional swing feel like she was living on an erratic pendulum. She had no way to predict what emotion she was aiming for next. She only knew that it would hit her like a wall.

Blinking a few times, she collected herself, trying not to show exactly how tight her throat and lungs felt.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

She forced a smile onto her face, glancing down as if flattered and embarrassed. It bought her a moment to compose herself before she looked back up.

"Well, Cullen, like I told you before, if you want to show me you care, then buy me a pony." She mimicked a playful poke in his direction with her forkful of watermelon before forcing the now tasteless bite into her mouth. "Of course, that's only if you really care. Otherwise, we're solid with you carrying my watermelon here."

The smile that he produced didn't ring true to her. If anything, his expression was thoughtful, his gaze focused intently on her face. As she pretended a lightness she didn't feel, she couldn't tell if it was only her perspective, skewed now by the wild emotional swing she was on, impotently attempting to control her very powerful feelings for one Edward Cullen.

- 0 -

"Not yet," she sighed , returning to her seat from the bathroom. At least she was down to vomiting only once or twice a day. Apparently, giving in to one's cravings carried no guarantees.

Small steps.

Baby steps.

She giggled at her silent joke.

"Something you care to share with the rest of us, Ms. Swan?" Birgitta gave her best impression of a haughty teacher.

"No, just, um, thinking about something funny I was watching."

They were waiting for the start of the staff meeting which had been stymied by technical difficulties. Two of the younger men on staff leaned over a laptop and projector. Bella was pretty sure they'd selected the wrong port, which was a simple enough fix if they'd read the manual, but she was just too tired to get up and try to combat their assumption that they knew better than their junior—and female—colleague.

Ah, sexism. So much fun.

"Ooh, what're you watching these days?" Like Bella, Birgitta had a penchant for salacious drama or romance, both written and televised.

"Rome," Bella said, smirking.

"Oh God, I love that one. Kinda dark in spots"—she lowered her voice—"but the sex scenes? Mmff." She fanned herself.

Bella snorted out a telltale giggle. Yeah, she hadn't expected such graphic scenes when she'd started the series but in combination with her hormone swings, she'd found herself quite affected some evenings. Some nights as well, if one counted the occasional vivid dream. She tried to ignore the fact that one or two of them might have starred a familiar male body.

Birgitta continued in hushed tones. "Speaking of sex, I saw young Mr. Cullen accompany you into the lobby yesterday."

Thank God Brigitta couldn't read minds.

And yes, Edward had walked her inside—rather stubbornly refusing to relinquish the watermelon until they had reached the elevators. Bella had hoped he hadn't been recognized. Clearly, this was not the case.

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. You know, when a guy offers to carry your watermelon for you, he just might be carrying a torch for you too."

Oh, Birgitta. You have no idea how wrong you are.

"I don't think so." All the humor left her voice, but she tried to keep it light, smiling a little. "Edward's only a friend."

"Ah," Birgitta said, leaning back a bit and folding her arms. "You have a thing for him."

"No."

"I call BS, my friend."

Bella's cheeks flamed.

"See? You're blushing."

Lowering her gaze, Bella lifted her eyebrows. "I blush over everything. Like when someone farts really loudly in the middle of a meeting even when it's not me."

This recollection of the last staff meeting, whose only silent moment had been loudly punctuated by George's pronounced profound flatulence, made Birgitta lean over and snort with laughter.

Redirection achieved—for now, anyway.

"Okay, we've got it!" one of the hot-shots up front announced.

"Oh look, they finally read the instructions," Bella said, lifting her chin to see the one man holding the manual.

Either because she sensed it was a topic with which Bella was not comfortable, or because she'd forgotten about it, Birgitta didn't mention Edward again after the meeting wrapped up. That was, of course, until she danced towards Bella's desk later that day.

"You have a delivery!" Birgitta plopped a much-beribboned brown paper gift bag onto Bella's desk. "Someone dropped it off while I was at the front desk. I said I'd deliver it. It's from Edward." She didn't need to add the "I told you so". It was written all over her smug and animated face.

"You looked inside?" Bella asked incredulously.

Birgitta rolled her eyes. "No." She turned the bag around to show her the note written directly on the side. Bella recognized Edward's handwriting by now: I really do. - Edward

The sense of foreboding that rose inside Bella threatened to swallow her whole. "Well, thanks for bringing it over," she said, giving her friend a fake smile. "I'll open it later."

"I'm beginning to see how you got into and through Harvard." Birgitta shook her head, her eyes widening.

"Connect the dots for me." Bella scrunched up her face in confusion.

"Any woman who can not open a gift from a hot guy who likes them—and that they like back—until the end of the business day, has insane mastery over the art of delaying gratification. Impressive. The rest of us were just too eager to ditch school and go party at college." She pointed her thumbs towards herself.

"Ha, funny," Bella replied. She tapped her computer screen and whispered loudly. "Some of us are still on probation and need to make a good impression on their boss."

"Pfft. Clearly, you've made an impression on the boss's boss. Anyway, I'll try to be a good friend and stop pestering you. But my God, feel free to fill me in when you do—unless it's something weird like sex toys, but who am I kidding, I watch Rome. Fill me in anyway."

Bella didn't open the bag at work, nor did she when she first got home. She ate something, made sure she'd had some water, and then sat down on the sofa, putting the bag on the coffee table in front of her.

She stared at it for a minute, reading the message, trying to imagine another meaning that wasn't what the words implied. Because she could delay it no longer, she thrust her hand into the bag, fishing through the ribbon and tissue paper for what was inside.

As her fingers clutched the small object, her stomach clenched. She pulled out a figurine, staring at the carved wooden pony in her hand.

That's only if you really care.

It had been a joke, a reminder of an off-hand comment she'd made in circumstances that had compressed their feelings for each other in the same way that coal was formed into diamonds, or so she'd thought.

She'd been wrong. Instead of becoming part of something lasting, she had allowed herself to be crushed by the weight of her own misapprehensions. Now the bastard who had so easily convinced her that he'd loved her wanted to toy with the rest of her broken heart by teasing her about her childlike gullibility?

Grabbing the carving and her car keys, she stood, ready to find and then demand answers from one Edward Cullen.

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