They've developed a routine. Esme remains in Washburn; the developing city is still small, but with enough commotion that she will not stand out as a newcomer.
Every day, Carlisle races through ten miles of woods to reach the small cottage he and Edward constructed for her in the meadow. Esme has recently acquired a new job as an aid to the teacher in the tiny schoolhouse at the center of the town, usually working five days a week from morning to early afternoon. Though, occasionally, she has entire days free of responsibility. She always calls him on those days, as soon as she wakes in the morning, and he's on her doorstep in seconds. He stays until his duties at the hospital call him away.
On the weekends, he steals her away to the house in Ashland, where she tends to the gardens, perches at the piano with Edward for hours, and walks with Carlisle through the nearby forest as if she hasn't traipsed through it hundreds of times by then.
For six months, this is their life and he thinks it is the happiest he has ever been.
"This is growing painful," Edward mutters, rolling his eyes as Carlisle checks the clock for the fifth time that hour. "If you cannot bear to be away from her so much, why don't you just stay with her for the entirety of the week?"
"It wouldn't be proper," Carlisle sighs, wishing it was.
"Carlisle, we are vampires. Esme is on the run from her abusive husband and recovering from both the loss of her child and a suicide attempt," Edward lays out bluntly. "Why concern yourself so deeply with properness?"
"I… because it is what she deserves," Carlisle explains, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the blonde locks. Esme always teases him when he does it in front of her, batting his hand away to smooth the stray strands back down with her own fingers.
He fears he's started to inadvertently do the action on purpose solely for the sake of the result.
Edward gags dramatically.
"Son," Carlisle huffs, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. "Please try to stay out of my head."
"I would if you'd stop thinking so loudly," Edward retorts, plopping down at the piano he adores. "I'm not used to your mind being so persistent, Carlisle. It's how I'm quite certain you're in love with her."
Carlisle startles, turning away from his spot near the window to meet his son's gaze.
"I don't… I know nothing of love. This could simply be infatuation," he reasons, grasping at straws, even to his own ears. "We've never spent this much time with a woman, I have a silly personal connection to her, probably a savior complex of some sort-"
"You're too selfless for a savior complex," Edward mutters, flexing his fingers over the keys. "Believe what you must to keep yourself sane, but you know all of those reasons are mere excuses. You know more about vampiric relations than I do, but don't our kind mate for life? Have some kind of immediate, love at first sight reaction?"
"That… that is the rumor of the last century or so," Carlisle reluctantly confirms. "But that is vampires. Esme is… she's human, it doesn't make sense."
"Why not?" Edward shrugs, testing out a few notes. "What does it matter if she is of our kind or not? There are no rules dictating how or whom we fall in love with."
"I don't know if it's even love, what vampires have," Carlisle sighs, starting to pace. "If we are actually even capable of that, or if we just… mate, like animals. Pair off in perfect numbers."
Edward makes an indiscernible noise in the back of his throat. "Carlisle, I'll only say this once, so please drag yourself from your self-loathing for a moment to listen to me," his son announces, and - though with chagrin at the disclaimer - Carlisle offers his attention. "I may not hold the expertise on the subject, but from what I have learned with my special ability in these last twenty years, I think I can say with confidence that whatever you feel for Esme is not some mindless order to things. You aren't a monster bound by laws of nature, you still retain the echo of your soul, your heart. You're too… good not to. So just - stop looking for some logical reason to dispute all of this. You love Esme, it's not a bad thing."
Carlisle goes quiet, pondering all of those words. It was the most sincere handful of sentences Edward may have ever said to him; the boy begins to play the piano loud enough to drown out his inner monologue.
"Perhaps, you're right."
Edward ceases in his playing for a moment.
"I am," he nods without doubt. "Besides, I care about her too. Not in the way you do, but in the way that I would do whatever it takes to keep her safe and see her happy. So consider this talk more of a favor to her than you."
Carlisle scoffs a laugh, but that warms his dead heart too.
And then the phone rings and he nearly trips over himself in his haste to answer the only person who has their number.
She's already waiting outside when he arrives, swinging back and forth on a little plank of wood that Edward tied to a giant tree limb the last time he was here.
"Hey," she calls, her bare feet skimming through the grass.
Carlisle reaches her in a heartbeat, his gentle hands catching the ropes, pulling her closer for a split second before letting her swing backward and away from him.
"Hi," he grins, his smile dazzling in the dying light of the afternoon. "How was school?"
"Great," she gushes, stretching to brush her toes to his pant leg. She's been substituting more often lately and she's been enjoying it so much more than being a mere assistant to another. "I always forget how much I miss teaching and I've got a fantastic group of students to work with."
"They're lucky to have you," he affirms, falling into the swaying rhythm - pushing her back to send her swinging just a little higher. "The best schoolteacher Wisconsin could ever hope for."
Esme laughs. "That's a grand exaggeration."
"I disagree," he muses, catching her by the shins this time when she pokes his knees with her feet.
Her grip tightens on the rough twine of rope. It's become increasingly difficult to spend so much time with Carlisle, day in and day out, and not act on the feelings she has for him.
"Carlisle?" she mumbles, knowing he can hear the soft tone of her voice.
He lets her go, lets her drift away from him before she's drifting back, dismounting from the swing.
"Can we go?"
"Of course," he murmurs, looking at her most ardently, as though he would take her anywhere in the world if she asked. "Anywhere in particular?"
Esme shakes her head as she accepts his extended hand. "Surprise me."
She's accustomed to the graceful slide of her body onto his back, the intimate lock of her limbs around his frame. When he takes off into the woods, she rests her cheek at his shoulder blade, watches the world quite literally fly by, and feels the peace settle over her. Part of her wonders if it should be worrisome, how safe she feels with a vampire.
Carlisle's pace begins to slow, but only for his direction of running to shift into climbing. Her arms tighten slightly around his neck as they ascend a tree; it's the first time he's done this and while she trusts him explicitly, she has developed a small wariness to heights since she dove from a cliff six months ago.
Once they reach the top (well, nearly the top), Carlisle eases her from his back to stand upon the thick branch of the tree with him.
Her fear is replaced with awe.
"This is the most beautiful view," she breathes, her eyes roving the mountains in the distance, the mist and the residual snowcaps, the splotches of greenery and the slither of a blue river far below.
She could stay up here forever.
"I can see why the idea appealed to you even then," Carlisle murmurs, his hand securely covering her hip.
A surprised laugh escapes her. "Sometimes I forget you remember that."
"Treating my favorite patient? Never," he teases.
She steals another glimpse of him, the sharp angle of his jaw, the godlike structure of his nose, the chiseled rise of his cheekbone. She might like this view even better.
"Favorite, huh?" she picks up on their banter to distract herself. It isn't like that with Carlisle. She doesn't know what they have between them, but she's too damaged and he's… well, he's immortal. Some things just aren't meant to work out.
But as he turns to rest his back to the tree trunk and gives her his best smile, she decides to do what she always does - ignore the inevitable.
Because she is so viscerally afraid that she may be falling in love with him.