11

The Hermit

Okay, Honey ...

Bella's mind goes to that dark place and immediately conjures up worst-case scenarios. She can't help it. It's just how her brain works.

One where Edward beats down her door and drags her out of the safety of her house, kicking and screaming. She can feel the panic at just the thought of being forced over the threshold.

The sheer terror that crawls up her backbone is frightening, even though the likelihood of that happening is slim. She knows Edward would never do anything so extreme.

At least, she hopes he wouldn't.

Another where he shows up and enters her home without her knowing? It's not like she can't allow someone in. She could. But she barely knows the man, and it took her almost three months to let Zafrina inside.

Bella has experienced enough surprises to know that she hates them.

She needs to be in control of the situation. The more she gets to know Edward, the more she can feel some of that control slipping away.

It's the third scenario that Bella obsesses over. A note sliding underneath the door telling her that he's changed his mind. That she's too much work and to delete his number.

Because out of the three, as horrifying as they all may seem, the thought of Edward walking away is what hurts Bella the most.

And she barely knows him.

She tries to take her mind off of things, distracting herself with menial tasks around the house, and eventually ends up on her couch with a basket full of yarn and a pair of knitting needles.

She's been working on a sweater for a while now. The right arm refuses to cooperate, so she pulls the string until she's back at the shoulder and starts over. Bella works quietly, focusing on her loop stitching, oblivious to what's going on outside her front door.

She gives a satisfied sigh when she finishes her project.

The sweater is long and dark beige. She can't help but pull it over her head.

She twists and turns, liking the way it falls a little longer than mid-thigh. She could wear it around the house as a dress if she wanted, but it still looks good over her light denim jeans.

Bella frowns when she realizes that the sleeves are a bit too long. It's something she can't change. What's done is done.

She contemplates starting a new project but decides against it, placing her knitting basket back where it goes.

Bella is busy dusting her house and ignoring the gnawing hunger in her stomach when there's a soft familiar tap at the door.

A piece of paper slips inside.

She picks it up, anticipating her worst fear becoming a reality.

So, I wanted to take you out for dinner, but I know that's not possible RIGHT NOW. Instead, I came up with this crazy idea, and I really hope you don't slam the door in my face. I put a lot of thought into it. When you're ready, I'd like for you to grab a comfy pillow and open your door for me, wide.

Bella reads the letter once, twice, three times before she checks the peephole.

Empty.

She's not sure what to expect.

She grabs a big pillow from the couch and unlocks the door before opening it slowly.

Edward is sitting on a pillow, legs crossed awkwardly because her side of their shared stoop isn't very big, and he's a rather large man.

In front of him are boxes of Chinese take-out, plates, napkins, and various bottles of soda.

"I didn't know what you like, so I got a bit of everything." He blushes. "Well, a lot of everything. Whatever we don't eat tonight, I'll have leftovers ... for the next two weeks or forever."

"Okay?"

Bella is nervous.

She doesn't fully understand Edward's intentions until he points to a spot in front of where she stands. Three feet from the threshold.

"I'm not going to push, but I want you to at least try. Take a seat on your pillow and have dinner with me. You're safe in your house, and I'm out here."

Bella is frozen on the spot.

"Come on, Sugar. Have dinner with me."

The apprehension and hopeful undertone in his voice makes her heart ache.

Bella finds herself tossing the pillow onto the floor, pulling it to where she feels safe, and sits down with her legs crossed.

"I hope you brought chopsticks," she jokes with a laugh until she sees Edward's smile fall. "Oh, no. It's okay. I'll be right back."

She rushes into the kitchen, sliding across the tile, and slams into the counter with a loud thud.

"Shit!" she exclaims.

"Bella?" Edward calls.

"I'm fine. Just fine. Give me a second," she answers, rubbing her sore hip and rummaging through the utensil drawer until she finds what she's looking for.

"Are you okay?" Edward asks when she finally takes her seat.

"Yeah. I just slid across the floor and right into the counter. My hip will be a lovely shade of blue tomorrow," she assures and holds up two pairs of chopsticks triumphantly.

She's not freaking out.

She waits for it to hit her, the fact that she's sitting three feet away from the threshold and talking to someone.

A handsome someone.

But the panic never comes.

Edward's patient with her. He's willing to stretch to pass her cartons and a bottle of regular Coke. They fill their plates, and Bella tries to talk him through using chopsticks.

"How could you go through life without knowing how to eat Chinese food the proper way?" She laughs.

"Well, I've never felt the need to fight for my food before. A fork does its job efficiently," he grits out, growling in frustration when his noodles fall back onto the plate. "I give up. Give me back my fork."

"No," Bella says, scooting her pillow closer to him. "If I can teach my sister's fiancé how to use chopsticks, I'm sure I can figure out a way to teach you. Now come on."

If Edward's shocked that she willingly moved closer to him, he masks it well. She holds her hands out and motions for him to lift his.

Bella's not breathing when she takes Edward's hands in hers. She's trying to swallow the panic she knows will come. But it never does.

Instead of anxiety and Xanax, they argue and laugh until Bella gives up and throws a plastic fork at Edward's head.

He catches it before it makes an impact and starts digging into his food like a starving man.

"You're a hopeless case. I feel like I should get a wad of paper and a rubber band like restaurants do for little kids."

She tries to maintain eye contact while they converse, but it's difficult.

She's spent the past two years with her head pointed down, and before that, she was no social butterfly.

When they are stuffed to the gills, Edward produces a pair of fortune cookies.

Bella groans.

"I can't."

"You have to. It's tradition."

"So is eating with chopsticks."

Bella knows he's not going to let it go by the look on his face. She reaches out and snatches one at random, ripping it open with her teeth.

She breaks the hard cookie in half and laughs at the absurdity of her fortune.

"We don't know your fortune, but here's a cookie." She giggles.

"Mine is no better. A foolish man listens to his heart. A wise man listens to cookies."

"These are terrible fortunes," Bella states, plucking her fancy reusable chopsticks out of the mess they've created.

"But the company was enjoyable, right?"

"I had a very good time, Edward. Honestly. I can't remember the last time I've laughed so hard."

Edward beams.

"I think we should make this a habit, sharing dinner," he offers. "Why eat alone when we can have dinner together?"

Bella nods.

"That sounds good. But next time, I'm cooking."

"How does tomorrow night sound?"

Bella giggles. "Sure, Honey. I'll see you tomorrow."

When the door is shut, she leans against it with a dreamy smile.

Edward Cullen is definitely swoon worthy.