Beta'd by Eeyorefan12
When Bella knocked on Edward's door, she wasn't holding flowers. Instead, she held out the crutches he'd lent her, wrapped in a bow. "Hi."
He laughed, taking them. "These will look lovely on the table. Thank you."
Bella smiled at his humor.
"Come on in for a sec," he said. "I need to put Arco in his kennel."
He moved to the back porch, opening the sliding glass door. Arco was a large chocolate lab, who looked like he wanted to come bounding up to paint Bella with his muddy paws. Edward's hand gripped Arco's collar tightly. "Sit," he said, rewarding the dog with a small treat from his pocket, then wiping off the big paws with a towel. "In you go." With an erstwhile wag of his tail, Arco complied, curling up in the large cage.
"May I?" she asked, coming close.
"Sure, but I warn you, he's a licker."
Her smile was wide. "I'm good with dogs. Even lickers."
Edward was right. Her hand and forearm were thoroughly slobbered over after she presented her fist for a sniff. He rolled over like a rag doll when she rubbed his ears and belly. "He's beautiful," she murmured.
"He's something."
"Did I hear the name right? Arco, as in the gas station?"
"Yeah. I found him at one."
"Abandoned?"
Edward nodded, showing her to the kitchen sink. "He was pretty little and pretty sick, or just cold. It was hard to tell. We had a real cold snap the other year. Someone had left him in a box by the dumpster."
Bella frowned. "God, that's just so cruel, the way people abandon their animals. It's not like there aren't shelters or families that won't take a dog like this."
"I know," Edward said, leaning back against the counter. "It's work when they're young, but he's worth it. Not like taking on a baby or a foster child—" He stopped abruptly, sucking in a breath. "Uh, I didn't—"
"I get it," Bella said, smiling.
Edward's shoulders relaxed.
"So, where to?" She watched him pocket his wallet, phone and keys. He was dressed in crisp chinos and a soft-looking burgundy shirt. She wondered what it would feel like, to touch him through it. A wave of heat threatened at her neck, and she shooed the errant thought away.
"Fairhaven. There's a great Thai place there."
"Fairhaven," Bella muttered. She hadn't been that direction yet, but she'd heard about it. Her colleague had described it as a "suburb with quaint aspirations."
"I'll show you," Edward assured her.
The Poor Siamese was anything but poor, with better Thai food than she'd ever encountered before. The unassuming restaurant was furnished with mismatched tables and chairs. The high windows were single paned, and by the looks of them, original to the ancient storefront. "I'm beginning to get Fairhaven's appeal," she said, looking out the glass to the turn-of-the-century buildings.
"I always liked it here, as a kid. Fairhaven, that is," Edward said, smiling a bit bashfully. "It looked old enough to me that I could pretend it was the wild west."
"You were a cowboy kid?" A flurry of images, of him both young and present-aged, attired in a variety of cowboy costumes sauntered through her mind. They became less wholesome as they progressed.
"Yup," he said, taking another bite of curry. "And there was an amazing ice cream place. And a store that was open twenty-four hours. Revolutionary, for here and then."
"Twenty-four hour stores. Shocker."
They snickered together.
"Where'd you grow up?" he asked.
"Oh, here and there. The biggest chunk was in Phoenix and then my last few years of high school were in Forks, out on the peninsula."
"Really?"
"Yeah, not that you'd really call it living."
His eyebrows pulled together. "How so?"
She hid her nerves in another bite of food. "I was involved in a bad accident right after I moved there."
"Your scars," he murmured.
"Yes. It took a few surgeries to fix everything. Mostly everything." She swallowed a nervous gulp of water.
"What happened?" He'd leaned forward, chin resting on his hands, his very green eyes fully intent on her.
"I was hit by a car."
He said nothing, still staring, still listening.
She swallowed nervously.
What's there to be a chicken about? She scolded herself. It isn't like this can go anywhere, right?
Right?
"One of the kids at school lost control of his van in the parking lot. It was really icy. I was hit."
"Oh my God. The damage—"
"Was pretty bad. When I woke up and found both my parents there, I knew it was pretty bad—and that I'd been out for a while." She fiddled with her fork, shoving a pepper to the side of her plate.
"Both your parents?"
"They're divorced. I'd just moved in with my Dad. Mom was ready to yank me back across the country, but I insisted on staying." She shrugged.
"I'm surprised."
Now she dared to look at him again. "Why?"
"Most young people would want their primary caregiver, not the new one."
She snorted, taking a drink of water. "Not my mom."
He lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, but didn't ask the obvious question. "How long did your recovery take?"
"The better part of a year. There were a few smaller surgeries to correct a few things after that, but the more radical stuff was all done early on." Then she let her gaze linger, watching him unpack that one, significant word—not that it was medically accurate, but it was accurate enough. She couldn't have children, even if her ovaries remained intact.
It was easy to see the understanding unfold on his face as he nodded. "I'd wondered."
His reaction was so understated she almost frowned. She'd expected—she'd expected the usual pile of crap. Her face, the canvas for all her feelings, registered her confusion.
"Is that something that troubles you?" he asked quietly, his voice nervous.
"Not at all. I'm just . . ." She wondered how to put it. "Surprised at your response. Most people tend to say how sorry they are, or ask me how sad I am about not being able to 'fulfill my purpose as a woman.' Of course, then there are the super special ones who ask if that's why I've chosen my line of medical work." She rolled her eyes at these last options.
Edward's lips twisted together, as he attempted not to laugh. "I'm sorry to disappoint you there."
She laughed and smiled too. "Thank you. I think you're the first person ever to not try to drown me with either sympathy or judgment."
"Happy to oblige," Edward said. His grin was relaxed now. "It helps to have a minister as a father. You learn to take your cues from the people in front of you and not go jumping to conclusions."
How well she could imagine that.
"Growing up in a religious household served you well?" She asked this lightly, not wanting to stray into awkward territory, but figuring she was safely skirting dangerous topics.
"I think so. What about you? What were some of the things you grew up with?"
"A lack of parental presence? My mom was pretty scatterbrained." She shrugged. "Some might call it benign neglect. It helped me in the long term, I suppose. I learned to be organized from a young age. Moving out on my own didn't feel like a big deal, more of a relief, really."
"Oh?"
"Don't get me wrong. Charlie's a great Dad—"
"You call your dad by his first name?"
She grinned. "Not to his face. He's pretty touchy about that, but when I'm with other people, yes. Absolutely."
He'd leaned back now, regarding her with interest. His glance towards the clock was noticeable. "You still up for a movie?"
"I am," she said. The small theater had an eclectic selection running. Today's pick was a French film she'd heard good reviews about from colleagues. "Just let me run to the washroom."
When she returned, he'd already paid the bill. Seeing her look, he held up his hand. "My idea, my treat." Then, very coyly, he added, "Hope that's not too patriarchal or misogynistic."
She groaned, hand to her forehead. "Oh God, did I really say that? I did, didn't I? I'm so sorry—"
"Don't," he said, brushing his hand by her arm.
If her arm didn't shiver at his touch.
"Okay," she said, recovering herself. "But the movie is mine."
"Deal," he agreed, picking up her jacket and holding it for her.
Now she blushed, the color rising up her face.
Edward said nothing, and she was glad. She enjoyed the feeling of his hands holding the fabric taut.
And she wondered, if it felt so good to have him put something on, what it would feel like to have him take something off.
The film was a bittersweet tale. Just the sort of thing to leave Bella feeling on edge, almost ready to cry, but not quite.
Edward blew out a breath when the credits rolled. "Okay, now that we both want to cry, I vote for ice cream."
"I think that beats crying. Count me in."
He held out a hand, helping her up. "Then off to the twenty-four-hour supermarket we go."
"I thought you said there was a good ice cream place here?"
"There was, but it shut down about ten years ago. The grocery store does carry some very good ice cream. There are still a few places that make it in state."
Bella smirked. She hadn't been on many dates, but none of them had ended at a supermarket.
None of them have been this nice, either, she reminded herself.
Checking her watch, she saw it was eleven.
"You still up for it?" he asked.
"I am," she assured him, smiling.
"You don't turn into a pumpkin at twelve, do you?"
"Nope. Don't lose glass slippers either."
They walked, meandering up the main street. Bella eyed the old lamp-posts, smiling. It was cute, approaching quaint.
Despite its convenient hours, the Fairhaven Market had few customers and fewer staff. A droopy-eyed cashier only briefly lifted her gaze when they walked inside, quickly returning it to the magazine she was thumbing through. Competing with the low hum of the refrigerator units was the croon of Frank Sinatra singing, "Fly me to the moon."
Edward began humming along, as they walked towards the rear of the store.
"What?" he said, catching her look.
"Geriatric musical tastes," Bella quipped. "Nice."
Edward chuckled. "And dance moves, too." He picked up her hand and still singing along, twirled her around, Bella almost falling over. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall."
His smile was so wide, and the crinkle at his eyes so sweet, she let herself trust him.
He danced her to the back of the store, where he let go of all but her hand.
His fingers were strong, but the grip light. She liked the feeling of his hands, surprising callouses brushing against her palm.
"What kind of ice cream do you like?" she asked, watching him pretend to look at the freezers. She'd seen him glancing at her.
"I haven't met one I don't like yet," he said, patting his stomach.
Bella doubted there was a spare inch of fat anywhere on the man, and her chuckle must have communicated much.
"What about you?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm a peanut-butter chocolate kind of gal."
"Gal? And I'm geriatric, hmm?"
She sighed dramatically. "Alright. 'Spose I am too . . . Grandpa." She elbowed him good-naturedly, pulling out a container of ice cream.
They both chuckled, still holding hands.
Turning together, they walked slowly towards the front of the store.
"We'll need some spoons," Edward remarked.
"Right." Bella looked around the store, wondering where the plastic cutlery might be.
"I have some at my place," Edward said softly.
Bella looked over at him, a little caught off guard.
She hadn't thought he'd be . . . that kind of guy.
"Um—"
"Or we can find some spoons here," Edward offered. He paused, watching her. "Arco likes ice cream. Sorry, it wasn't some sort of sly move—"
"No, I'm sorry. I—" she sighed. They were still holding hands. "I like you. I've just not had the best of luck with . . ."
What was she going to call this?
"Buying ice cream with men with whom you've been on a date?" Edward offered lightly.
"Yeah," Bella said, grateful for the gracious exit he'd offered. She felt like she was blushing. She hoped she wasn't.
They'd paused, standing by a small stand of bouquets. Bella's hand was starting to feel numb. She fiddled with the container, and then felt Edward's fingers pluck it from her grip.
"So, what color should I have brought you, the other night?" He lifted his chin towards the floral display.
"What?"
"The flowers. I got the colors wrong"
Bella's cheeks flushed. "Oh, well. We've already covered red, for passionate love." She had absentmindedly reached out, stroking a waxy petal.
He nodded in acknowledgement.
"Pink symbolizes strong attachment." Now she knew her cheeks were reddening. "Variegated ones are supposed to look like beautiful eyes, so apparently they're good for dates." Her hand drifted towards the last bunch on the rack. "And yellow is for those who are hopelessly in love."
"Ah," he said. "Thank you."
On a whim, Bella pulled out a bunch of white tulips. "I'm still really sorry about how I behaved. Really. I've had a wonderful time tonight." She handed the bouquet to him, which he accepted awkwardly, tucking the ice cream under his arm, holding the tulips in his free hand. As he got it all settled, he let go of her hand.
Her heart stuttered, and she wondered if she'd said the wrong thing.
But no, he was pulling another bunch of white tulips out. "I think I owe you that just as much, if not more."
They both stood there, each holding their flowers. Bella wasn't sure where to put here eyes, but his words drew them up again.
"But you're right. I absolutely had the wrong colors."
Then Bella was starting at a bouquet of bright yellow tulips, their delicate mouths revealing bright suns inside.
He'd stepped closer and set everything else in his hands on a shelf, freeing his hands to cup her face and bring their lips together.
She forgot where she was.
Or to breathe.
Much.
Unlike Edward, she dropped the flowers, her hands finding his face, fingers memorizing the arch of his cheeks and the prickle at his jaw.
"Oh. My. God," a deep voice boomed.
It almost hurt, having Edward pull away.
Watching his face flush, Bella followed his gaze.
"I thought Rose was pulling my leg, but my God, it's a real live girl!"
Edward swallowed nervously and then cleared his throat. He sounded resigned when he spoke. "Hi, Emmett." His tone softened considerably when he addressed Bella. "This is my brother, Emmett. Rose's husband. Emmett, this is Bella."
"Um, hi," Bella managed, nodding towards him.
Emmett grinned widely shifting his basket to his other arm. "Nice ta meetcha. Well, I'll leave you lovebirds to it. I need to get this back to Rose." He gestured to his basket full of ice cream containers.
Edward's face transformed instantly, full of sharp angles and stern disapproval. "She's not supposed to be having sugar, Emmett."
"Yeah, sure. You tell her that."
"I have," Edward growled.
"Uh-huh. Maybe repeat that next time you see her."
"She—" Edward stopped himself, looking at Emmett and then at Bella. "Have a nice night."
Emmett was already walking away, waving a careless hand in farewell.
Taking Bella's hand in his again, Edward picked up the ice cream and the yellow tulips. "Shall we?" he asked.
"Sounds good." She was happy to evade anymore awkward grocery store interactions.
They filled the drive back to Edward's place with the smallest of talk, the air between them thick with a tension that had nothing to do with ice cream, tulips, brothers, or the powerful feeling that was blossoming between them both.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.