A/N: Okay, here's another chapter and now I really need to get going. I was thinking that I'd be on the road in an hour … but I still need to shower and pack and feed my cats … et cetera. I'm really excited for TFMU today, but I definitely didn't plan well at all. (I probably should have taken an extra day off work to actually get ready haha.)

I hope I get to see some of you there! I'm a shy introvert so please say hi to me!

Thanks, Sally, for editing this beast!

8

"I'm as all right as you probably are," is what I would have said if I could speak. Instead, I gave him the same sort of half-smile that he had given me. There were so many words clustering on the tip of my tongue, and I stood in front of him, fearing that they would never leave that spot.

"Can you … can you talk to me?" he asked hesitantly. "Or do you not want to? It's okay if you don't want to!" he quickly added, obviously not wanting to pressure me after everything that had happened. "I know we're not close, and you're new to town and stuff … If you're comfortable, though, just know that you can talk to me. I mean, I'm not the best company around here probably … but I'm a good listener."

I nodded, letting my half-smile expand to something grander. I hoped my face conveyed something along the lines of "Will do!" or "For sure!" Something friendly like that. Even if I could speak now, I was sure that I'd be completely awkward.

Awkward seemed like my go to state-of-being whenever I was talking to someone new. Since I didn't really have friends, I seemed to always be talking to someone new. The company of strangers was something I was far too used to. Someone my age should have friends. Someone my age should experience "girl nights" and mornings hungover and normal jobs and aspirations to work toward. The spot I was in now seemed far off from the spot where I should be. But I couldn't harp on that now. There was too much to work on before I even wasted time worrying about being normal. Now, I just wanted to worry about staying sane.

Staying sane and keeping myself as safe as I could be … Even if that meant having to keep myself safe from myself. Which, lately, felt like a full-time occupation.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

I shrugged. What did it mean to be "all right"? Was anyone ever "all right"? Or were they just doing their best to get by.

"Well, I'll stop bothering you and let you browse around. Let me know if you need anything …"

He paused as if he were searching for my name, wanting to pluck it from his memory. I may have been memorable enough to remember physically, but he didn't seem to have an inkling of an idea of who I was. This was depressing. Someone who had impacted my life hadn't even taken a moment to keep my name in his thoughts. Perhaps I really was forgettable—more so than I originally thought.

After a moment of searching for my name and coming up with nothing, he gave me a sheepish smile before backing away. I opened my mouth, hoping to tell him that my name was Bella, but as I did so, I was met only with the sound of my breath. Despite wanting so desperately to speak, I couldn't expel a single word.

If he noticed this, he didn't seem to want to press me about things any further as he moved back to sit behind the front desk. I went back to my fairy tales then, immersing myself in these cautionary tales with happy endings while wondering if I would ever find mine.

Were happy endings part of reality? Endings never seemed to be happy. The beginnings of things could be happy and exciting. Same as the middles. The endings however, no matter what they were, always felt melancholy. Even if the ending of one thing meant an exciting start of something new, it always felt hard to let go. Endings always seemed to point out the lack of control that existed in life. As we grew up, we always believed that we held onto the universe, controlling it all under our thumb, but there were moments that forced us to realize how small we truly were, and only in those moments did we realize that the universe held us.

Eventually, I shut the book and slipped it back onto the shelf before gaining the courage to move toward the front counter. I had stuffed the "help wanted" paper in my pocket and pulled it out as I walked toward Edward, who was still posed behind the counter, focused intently on whatever was displayed on the computer screen. Wishing now more than ever that I could speak, I slipped the paper onto the counter as I reached it and looked up at him expectantly.

His eyes found mine right away and a smile formed on his face as if that were the most natural thing in the world to experience as he was looking at me. I raised my brows before looking pointedly down at the paper, hoping he would speak up for both of us. I felt his gaze follow mine before I heard him speak.

"You looking for a job? I thought you were working across the street?"

As he waited for me to answer, I shook my head, hoping that would be enough for him.

"Can you not … can you not speak?"

He asked the question as if it were uncomfortable to say. Obviously, he didn't want to pry or make me uncomfortable. I appreciated that. This sort of care and concern felt like a rarity nowadays. It seemed, at least around me, that people opened their mouths to speak every thought that passed through their minds.

After a small frown, hoping to convey the sadness I felt regarding the fact, I nodded. Would he want someone who was mute working for him here? How much could I possibly be worth now? What could I offer him, after all? A drifter who was now too traumatized to speak.

"That's okay," he said after a moment. "You could organize the shelves. Put out new product. Keep things clean. I could definitely use someone to help with all of that. That's the most time-consuming thing about this job honestly." He looked at me for a moment, seeming to hope that he wasn't coming across badly or harsh. "Would that be okay for you? Is that something that sounds interesting?"

With a smile that hopefully lit up my face—at least, that was what I was aiming for—I nodded eagerly. He let go of a breath then and smiled too. He reached down, fumbling through a drawer before pulling out a form.

"This is a job application. I know I'm old fashioned with paper and all …" He was blushing now, making me want to join in and blush too. "Do you have time to fill this out?"

I nodded, and then dug around in my bag, searching for a pen. Noticing this, he reached for a pen from a painted mason jar on his desk.

"Here you go. We have tables over there in the corner," he said, pointing toward a cluster of tables that looked like the perfect reading nook. "You can sit down and fill this out. Do you want anything to drink? Water or anything? I can grab some from the back."

I shrugged, not wanting to put him through the trouble of doing that. With another nod that felt awkward, I smiled again and moved toward the cluster of tables, sitting down at the one near the window. The sun felt good on my skin as the side of my face warmed. When I had been in the motel, I kept my blinds closed, not wanting the sunlight and the dreary view of the parking lot. Now, I felt like a new person as I basked in the glow of the sunlight.

As I began my application, I noticed Edward slip into the back. Seconds later, he appeared with a bottle of water. He looked so earnest as he walked that it made me smile again. In the short time I had spent with him today, he had made me smile more than I had in weeks.

"Here you go," he said, setting down the water in front of me. "In case you get thirsty."

I gave him a small, shy smile, hoping to convey a sense of gratitude with it. As soon as he set it down, he moved back to his desk as if he were afraid to hover. I took a long drink of water even though I wasn't thirsty. It soothed my throat, knowing it was from him. The way he cared made me feel slightly better. Like somehow, I wasn't alone in this.

After a quarter or so of an hour later, I finished the application and finished off my bottle of water, wanting him to know that I appreciated the gesture. He was still typing away, preparing to send out an email, as I reached his desk with the papers in hand. Again, he peered up at me right away as if he had been waiting for me to return. With a blush that I couldn't help, I handed back his pen. He took it with a friendly smile and then peered down at my finished application.

"All finished? Awesome!"

Moments like this, he seemed like such a dork. It was cute. He flushed behind his thick-rimmed glasses and took my application to glance over.

"Bella! Your name is Bella! I can't believe I couldn't …"

It was clear he was going to admit to not being able to recall my name but decided against it. Either way, I wouldn't have been offended. We were practically strangers, after all. Strangers who had been through life and death together … At least, he remembered my face. For now, that would have to be enough.

I waved my hand as if to say, "It's totally cool. Don't worry about it." He smiled at this, although he still seemed to feel bad for the oversight, before continuing to peer down at my application.

"Well," he said as soon as he was finished. "If you want the job, it's yours!"

I nodded eagerly, causing him to emit a friendly laugh that made us both blush. I had never experienced a flutter in my stomach when I looked at a person—those "butterflies" that everyone spoke of in romantic books and movies. Now, I knew they weren't something made up. When I looked at Edward Cullen, the handsome, bookworm stranger whom I had saved and sang to, I felt butterflies fluttering around inside of me. It made me giddy and gave me hope at possibilities for a life I feared I would never have. Did he experience these butterflies too? Or was this attraction entirely on sided?

"When can you start, Bella?" He said my name now that he knew it, and it sounded as sweet as honey as it fell from his lips. "Is this Monday too soon?"

I shook my head.

"Well, Monday it is then. Can you come here at nine o'clock?"

I could barely sleep now, so, waking up early wasn't a problem. I nodded and we shared another happy moment. Maybe this Monday, I would start a new life. At least, I could only hope.

**********************Sea Foam and Sea Witches*********************************************

Every day with him felt like the first day of spring. A time when everything was in full bloom, making the Earth smell new. Was I the same woman I was yesterday? I couldn't be sure. Beginning this new job … opening up to someone … I would grow so much by midafternoon that I barely recognized myself at the end of each day.

Training at a new job without a voice was strange. Edward Cullen wasn't much of a talker either. Even if I could still speak, I doubted I would've had anything interesting to add. Perhaps, in this case, not talking was beneficial because he was dazzling.

He was dazzling, and he had no idea.

Sometimes, I would find myself gazing at a person while wondering what they thought of themselves. Do handsome people find themselves handsome? Do people find themselves special? Smart? Talented? Do people realize that, sometimes, just by merely existing, they were helping others. Did Edward realize any of that?

Most of the time, he seemed deep in thought, but those thoughts never seemed to concern himself. It always seemed like he was thinking of something far off in the distance. Something a long way away and out of his grasp. I would find myself itching to lean forward just to smooth the wrinkle that would form sometimes between his brows. In my mind, I imagined he would smile, embarrassed by his seriousness and glad that I was there to pull him out of whatever was keeping him so lost in time.

Today, he was showing me how to run the cash register. It was old and unreliable, and as he spoke, he showed me tricks, such as hitting the cash drawer's right side to get the drawer to pop open. He almost seemed embarrassed by it as he raked his hand through his copper hair, tugging at the roots for a moment like he always did to relieve stress.

"If it gives you any trouble, there's a key in here," he said as he dropped his hand away from his hair and dug into a drawer beside the computer. After a few seconds, he pulled out a rusted key and opened the cash drawer with it. "Honestly, I bought this machine second hand from the man who was using this space before me. It's not perfect … but it works. I don't really like to throw things out when I don't need to."

I nodded, appreciating the new, small fact that I knew about him. As silly as it sounded, I loved when he revealed little bits of himself like this. It made me feel closer to him—as if we were no longer strangers. I supposed we weren't really strangers anymore. We were coworkers.

Coworkers and not exactly friends.

I hoped, one day, he could call me that. His friend. Someone special to him. Someone he looked forward to seeing. Right now, I felt like I was a friend to no one. I couldn't name a single person who looked forward to seeing me. It wasn't like people didn't like me around—it just seemed that no one ever thought of me when I wasn't there. Out of sight, out of mind. Whenever I wasn't something, I was no one.

Most of the time, I was no one. No one but a girl passing through. When I was gone, would anyone think of me? Would Edward?

"So," Edward said as he pushed the cash drawer closed and dropped the key back into the desk drawer, "do you feel comfortable with everything so far? I know I went through everything really fast … It's not too overwhelming, is it?"

I shook my head, smiling at him as a form of a silent thank you.

"Okay …" He was hesitant, almost as if he was wondering if I were lying or not, but he smiled back. "I'm usually here all of the time anyway. So, if you have any questions, just let me know."

An awkward moment passed between us then as he stood there, waiting for me to respond somehow. Don't just stand there! my subconscious screamed at me, always ready to point out just how silly I was being. Do something! My eyes darted around the desk before they fell on his Mason jar filled with random pens.

Edward seemed like a collector of all things. In his Mason jar, he had pens from all sorts of businesses mixed with cheap plastic ones in various colors. In his desk drawer, he had a collection of more pens—although, these were fancy and probably all cost a pretty penny. They must have been gifts, considering the way he guarded them. Every so often, I would find him pulling the pens from the desk to hold on to. He wouldn't write anything—he didn't even have paper, suggesting the need to write anything—and would instead just hold onto them as if they provided some sort of relief. Had these pens been a gift from someone important? Someone who was no longer in his life?

I grabbed a random plastic pen and snatched a piece of scrap paper that was sitting next to the calculator on his desk. In my scribbled English, I wrote, I think I got everything! You explained everything well. If I have questions, I'll let you know!

As soon as I was finished writing, I peered up at him to see his expression. He read over the note quickly, and then met my gaze before giving me a friendly nod.

"Awesome! Well, we shouldn't be super busy today. Do you want to work on putting out all of the new shipment?"

I nodded and watched as he turned on his heel, preparing to walk to the backroom. I followed him, breathing in the scent of old books along the way. What gave older books their unique smell? Was it time? Was this a smell that could only be created by aged paper? Did heat, light, and water just bring out the papers perfume? Whatever caused the smell, I was thankful for it. I committed it to memory every time I inhaled.

Edward opened the backroom, and suddenly, it was like we were stepping into a secret spot. A place uniquely his—cut off from the rest of the world. Sometimes, spaces just felt different, and this space had an energy of its own. The air in the backroom felt like him. Was this a space he spent a lot of time in? Books practically covered every square inch. They were haphazardly stacked on the floor and spread across the small table used for breaks.

There was a countertop with a few mugs and a coffee pot along with a small fridge. Incense burned from an old wine bottle, filling the small room with a scent of sandalwood. There was a small hallway that led to another room that was usually filled with shipment boxes. Every box was marked and dated, and as Edward stepped inside, he turned to me.

With one hand on a box, giving it a fond pat, he said, "Now, you can really see why I need the extra help. Going through all of this takes a while, and it's not fun having to do it all alone."

I nodded, wanting to say something like, "Well, I don't know how much company I'll be. It's not like we can chat."

"You really can't imagine how much I appreciate your help."

With a smile and a roll of my eyes, I wanted to say, "I mean, you are paying me for this … It's not like I'm here working for free."

As if he could read my mind, he laughed. "This is a job though, isn't it? You're not exactly here for fun."

I shrugged, wanting to say something like, "I am here for fun though. This place is the perfect escape. You don't know how much you're helping me too."

"I'll carry a few boxes to the front. Then, we can go through them together." He grabbed one box off the floor, and then peered over at me. "It's fine. Go make yourself some coffee or something. I'll get it."

With a small, determined smile, I moved forward and grabbed a box, lifting it off the ground. It was heavier than it looked, probably over fifty pounds, and while I quickly understood why Edward was so intent on doing it himself, I was too proud to put the box back down.

I pushed away the desire to grimace and kept my smile going as I walked ahead of him, carrying the box out of the small room.

"Well, Miss Bella, you're already doing more work than any of my other employees."

As I looked over my shoulder, I found myself winking at him. It happened so fast and without thought, and I blushed, quickly peering forward again. What has come over me? Why had I found it appropriate to wink at my boss?

"You know, although you don't speak, your eyes definitely do. Sometimes …" He paused before mumbling to himself, "God, how do I say this without making it sound weird? Sometimes, I feel like I can almost read your thoughts."

In that moment, I wished he could but was thankful that he didn't have the power. If he read my mind, what would he find there? Inside my head, there wasn't much good. There wasn't much that I wanted to continue to live with.