A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful thoughts.
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 4 – Stargazing
Bella
For the rest of the night, his gaze chased me around the yard like an emerald firefly poised against the wooded, evening backdrop. Those eyes were so brilliant they illuminated the entire landscape in an incandescent light that breezily eclipsed the torches' glow. That same glow caught and highlighted his copper strands. He had a way of grinning with only one side of his mouth. All of it gave him an impish sort of appearance. Still, it was those eyes…
They claimed, no, they demanded my attention. They shadowed me so insistently that whispers began making rounds, at first mingling with the backyard's whistling breeze, then completely overpowering it:
"Look at how he acts around her."
"He's smitten."
"He barely leaves her side."
As for me, well, I was completely and enigmatically fascinated by…little Tristan Cullen.
His father, on the other hand, was a different matter.
"Jesus, how hard did you bump into that guy last night? Scooch over."
When Emily carefully bumped my butt, I'd been sitting with Leah and Rosalie at one of the barbecue tables, attempting to distract myself, via some kick-ass wings, from the presence of the same person Emily just brought up.
With the wing in hand, I shot her a glance through a raised brow as she set down her plate of food.
"Damn, did you leave any wings for the rest of us?"
"Look who's talking," she chuckled. "You have about a dozen on your plate. And stop changing the subject."
"Who's changing what subject?" I asked while extremely focused on yanking the last bit of juicy meat from the carcass of the wing in hand. "We're talking about wings. These wings are amazing. Seriously, who made these? These are a game-changer."
"Bella, we're not talking about wings!"
"Then, Em, I have no clue what you're talking about."
Rose interjected from her seat across from me. "You're so full of shit."
"Yeah, even I know who and what Em's talking about." Leah jerked her jaw sharply toward something…or rather someone somewhere behind me.
"Of course, you do," I smirked. "This is Forks. Emily, just tell me if there's anyone in this backyard who still doesn't know what happened in the pub last night. That might be a shorter list."
Emily's ensuing chuckle held neither shame nor apology. "While the Chief knows what happened, I don't think he knows it was his new buddy, Edward, who was involved. Not yet, at least."
"He totally doesn't know, nor does Emmett," Rose said. "Emmett was already checking in with me to clear some days this week when they can all go on a fishing expedition."
"The Three Musketeers, Forks Edition. Sounds good to me," I nodded. "Maybe it'll keep them all away from me."
No one laughed at my quip, which I'd considered rather humorous. Instead, all three women took me in with various levels of exasperation in their expressions.
"Ugh," I exhaled. "Fine."
With a sigh and a suddenly sped-up pulse, I set down my last wing. Then, slowly and with attempted stealth, I turned my head and peeked over my shoulder. In the glow of the backyard's torches, I caught sight of little Tristan Cullen.
He was by the tree line, where the lawned landscape gave way to the encroaching wilderness. Just a few minutes earlier, he'd been with Leah, Rose, Esme, and me, telling us all about his airplane and bus adventure arrival into Forks, as well as about a blanket whose narrative made it sound as if it'd been accidentally left behind. Tristan's Nanny Chelsea was going to "send it through the sky" for him. Then, little Esme decided it was time for a game of tag between her, Tristan, and Quil, and understandably unable to resist a game of tag, Tristan left us.
Now, however, Tristan must've felt a pair of eyes on him. He abruptly stopped running and looked up, and though my pulse had already returned to normal, it was now my heart that reacted. A shot of warmth sparked through me at the sight of those bright green eyes growing wide, at their open thrill when spotting me. He offered me one of those guileless, vigorous waves that only a child can pull off with a modicum of credulity.
"Bella! Bella!"
"Hey, sweet pea!"
"Bella, look! I playing with my new friends!"
"Good job!" I acknowledged his enthusiasm with an energetic clap of encouragement. He was such a sweet, friendly little boy. "Just make sure you all don't go past those trees!"
As a summer camp counselor, I'd learned to beware of the dangers of wooded forestry. But suddenly, my mind filled with images of jutting, sharp rocks just waiting to trip up little feet; of thorny, prickly branches eager to scrape minuscule arms and legs.
"Tristan?"
Unfortunately, my previous warning appeared to have been taken as a challenge by the young adventurer, who bravely weaved his way toward the trees. The ensuing dread was the sort usually reserved for nightmares regarding a broken San Francisco living room.
"Tristan!"
At the same time, a much deeper and more commanding voice than mine ordered, "Tristan, stay where I can see you!"
Tristan ran headlong toward the trees, and at the same moment that I jumped up from my seat and was instantly impeded from further timely pursuit by a bout of vertigo, Tristan's father sprang into action. A couple of furious heartbeats later, he caught up to Tristan and flipped him above his tall frame and onto his broad shoulders – just as he'd done at the beach earlier that day. And just as Tristan had reacted at the beach, he shrieked and erupted into fits of bubbling laughter.
I exhaled through narrowed lips, then smiled.
"What did I tell you, buddy?"
And just as I'd noted at the beach, Tristan's dad had a way of reprimanding his young son that though stern, still allowed his undeniable tenderness toward his son to shine through. Little Tristan would never doubt how much his father cared.
"You have to listen when I or…" he cleared his throat, "or Miss Bella tell you not to go into the woods, or we'll have to leave."
Then, with his son propped on his shoulders and gripping his father's hair like a pair of reins, Edward Cullen's eyes met mine.
He offered me a nod, but whether it was gratitude for calling attention to his son's intentions or an assurance that his son was safe and sound or even an accusation for stupidly planting the idea of a sprint through the woods in his son's mind in the first place, I had no clue. All I knew was that his acutely fervent gaze sent my pulse racing and my head spinning.
"Whoa, take a seat, Bella." Emily set her palm flat on my back, and I broke away from Edward's gaze. "See what I mean?" Emily said when I turned back toward her and the rest.
"Yeah. Tristan's a sweet, little pea," I smiled, picking a wing off Em's plate and attempting to turn it into a game of distraction once more. "Good thing his dad pays attention."
"Oh, yeah, Tristan's a sweetheart," Em agreed, "and his dad sure does pay attention. But, Bella, the way he looks at you is positively savage."
Leah and Rose burst out laughing while I rolled my eyes, my mouth suddenly too dry to enjoy any more chicken. Yet, at the same time, an undeniably pleasant flutter rolled through my stomach.
Of course, I'd noticed how Tristan's dad's eyes followed me around. It seemed as if almost every time my eyes wandered to him – which was admittedly often – his gaze was already on me. But whereas his son's gaze was a warm, sweetly innocent study infused with a childlike sort of awe, Emily was right: the father's gaze bordered on primal.
Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law – an obnoxiously deceiving title for what was apparently a fierce Papa Bear in disguise.
"Oh, that," I smirked. "He's just pissed off at me," I said. "Again."
Emily snorted. "Why the hell would he be pissed off at you again?"
Before regaling them with the tale of The Second Awkward Encounter in the Span of Twenty-Four Hours, I drew in a deep breath and exhaled it hard.
"We bumped into one another, yet again, inside the house, and I…" now I grinned impishly, "I may have taken full advantage of his momentary shock at finding out that his new buddy's goddaughter is the same woman he rammed into at the bar. And I may have also taken advantage of the fact that he couldn't say shit about it in front of Charlie and I…I may have provoked him a bit more."
"How did you provoke him a bit more?" Rose asked.
"I called him City Boy, again, and I befriended his son, both of which seem to have earned me a serious dose of dislike. That's it. That's all there is to all those looks," I shrugged, an action meant to convey how massively unfazed I was by the entire situation. "Though what he thinks I might do to his adorably sweet son might irk me just a teeny, tiny bit."
"Just a teeny, tiny bit, huh?" Rose asked.
"Teeny, tiny," I confirmed, pressing two fingers together tightly.
I mean, it wasn't as if I couldn't understand that sort of fiery protectiveness, nor was I in any way frightened of him every time our eyes met in that backyard. After all, I'd learned the difference between a malevolent gaze and simply a wary one, and Edward Cullen's gaze wasn't evil. He simply found me to be some sort of an enigma, a puzzle the man could not only not figure out, but I got the feeling he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.
Yet, he kept right on staring throughout the night. And honestly, so did I.
Leah's ensuing question broke me out of my musings.
"Dearest god sister, how long has it been since you were fucked?"
"Whoa!" Emily said, jerking back then bursting into peals of laughter.
"Jesus, Lee," I said.
"Lord, let Esme remain five forever," Rose prayed.
"What? I'm serious!" Leah retorted indignantly as if our collective reactions were the inanity here. "I mean, I know I tease you about Ty, but have you two bumped uglies? Even if just friendly bumping and grinding?"
"Bumping and…where the hell does she even get this?" Rose wondered. "Although friends can bump uglies, ya know," she further considered. "As long as they're both single, and from what Emmett just told me a short while ago, Edward is single."
"Of course, that info has already circulated the backyard crowd," I said. "Either way, I am not having this conversation."
Leah rolled her eyes. "Bella, the point is-"
"All this stupidity has a point?"
"Of course," she grinned brazenly. "The point is, the way that man looks at you has absolutely nil to do with whatever the fuck you called him or did to him in that pub last night and/or in the house earlier, and even less to do with thinking that you're some boogeyman that's gonna run off with his kid."
"Leah, you are wise beyond your years," Emily said.
"Thank you. I certainly think I am."
"Don't encourage her, Em." Slowly, I turned again.
Like a GPS already tuned to his location, my gaze instantly located the man in question. He stood in casual conversation with Emmett, all relaxed, one-hand-in-his-pocket-and-the-other-wrapped-around-a-beer – before turning and locking me in his gaze.
After a few moments, I managed to turn back around.
"Yeah, no. That stare is a lot of things – perhaps pissed off at being called names, maybe even jelly of his son's attention to you, but it ain't dislike," Rose determined.
"That's fucking raw is what that is," Leah breathed.
"How old are you again, Lee?"
"And look at you trying to hide shivers in the dark," Emily snorted.
"It's my vertigo-"
"That's not your fucking vertigo," Leah chortled.
"Yeah, we all know your vertigo," Rose snickered.
"And shivers up and down your spine is not your vertigo," Emily added.
"Fine, fine," I chuckled. "It's not…all vertigo, but it means nothing."
"Nice try, Bella, but…" Emily forced herself into my line of vision and quirked a brow, "hey, it might make for an interesting summer? After all, you did knock into him back at the pub."
"He knocked into me, Em! And hard. Get the story straight, at least. And he called me Lumberella!"
"After you called him City Boy," Rose grinned.
"Seriously, Emily, was nothing left out of your description?"
"Lumber-Ella. I get it," Leah nodded sagely. "Cuz it's Forks, and you're Bella, and you tend to favor the denim and checkered flannel look." Her black eyes widened. "That means he's already role-playing with you in his head. Kinda hot, don't you think?"
"No." I glared at her. "And you think everything is kinda hot – shivers, savagery, derisive nicknames…"
"Emily says he caught you when you lost your balance," Rose said. "That's kinda hot too."
"I lost my balance because he almost knocked me over. He's not the hero in this. And if memory serves, they tend to grow them like that in the city."
"Grow them like what?" Emily questioned.
"Good-looking but arrogant; mysterious and brooding; basic manners with an underlying note of rude savagery, so."
"Why was I not told this during my hoe phase, before I got married, so that I could've spent time in the city?" Rose asked.
"You're funny, Rose," I scowled at her while she chortled heartily.
"I'm kidding…not."
"Look, Bella, just because that other motherfucking bastard asshole-" Leah's voice shook.
"Lee, honey, don't even go there, please. And give me some credit. Of course, I'm not making a comparison."
I would've never compared Mr. Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law's strange attitude to the evil fury contained within the monster in my nightmares.
"All I'm saying is he sounds complicated, and complicated men are something I don't need. Besides, what makes you all think that Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law is even interested in that kind of summer? He's a dad and based on what I've seen so far tonight, and even more so, based on his instant bromance with Charlie and Emmett, his kid is his priority. Which is as it should be."
"Yeah, but summers were made for exploring more interests." Rose waggled her brows.
"Well, I've got enough interests to keep me busy this summer, thank you very much – and a charged vibrator," I whispered that last part as an aside to Emily, but Em just shook her head.
"That's just sad and so not the same."
"Oh, shut up, and it's close enough," I shrugged.
"Honey, it's really not," Rose volunteered.
"Fine, one final thing, older and wiser god sister," Leah said, "before I drop it."
I expelled a heavy sigh. "What's that?"
"You'd better make damn sure you don't want to get in on that, and soon, because while you're getting ready for the summer of surfing, camp counseling, hiking, and all the open-mouthed stargazing you can fit in-between, there appear to be others here in this backyard hoedown who look more than eager to explore all those summer interests you're blithely foregoing."
Once again, Leah jerked her jaw toward something or someone behind me, and just to shut her up, I turned once more.
This time, I found Gianna, Sue's business partner, in happy conversation with our new tall, lean, copper-haired, green-eyed, and square-jawed summer resident.
"Perhaps he's interested in that sort of summer, after all," Emily whispered.
Turning back, I shrugged. "So what if he is? Still means nothing to me."
"And by the way, I heard all that vibrator talk. You're nowhere near as stealthy as you believe yourself," Leah snickered, shooting me a smug, triumphant-type grin and convinced she'd gotten the last word.
Getting to my feet, I shot forward quickly and swiped Leah's plate of wings and the beer bottle she'd been trying to sneak right under our noses.
"Hey!"
"Who's not stealthy? Nice try, Lee, but though you do tend to forget, you're seventeen, and I am indeed the older and wiser sister here. And Godpop's mood is sour enough tonight without adding underage drinking into the mix."
She crossed her arms petulantly against her chest. "You're not even going to drink that."
"I'm not, but I am gonna enjoy eating the hell out of your wings while I go gaze me some stars."
OOOOO
"Why come I can't see? I opening both eyes so, so big!"
Therein lay the problem, but I resisted the urge to laugh. After all, though the man who'd come to join me in stargazing was pouting adorably, he was only three, and I doubted he'd understand that even if I laughed, I still commiserated with his plight. Therefore, I raked a hand comfortingly through his hair instead.
"Well, you see, sweet pea, you have to close one eye to see through here." I tapped the viewfinder.
He frowned as if what I'd just said was complete and utter nonsense.
"But when I open my eyes so big, I see better!" He illustrated by rounding those green orbs impressively. "When I close them," – this, he illustrated by squeezing both eyes so comically shut it almost looked painful – "I don't see nothing!"
"That is a great piece of logic, Tristan Cullen, but sometimes, we see better when we're not looking so hard – when we're relaxed and just…stargazing, for example. Now, close one eye," I stressed gently, holding a finger up between us, "just one, and put the open one against the telescope's viewfinder, and I promise you, you'll see."
He smirked dubiously. "You promise, Bella?"
"I promise, sweet pea."
Three-year-old expression still skeptical, Tristan appeared to decide to at least give me the benefit of the doubt, a decision which surprisingly filled me with such a sense of awed responsibility, with a fervent wish not to disappoint. It was strange because, as a camp counselor, it wasn't uncommon for me to offer instructions to a young child. But there was just something about Tristan that heightened my wish to succeed…for him.
"Ready?" I held him by the waist, making sure he didn't slip or topple off the chair on which he was perched. I felt his small feet lift on their toes. "Can you see?"
"I can't reach!" he moaned. "Carry me, Bella! Carry me!"
He bounced excitedly on the chair, and I was hit by such a sudden and sharp pang of misery, square in the chest.
The thing was, I liked to think that, on the whole, I'd learned to accept my bad days and the limitations that lay therein, with a modicum of grace, with a commendably impressive stiff upper lip. After all…after all, it could've been much worse. No, I hadn't come out of that night in the minuscule apartment in San Francisco physically unscathed, as had Rebecca, but I had my life, and I was infinitely grateful for that. And…I wouldn't waste it.
But I did have limitations, and they'd rarely devastated me more nor brought into sharper contrast all I'd never have than at that moment.
When Tristan asked me to carry him, some part of me knew he only needed to be hefted a few inches. He was balanced on a chair, which technically meant if I happened to lose my balance, and thereby my hold on him, he wouldn't fall far. What's more, I'd noticed he was well-coordinated, so it was likely that his feet would quickly find purchase on the chair's seat. And that was all if I happened to accidentally lose my grip on him. Some part of me knew all that.
But the bigger part of me knew that no matter how I tried to reason it, I simply couldn't take the chance with someone else's well-being, with someone else's child.
"Tristan, sweet pea, I can't-"
A warm palm suddenly rested lightly, almost ghostlike, against the small of my back. That such a slight touch would create such an upheaval to my system, create so much heat that rushed up my spine and all the way to my scalp…was pretty ludicrous.
Tristan's father breathed close to my ear before hefting his son the few feet required for his eye to reach the telescope viewer.
"I've got him, thanks."
"No problem. Thank you," I replied as I stepped out of the way. I stood to the side, allowing the father to bear the son's weight and cradle his frame. Simultaneously, I prayed that when I spoke those four short words, Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law hadn't heard the quiver in my voice. When, for a moment, his eyes met mine, and he quirked a brow, those green eyes much more scrutinizing, much more observant than those of his son's, I got the feeling he'd definitely noted the unevenness in my reply.
"Probably not a good idea for you to…carry things, huh?"
How much had my godfather shared with his new buddy? Even for Forks' standards, I was surprised. However, I accepted the sense in it in the next moment, especially if Charlie intended to have his buddy around the house for the summer.
"I suppose-"
"I see! Bella, look! I see! I see!"
"Good job, sweet pea," I chuckled. "What do you see?"
"The stars they go twinkle, twinkle, like the song Dad sings me at bedtime. Twinkle, twinkle, little star," Tristan sang adorably off-key. "Dad, sing with me!"
"Uh, how 'bout we leave the singing for bedtime, buddy?"
"Please, Dad?"
"Later, buddy."
"Please?"
"Uhm…"
I spluttered through a cough meant to disguise a snort. "Ahem, Tristan, since your Dad isn't up for singing just now, would you like me to tell you the names of some of those constellations?"
"Constations?"
"Stars," I said much more simply.
Tristan's breath hitched. "Oh, boy! Yeah!"
"'Yes, please, Miss Bella,'" Tristan's dad corrected.
"Yes, please, Miss Bella!"
"Just Bella is fine."
"Bella…thanks for the distraction," Edward breathed.
It took me a second to realize he referred to distracting his son from the duet request. I smiled up at the sky in reply. And so, for a few quiet moments, the three of us stood by the telescope, Tristan in the middle and his dad and me flanking him. While Tristan gazed through the viewer, his dad and I craned our necks up to the black and white sky, and I shared my knowledge of the vast world above us.
Afterward, when Tristan grew bored and ran off because a three-year-old can only stare up at twinkling stars for so long, his father and I were left alone, the telescope between us.
Our eyes met, and at a backyard barbecue surrounded by a couple of dozen other individuals, everything and everyone else seemed to fade into the background like stars accompanying the sky's constellations. A warm breeze carried his scent toward me and my scent toward him, while a thousand and one questions ricocheted between us like summer fireworks. It was a strange sort of thrill, this…awareness, a mutual acknowledgment via locked eyes that there was something there, some spark still young enough to burn hot or to fizzle out like those aforementioned pyrotechnics.
I knew my reason for holding back, and it wasn't that I was now scared of life or men or of relationships or any of that drivel the therapist in San Francisco had spouted right after it all went down.
'Is that what made you burn so brightly, Bells…gazing at those Washington stars…?'
I swallowed back the sudden ache in my throat.
As for Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law, and single dad, it was obvious he had his own reasons.
"Thank you…Bella," he said after a long moment of mutual introspection, "for entertaining Tristan. Where did you learn so much about the constellations?"
"No problem, and I learned most of it right here during summers in this backyard with Charlie, beginning when I was a kid not much older than Tristan. They're some of my oldest…and best memories."
"Gazing up at a vast universe, where everything seems possible, " he nodded pensively, silently shocking me with words I once believed myself. "We don't see many stars where we're from, and…I don't really know enough about them to teach Tristan."
"I don't mind teaching him over the summer, if he has the patience and interest, and if it's okay with you, of course."
"I…I suppose that would be okay. Thanks."
Despite his words, it didn't seem as if the suggestion was okay with him, but I chalked it up to an overprotective dad mode similar to Charlie's and tried not to be offended.
"Yeah, I remember city life and the difficulty with seeing those stars. All the light pollution," I said instead with a smile.
Edward's brow shot up. "Wait, you're from New York?"
"No," I chuckled. "No, there are more cities beyond New York," – and then because I couldn't resist, "City Boy."
His angular jaw locked into an almost perfect – and impressive, I might add – square. But then the glow of the torchlights highlighted a slow grin lifting one corner of his mouth. It was like Tristan's crooked grin, yet so different. And that's when I knew that between both of these Cullen men, I could've potentially been in so much trouble this summer – if I wasn't so in control of myself.
"See, but then if I call you Lumberella, I'm wrong."
It was how he delivered it, his tone almost apathetic despite the heat in his eyes, that made me throw my head back to the sky and laugh.
He chuckled as well.
"That's a good one; I've got to give that one to you," I said once I'd sobered.
"You'll give me that one, huh?"
"Yeah."
"I'll take it." He leaned in closer as if he meant to share a secret. "And I do know there are more cities. So, which one, if not the best one?"
I rolled my eyes, which served to make me lightheaded, but it passed super quickly. "Originally, Phoenix, but I lived in San Francisco for a while during college."
He nodded. "Berkeley?"
"Mhm."
"So, what brought you to Forks, Bella?"
His voice was low and smooth, almost like a caress hidden by the darkness. Nonetheless, that was as loaded a question as he could've asked. It certainly wasn't a question I saw myself answering for a man who'd only be around for one short summer.
"Bella! Bella, show Esme the Big Dippow and the Little Dippow!"
Having been too involved with the dad to notice the son's approach, when Tristan tugged hard on my sleeve, he caught me by surprise. I momentarily wobbled.
Esme shrieked. "No, Tristan, no! Don't pull Bella! My mommy and daddy say we don't pull Bella when she's having a bad day!"
"But I want her to show you the Big Dippow and the Little Dippow!" Tristan retorted. "And the bears!"
Esme set her hands on her hips. "But you don't pull her, silly!"
"Esme, no name-calling, and we lower our voices if we don't want to go home and straight to bed," Rose said.
"But Tristan didn't follow the rules, Mom!"
"Esme…" Rose warned.
Five-year-old Esme meant well; I knew that. They'd all been taught how to move around me, how to support me on my good days…and on my bad days. But little Tristan – and his dad, standing quietly yet way too alert beside me – were outsiders who'd been temporarily granted access for the summer. Yet, they were outsiders all the same, and outsiders don't get all the keys.
"But I just wanted…" Tristan trailed off, and his bottom lip quivered.
"Tristan, come here." His father called him to his side with that quiet sort of authority I'd noted.
"But I just wanted…"
"I know you did, but you can't pull…just come here, Trist."
Tristan's small hand released my sleeve, and as he shuffled over, his shoulders slumped, I did something I knew I shouldn't have.
"Tristan, it's okay. Of course, I'll show Esme the constellations as well. Stay here with me on my other side, and you can help me point them out, okay?"
Little Esme grinned broadly and, a couple of years older than Tristan, she easily climbed herself on the chair and reached the telescope's viewfinder with no issue. And as I went through my star spiel again, Edward and a few of the others remained, but I didn't look. I didn't know him anywhere near well enough, but I knew no parent likes to be contradicted when instructing their child.
OOOOO
Eventually, the barbecue wound down, dying in time with the charcoal embers. A few of us began gathering up the rubbish - empty plates, beer bottles, and such. It was during this cleanup that I ended up with arms overflowing with half-empty beer bottles. I carried them toward the house, intent on spilling their contents in the sink before depositing them into the recycling bin. Just as I reached the glass doors, Edward's long arms encircled me from behind.
Well, his arms didn't encircle me as much as they scooped the bottles out of my arms, but Jesus, to my body, it may as well have been an embrace.
"Whoa. Probably not the best idea, you carrying all that," he said.
He'd startled me with his actions and even more so with his words. He stilled for a fraction of a moment, his chest heaving, eyes glued to the bottles as his arms remained wrapped around mine so that he could cautiously claim my load. Then, he straightened.
"After you."
"Thank you," I breathed, not daring a louder volume. "Just bring 'em…" I trailed off, and he silently followed me, his gaze prickling my back now. "Just deposit them in the sink, and I'll take care of emptying them."
Edward set the bottles in the sink, and I pulled out the recycling bin.
"Why don't I help?" he offered, then added, "Sue is helping Tristan with the backyard cleanup."
"Sue's helping Tristan, huh? Okay." I grinned and began pouring out the bottles then chucking them in the bin. "You'd better watch it. She'll adopt him right out from under your nose."
He offered me a chuckle. "She said something similar about the Chief."
"Yep. That sounds about right. For how fierce my godfather can be, deep inside, he's just a softy."
"I'm sure the Forks Chief of Police would love to hear himself described that way."
I waved my empty hand carelessly. "To me, he's just Godpop."
We laughed together, easily falling into a rhythm where we poured on our respective sides of the sink, then took turns throwing the bottles in the bin. At one point, after we'd thrown out our respective bottles and simultaneously reached into the sink for another, our fingers brushed…and instead of pulling away, they remained together for just a fraction of a second longer than made any sense.
I pulled my hand back, my heart racing. "Thanks again for your help here."
"As I said, no problem. I just wasn't sure this was the best job…"
I looked up at him when he trailed off. "What?"
He sighed. "My son was really taken with you. I've never seen him take so quickly to anyone."
"I apologize about earlier with the stargazing. I didn't mean to contradict what you told your son to do."
He waved it off. "No, it's fine. It's just…I didn't want him to make you uncomfortable."
"He's…amazing, Edward. I mean, I'm sure you hear that all the time, but he really is. He's got this…" I paused in my cleanup to think through my words, "this sweet, little heart, you know? One that easily reminds you how young children are just smaller versions of adults. For all intents and purposes, they crave much of what we crave, though on a less corrupted scale, without the distortions caused by time and age and…and a little boy like Tristan just makes you want to protect all that innocence."
When I met his eyes, he looked absolutely staggered. "Wow."
"I'm sorry. I rambled a bit there."
He raked a hand through his hair. "I'm just surprised you…look, Bella, about last night. I want to apologize. I was rude, but in my defense, it'd been a really long day with a three-year-old."
I shot him a smirk. "You know, I don't know how they do things in New York, Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-law," – he rolled his eyes – "but where I come from, and even here in Forks, when you offer a genuine apology, you do not tag a defense onto it."
Now, his expression took on a genuinely contrite look. "You're right. You're right. But in defense of my defense, those past few hours you just experienced out there?" he grinned, an older version of Tristan's grin and a pretty overwhelming one, if I had to admit. "Imagine that nonstop for about sixteen hours a day."
I chuckled. By then, we'd finished emptying bottles and were doing nothing more than what could be described as leaning against the sink, arms crossed and loitering.
"I guess I accept that defense of your defense. That being said, while I'm not a parent and therefore can't say what it's like to deal with a toddler twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I have been a counselor at the town summer camp for the past two summers – three including this coming season. Tristan's registered for that, right? So, I do know that a few hours with a boisterous toddler or five can tax your fortitude and thereby leave you prone to rudeness. And I suppose I was rude too," I finally admitted with a sigh. "So, I accept your apology, and I apologize as well and take back all the names I called you last night at the pub – even the ones I called you in my head."
When I turned to him, I expected him to be pleased, to find that way-too-familiar crooked grin and/or smirk on his good-looking face as he prepped to accept my acceptance of his apology. Instead, he stared at me almost inscrutably, the way I imagined he looked at people while practicing his attorney-at-law skills. Except his eyes displayed way more expression than I thought he'd allow during office hours. And what they showed was something more akin to horror than relief.
"That's right," he breathed. "You're a counselor at the camp."
"Yeah?"
"I don't understand."
"What don't you understand?" I frowned, still smiling.
"You work with the children, on your own, in your condition?"
My scalp prickled, but I nodded. "I mean, not by myself. There are other counselors there, obviously. We have protocols in place."
His eyes bored fiercely into mine. "You know they worry about you, right?"
The smile that had already withered off my face morphed into flared nostrils. "Excuse me?"
"I've only been here a couple of days, but it's written all over their faces how much they all worry about you."
"Edward, you've been here in Forks for all of twenty-four hours. You don't know anything about me."
"I'm a parent. I know what it's like to worry about your child – or your godchild as the case may be."
"Except I'm an adult," I said slowly.
"Doesn't change much," he shrugged, "especially if you don't behave like an adult."
I straightened and pushed back from the sink a bit too swiftly. When he reached out to steady me, I smacked his hand away.
"Who the hell do you think you are to speak to me that way?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I know I have no right. I just…I know I've only known your godparents for twenty-four hours, but they're genuinely good people. Everyone here seems to be good people."
"Except me? Is that what you're saying? Why? Because I called you a City Boy and an asshole – terms which, by the way, I no longer take back?"
He chuckled humorlessly. "No, it's not that at all. You seem like a great person, someone I…and like I said, my son is definitely taken with you, which is one of the reasons I want to help. And your godparents have been so great to my son and me as well, so I'd like to-"
I threw back my head and laughed, sort of how I'd laughed while we were stargazing, but also massively different. Then, I expelled a low curse when an untimely bout of vertigo hit me, and I was forced to hang my head and grip the sink behind me.
I felt Edward before me, his warm breath on my face. "Are you okay? Do you need-"
"Help?" I snorted. "No. I don't need fucking help."
"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on here?"
Emmett's booming voice filled the kitchen, and Edward pulled back quickly. When I looked up, Emmett stood by the sliding doors wearing a broad, somewhat salacious grin as if he thought he'd caught us in some sort of compromising position. The grin quickly evaporated.
"Bella? Something wrong?" His gaze, now much less amused, flashed to Edward and back to me.
"It's fine. I'm fine, Emmett." And then, drawing in a deep breath, I pushed away from the sink and Edward. "I'm going outside to finish cleaning up."
Thank fuck for small mercies, I made my way out without incident.
OOOOO
A few minutes later, Emmett approached me quietly as I took out my fury on the poor grill via a heavy-duty grill-scrubbing brush.
"Arrogant, stupid, self-centered pri-"
"Hey," Emmett said.
I spared him a glance while I continued my scrubbing minus the muttering.
"Look," he whispered, scanning the space around us before he continued, "it's a misunderstanding."
"I don't really care, Emmett."
"He was operating under the craziest misconception. I mean," Emmett chuckled under his breath, "it'd be almost funny if it wasn't so crazy! And maybe in a decade or two…you'll find it funny as well."
After a few seconds of trying to best my own curiosity, I went ahead and paused my furious scrubbing.
"I doubt that, but go ahead. What the hell is the misconception?"
Emmett moved in closer and whispered, "He thought you were a drunk."
"What?" I spat loudly. Then looking around and dropping my voice to a whisper as well, "What?"
"Yeah," Emmett nodded. "He thought you were the town lush and that we all covered up for you because of our tightknit-community-type community."
For a few seconds, I could only stare at Emmett, my mouth hanging open. Finally, I managed to shut it and speak.
"Are you freaking kidding me?"
He shook his head, much more somber now. "Nope, and I know it's crazy, and I know you're pissed off, and you have every right to be, but the way he just explained it…I can see how he might've come up with that idea."
I thought back to a few of the things Edward had said over the past few hours, some of the things he'd done. I shook my head as well.
"Unbelievable. Well, at least a few things make sense now."
I returned to my scrubbing, but with my fury drained and replaced with a sluggish sort of disappointment instead, I was not doing an impressive job. When I set the brush down, Emmett took it up and made quick work of it.
"He wants to apologize."
"Keep him the hell away from me tonight."
"Yeah," Emmett snorted, "I told him that probably wasn't a good idea, for tonight, at least. Look, I told him he was wrong, but I didn't tell him how. So now, the guy knows he fucked up, but he doesn't understand how. He pretty much feels like shit."
"My heart bleeds," I scoffed.
Emmett snickered. "Bella, can I just tell him about the injury – without expanding any further, of course. But he's literally pulling out his hair in there, and I kinda feel bad for the dude. He's got to spend the entire summer here now knowing he…he really fucked up."
"And why should I care how he feels?" I asked.
At that moment, Sue happened to cross the yard with a sleeping bundle in her arms. She handed him to his dad, who'd just stepped out of the kitchen. As I caught sight of Tristan's sleeping face, my heart clenched in a way it had no right to clench as Edward stroked his son's hair. Then his eyes flew up and met mine.
Despite the distance, his gaze smoldered with undeniable remorse and with an expression of regret much more genuine than any he'd shown all evening. It lacked any disguise, any pretenses, any stupid defense of his stupid defenses.
I turned away.
"Fine, Emmett. Just tell him the basics, that it's an injury. He'll only be around for the summer, and…" my gaze panned upward to the starry sky, "…and he doesn't need to know anything beyond that."
A/N: Thoughts?
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