Jasper waits on the drizzly pier outside of the seafood restaurant Alice picked out, watching the giant, glowing pink and blue Ferris wheel spinning over the water.

Not wanting to be late—and feeling like he's always somehow running behind on a fundamental level—he arrived much earlier than they agreed on.

When he sees Emmett's red Jeep pull up and Alice hopping out, though, he starts to doubt his ability to manage time even further.

He glances down at the clock on his phone and sees there's still a half-hour until six.

"Hi!" she calls out, her short waves bouncing as she twirls over to meet him. She's dressed head-to-toe in a pinkish champagne color with a satin mini dress, long fur coat, and ankle-strap stilettos.

Emmett rolls down his window and nods to him. "I miss you Jazz! We need to hang out soon!"

Jasper nods back. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Shit, that's what I forgot. Flowers..." Emmett blurts upon seeing the roses Jasper's holding. "I gotta go. Laters!"

Alice laughs. "Thanks for the ride, Em!"

He rolls his window back up and the Jeep makes a sharp U-turn, heading back up the street.

"You're early," Jasper says, handing her the bouquet of light pink roses. She trades him the flowers for a small, palm-sized box.

"I'm on time if you're here, too. These are beautiful, thank you," she says, cradling the roses in her arms. "Can we ride the Ferris wheel? I've never been on it."

"Sure, we have time."

The line to get in is—as expected—lengthy, but after several minutes and some shameless bribery on Alice's part, they get access to their very own VIP glass-bottomed gondola.

"Are you afraid of heights?" she asks as they climb in.

He sits in the seat next to hers and the door shuts. "No, are you?"

"I don't think so."

They move slowly upward, pausing incrementally while people board.

"Are you going to open your present?" she asks, pointing to the box she handed him earlier.

"Oh, yeah. You didn't have to get me anything." He forgot he was even holding it. He carefully pulls apart the meticulously folded gold wrapping paper.

"Just open it..." she coaxes impatiently under her breath.

He glances up and she looks to be on the verge of unwrapping it for him because he's taking too long. It makes him laugh.

Inside is a wooden box containing a gold and black leather Breguet watch. He isn't super familiar with brands, but he knows it's a very high-end one. It looks expensive.

"Do you like it?!"

"I do, thank you. It's very nice," he answers. "I should have gotten you something besides flowers."

"No, I like flowers! It's just a regular Classique. It isn't the one with the moon phase on it or anything," she explains hurriedly. "You got me a necklace last time."

He's certain she's well aware the necklace she's wearing is nowhere near the same monetary value, but she also doesn't appear to care.

If it makes her happy, then he's happy. Although, he wants to give her something more substantial in the future once he has a job and a paycheck again.

Taking it from the cushion it's neatly displayed on, he loops the watch around his wrist. Alice helps him fasten it, her sparkly gold nails carefully sliding the buckle closed.

"It looks good on you," she says approvingly, grinning and running her fingers along the back of his hand. "I have great taste."

"You do," he agrees, leaning down to capture her lips with his. Her arms snake their way under his jacket to embrace him, avoiding the raindrops that soaked through the top layer of his ensemble.

The pure joy radiating off of her is intoxicating.

"Your coat makes it feel like I'm being hugged by a teddy bear," he admits.

"Like one of the ones from Costco!"

"No, those are way too big. They're like eight feet tall."

"I meant the half-sized one. There's more than one." She giggles. "Wow! Look at the Space Needle! I bet this view is even prettier during the day when you can see all the water."

He hasn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to their surroundings, but she's watching out the windows at the illuminated skyline as they smoothly rise through the air.

Fluttery lashes and doe eyes drift back over to him, and Alice's face has a moment of bewildered surprise before she smiles at him warmly. He's aware he's staring, but he can't seem to look away.

He kisses her cheek.

This, he's confident, is exactly what being in love is supposed to feel like.

...

Rosalie grabs her clutch, slips on her heels, and checks her reflection in the mirror by the door.

She went and had her hair blown out earlier so it looks picture perfect. Her lips are coated in a shiny red gloss to match the strapless dress she's wearing. Her skin is flawlessly glowy thanks to a half dozen skincare products and carefully applied cosmetics.

Satisfied with how she looks, she grabs her coat from the closet and heads downstairs.

Emmett's Jeep is already parked outside in the loading zone. She carefully steps off the curb and walks around to the passenger side.

A modest-sized bouquet of stargazer lilies and red roses waits on the seat for her. She picks it up and gets in the car.

He's grinning. "Happy Valentine's day!"

"You didn't have to get me flowers," she says, touching the little card nestled in the blooms that reads FOR MY ANGEL, ROSALIE.

She doesn't want to like them as much as she does. She's received more than enough flowers in the past year to know they're nothing more than nice things to look at until they die a week later.

Her last night in Rochester before she first came to Seattle, she had a few dozen bouquets of roses and violets scattered through her apartment. They were in the kitchen, on the dining table, in the living room, on the coffee table...her bedroom housed a good number of them as well. She would wake up and go to sleep smelling their sweet, floral scent.

In the early hours of the morning after she got back from the hospital—not the one she worked at, but one across town so that she wouldn't run into anyone she knew—she collected them all in trash bags and tossed them in the dumpster outside.

These flowers are different.

"They're pretty. Thank you," she says, inspecting the floral arrangement in the light of the overhead street lamp. "It's kind of funny. I've never gotten a bouquet with lilies and roses. Well, except from my parents. My mother almost named me Lily—Lillian, actually—but then made it my middle name instead."

He laughs. "Really? I just thought they looked nice."

"They do," she agrees. He leans over to kiss her and she gives him her cheek. "Lipstick."

"Yeah, I got it." His warm lips meet her skin.

She realizes then that he's not wearing his usual ensemble of a hoodie and jeans, nor is he sporting sweatpants.

"You clean up well," she says, looking approvingly at his baby blue button-down and navy suit jacket. The bright orange Jordans are an interesting footwear choice, but she doesn't completely hate it.

"Thanks, I got Alice to help me," he says, flashing his pearly whites even wider. "You're stunning, as always."

When they get to the downtown waterfront, she's very pleased to find that their dinner plans are a far cry from a children's play place that serves questionable pizza and cheap beer.

Leather upholstered chairs, tea lights in glass bulbs on every table, a view of the lake, and a slew of well-dressed diners give her the familiar feeling of excitement she always used to have when going out with friends or on dates to the city. Of course, this is more of the Big Raincloud than the Big Apple, but she can't complain.

"Too cheesy?" he asks, ruffling through the dark curls in his hair in an unusually anxious manner.

"No, I love this kind of thing."

"Really? Oh, cool. Okay. Good." He lets out an exhale before turning to the restaurant host. "We have a reservation under McCarty."

Their table isn't by the windows, but it's also not a bad location as far as the available options go.

"Have you been here before?" Rosalie asks.

"Never. Edward and Alice eat here sometimes, though."

That's so weird. "Did they used to date?"

It would sure explain the strange hostility Edward holds for her brother.

"Nah, they just like fancy food. They're not into each other like that," he replies as he browses through the menu. "And before you ask, I never had sex with Alice—or Edward, for that matter—nor have I ever wanted to."

"I wasn't going to ask that."

"Okay, I just wanted to make it clear in case it wasn't. Alice is way too short and spooky, and Edward's a big dork who still isn't talking to me for literally no reason." He sighs. "Anyway, do you know what you're going to get?"

"The filet mignon, maybe. It comes with truffle potato cakes."

"Ooh, yeah! Get that!"

"Do you drink champagne? They have a rosé brut that sounds good."

"You've seen me drink jungle juice out of a trash can, babe. I'll drink anything."

He has a good point. Though somewhat disgusting, it makes her laugh.

...

Edward wakes much earlier than he needs to. The sun isn't up. The building is silent. He slept three hours at most.

Yesterday may have been Valentine's day in Italy, but he knows the night hasn't ended in Seattle.

He feels overwhelmingly lonely. His body feels like it's made of lead. He wants to call Bella.

Nothing's changed in the months since he's left her. Every day is the same disappointing mess of regret and sorrow.

It would be inconsiderate of him to bother her with a call. What would he say? Hi, I miss you, but I'm still horrible for you? I've made no progress or development, sorry? We're probably never getting back together because I'm a failure?

He spent many nights in the past bemoaning his lack of a love life, but he was so wrong to do so. Longing for something he never had was nowhere near as excruciating as longing for something he had, lost, and still doesn't deserve.

He isn't even sure what he's doing anymore with his life.

The growing stack of poorly written self-improvement books on his desk is mocking him. It's a miracle any of the authors managed to get anything done in life with such carefree sentiments like live in the moment and you need to love yourself. Plenty of people are well-adjusted and successful without stupid things like mindfulness.

The last time he felt this terrible for this long was in the months following his mother and father's deaths. The realization of knowing he will always be without them for the rest of his life was—and still is—heartbreaking.

It's surprisingly easy to fall back into old patterns of insomnia and self-abhorrence. His head swims with anxious, nightmarish thoughts of Bella, school, his future career, and the unconditional support of his friends and family that he took for granted.

He wonders how things would have turned out if he wasn't too weak and actually made it through boot camp and served in the army after high school like his father did. He wonders how things would have turned out if he was as close to him as he was his mother.

Would he have what it takes to be the man that Bella needs and deserves then?

Growing up, his mother was often criticized for coddling him too much and for giving in to his childish demands too often. She spoiled him.

It was because of her doting that he learned piano. She loved to listen to him play. She always made an effort to attend his recitals up until the very end, even if she was exhausted.

His father, on the other hand, didn't attend a single one.

Edward Masen Sr. regularly worked overtime and frequently slept at his office. He was more of a distant stranger that made an appearance at Sunday dinners and holidays than a father figure.

After his mother's funeral, his father and he took separate cars back home and ate dinner in separate rooms.

Two months passed before Edward received a call at school saying his father was found dead from a stress-induced heart attack in his office. He'd been suffering from depression and anxiety after losing his wife, and it exacerbated a host of preexisting conditions stemming from his workaholic lifestyle.

The financial advisor reassured Edward that there would be enough money for him to continue living in their home. He could afford the necessary expenses and also attend a university of his choice if he followed the investment advice provided.

He sold the house and most of its contents immediately, only keeping a few sentimental items like photos and jewelry. A four-bedroom, two-story house was much too much space for one teenager. He had too many memories there, and it hurt too much.

Edward forces himself to stop reliving the painful memories when he sees the sky lightening with the sunrise.

He's expected for an early morning breakfast with Aro, Jane, and Alec, but there isn't anything he'd rather do less.

He drags himself up to get ready for the day, going through the motions on autopilot. He drifts through the hallways like a ghost.

"There you are, Edward! I'm so glad you're up to join us this morning. Take a seat," Aro says upon seeing him.

Edward takes one glance at the table of coffee, tea, and pastries and heads straight for the piano instead. He hates sweets in the morning. "I'm not hungry. I can play something while you eat."

"That would be delightful! Please do!"

As if by habit, he plays the song that's been stuck in his head since arriving. The bleak, ambling melody throws him right back into his earlier pity party.

Jane interrupts his playing with her annoying, babyish voice. "Are you crying?"

Edward pauses, the moody, rolling piano notes ceasing so he can turn to glare at the small, impish girl sitting on the sofa.

"No, I'm not crying," he says, venom in his voice. "I yawned. It's early."

Jane looks at her brother Alec doubtfully, and he shrugs. She turns back to Edward with an irritated expression. "What's wrong with you? Aro said you're a champion pianist."

"I am."

"Well, your song's boring, and your technique is awful. It sounds like the same tired thing you've been playing for weeks."

"Now, Jane, perhaps we're not trying hard enough to understand the meaning behind this piece," Aro interrupts, sipping a cup of tea in a chair across from the twins. "Let's think about this a moment...The song starts quite dark and becomes progressively more aggressive like a storm. It has a very intense, foreboding feeling to it that reminds me of 'Dance of the Knights,' at times. And then there's this melancholic, impressionistic tone like something by Debussy or Ravel..."

"Or like a toddler carelessly slamming their hands against the keys," Jane says under her breath. Aro either doesn't hear her or he chooses to ignore it.

Alec nods in agreement at both of their statements.

"Could you play us something cheerful, now, Edward? A waltz, maybe?" Aro requests.

Edward spins back toward the piano and begrudgingly plays "Waltz of the Flowers" with gritted teeth.

...

Rosalie grabs a vase from the cabinet under her kitchen sink and fills it with water, dropping in her bouquet of roses and lilies.

On the other side of the room, Emmett is sprawled across her sofa looking comfortable.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" he asks.

"Sure, pick whatever," she replies, fussing with the flowers until they look just so.

She's in no rush. She's taking her time.

The thing about Valentine's Day is that it's a holiday with very high expectations and implications, and Rosalie wants it to be perfect. She wants to be perfect.

She hasn't brought it up with Emmett yet, but she does want to at least try something physical again. Something besides their usual makeout sessions.

"Do you want a glass of wine?" she asks, rummaging through her kitchen for the bottle of Cabernet she bought last night and her corkscrew. The drink she had at dinner has long since vanished from her system, and she's hopeful that one more glass will be enough to calm her nerves.

"Yeah!"

She grabs a couple of glasses down from the cupboard and pries the cork from the bottle with a pop, then takes a sip and nods approvingly before joining him in the living room.

"The Notebook, really?" she says, handing him a glass.

"What do you mean? It's a classic."

"True. Kind of cliché, though, don't you think?"

"Nah, it's cute as hell."

She gives a small laugh as she takes a seat next to him. He wraps his arms around her as soon as she's near enough. Content, she leans against his chest while she watches the movie she's seen a dozen times before.

His hand smooths over her back in slow circles. It feels incredible. She hadn't noticed until now how tense her shoulders were.

The rain outside is starting to pick up. The droplets pelt the windows, but with them both being inside and out of the downpour, she can't help but think it's cozier this way.

She can handle this. This is good. She feels safe.

Rosalie reaches up to his face and tilts it over toward her, pulling his attention from the television screen so she can kiss him.

One kiss turns into two, then three and four. He brushes her long hair over her shoulder and kisses the space along her jaw, just under her ear. She can feel her skin start to flush as her breath catches.

Emmett gives her a wide dimpled grin and bumps his nose against hers.

"Em, do you think you could—"

"I love you," he says over her.

Not exactly what she had been anticipating, but she's pleasantly caught off guard by this new information.

"I love you," she repeats back to him. She surprises herself at how easily the words come out and how much she actually means them.

He slumps back into the couch cushions in visible relief. "Thank god. I wanted to say it at dinner, but I was too nervous. You're seriously the most gorgeous girl I've ever met, but you're also...so smart, and strong, and you're super funny when you wanna be. I feel like you get me."

It takes a moment for it to sink in. She almost feels bad for not taking him seriously before. Even if his way of showing it often comes off as flippant, it seems like he's being sincere now.

"Thank you," she says softly. "For being so understanding. You're...more than I could have asked for."

And he is. If anyone asked her if she believed in love or thought she'd ever experience it even a few months ago, she would have thought they were stupid.

"Sorry, I think I interrupted you before. Uh, what were you going to say?" he backpedals.

"Do you want to unzip me?" she asks, motioning to the back of her dress.