A/N: If you guessed that this chapter took a long time because I was agonising over learning every last detail about snow so I could represent it accurately in like, two sentences, then you would be correct. However, I did learn about the existence of parking chairs, so I suppose it wasn't necessarily time wasted.

Big love to Riveriver for beta'ing.

Thanks Dee for your review!

It's not that I'm avoiding Seth.

I'm not.

But it is remarkably easy to convince myself that the grocery shopping just has to be done, along with a visit to the bank and a cross-town trip to file my passport application - the latter of which consumes almost two entire hours of my precious day off. I pore over the free brochures about Canada in the winding queue, letting the glossy full-colour images lead me into dangerous daydreams of quitting my job and starting over someplace new. By the time the clerk calls my name, beckoning towards the wadded-up bills in my clutch, I'm beginning to feel quite favourable towards my new life as Jessa, the ski instructor from Montreal.

It has potential.

The dappled afternoon sun warms my face as I descend the brick steps of the post office with a renewed spring in my step. Life over the last few weeks has become increasingly complicated, a blur of highs and lows and moments that, like jagged puzzle pieces, don't seem to fit together just right. Seth is funny, and endlessly charming, the perfect mix of boyish innocence and tentative maturity that keeps me on my toes. It's been the best month of my life, but there's something just out of reach that I can't quite put my finger on - something bigger than him being an upperclassman. The niggling hesitation plays on my mind as I trudge my way through the iced-over parking lot, dodging potholes and clumps of old snow like a seasoned professional.

My cell chirps loudly from the depths of my purse, and it's as effective as a cold shower on a sub-zero morning.

Shit. I didn't text Seth.

I dig hurriedly through my hand-me-down Louis Vuitton, the lining still stained a faint pink from the Great Slurpee Disaster of 2008, in desperate search for my phone. He's probably thinking I'm bailing on him, or turning myself in to the Forks Police Department, if not both -

"Oof," I grunt, scrambling to keep my balance on the slippery pavement. Whatever - whoever - I have run into has the build of a brick wall crossed with a linebacker, and my shoulder aches something fierce.

Oddly enough, when I look up from the contents of my purse with an apology on my lips, there is no one, and nothing, standing before me. I am alone in a mostly empty parking lot, nursing a twinging torso and a growing sense of unease that has my heart thudding violently in my chest. My skin crawls with the disquietening sensation of being watched, though a thorough search of my surroundings - as well as two laps of my car - reveals nothing. Even so, I lock the doors as soon as I'm inside my vehicle, triple-checking the handle for a sense of certainty.

By the time my shaking fingers finally extract my phone from my purse, already workshopping what exactly I will say to Seth, I find myself considerably disappointing at the name flashing on the display.

[TEXT] Paige Stanley, 2.39 p.m.

Are you still in town? Lauren needs help at the rink.

My fingers click out a reply before my conscience can catch up.

[TEXT] Jessica Stanley, 2.40 p.m.

Sorry sis, seeing Seth. Save me dinner?

[TEXT] Paige Stanley, 2.41 p.m.

Sure. Hope you like leftovers.

That pretty well translates to I'll leave you two dumplings on the kitchen counter, but beggars can't be choosers - that, as well as the fact that I love dumplings almost as much as I love a Lauren-free day. Considering my rapidly solidifying afternoon plans involve more than just myself, I figure that giving Seth a heads-up is the least I can do - especially given the fact that this visit would technically qualify as a confrontation.

The very thought sends a peculiar chill down my spine. Normally, I'm the first to throw my hat in the ring for a good old-fashioned argument - a trait I strongly attribute to the Aries stellium in my birth chart - though the notion of quarrelling with Seth makes me nauseous.

Gross. Romance is making me soft.

I turn the key in the ignition, revelling in the symphony of my grinding starter motor. Logic would dictate that I pay Dowlings a visit, but I would rather die than open my checkbook to a squadron of lecherous thieves.

That, and I don't know where my checkbook is.

I whip my car into reverse, throwing an arm haphazardly over the passenger seat so I can twist for a better view. Call it paranoia - because I've never come close to hitting anything in my pristine driving career - but a sudden flash of white in the rear vision mirror has me stomping on the foot brake with a panicked squeal, lurching to a violent standstill in a fraction of a second. I force myself to take deep breaths, checking my mirrors thrice over before I can even consider the concept of motion, resigning myself to the fact that I am indeed losing my marbles.

My expedition to La Push crawls by at a sedate twenty miles per hour - a speed that surely rivals Nana Stanley's habitual post-Mass cruise - but I'm grateful for the time to think, and I manage to make it through most of the CD in my stacker before Emily's house comes into view. This time, there's only one car parked in her yard, a far cry from the pandemonium of the last visit. Even so, it takes reciting the Gettysburg address under my breath twice before I can bring myself to get out of the car; impending doom appears to be the concern du jour, and that's without suffering through a protracted tiff with Seth.

I have only a moment of peace on Emily's front porch before the heavy wooden door swings open. Thankfully, Collin isn't on door duty today - while I adore his ability to take Seth from zero to riled up in thirty seconds flat, I'd prefer not to be the subject of his incessant goading at this particular moment in time.

Seth leans casually against the door frame, bafflingly clad only in a well-worn pair of jorts. Between his peculiar clothing choices and the way his bicep flexes as he stretches, I can hardly figure out where to look.

"Jesus," I comment, pulling my coat tightly around my body. "Aren't you freezing?"

He shrugs. "Global warming, I guess."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Seth, but it's snowing," I tease, shoving his shoulder lightly. "Weak excuse."

A shadow flickers over his expression, though it is gone so quickly that I wonder if it was ever really there.

"Come in. Emily's been asking after you," he says, absentmindedly resting his palm on my back as I brush past him.

Though his hand grazes me for a split second before he pulls away, the white-hot sparks shooting up my spine linger far longer than I'd like. That, combined with the memory of what he does with said digits, is enough to send my blood pressure skyrocketing.

Seth eyes me curiously as he leads me down the hallway, studying the sudden flush of my cheeks. "Everything alright?"

"Peachy," I mutter, tucking my hair behind my ears. Not the time, not the place, I chant mentally, conjuring visions of Lauren's evil smirk until my racing heart slows to an unhurried trot.

Overlapping conversation spills out of the busy kitchen, though it quietens considerably when Seth and I enter. Kim perches on the kitchen counter, Jared leaning comfortably between her legs, as Emily bustles around, fastidiously preparing what looks enough to feed an army, though I've recently learned that everyone in this house eats for three. Quil is stretched across four dining chairs, apparently asleep, despite his long legs dangling over the edge of the seat.

"Jess!" Emily exclaims, dropping the half-sliced bell pepper to embrace me warmly. "How are you?"

I shrug. "Been better, been worse."

She squeezes my arm, shooting me a knowing look. "I'm sure we can fix that."

Seth smiles affectionately at Emily, his eyes languidly flickering between us. "Jess and I are going to talk outside. I'll make sure we're back for dinner."

"No rush!" Jared declares, cackling as Kim slaps his arm with an exaggerated eye roll.

He leads me outside to the yard, jutting his chin towards a porch swing tucked under the awning. It doesn't take a second invitation for me to collapse onto the cushions with a weary huff, savouring the warmth of the handmade blankets.

Seth gives me one of those knee-weakening smiles that he's far too good at. "Room enough for two?"

I let out a dramatic sigh, fighting my smile. "I suppose."

He settles down beside me, as far away as he can manage - and, really, it's not far at all, given the vast array of throw cushions with cheesy slogans that clutter the swing. He's close enough for his radiant heat to seep through my coat, warming my skin as if he were touching me. His quiet breathing fills the chasm of silence separating us, seemingly widening with time and words unsaid.

"I'm sorry," Seth says eventually, his dark eyes burning holes in the decking. "You deserve the truth."

I hum. "Full truth, or I'm headed home."

Seth's adam's apple bobs. "I hear you. Uh…where do you want me to start?"

"Birthday?"

"June first."

I wrinkle my nose. "Should've known you're a Gemini."

He blinks. "What's a Gemini?"

"I am genuinely convinced you live under a rock. No, scratch that - a boulder. How long have you been on the juice?"

It takes a moment for my words to register. "Hundred percent drug-free, thank you very much. I have good genes."

"I'll say," I mutter, but it doesn't slip past his extraordinary hearing.

"That sounded pretty close to a compliment, Stanley," he teases, grinning at me. "Am I back in the good books?"

I pause in mock thought. "I'll consider it. What sort of work do you do with Sam?"

Seth instantly stiffens, and when he does speak, I get the sense that he is choosing his words very carefully. "We look after the Rez. Lots of patrolling, dealing with problems, that sort of thing."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Is there really enough crime around here to warrant that?"

"You'd be surprised," he mutters, a stormy expression settling on his face. "We rotate our shifts. I used to do a lot of nights, weekends, but I do mostly mornings now. It's better that way."

"And your mom's okay with that?"

"Patrols are a big deal around here. As long as I get school stuff done, she leaves Sam alone."

I can't imagine my parents ever being that cool about truancy, but then again, I was raised by the most Catholic couple in the Pacific Northwest…a fat lot of good that did me.

"Does your mom know how old I am?"

He nods, meeting my gaze. "She knows. Said as long as we're being safe then she's cool with it."

"Does it bother you, me being older? Or is that why you got with me?"

His face blanches. "No, not at all, Jess, can - can I touch you?" he asks, his voice a little more desperate than before.

The moment I nod, he threads his fingers through mine, gripping on to me like an anchor. I have to turn my gaze away for a long moment; it feels too intense to look at him when he's staring at me like I'm going to disappear into a puff of smoke. Even so, his touch is soothing, somehow centring me in this odd conversation.

"I didn't know who you were when I met you. I looked at you, and I saw the girl that I knew I was going to fall for, and that was it," Seth says, squeezing my hand. "I know it seems crazy, but it's true."

"Just like that?" I ask, reluctant to take his words on - reluctant to admit that it's the exact same thing that I had thought when I saw him, reluctant to think about what that might mean.

"Just like that. But that doesn't mean we need to rush into anything," he reassures me, curling his arm around my shoulders until my face rests comfortably against his chest. "If you wanna be friends, cool. If you want to keep doing what we're doing, sweet. If you're done with me - if that's what you need, I'll understand."

His voice shakes as he speaks, as if the words are almost impossible to squeeze out, and it tugs at something in my chest, the ache that I've been fighting all week. Clearing the air between us has started to lift the malaise that has been swallowing me up, just as having his skin pressed against mine is a balm to my wounds, but it doesn't feel finished.

Somehow, there is more.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs, kissing the side of my head.

It's a near-perfect moment, and I know that I have to ruin it.

"What else are you keeping from me?" I whisper, hearing his heart thud under my ear. It's not an if - it's a what, because, somehow, I'm sure there's something else, something bigger.

"I'm scared," Seth says, his voice cracking. "Because once I tell you, you won't look at me the same."

"Are you a felon? Paige knows a good guy who can get it vacated -"

"What?" he sputters, laughing nervously. "No, unfortunately, 'cause I think that would be an easier conversation."

"What if I told you something first? Would that help?" I ask, racking my brain for something sufficiently shameful. "I used to volunteer to do the collections at Mass so I could swipe extra cafeteria money."

"What?" he repeats incredulously, pulling back to take a long look at me. "You did what?"

I roll my eyes. "Sorry, we can't all be saints. So, what did you have to tell me?"

Seth clears his throat. "Alright, okay, we're doing this."

He stands abruptly from the porch swing, beginning to pace back and forth. "Hear me out, okay, and then I will give you proof. Real proof."

I try and school my expression into something encouraging. "I'm listening."

Seth opens his mouth to speak, instantly snapping it shut when a wolf's howl rings out from the forest, as loud as if it were right beside us.

"Oh my God," I mutter, wrapping the crochet blanket around my shoulders as I stand. "Do wolves eat people?"

Somehow, despite my better expectations, Seth has the audacity to laugh.

"I promise you won't get eaten. I do need to go check that out, though," he says, nodding to Jared and a bleary-eyed Quil as they pass us, jogging towards the tree line. "Hang with Emily and I'll be back as soon as I can."

Before I can argue, he presses a long kiss to my forehead, erasing any lingering argumentative spirit.

"Promise you'll stay here?" he asks softly, cupping my face between his palms.

"I promise."

Seth nods once, before turning and sprinting to the tree line. Only when he has melted entirely into the shrubbery do I turn, taking my blanket cape back into the safety of Emily's kitchen…

…Though I would contest how safe said kitchen could be, considering the two expectant faces that are turned towards me, eagerly tracking my return.

Damn it.

A/N: Reviews make me write faster. (insert totally subtle hint here) Anyway, here is a totally incorrect quote that most definitely happened:
seth: bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.
brady: seth, you don't have bad luck. the reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.