Bella stepped out of her truck and into a past life. The house stood tall and immovable, an ivory monument nestled between green trees. Leaves from the densely covered branches had given way to the weight of raindrops. A few were fused wetly to the sloping roof.
Bella took in the expansive property, its overgrown bushes and unkempt grass, her mind besieged by the broken promise of the untended gardens swarming with weeds. She felt like she was intruding, wandering onto a movie set long after filming had wrapped to search for some remnants of the fantasy that had once been crafted in this yard, inside that house, behind those windows.
Locations could be timeless. She walked slowly up the driveway she remembered so well. She even correctly predicted how the porch steps would creak beneath her worn sneakers. The light hanging over her head was on. It glowed warm white, an electric reinterpretation of a classically styled lantern.
The porch seemed almost as eternal and unchanging as the family who once possessed it, but here too there were a few fragments of decay scattered throughout, signaling that the Cullens had officially left town some time ago. The windows weren't as clear as they used to be, for starters. Broken twigs were stuck between bristles on the welcome mat at her feet, and a spider's web wove between segments of railing.
Bella stared at the front door. She raised her hand only for it to freeze in midair, stalled by indecision. Should she rap against the painted wood when it already looked so weathered, so faded? Should she seize the brass knob and twist it, like it was hers to manipulate even though she never arrived with any intention to stay?
She didn't have to make up her mind. The door was opened from within.
Edward appeared in the widening gap, his eyes a light butterscotch. He gazed at her intently, probably cataloging all her differences.
Bella knew her face had changed. She had gone to see Charlie first—seeing Charlie was so much easier—and she made it a point to scrutinize her school pictures while he was snoring through the eighth inning of a televised baseball game. In preparation for today, she'd held up her senior photo in a mirror, trying to anticipate what Edward would make of her after eight long months apart. She thought her cheekbones might have become a little more prominent, and she'd cut her hair so it rested just below her shoulders. But she was sure there must be other things, at least a dozen or more minuscule alterations only a vampire would notice.
Edward, of course, was impervious to change. He wore a coppery brown sweater she didn't recognize and jeans that looked equally unfamiliar and new. But, otherwise, he was exactly as snow-white, messy-haired, strong-jawed, and beautiful as he had always been—unscathed by the lengthening stretches of time between her visits. On the surface, at least. He was a photograph in motion, a devastatingly handsome fixture in her dreams that was only enhanced by reality.
Bella tucked her hair behind her ears, feeling self-conscious. Maybe she shouldn't have gone so short.
"Hi," she managed to say, quietly and indistinctly.
"Hi." Edward stepped aside, backing against the door to hold it open. He made a graceful, sweeping gesture with one arm as though she was a piece of music he was ushering in. "Please."
"Thank you."
Her first thought upon entering the front room was that something was missing. A hanging decoration had been taken down. She couldn't remember what it was or if she had even liked it. She just knew the barren wall struck her wrong.
"Green?" Edward asked.
Bella pivoted, sure she must have misheard. "What?"
She glanced down at her blouse in confusion. It was as blue as she remembered it being when she dug it out of her suitcase that morning.
"Your truck." Edward was still leaning against the door and inclined his head in the direction of the driveway. "I wouldn't have expected you to choose that color."
"Oh. I... don't actually mind green so much anymore. Now that I don't spend my days drenched in it."
Bella's cheeks burned. The truth that she absolutely wasn't going to tell him was that she'd searched for green, specifically. Because of… Forks.
"I can see how a change of scenery might alter your opinion." He kept his eyes trained on the truck.
"Not completely," she amended quickly. "It's a really dark, metallic color. Almost black in the evenings." A memory—an embarrassing one—resurfaced then. On a whim, she made her voice exaggeratedly deep and slow. She'd never heard herself talking in her sleep, being asleep and all, but she took a stab at what she imagined it might sound like. "It's not too green!"
Edward appeared to understand what she was referencing right away. His posture relaxed, and he chuckled, a smooth and pleasant sound. "I'm very relieved it doesn't feature in your nightmares. You lied to me about it, though."
"The truck?"
"Yes. On the phone, you told me it was new."
"It is new. It's new to me."
He rolled his eyes, taking a few steps closer to her and shutting the door. "It looks to be nine years old at least."
"Eleven, actually."
"Eleven? Bella—"
"It's super reliable, Edward! I haven't had any problems. It's really safe. Besides, my old truck was almost ten times its age."
"Not quite that," he muttered. "But I take your point."
It felt natural to be arguing with him about her safety. It was so eerily reminiscent of how they had always functioned together that Bella found herself operating on a kind of muscle memory, raising a hand to the side of his face automatically and leaning in instinctively as she made sure she got the last word.
"Good."
His skin felt like cool marble in her palm. She brushed her thumb across his lower lip, and his mouth came open the slightest bit, the sweetness of his breath fanning over her nose and hitting like an aphrodisiac.
Her heart started to thud erratically in her chest.
His eyes closed. The weight against her palm increased just barely, like he was leaning, very cautiously, into her touch. Then he drew in toward her, matching her, meeting her halfway…
Bella jerked away from him at the very last moment. She was gasping because of course she'd forgotten to breathe.
"I'm sorry." She dragged her traitorous hands down her face, horrified. It was hard to force air past the lump forming in her throat. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."
Edward's eyes were blazing with some powerful emotion. He reached out, his fingers nearly brushing the hair that had tumbled over her shoulder before they curled into a tight fist. He paced over to the coffee table, the shine of the cherry wood dulled by a visible layer of dust, and began absently flipping through a stack of magazines on the end. His brows knit together.
"It's all right, Bella," he said, voice very soft and even. "You don't need to apologize or explain. I told you that you could have any part of me you wished, and I meant it. If you would like to spend this time together behaving as if we… are together, then, clearly, I am more than happy to do so."
"That wouldn't be right."
"Why not?" He glanced up from the cover of National Geographic but only for an instant. "Are you seeing someone?"
"No!"
Bella hated the naked quaver in her answer. She cringed at how disproportionately loud the exclamation sounded on the heels of his casual, controlled question.
Edward handled this torturous arrangement a thousand times better than she ever had. Or ever would, it seemed, no matter how many years of maturity she supposedly gained over him. And that cut so deeply because she was the one who insisted upon it—who kept him at arms length as long as she could possibly endure it, exchanging texts and occasional phone calls, before she would inevitably and selfishly crumble and ask to see him again.
He always messaged her back. He always returned her calls. He always said yes and agreed to her terms, regardless of whether she was looking to indulge in the intoxicating heights of his love or seeking the support of a sincere and understanding friend.
It wasn't healthy. It wasn't fair. She was trying to do better, but, so far, she was failing miserably.
Bella took a steadying breath in through her nose and released it slowly out her mouth. Then she went to relax on the couch by the coffee table. By the look of things, it probably wasn't the cleanest place to sit, but she didn't mind. If the untidiness of the house was the only symptom of their circumstances that Edward wasn't going to attempt to conceal from her, then she deserved to wallow in it.
"No, I'm not seeing anyone." She crossed her legs, one knee bending protectively over the other. Her tone was matter-of-fact. "Thanks for letting me come here. I really appreciate it."
"Of course." Edward put down the magazines and joined her on the couch, though he seemed hesitant and watched her closely as he situated himself on the opposite side. "You need to be back in Phoenix by Sunday night, you said?"
"Yep. I have to work Monday."
"When were you planning to leave?"
"Probably Friday. Or early Saturday at the latest."
"In roughly two days, then."
Bella nodded. Her stomach flip-flopped. What sort of shape would they be leaving each other in?