AN: Hello, my dears! Yet another update for you.

Unfortunately, I only have one more chapter on hold that is prewritten.

I'm still dealing with a few personal issues and I can honestly say that I've really struggled with writing lately, but I'm hoping I get out of this dry spell very soon. I really love this story and appreciate every single review.

Thank you!


Chapter 6

"I only know what love must do
When fortune cries I'll follow you
And when your down I'll break your fall
'Cause the weight on my shoulders
Ain't no weight at all"

Gino Vanelli

After my session with Jasper, I head over to the café, pulling up into the empty parking lot. The entire town appears to be nursing the aftereffects of a good party, leaving the street practically deserted. Locking myself in, I stop, just as I usually do, and allow that incredible sense of gratitude to wash over me. Steamin' Beans and Sizzlin' Goodies is perhaps my greatest accomplishment and I absolutely love everything there is about it. Running my fingers over the soft material of a few leather chairs, I pause in the middle of the room; feeling nostalgic. After a session with Jasper, I usually feel pretty raw and emotional, so I really shouldn't be surprised that my thoughts this morning automatically drift to those distant memories I have of my mother.

"Sweetheart, these are to die for! I swear, a large cup of steamin' beans and a few sizzlin' goodies like this, and it's a goddamned taste of heaven."

Curling my fingers around the backrest of the chair I'm holding, I tighten my grip as the image of her happy face comes to life in my mind. My mother could leave me alone for days on end, never once caring about my wellbeing. It had taken me a long time to accept the fact that the way she treated me was wrong, but I still…

My eyes begin to burn as a stream of good memories flash through my mind.

Moments where she'd shower me with compliments and hugs, making me feel like I was important and worthy of her love. A sharp pain slashes through my chest as the familiar and overpowering sense of inconsolable grief washes through me like a tsunami. Closing my eyes, I try to fight back the wave of panic that always follows. Using the breathing techniques I've learned over the years, I'm able to push it back. However, the acute pain and almost frenzied restlessness still remains.

Damn it. It usually wasn't this bad after a session.

Rubbing a hand against my chest, I fight back the urge to redirect some of the pain. The instinct to cut still dwells deep inside of me like a sweet speaking devil, but as usual I quickly resist its call. I haven't put a blade to my skin in years and I'm determined never to do so again. Shaking my head, I pull my shoulders back and widen my stance. My mother had left me enough capital to start this business when she died, but that didn't mean that she got to influence my life in any way shape or form. This was my sanctuary; my place of peace, and there was no way in hell that I was going to let her ruin the pride and incredible sense of peace that I felt every time I stepped in here.

Pulling my phone out, I make my way to the kitchen to pull out an assortment of cheeses. Glancing down at the screen, I feel my heart skip a beat at the text message that was waiting for me when I woke up this morning.

Good morning! I hope we're still on for today even though I kind of bailed last night. Noon a good time?- E

I cringe when I think about the number of drafts I came up with, before finally responding to him with a simple: Yes, I'll see you then. I've also lost count of how many times I've read his message. Just the thought that he somehow managed to get ahold of my phone number (I'd had his for years, but had never found an appropriate excuse, or had the guts to use it), sent a thrill through me so strong that my hands began to fucking tremble.

God, I was pathetic.

My stomach churns uncomfortably with a wide variety of different emotions as I get everything ready, excitement, anticipation, fear, self-doubt. You name it. Sorting through the cheese selections, and picking out a few extra items, I package everything neatly in a box and carry it out to my antique monster of a truck. It had been one of the first gifts I received from my father and although I knew I'd probably have to replace it soon, I still couldn't find it in me to part with it. When we moved back after a year in Paris, I started selling baked goods out of my father's kitchen, and I remember having to drive deliveries all the way out to Port Angeles several times a day. Now, I'd partnered up with a delivery service to handle all of that. Since I lived and worked in town, I rarely felt the need for a new car. We did run into a few minor issues on my impulsive trip to Seattle, but everything was fine now. My Wanda worked just fine.

Yanking the door closed, it gives off a loud screech and, as usual, I'm forced to pump the gas a few times before I'm finally able to get the engine running again. As I am about to leave the parking lot, I impulsively send off a message to Edward, just to let him know that I'm on my way, and to ensure that he still wants me to come. His immediate response puts an instant smile on my face and makes my stomach dance with excitement.

Great! Looking forward to it.

Nodding my head, I feel a spike of adrenaline, giving me the push I need to take the next step. Throwing my phone back into my purse, I turn my truck around and slowly drive out of the parking lot and head down the main road.

Here goes nothing.

§§§

The Cullen Farm was easily one of the top ten most beautiful places in all of Washington State. I have no problem understanding Alice's desire to market it as a wedding destination. The perfect rows of apple trees in the orchard, combined with a magnificent gazebo and several rustic and incredibly charming old buildings… Not to mention the breathtaking views… God, this place could easily be the dream venue for any new bride. The fact that it could house a large number of guests and that it was just within driving distance to a major city like Seattle, well… I honestly couldn't understand why they hadn't jumped on this idea already.

The gravel underneath my tires creates a loud crunching noise as my truck slowly makes its way down the private road leading up to the main farmhouse. After a while I see the small sign directing me down another small road to what they've eloquently called the Cullen Cider House. Atop of a small hill, I find a stunning barn-like building surrounded by a large parking lot and apple trees as far as the eye can see. Turning the key to the ignition I startle in my seat as a loud shot all but explodes from the exhaust pipe of my poor truck, quickly followed by a gust of black smoke.

Wanda, what the actual fuck?

Before I've even begun to process my shock, I hear the tell-tale sound of rapid footsteps hitting against gravel. Flickering my eyes to the review mirror, I immediately recognize his tall frame.

Great, talk about making a lasting impression.

Using a large amount of force, I push my front door open, jump out and rush towards the back of my truck and the quickly dissolving black smoke. Carefully masking my reaction with a tight grimace, I follow his gaze, mimicking his stance as we both stare intensely at my exhaust pipe.

"Uhm," I begin, but stop because I truly have no idea what to say.

"I can't believe you're still driving around in that death trap," Edward grumbles, shaking his head as he moves towards the trunk to grab my carefully packed box of goodies.

A spark of annoyance flares up inside of me, giving me a surprising amount of courage.

"Hey! Don't hate the truck! And don't let Wanda hear you talking about her like that."

Edward snickers, shaking his head in disbelief.

I'm temporarily distracted by the bulging muscles of his arms as he lifts the box out of the trunk as if it weighed absolutely nothing. That white t-shirt of his is stretching deliciously across the wide span of his back as he-.

"Your truck is an antique, Bella."

Tongue tied and physically unable to respond, all I find that I'm able to do is blink my eyes rapidly, watching helplessly as he saunters his way over to where I'm standing. His jade eyes sparkle with mischief, revealing that he isn't finished with his teasing. Heat flares across my cheeks as he leans closer, the warmth of his breath tickling the short hair that is covering my ear.

"And antiques such as yours belong in a museum; not on the road."

He pulls back, his vibrant eyes dancing with mirth as he delivers his "lethal" blow.

"It's time to let her go, Bella."

I don't know if it's the playful edge in his tone or the happy twinkle in his eye, but in the next second I feel the sudden rise of nerves fall away, giving way to a confidence I've never felt before. Punching his arm lightly, I slowly walk away from him, making sure to sway my hips slightly as I return to the cab of my truck to grab my purse. Dragging my fingers affectionately over the worn material on the inside of my open door, I abruptly turn to face him, shooting him an admonishing look.

"Don't mock the truck, Edward. Wanda and I are bound together for life."

A wave of goosebumps spread across my skin in reaction to his sharp laugh and widening grin. He glances pointedly towards the exhaust pipe.

"Bella, I hate to break it to you, but I think Wanda's life is hanging on by a thin thread here. I mean, do parts even exist for her or do you have to get those ordered specially from some antiques broker?"

Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I try to close the front door as quietly and fluidly as I can. The loud noise caused by the rusted hinges, and the lack of cooperation - I end up having to use my entire body weight to get the door to successfully shut, doesn't exactly strengthen my case. Edward shakes his head, making a tsking sound with his mouth.

"Bella, Bella, Bella."

Striding up next to him, I roll my eyes and place my hands decisively on my hips. For a second, I can't help but wonder if his eyes briefly dip down to my neckline or if it is simply wishful thinking.

"I was under the impression that I was invited here today to taste some ciders, not to be ridiculed by my perfectly acceptable choice of vehicle," I say, giving myself a southern and sickeningly sweet accent as I fix him with a raised eyebrow.

Once again, he shakes his beautiful head of messy bronze colored hair a few times, as though he can't believe what he's hearing. I fully expect him to continue with our little banter, however, when he eventually locks eyes on mine, wets his bottom lip and finally directs the sexiest of smiles I've ever seen my way. I realize that he is, in fact, at the brink of surrender. When bows his head, ever so slightly, and sends me a wink that I can feel all the way down to my toes, I wonder if I'm really the one who should be waving that white flag.

"Welcome to Cullen Ciders, Miss Swan, my name is Edward and I'll be your guide."

Hot desire blazes up inside of me at the husky tinge in his tone, spreading through me like wildfire. I almost jump straight out of my skin when his arm accidently brushes against mine as he leads me towards the main entrance.

Dear Lord, please help me get through this without making a complete and utter fool of myself.

§§§

Luckily, my culinary background and over the top interest in any and everything that has to do with food, kicks in the moment we step into the Cider House. The same confidence I feel when I step into a kitchen washes over me and completely drowns out any uncertainty or nerves that I might have. So, instead of closing up like I usually do around Edward, I find myself bombarding him with questions, trying to understand every single aspect of apple cider making. He locks onto my enthusiasm and responds in kind. His explanations rich in detail and he takes me through the entire process, showing me every single step and even letting me have a go wherever it's possible.

I love how patient and passionate he is about his craft and realize that it might be the first time I've truly seen him radiate true happiness like this. Yes, Edward had always been incredibly talented and successful. In fact, back in high school, things just seemed to fall into place naturally for him, however, thinking back I realize that there really wasn't anything he was truly passionate about or really loved; other than football, perhaps? I don't know. And then when Edward returned to take over the farm after his father died, there was sadness to him that never really went away. He was more weighed down somehow and his brows would almost always be furrowed together in something resembling a frown. The grief and new responsibility appeared to make him both anxious and unfulfilled. This Edward, though; this Edward was bursting with life and appeared to be completely unshackled by the worries of the world. This was where he was in his element and where he felt comfortable and at home.

"What do you do with all the pomace after the juice has been pressed out?" I ask, leaning down to inspect the area where the juice seeps out into the large tub below the impressive machine.

The building that looked like a regular large barn on the outside, resembled much more of an enormous warehouse on the inside and was perfectly divided into a variety of different sections. The room in the front of the building featured a small bar and mercantile which displayed the wide range of cider bottles that were produced here at the Cullen Farm. To the right they had an enormous, cooled storage space to hold a wide variety of apples, and the most recent addition, pears, that they picked throughout the harvest. As with everything else, Edward was diligent in explaining all of the characteristics to every type of apple and pear you could find here at the orchard. It was clear that the orchard had undergone a lot of changes after he took over the reins and it appeared to be thriving. We'd just entered the workstation that housed a few gigantic apple and pear presses. The high-tech conveyer belt-like machines were where the apples and pears were sorted, rinsed, mashed and then finally pressed. Edward and I were studying the apple press at the moment and Edward had just explained the main differences between the machines. Apparently, pears needed to sit for a few hours after they'd been mashed before they could be pressed, but all in all the process was pretty much the same.

"We pack it up and use it to feed the livestock. In addition to the orchard my Dad insisted on running a fully functioning dairy farm."

Exasperation spreads across his face and some of that worry and heaviness returns to his gaze. He sighs heavily before he continues.

"That and the 20 something horses, handful of pigs and chickens, makes this one of the largest farms in all of Washington state. I need to reuse what I can."

My eyes widen at the sheer magnitude of his workload. No wonder he's usually in a hurry and with a constant scowl on his face. Edward was wearing himself thin.

"Ever consider downsizing and selling some of it off?" I ask, feeling a rush of fierce protectiveness and concern surge up inside of me.

Edward simply shakes his head, pressing the pause button to stop the loud noise for a minute while we talk.

"It's the way things have been run for generations."

I purse my lips as though I've just tasted something particularly sour.

"Yeah, but the expansion to the orchard and the Cider and Perry business must take a lot of time and effort, Edward. Your father never produced anything in this kind of scale and if the market is there-," I let my voice drift off and watch as he pushes the almost full tub away and replaces it with another.

Edward's father was something of a legend in Forks. He'd been a hard worker and a good man; doing whatever he could to help the community. I remembered him as a larger-than-life character who was respected and loved by absolutely everyone. His death had come as a complete shock and several farm owners still grieved his loss. They'd all welcomed both Edward and his Uncle Carlisle into the community, but I got the feeling that Edward was still struggling to gain their respect. What he was doing here, though, was truly remarkable. I follow him as he pushes the tub over to one of the massive metal tanks that line the side of the room.

"The market is there, alright, and although I've put the farm in some serious debt by going down this road, it's already starting to show some promising revenue."

He pushes the tub to the side and begins to explain the different fermentation methods they use and how the taste differs and how long each batch needs in the tanks before they can be poured into the rows and rows of wooden wine barrels he has lined up against the opposite wall.

"Can I ask you something?" I interrupt when he stops to take a breath.

He nods and I take a few steps away from him, touching the rough wooden material of one of the barrels.

"What would your ultimate dream for this farm be?"

His brow furrows together in confusion and I realize that I need to clarify my question slightly.

"If there were no limits and nothing holding you back. If you have a blank canvas and dream up your absolute perfect scenario, what would it be?"

Something clicks and Edward's expression changes into something I really can't describe.

"A blank canvas, huh?"

I nod, leaning against the barrel, I force myself to keep my eyes locked on his. It doesn't take him long to respond.

"I'd get rid of the cows," he pauses. "My father loved working with those animals, but it just isn't worth the work."

I nod my head and don't say anything. Edward's brows twitch as he continues to think.

"I would love to focus all of my attention on building the Cider and Perry business," he sighs.

"I love the creative and experimental side of it and I-," he pauses. "It makes me happy."

Making sure to send him an encouraging smile, I motion for him to continue.

"In time, I would love to build a restaurant or something up here. A place where I can host Cider Tastings combined with an incredible meal using local produce."

My heart stutters in my chest at the beautiful dream he's describing.

"Or maybe even a Bed & Breakfast?"

The question in his tone makes me smile.

"Esme has always loved the idea of a B&B," his eyes warm at the mention of his aunt.

"And don't tell Alice, but I really like her idea of promoting this place as a venue for weddings. We've kind of had that in the works for a while now, refurnishing all of the different cottages, but with all the work and the lack of funds I-," he stops himself and a sharp yearning to hug him hits me so strongly, that I almost can't stop myself. Curling my fingers around the gentle curve of the barrel instead, I fix him with a strong look.

"Blank canvas, remember."

He chuckles.

"I'd keep some of the horses, but maybe hire someone to take over running the stables? Or maybe lease it out? The horses are my mother's passion; not mine," he takes a breath.

"I think she was hoping Alice might want to take over running that particular part of the farm, but that doesn't seem to be something my little sister is remotely interested in at the moment."

His sad smile leads me to believe that he too had a wish that his sister would step up to the plate and take some of the responsibility he's clearly been carrying for quite some time. Edward draws his bottom lip between his teeth and runs his fingers through his hair for a moment, looking thoughtful and so incredibly sad.

"But life isn't a blank canvas, Bella," he reaches next to him and grabs a handheld machine in his hands, studying it for a moment.

"My father took over this farm from his father and was able to build a place that meant something to a lot of people in this community. Downscaling would mean that some people would end up losing their jobs. I can't do that."

He shakes his head, his mind clearly made up. For some reason I get the distinct feeling that there's something else bothering him that he isn't opening up about, but I let it slide. Opening a small cork-like thing on the top of the barrel next to him, he sticks part of the machine down to measure… well something, but before I can ask what it is, he's grabbed a small wine glass uses and something that looks like a turkey baster to squirt some of the liquid into it.

"Okay, so moving on," he clears his voice and sends me a tight smile.

"This particular cider has been aging for about a year now and as you can see it's pretty cloudy, so we'll have to filter it before we can start blending it."

He hands me the glass and I study the yellowish liquid closely, swirling it lightly in the glass before I lift it to my nose. It smells of yeast, apples and a hint of spices.

"Some of the barrels we only have to age for a few months, but we leave the better ones for about a year. Which is also why cider making takes a while before we ever get to see some real profit. It takes a long time to build."

I nod my head in understanding before taking a small sip, allowing the liquid to swirl around in my mouth for a second so that I can fully taste it. It's dry and very rich in flavor, and I can already see that with a little blending, why the Cullen Ciders are such a hit. Edward has a knack and raw talent for this that his father never had. Before I have a chance to say anything, I feel my breath catch in my throat as his fingers lightly brush over mine. Stepping closer, he takes the glass from me, swirls the remaining liquid expertly in the glass, studying it for a second, before he too takes a sip. The fact that we are both drinking from the same glass feels surprisingly intimate, but I try not to think too much of it.

"I wanted you to experience the raw taste of it, because I need your help," his green eyes are alive and brimming with excitement.

"You're going to help me blend a few new flavors today," he reveals, and I feel my mouth drop.

I thought he said he simply wanted my input on a few of his finished blends. He must read the confusion on my face, because he hurries to explain. Clearly enjoying my startled reaction.

"We'll match the cheeses with some of our more popular ciders as well, but every year there's a National Cider Tasting Competition where the winner not only walks away with a pretty substantial monetary prize, but it's a springboard into all major food companies and restaurants around the US. I won best newcomer last year, but this year I'm really hoping for one of the main prizes."

"Edward, I know nothing about ciders," I interrupt him, the overwhelming expectation he has for me to perform is making me nervous.

He takes a step closer and gently reaches for my hand. The way his finger naturally slides against mine, makes my stomach giddy with anticipation and the rising nerves quickly begin to fade.

"You are one of the best chefs I've ever seen and we both know that your palette is otherworldly. I seriously think that with my degree in chemistry combined with your superior taste buds, we have a shot at creating something pretty exceptional."

Unable to even speak, I feel my heart leap in my chest as I hold his gaze for a second longer before slowly nodding my head in agreement. I swear, if Edward Cullen ever asked me to walk on water, I'd probably agree to it without question.

"And if we win?" my voice has a husky tinge to it.

Edward's grin widens and my entire body reacts to the pure joy I see sparkle in his eyes.

"If we win, I'll split the prize money with you and maybe put your name on the bottle."

His brows rise expectantly as though he's waiting for my final confirmation. I bob my head. Clearly unwilling to wait for me to change my mind, he tugs me after him into yet another and much smaller room. I don't know if he's realized that he's still holding my hand.