I apologise for any long wait and issue I may have caused but I hope this chapter is as thoroughly enjoyable as the rest. I know things my seem a bit out of sync for now but trust me when I say everything will come full circle. Please R&R!

He is kissing me.

Carlisle Cullen is kissing me.

There is a mouth, on my mouth, purposefully.

For sure, it's not the best snog ever and bloody hell, have I had much better pecks in my life but that doesn't matter. How could it possibly matter how frugal he is with those perfectly soft lips, or how shyly he is holding onto my arms.

None of that matters because he did it. He kissed me. Though, of course, too soon it's over and so is my euphoric rush of hormones.

He kissed me?

Parting from the obstruction that is my body, he smiles slightly, those blue eyes locked into my forest ones. I'm not sure how I must look, bemused I'm guessing because the longer he waits for me to say something, the more anxious his expression grows.

He kissed me... like that? Are we pre-school children? What's with the innocence?

'So.' I'm still amazed that he actually did it, what else can I do.

'So?' He asks tentatively, clearly in panic for my approval.

'That was-' unexpected?

'I'm sorry.' He rushes in nervously, coughing to hide his nerves 'It's just- well you were- I was-'

'Thank you.' I literally have no idea what else to say. I know I should be saying something better, something kinder when he's so gorgeous and looking at me in such a way that's making me feel like a teenager but- I'm coming up blank. I should start with the obvious. Bizarrely, he's sweeter than I'd imagined. More sensual and cute rather than the passion I had planned. I guess that just comes down to experience. Why else would he equate kissing to pouting?

Okay, now I'm being too-critical.

'You don't look impressed.' He surmises after a while. I don't know if he's frowning because his hair is falling in his eyes or whether the sunlight is irritating him. Obviously, I'm avoiding that third option: That my expression is killing his ego. Before he gets chance to flick it away, I gently push his fringe back for him. Here goes-

'I'm very impressed.' I say neutrally. It hits him like a head wound. 'I didn't think you'd want to go near me after last night?' I say this carelessly though his smile is becoming weaker.

'But?'

Oh man, why can't I jut be grateful for the fact he kissed me? Even if it was shit? I sigh heavily and lower my eyes.

'But you copped out a bit.' A LOT.

'Really?' He asks dismally, those eyebrows pulling down to highlight his disappointment. At himself. My first instinct is to go over there and properly prove what a real kiss is- but that might just be rubbing salt into the wound.

'You kiss me like you're kissing your grandmother.' This isn't helping.

'I don't have a grandmother.' He murmurs sourly.

I take a moment to stare at the car-park around me, it's getting warmer, sunnier and it's catching the side of his face and making him squint. I think I need to work on sounding sweeter. Maybe he might find me more appealing that way and he'd actually want to kiss me.

'It just takes a little practice- Which I'd be happy to help with?'

He smiles a little, leaning on a leg in particular and rolling the sole of his trainers over the gravel.

'Don't be upset, Hon. It's a good thing.' Great! Now he's never going to kiss me again! Really did good this time didn't you, Platt? URGH. But he shrugs slightly, his soft shy smile turning into a grin.

'It's not normal for me to not get it perfect first time.'

Okay, so that has made me smile a little.

'You put too much pressure on yourself- you're meant to relax.'

'I was hyped.' He says casually, lifting a shoulder and turning away to hide his smirk.

'Well, you can focus all that energy into kissing me properly later.' I really hope he doesn't take this as a flirt- I'm not flirting anymore- this is a demand. I refuse to accept that first one as anything slightly promising.

'Properly?' He challenges, his voice cheery and playful.

'For starters Choir-boy, no one kisses with their mouth closed. That died out years ago.'

With a light step, I go to push him, just for an excuse to be that little bit nearer but rather than shy from my grip he pauses and leans into it so that I falter a little. Fuck it, fuck this car park, fuck it all, just take me right now in the middle of this road.

'I'll bear that in mind for our next appointment, Miss Platt.'

'I have high expectations for you, Doctor Cullen.'

Shopping for us doesn't take long because we're pretty much always on the same brain wave when it comes to food for the week. Not that we've addressed the fact he has to leave, yet. The thought makes me inadvertently sigh. I'm going to regret it. I know I'm going to regret it. But it's selfish of me to expect him to stay and worse for me to encourage it. Besides. This whole Alaska thing is going to do wonders for his career-.

'What are you thinking about?' He questions, pushing the cart with two hands and watching my obvious frown.

'Er, nothing. I'm just thinking…?'

Nice.

'About?' He prompts sweetly, avoiding the plain temptation to ridicule my stupidity. I already know what's got his brain in a tizz. He's panicking that I haven't demanded a proper snog yet. He's panicking that I'm not panicking. I'm sticking to my guns, if he wants to be the one to kiss me then by God, he will. But once that's out the way- phew. The plans I have for that mouth on this one- are-! Not appropriate for a shopping trip.

'Fruit?'

He's not really listening, he's got his eyes on a pineapple on one of the higher shelves and debates about putting it in the cart. I roll my eyes.

'Just grab one.'

'Isn't it easier to buy it from a tin? Or buy it all cut up?'

'You might want to make cocktails, though?' I remind him. 'Besides, fresh pineapple is so much better than- What, why are you staring?'

He's not just staring, he's stopped in the middle of this really busy supermarket to look wondrously as if I hold the key to all the world's secrets. It's a very flattering look and it's making my heart beat a little heavier.

'I just never realised how fascinating I could find a conversation on pineapple. Is that bizarre?'

Great, now my face is going to be all blotchy, too. I nod, shyly letting my hair tangle up over the collar of his grey cardigan.

'Pineapple is meant to be a great aphrodisiac?' I mutter softly, and even though I know this is something he's bound to know, I feel like testing the waters of our flirting. The waters seems to be experiencing at heat-wave.

'Sold.' This might have been meant as a joke but he puts it in the trolley and I find myself obnoxiously laughing out loud.

'You've been hanging with Em, too much. You're getting brave.' I tease, locking my fingers in the metal grating and pulling him along with me. He snorts.

'I was always brave. It's just not appropriate to take advantage when you were -. Never mind.'

'No, go on. Say it for the hundredth time.' Jeeez, I get it I had a drink blah, blah, blah.

'I'm sorry, I don't mean to be an ass.'

My grin does enough to say he's forgiven and he prattles on about the really interesting qualities of too much salt in your diet until we finish our task but I don't mind. Even if I don't quite understand all that he's telling me, I love how enthusiastically he talks to me.

Like I said, shopping doesn't take long. We work well together, even on the domestic stuff like groceries and despite an absolute argument breaking out about paying, he manages to beat me to it and hands the cashier his debit card. All is lost however when he grins at me and in moments we're walking through the doors of the hardware store.

'Dr Cullen? Back so soon?'

Carlisle blushes slightly when the store-owner from earlier openly greets us with a huge smile. He's friendly, older but probably has tonnes of sons close to our age judging the way he's shaking my flatmates hand. It's so easy to forget how much of an impact this flatmate has on the values of one town. To be fair- it's also super weird.

'I'm so sorry for the inconvenience caused earlier today. It was simply a-'

'Well you've always been a loyal customer at McClark's, Sir and a tremendously generous man to our community. We couldn't be more thrilled on your engagement-'

Carlisle rubs his pink neck, grimacing, mouth moving without omitting any sound. But to be fair to the Clerk, this is Carlisle's store of choice. The house and everything in it is pretty much an advertisement for this store. Their quality is good and we trust in them with everything. From tools to shelves to bath units all the way back to door knobs.

'I really must tell you-.' Cullen tries to say, but his words are getting swallowed by his embarrassment and I am loving every second of it. 'I mean thank you- but-'

'A gift from us to you. We couldn't be more pleased for you, sir!'

Before my gloriously pink flatmate further attempts to try and correct the store manager, he offers a tanned hand out to us, a card in his grasp. I smile politely and keep my eyes on the reaction of this matter, ignoring the cheery smile of one man to push mine onto the other.

'Mr McClark,' Carlisle continues, a lump clamped in his throat. 'I couldn't possibly accept-'

'Nonsense! This is just a small gesture. Especially after my Jane's operation. Really looked after her, you did, Sir.' Mr McClark is now looking fondly at me, his grin wide and showing a set of yellowed teeth.

'Just procedure-.' Carlisle tries to say.

But the clerk shoves the yellow card in his hand and immediately starts to retreat. 'Such a friendly face, too. Couldn't be happier for you both. Many congratulations!'

With horror I realise that he's been staring my way for a good minute.

'Me?!' I repeat.

'Congratulations again!'

Backing away and ignoring both of our stumbling and calls, the clerk is gone and we're left staring at each other. Marriage? HA! He'd actually have to snog me for that- Aw, now I'm sad.

'Jasper is repaying this money even if I have to- Oh my God.'

'What?' I ask, trying to suss out his confusion. With a frown he pushes the little card into my hand and makes a face of frustration. 'A hundred-dollar gift card?! Are you joking?! That's so nice!'

Jeez, this was just a little local store? How could they afford such a thing?!

'We can't take it, Esme.'

'I know that but it doesn't exactly look like they're willing to return it?'

He makes a face, eyebrows knitting together and mouth crumbling into a troubled smile. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he finds it flattering as I do to be thought of as an engaged. Honestly, I couldn't tell why I was so flattered by it. I hate marriage and only really agree with it in films. Though, it still is a surprise someone, even for a second, considers me mature and lovable enough to be made a fiancée out of.

'So what are you saying? I've just got to refer to you as Mrs Cullen every time we enter the store?'

Is it wrong that this is the kind of sentence which inadvertently makes my stomach flip?

Impossible. He comes in here like twice a week. He'd never keep that up.

'Of course not!' I reprimand, tapping him lightly on the arm. He gives me his best smirk and leads me towards the correct aisle, pleased by my useless excitement. 'You'd never refer to your own wife as Mrs Cullen. Far too formal. Besides, this isn't a slap-dash arrangement. What do you take me for?'

His eyes sparkle and he sighs excessively. 'Alright so Lilies and Dahlia's? Catered food with a band at the end? Blue and white for the colour scheme?'

'Urgh, could you be plainer?' Does this guy even know who he's joking with? I might hate marriage but I love a good wedding! 'I'm thinking a nice champagne with rose pink and an apple green for the colour scheme. Lilies maybe, no Dahlia's. But yes to a band.'

There's just something about vocal chords into a microphone that has my heart melting a little.

He grins even wider, his hair curving over his forehead in a perfect arch. Urgh, why is he looking at me like that?

'I like green.' The flicker of his eyebrows almost suggests he's surprised. He shouldn't be. He pretty much likes most colours. Apple green is just one that fits my taste, too.

'I know.'

'And we already have a house so we wouldn't have to move anywhere?' He figures, softly.

Why the fuck am I actually getting excited about this?! It's a joke! Jesus, Christ what the heck am I grinning like a madman for?!

'So if we're married, I don't have to pay rent?'

'I suppose not.' He replies with a smart pout.

'This is sounding better already. Hit me up with some dates and I'm yours.'

We've stopped by the window frames now and he drops the smile on his face to stay focused on the right measurements. I give him the space he needs. I know how frustrating it can be to have someone going off at you when you're busy and he seems pretty busy at the moment, looking at the different glass and frames and squinting at the information.

'Sixteenth of November.'

'What?' Why does he do this? Make conversation with no context.

'You asked for a date? The sixteenth of November. It's dark in the evening which would look great against something like candles or string lights. It's also cold enough that you could enjoy an evening indoors while having a nice breeze but it's not cold enough that you'll freeze to death.'

My speech is gone so for the moment, I just stare at how he is crouched away from me, speaking so expertly and convincingly that I genuinely have to question everything. Why am I even romanticising this idea? I don't agree with marriage?!

'Do you think it'll contradict against our spring colours?' As an artist of course this is my main concern.

'No.' From the side, I see the little shape of his smile in his smooth cheek. 'Now you're the expert, what am I looking at here?'

The hardware store takes longer than the groceries but that's only because Carlisle spends half of the time struggling to work out what he needs before realising that my suggestions might actually help. To make things worse we have to order everything for a delivery date and he looks suspicious when I demand for the delivery date to be two weeks instead of the one. I am more than capable of doing everything on my own but two hands are better than one and in this case, Carlisle's hands are the ones to trust. No offence to Edward but any kind of DIY he took to meaning, get it done as quickly as possible and don't doubt your ability. Which in many cases needs doubting.

It shouldn't be much of a surprise that very nearly another argument breaks out with paying for the window. He had every reason to pay for it, including inviting the bitch over who caused the issue but I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him. But Carlisle is old fashioned.

'Esme!' He guffaws, playfully annoyed in all the best way. 'It's not even your window, it's not fair!'

'So not my window but our bed, right? You don't get to play that game!' I nudge him out the way again and grin widely, bearing my teeth a little. He rolls his eyes and because he's had enough humiliation in this shop, gives over to let me pay.

'I'm paying you back.' He murmurs, lugging a bag of various bits with him. 'Even a reduction on the rent, whatever. I'm paying you back.'

The staff offer us a friendly goodbye as we leave, smiling cheerily at us so that Carlisle grows even pinker, scrunching his nose a little until we have everything packed in the car. He seems in a good mood, happy enough to even hum along to the radio without recognising he's doing so. While he's focused enough to drive home, I take in his outfit for the second time. I knew there was something that caught my eye about it. The button down, the light one. I'm sure it's one of the ones I was wearing the other day. Obviously not the one from last night, but definitely one that was at the very least in my cupboard. Even from here I can smell my perfume on it. And his clean cologne. Mixing together. Becoming one.

'So I'm starved-'

With the desire to ravish you...

'Have you not eaten?' He asks concerned.

'Have you?'

'Well, no but - What would you like? We could make something?'

I grin at him, widely and guiltlessly. He eyes me back for a second before redirecting his attention to the driveway and parking up.

'So, I'm thinking waffles? Or maybe pancakes? I'll cook.' I suggest lovingly.

He cuts the engine off with one hand, closes his eyes and sighs in appreciation. It's such a soft sound, wispy and lulling about my shoulders, a lot less sharp than the reprimands from last night.

'You're spoiling me.' He murmurs suspiciously. I shrug a little, looking through my lashes at him.

Cullen politely tries to take over in unloading the shopping which is largely offensive but I try my best to be grateful and he follows me up the stairs where he unpacks the food into the various cupboards.

He's got his thinking face on.

'Well go on then, what is it?' I ask eventually.

He sighs, smiles a little and folds over the bags before passing them my way.

'Wouldn't be too unhappy if I asked to postpone lunch, would you?'

'You want to go for a run.' I realise, unable to hide my grin. He shrugs and looks out the window. It's nice and sunny and he is getting fidgety.

'I won't be long. An hour at most?'

'Don't tell me.' I say, holding a finger up to pause him. 'You desperately need to burn off some testosterone before you combust at my feet and demand for me to take you?'

Shit, too far. Way too far.

But his smirk is unmissable and he watches me carefully as he replies.

'I guess, you could call it that?'

When is this game going to end?! It's growing cobwebs down there!

'Fine, go on then. I'll do waffles for when you get back. .'

'Thank-you.' He sings.

I dismiss him to go and get changed before organising the rest of the kitchen. By the time he's finished and changed, I'm in the living room preparing to vacuum the heck out of our carpet. He's just tweaking his ear phones, pulling his hair back to look at me.

'I'll make it up to you.'

He looks behind one last time before closing the door and running off. The living room isn't as bad as I make out but there's just something about having a messy house which gives me the creeps. So I blitz everything. From the kitchen to the living room and then my own bedroom and the sheets which looks oddly dissimilar to what I remembered. It's only been a few days since I left it but it just looks odd, out of shape somehow and smells different. Not like Alice's candy perfume, as I would assume, but something else.

My room doesn't take that long to rearrange since I haven't lived it in for a while and though I go to complain about it, Carlisle's room isn't that bad either. It's just a case of collecting the washing, opening the curtains to let some light in and polishing around the TV and such.

These curious eyes of mine keep going to his bedside drawer. Instead, I pull out a suitcase from one of the wardrobes, and start to pack for him, being cheeky enough to place those DVD's in the middle of a pile of shirts and ties and stuff. The door slams again just as I'm finishing up, followed by the rush of his feet on the landing and eventually the opening of his bedroom door. He's flushed in the face, hair and t-shirt soaked through but otherwise relaxed. He has an empty pint glass in his hand.

'Better?' I ask, still not looking up from my task.

'What are you doing?' He asks instead, nearing the bed where I have a few sets of clothes spread out in front of me with a touch of gentle curiosity. I sigh , think about looking up but keep my eyes to my hands, they're fumbling a little but at least the suitcase is pretty neat.

'You'll need to grab your toiletries from the bathroom. Or take a new pack from beneath the sink.'

'Why are you packing?' His tone of confusion persuades me enough to lift my head up. He's weary, focused more in my movement rather than what's in my hands. I attempt a bit of a smile and shrug.

'You're going to Alaska.' I say softly.

For just a second, the grip on his glass tightens and he exhales the last rush of chaotic air from his mouth to really study my words.

'No?' He says quickly. 'No, we agreed, I'm staying here. I'm not going, I'm staying home with you- both of you.' He raises a hand in the direction of Edward's room but neither us are actually aware if he's home or not.

The frown on his face is a worried one. He's not angry or even over-confident, he's concerned. I shake my head so that my hair shimmers a little.

'Not this time.'

'Es?'

I bite my lip, holding the t-shirt loosely in my grip before packing that as well.

'Esme?'

'I'm sorry but you've got to go. It's your job.'

'But it isn't necessary towards my advancement?' This is a weak claim. Even if it isn't necessary, it's bloody helpful and he can't argue that.

'Regardless if it's necessary. It's still an opportunity.' I tell him thickly. He looks relatively blank, his mouth a hard line, resembling those in his forehead. With a new breath of fresh air, I continue. 'I'm sorry but you have to go.'

It's a week, not years. Why are we being like this?! But he's defiant, struggling with it but sticking hard to his guns.

'I've already told you, I don't want to go. I'm staying at home. The hospital needs me-'

'It's still going to need you when you get back. It's just a week, Carlisle. You're used to this. You've been to loads of these before-'

'Exactly, missing one won't hurt.' He's adamant but ultimately incorrect and he knows it. You can see it in his expression. He never frowns like that when he's right. He also never normally compromises either.

'You're being ridiculous.' I say softly. His anger weakens a little until eventually, he's just looking sadly at me.

'I want to stay. Who knows what could happen-.' He cuts himself off with his own silence, watching me carefully as though I'm going to blow up or something. It irks me.

'Nothing is going to happen. I have nine days holiday.'

'But-'

'For nine days, I won't go near the place. I promise.'

He looks down at his trainers and then slides them off his feet, kicking them over to the table near my side of the bed.

'I'm not just worried about that…'

He's too shy for the moment to look up at me but when he does, though dark eyes of his, gorgeous and blue, couldn't look more apologetic. He's clenching his jaw shut, but his expression is speaking volumes. My heart hits my feet at full speed.

'If you still want me once you're back. I'll be here.' I promise gently.

'Of course I'll still want you- why wouldn't I?'

'Things can change, Carlisle. We've spent seven days in each other's pockets. A bit of space might make things clearer.'

Why the fuck am I saying this?! Why am I choosing now to be the one with morals?!

He nods understandably, looking slightly uncomfortable.

'You would like me to go?'

Oh. That makes more sense.

'Well urm. No.' I confess after a moment. 'Really. No.' Despite my heavy emphasis, I doubt that he's reading my conviction. 'Not at all but I think it would be good-for you.'

He pauses, briefly flattered according to the flash of a smile on his lip but that smile quickly vanishes and he poses a question that neither of us want to hear the answer to.

'Why?'

'Why?' Er? 'Because it's your job? It's an opportunity you might never get again? Because- well. I don't know? Just...' What were we saying yesterday? About having to be honest with each other and such? Eurgh. 'Look, hon, I know myself, okay? I know what I'm like, I know the things I like and the things that I want and- I just want to be clear that you really want it, too?'

To be completely honest, I'm convinced that came out worse than I expected it to. I don't want to make it sound like I'm some virgin Goblin or something, collecting all the inexperienced dick I can. All I'm saying is he's just discovered what hormones are. And he might want to be careful as to who he releases them onto.

For his sake.

I suddenly realise I'm smiling which is making things seem worse because he's not smiling. He's still worried.

'Is this because it's taken me so long to kiss you?'

Fuck.

'Well to be honest... yes? You asked for my patience and I'm offering it on a full platter.'

'You're using it to push me away.' He stutters, still trying hard to be polite. It's a struggle for him. He looks irritated or maybe not even that, maybe conflicted. Regardless of what he looks like, fucking Greek marbled statuesque body or not- he's going to Alaska.

'Like I said, I'll still be here if you want me?'

'Why wouldn't I want you?' He repeats again, frowning.

'Because - I don't know?! Because one minute I'm here then I'm there and then I'm crying for no reason or I'm lying to my friends or I'm trying to grope you or trick you into having sex with me or...' I speak way too much for my own good. 'Please stop looking at me like that?'

'I can't help it. This is how I look at you. It's how I've always looked at you.'

It's not even a bad look or an upsetting one. It's just strange and I can't see why.

'You were better at hiding it before.' I mutter.

'You were better at ignoring it.'

... I have no idea what that's supposed to mean?

'Carlisle?'

'Well, why don't you come with me? Like you said you have nine days holiday? It doesn't have to be-'

Did I mention he's too sweet? Because I'm literally nearly sobbing at how sweet he's being right now.

'I still have the nursery and my lessons. And the bar.'

The spark in his eyes dilutes for a second, his mouth faltering as he turns to look through his open window. The sun is shining brightly on his face, making his hair seem even lighter and bringing out a freckle or two on his nose. There are many of them and they're better to see up close but they still manage to make him seem just that little bit more youthful than he acts.

'It was selfish of me to ask- I'm sorry.'

He breathes in through his nose and leans back against the wall opposite to me. I can't tell what he's thinking, I'm not sure I want to know but I immediately regret causing it.

'A week is going to be tough without you.' I sigh softly.

'Then don't send me away?'

URGH. How is he making me feel like some evil Disney villain at the moment?!

'I've been selfish enough this week, hon. Let me think of your patients for once.' Let me not be so selfish this time. Let me do the honourable and right thing.

'You're not saying this because you want a get-out-clause are you?'

'Carlisle! Of course not!'

Sorry Doctor Cullen? Did you not understand that the moaning that part-took conversation yesterday was on account on my untamable need to join forces?

'Sorry I just-. I'm sorry, I'm just overthinking.'

No shit? Jesus, I need to be careful. He's becoming as much of a loose end as me.

'I'm not doing it for me, I'm doing it for your career. You'll thank me later.'

'On the sixteenth of November?' He murmurs with a smile.

A weight of air leaves me and I nod.

'Exactly then.'

I catch a glimpse of him looking shyly beneath his lashes at me. I can't possibly imagine what he's thinking. He properly wants to murder me, I know I would. Though that's not the expression he's got on his face. Something lost on me, I'm sure but it still looks pretty sweet.

I jab a thumb towards the door and smile.

'Well, I'm going to make food.'

'I'll be down in a sec, I'm just going to shower.'

'Don't be too long.' I warn him and then with a grin I deliberately imitate his cocked eyebrow, leaning on my hip a little and letting my open mouth pout.

If I didn't know better, as he stalks out the room, hand in his thick hair, I'd almost say he groaned.

So I head downstairs and get everything sorted for food. I'm starved, really starved and I'm thinking of just eating all the fruit we've just brought to satisfy the growling in my stomach. And then the other growling from my body can be satisfied- I'm going to stop.

How many eggs are in this recipe? Argh fuck it that'll be enough. Probably just need to stir it a little more-

A sharp sort of cold bites into the top of cheek and out of sheer surprise I jump out of my skin, my arm coming out aggressively to slap and make a horrible sound against- oh shit.

'Ow?'

Carlisle steps back, leaning far out of my space and rubbing the corner of his eye. The wood of the spoon has brandished his skin, worse than a hand could do, leaving a tight red mark by his cheek bone.

'I'm so-'

Fuck?!

'Shouldn't have crept up on you- I'm sorry…'

Oh God, oh God, oh God. It's so bad. It's so bad. I've never hit anyone before? Not even by accident! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He blinks widely, tentatively touching the mark and wincing as I stare in horror, silenced in shock.

'Fuck.'

'It's fine Es, chill.'

'I'm soooo fucking sorry-'

It looks so bad- what the fuck have I done?!

'Like I said, my fault.' On stepping back, he bumps into the table and jumps away from it. I grab him by the wrist and pull him towards me to inspect the damage. Oh my fuck, it's so bad. It's so obvious. He's in so much pain.

'Stop freaking out.' He murmurs.

'I'm not freaking.' I lie brutishly, my voice jumpy and insecure. He rolls his eyes and using the arm further from me turns up the radio, making a silly hip jive. Now is not the time.

'Es? Lighten up-'

'I've just fucking branded you- you must be in so much pain!'

He clearly isn't a fan of my panic, nor my attempts to fix it because he does his best to lean his face away from me. I drop the spoon to the side, grab a tea-towel and wrap it in ice from the fridge before holding it against his face. He flinches, tries to avoid it by seeming the big ol' mass of manliness but eventually lets me fuss a little.

'Are you okay?' I repeat. He smirks, silently watching me freak, biting through my lip to stop from gushing out of breath. Why did I do that?!

'I'm fine!' He holds a hand over mine to hold the ice closer to his mark, he squints a little but laughs softly. I'm shaking my head at him.

'Why?' I ask, worried.

'Why did I kiss you on the cheek?'

Duh?!

'Exactly.'

He shrugs and smiles, eyes cast downward.

'Jeeez, Carlisle, if you'd just gone for my mouth, I would've sen you coming and I wouldn't have-' attacked- oooops.

'I'll remember that next time.'

'If you've been just a little more obnoxious- you would've saved your face. I would've got my second kiss.'

His blue jewels look down to his hand and he gently moves to let mine slip away. For once, it's me that's burning up in my embarrassment. My cheeks have never felt so warm. And they still don't equate to the burn on his cheek. If I've marked him permanently I'm going to end up sobbing.

'Third.'

'Hmm?'

'It would've been your third.' He murmurs, once more looking slightly shy. I raise an eyebrow.

'But I thought the other one didn't count because of – herpes.' Best cockblock in the history of cock-blocks. Eurgh. He's still looking a little shy and I'm struggling to understand why. So I nudge him.

'It doesn't.'

'Then you need to go back to school and get a math qualification.' I tell him.

He sighs and pulls the ice away from his face. He hasn't been holding it there long. Which is why I'm concerned that his face still looks like he's undergoing some serious home issues. Though even I can see the pink isn't as harsh as I thought it would be. It's just in a horrible place.

'I might have… stolen a kiss last night?'

…

'What.'

'I'm sorry- I know it's weird and I shouldn't have done it but you were asleep and-'

'I was asleep?!'

'Err- yes?'

I'm glad he's looking deeply ashamed because all of a sudden I'm fucking mortified. I drool in my sleep?!

'To reiterate- you refused to kiss me all night, even when I begged for it because I was drunk and yet the moment I'm unconscious, you lay one on me?!'

'It is sounding exceedingly worse now you put it into context- I'm really-'

'You are the most frustrating man on the planet! Don't tell me you got a feel at the same time!'

'Esme!'

'Well, why not? It was there on offer!' Okay now I'm sounding hysterical but it's only because I'm incredibly offended. He's looking deeply concerned, he's going to freak in a minute. Urgh, men.

'I really couldn't be more apologetic-' He begins nervously.

'You don't even know why I'm mad!' I rant. He's stern look falters and he bites his lip.

'You're right, I don't…?'

'I'm mad because you're only ever interested when I'm not-oh.'

'What? He asks.

But it hits me very suddenly, throwing my perspective out of shape and making me look even worse. How had I not noticed that before?

'What?' He persists in a state of worried confusion. Just like that, I'm not mad anymore, I'm flattered. More than flattered. Confused, too. I'd never had that happen to me before. Like I said, I'd never been rejected by anyone other than him and he seemed to thrive off it.

'You.'

'What about me?' He asks, exasperated by his loss on my train of thought.

'You're not interested when I'm throwing myself at you?'

He sighs, relieved and grins mischievously. 'I certainly wouldn't say not interested... It's just easier to… relax when you're…relaxed?'

'So...what are you saying?'

Fucking say it and watch me melt on this spot immediately.

'That potentially, it'd be nice if you stop acting like you're tricking me into sleeping with you?'

My jaw falls open. Not out of offence. But because he's genuinely right. That's not fair! He's been oblivious for fucking ages! I've been throwing- oh. Well. If he knew that then…. I'm so confused.

'Urm?'

He rolls his eyes, and peers into the batter mixture before pulling back and putting his hand on the dial for the radio volume, turning it the opposite way this time which helps to reflect the low murmur of his voice.

'Esme, you're naturally very beautiful... You really don't need to throw yourself at me to turn me on.'

That sweet little whine from my mouth is disbelief. He's just said I turn him on. He has referred to me as a turn on for him and that- that is a fucking turn on. I am just staring. I can't do anything but stare. I can't even believe he's just said words at me.

'So, are we making food or what?'

This man?!

Swooping up a handful of flour from the bag on the left, I chuck it in his direction so half coats his hair and face and the other falls in and on his shirt. He bites his lip, shaking his head warning as he grabs an even larger handful and throws it my way.

Hey! Mine was warranted!

'Carlisle!' I say shocked, standing up to shake the flour off.

You must have guessed that the guy is quite a reserved and private kind of sweetheart. So when he roars with laughter, I feel my cheeks go red and I'm acting without even controlling the actions.

'That went down my top, Asshole!' I growl, grabbing another handful of the white powder and aiming it at him. It hits his chest, not that he cares because he's still laughing at me. It's clear who came off worse here.

You are going down.

'You mean my top!'

I kick the stool away as he edges himself to the further end of the corner to create some distance. Pulling a strand of my hair in front of my face, tugging it out of the knot, I realise the caramel curl is streaked with white which only looks worse when I rub it in and frays the wave apart. I look like a horrific Eighties tribute band. I showered this morning, too!

Another soft puff of white billows up to my eyes.

'Cullen!'

WAR.

We pelt each other with the table flour for a long time, until we're both blind in the dust of heaven. It's not like you can even giggle, every breath you take kills you.

There's no ammo… except the bag of flour on the table. We both reach for it. But because it's closer to my side and his movement was too fast, it falls to my feet in a miniature explosion, still half full with the sting of blindness. I grab it immediately.

But I'm being scooped up, backwards; two strong arms wrapping securely around my stomach and lifting me without the knowledge that I still have the remaining sack of white. He lifts me so easily that it gives my inner fat girl a huuuuge confidence boost. Though it really shouldn't if you think about how defined his muscles are….

I try not to laugh because it suffocates, but his is infectious.

'Are you going to apologise or do I have to force it out of you?' he says playfully, holding me far away from the ground so my only grip to safety is my back to his chest with my legs curled up.

'There's nothing to apologise for! You're the tease with an interest in the unconscious.' I utter breathlessly, trying not to let the last of my laughter kill me. He lowers me, not properly, just enough that my neck is to his mouth, his knees are bent slightly at my thighs and my tiptoes are scrapping against the slippery floor.

'Oh really?'

Slippery floor- fantastic.

'No wonder you're still a virgin. Necrophilia isn't the done thing, Carlisle.'

His loud laugh rattles right through my ears, rumbling against my back and he hoists me further away from the safety of gravity, not faltering once.

You might have remembered that I have three older brothers…who are a lot older but also gave me a shit tonne of experience in horseplay.

So I tuck in my legs and lean my whole weight in my lower back, just at his collar bone.

As expected, he's surprised, leans to accommodate the new weight and slips to the tiled floor dragging me with him but in the safety of his enclosed arms. His laugh turns to a chuckled groan as he holds himself to the floor for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. I'm giggling, I know- I hate myself for it too, and act quickly to assert my dominance but he's faster and stronger that I am.

He predicts my movements and rolls gently so just the threat of his size (of all of him, not just that), has me completely trapped, his knees pointed into my elbows and leaning, resting but not sitting, in mid-air.

In one slight twist of the hand, he has the rest of the bag of flour and sprinkles it through the top of my locks, ensuring not to damage my vision to the best of his ability.

'Let me go!' I try to sound threatening but again….I'm laughing too much.

'Give me an apology. A real one.'

'Fiiiine!' I sing, jolting when his knee hits a ticklish spot in my ribs. His laughter turns menacing. But in a kind of hot way. He think he's winning, he's being all cocky. And I'm loving it.

I wipe the hair from my face and put my hands to his knees so it looks like I'm trying to steady his weight and my breathing.

'I'm Sorry- for your blue-balls!'

He growls in playful frustration, throwing his head back in mirth. So I act quickly, and evilly, by pressing both my thumbs into the very inner sides of his thigh so he jumps up and when he jumps from the surprise of pressure on his points, I pull myself through the triangle of his legs and push his chest down so he falls backwards to the kitchen floor again but this time, towards the sink and not the living room.

He's panting with both laughter and lack of breath but the humorous grimace on his face shows he's in a little bit of pain. I should be gentler…but I don't. I move quickly, blocking him to the floor, lying there on the floor with my knees between his head.

Just think, if we both sit up right now we're in the perfect spot for some Cullen-lingus. Ha.

'You totally cheated!' He complains, still grinning.

'I don't know what you're talking about?' I reply, taking a seat on the top of his chest. He pretends to wheeze but laughs harder when I don't find it funny.

'You play dirty, Miss Platt!'

'Just because I won. You're just a sore loser!'

He snorts which makes me feel good because it's an ugly sound. What doesn't make me feel good is that he's still sexy as hell.

Especially between my knees.

'Sore, perhaps. But I haven't lost. I could very easily move you if I wanted to.'

I scoff, and then try my hardest to keep my legs pinned to the spot I put them in but like he says, when he moves, I shift like a feather on a gusty day. He stays still, throws his head back to the floor, laughing exhaustively.

'You look so good an ice blonde. Did I ever tell you that?' I scoop up some of the flour on the floor and flatten it to his head. He chuckles, takes his arms from my confinement then runs his hands through my long locks, gently discarding of the hairband so that I hear it drop against the floor behind me.

The different shades of toffee, from pale to obscene white, fall to my face in a mess, curls everywhere, tight ones, soft ones, almost non-existent ones.

He runs both hands through my hair again as if combing it through. The movement is outrageously good and if he wasn't running flour through my hair and dirtying my newly washed body, I might be orgasming on the spot.

'You suit the blonde as-well.' He mumbles, fingers knotted in one very long wave as he pulls it to my gaze.

I feel myself go cross eyed. He pulls the rest of my hair forward, looking up at me from the very weird position with a smile on his mouth. He's looking at my face, making the ends of my hair go white by palming fucking flour into them and combing them through. He laughs softly and sighs so that I accidentally shift slightly but he puts his hands on the back of my hips to steady me.

We don't say anything.

But silence is golden.

Especially if the only words you can speak right now are 'fuck' and 'me'.

He chuckles again, and runs a hand through the top of his hair, laughing more when he pulls the powder through to the pads of his fingers.

He has that smart arse-relaxed smirk on his mouth. The one that kind of makes me want to ride it off his face before I come out of frustration. But the flour isn't going to help. Not that I'm complaining.

'What the fuck happened to our kitchen?!'

What is it with Edward and timing?