Chapter 8- Stuck In The Middle With You
February 5, 2005- Port Angeles
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"I'll take some M&M's, a box of Goobers, some Raisinets, and two boxes of Reese's Pieces," Mike tells the movie theater's concession guy taking his order. "And what's that? Jujyfruits? Are they any good?"
The poor concession guy has been running around ragged trying to keep up with Mike's endless questions and demands. Mike has been closely evaluating each item this place has for sale, as though it would be a travesty if he were to miss out on movie theater nachos or Junior Mints.
Just behind me, Jessica has been running her mouth at Edward nonstop ever since we bought our tickets. She dizzyingly switches from subject to subject quicker than my brain can handle. In less than two minutes, I heard her complaining about how ugly the carpet is in the lobby and how she would change it if she owned this place, then there was the conversation about her trip to Boise last spring, the discussion about how her hair refuses to be straightened with a flatiron, and then her blatant hint that a bubblegum-pop concert is heading to Seattle in a few weeks that she was probably hoping he would invite her to.
"I really hate flip-flops," she loudly shares with the boy beside her. While she talks, Edward stands there with his left elbow propped on his other arm's wrist, disgruntedly pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like he has a migraine.
"Who wants to see some crusty old guy walking around with his toes on display? Not me!" Jessica jabbers on obliviously. "Wear some shoes and socks like a normal forty year old, ya know? Then there's those guys that wear black socks and sandals! It's like - GAG! Why are you wearing a white shirt and shorts with black socks? That's totally tacky, right? And why is it that people say that you shouldn't wear white after Labor Day? It makes no sense! White looks awesome at Christmas! You would have loved the white dress I picked out for the Winter Break Dance, Edward. It was - like - the most gorgeous thing ever. It was white satin with lace on the bodice. Have you ever watched Desperate Housewives before? Once, Edie wore a dress similar to mine when she was out trying to get some guy's attention, but her dress looked a lot sluttier than mine. I normally hate her clothes, though I really do like how Susan dresses on the show. It's - like - half cute, half tease, ya know? Have you ever heard of-"
Mike points towards the back of the concession area where there are slices of pizza and other foods that are kept in a warming machine. "Oh, and I want a corn dog, too. It's made from beef, right?" he asks the guy behind the counter.
The guy stops running around for a second to answer. "I think it's a combination of beef and pork," he pants, nearly breathless while he pulls one out from the warming rack.
"Beef AND pork?" Mike repeats in disgust. "What kind of a place serves corn dogs made from something like that? Doesn't this place know anything about keeping its customers happy? Everybody knows that pure beef hot dogs are the best. Using a meat-filler like pork is cheap. You might as well tell your customers that 'we don't care about you, so here's the crappiest meat on the market that we could find'. I mean - come on! Show us some respect why don't you!"
The guy behind the counter stares back bewildered. He doesn't look any older than me. His mousy brown hair has a cow lick and there's acne all over his face. This is probably his first job. I doubt he has ever seriously contemplated what's inside of a corn dog before. I know I haven't.
"So," the guy hesitantly drawls. "Does that mean you're gonna pass on the corn dog?"
Mike grabs the corn dog from the guy's hand and drops it on his tray. "Nah, I'll still take it - I'm starving," he replies, now sounding blasé. "But I'll need two root beers now since I'll have to wash the cheap taste of the corn dog out of my mouth."
"And you, miss?" the guy tiredly asks me while finishing Mike's order.
"I'd like a small popcorn, please," I uneasily reply, feeling a little embarrassed by what just went on.
The guy is handing me the popcorn when, without asking, Mike snatches it and places the container on his already overcrowded tray. "I'll carry it for you," he breezily announces, shoving a handful of his popcorn into his mouth as he walks away from the counter.
"Thanks, but you don't need to do that," I calmly tell him once we're out of the line. "You've got enough on your tray to worry about."
Chuckling at me, he chews and swallows most of the popcorn in his mouth before speaking. "Are you kidding? I can handle this easy. I workout almost everyday! Can't you tell?"
No.
I haven't really taken much notice of his physique. He isn't overweight or anything, but he doesn't look like a bodybuilder either.
But, of course I don't say that to him.
"Oh. Well, I guess you would probably find yourself exercising a lot since you do so many outdoor activities," I diplomatically state, placating his ego while avoiding his question.
And it works a little too well. Now he's boasting about how he can hike three miles in almost any weather condition and still have enough energy to go home and lift weights until dinnertime. I have the feeling that he'll next be informing me that he can pat his head and rub his tummy at the exact same time.
While Jessica puts in her order at the concession counter, Edward positions himself a couple of feet away from Mike and me, leaning his back against a nearby wall. His arms are crossed at his chest - his eyes watchfully scanning everything around him. And he has nothing in his hands other than his movie ticket.
"Don't you want anything to eat?" I curiously ask Edward, briefly glancing at Mike's crowded tray and then back at him. Mike bought enough food tonight that he could feed half of the movie theater's customers if he felt like it. And he isn't nearly as tall as Edward. I would have thought that Edward would at least be a little hungry.
Saying nothing at first, Edward quietly studies Mike for a few beats. Then, moving his emerald green eyes away from the spikey blonde-haired boy in order to properly address me. "Not really. I don't have much of an appetite at the moment."
Clutching her tray of various items of junk food, Jessica catches what he said and smilingly slides up by his side. "Well, if you change your mind, I've got more than enough here for the both of us. You can have anything you want, Edward, if you - ya know - get hungry," she emphasizes huskily, making her insinuation unmistakable. Grabbing two plastic straws from the dispenser, she coyly shoves them both into her soda cup while giving him a smoldering gaze. Judging by the dreamy expression on her face, she is currently fantasizing about the two of them slurping from the same cup while holding hands. Thank god this place doesn't serve pasta. If they did, she would probably try to entice him into reenacting the spaghetti scene from Lady And The Tramp.
Edward watches her less than subtle proposition while remaining surprisingly calm. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm on a diet," he announces politely yet firmly. Then his head snaps away from her as though his eye sockets are on fire.
Soon we follow Mike into the theater showing our horror movie. Without conferring with anyone, he chooses to sit on the very last row. I stand there unmoving in the aisle for a couple of seconds, unexplainably worried. Something in my gut is warning me that I shouldn't sit here. It's telling me that I should insist on sitting somewhere else. Anywhere else. But since I can't think of any valid reason for me to be concerned, I say nothing and take a seat next to him.
Moments later, just as Edward is about to sit down on the chair to my left, Mike makes a barely audible, grumbling sound in his chest.
"You don't have to sit here, ya know," he barks roughly at Edward. "You'd probably be more comfortable over there." His index finger is pointing to some seats across the room. Seats that are closer to the movie screen. Seats that would be very far away from Mike and me here on the very last row...
That's when it hits me.
This is the row at the movie theater that you take your date to when you want to make out without being easily seen.
And this is where Mike led me.
This is the very same Mike that has been wolfishly grinning at me ever since he showed up tonight.
And when Edward sits somewhere else, Jessica will undoubtedly follow.
Then I will be all alone with Mike Newton...
Where is my pepper spray when I really need it?
But Edward doesn't leave me alone in the wolf's den. Instead, he ignores Mike's suggestion and settles down into the chair beside me - all while grinning at Mike with eyes that don't quite reflect the smile that's on his face. "No thanks, Mike," he sweetly answers. "But I'd much rather stay here with you two. You know, in case you or Bella get too scared."
Mike's face reddens like a fire pit while he icily glares back at Edward. Meanwhile, Edward's eyes have narrowed slightly as he and Mike enter into some sort of weird staring match. While I sit here in the middle, I can feel the tension rising by the second. It feels like the sort of standoff you would have seen back during the glory days of the Old West, with two cowboys preparing to duel to the death on a dusty, saloon-filled street while the townsfolk hide.
Unaware of the awkward standoff, Jessica plops down on the seat next to Edward. "Wow, I never realized how considerate of a person you are, Edward. You're always thinking of others," she vacuously sighs.
Her interruption helps end the silent hostility between the two boys. Mike purposely breaks eye contact first, turning his head my way and going back to pretending that Edward doesn't exist. And, without wasting any time, he begins describing to me how he spent this morning reorganizing the sporting goods store's display of insect repellants since mosquito season is just around the corner.
While Mike tells me about life at the store, I can hear Jessica droning on and on, seemingly without pausing for air. Edward doesn't seem to be paying much attention. Whenever I take a glance, he is either bleakly staring upwards as though he is counting the ceiling tiles, or his eyes are squeezed tightly shut like a sinner praying for salvation. I would be laughing right now if it wasn't for the fact that Mike would think I'm insane for giggling during the story of how his great grandpa almost lost his pinkie toe because he forgot to properly insulate his feet before skiing.
At some point, I feel Edward moving around in his seat, his elbow lightly grazing my arm as he does so. I take a peek at him while Mike is yapping and see his right hand digging into his pants pocket. I am immediately intrigued. I have seen him do this a couple of times at school. Once at lunch, and once while he was walking to one of his classes. Both times he thoroughly looked around to ensure that no one was watching before he pulled something out of his pocket and quickly shoved it back in.
I guess he never realized that I had my eye on him the entire time.
But as much as I tried, I never saw what he was attempting to hide. I was always too far away.
I've spent quite a bit of time pondering over what he could be. My guesses have varied from the mundane to the outlandish. I've thought it might be antidepressant medication, a picture of a girlfriend he left behind, fungal cream, cheat sheets for our Trig class. Though nothing I have come up with seems to the correct answer.
However, today is different. I'm right next to him. As long as I make it seem as though I am not paying him any attention, maybe I can finally catch a glimpse of what he has been trying to conceal.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a brief flash of light in his hand. It's golden and shines like the sun. Without being able to help myself, my head turns just enough where I can get a better view of the object. I only have a couple of seconds to figure out what it is before he stuffs it back into his pocket.
But I saw it. And it makes no sense.
It is pocket watch.
A gold pocket watch with elaborate designs on its front. It looks elegant. Classy. Something that you would see a gentleman remove from his breast pocket in an old black and white movie.
But why would Edward try to hide it?
"I'm really happy that you made it tonight," Mike says beside me, puncturing my thought bubble.
I reluctantly look towards him, a tight smile on my face. "Oh. Well...yeah. It's been a lot of fun so far," I falteringly claim. Mike doesn't appear to catch the fact that I can't quite look him in the eye as I say this.
His face breaks into a wide, pleased smirk. "We outta do this more often," he suggests as he crams a large handful of candy into his mouth. His face now resembles a hamster who decided to stuff his dinner into his cheek pouch. Noisily chomping, Mike adds, "You know... so we can get to know each other better?"
I stare at him dumbfounded.
Somewhere deep inside of me, my brain is screaming, "Wake up, stupid! He's asking you for a date! Save yourself! Divert! Divert!"
"Oh. Um. Yeah," I stammer nervously. "That does sound nice. It's-umm... so great that I'm getting to know you guys like this. Me and all of my new friends will have to do this again sometime."
Yeah. Sometime far, far into the distant future. Like when hell freezes over. Or at least until I know for certain that I will have lots of people to put between myself and Mike.
"Oh," he mutters, his lips pursing out while he thinks.
The heavy, uneasy sensation in my heart lightens a bit. Maybe he gets it now. Perhaps he finally heard my gentle hinting that I'm not interested in him. I think I've used the "friend" word in reference to him nearly every single day for the past two weeks.
I knew that he would eventually catch on.
Bending over to the empty seat to his right, he takes a few slurps from his drink on his tray and smacks his lips loudly. "You're right. Hanging out with friends is great," he nods good-naturedly as he turns back to look at me. Then, that flirtatious smile that I have been dreading to see comes crawling back across his face. "But it's nice to hang out one-on-one sometimes, too, ya know? I thought that maybe we-"
At that very moment, the lights in the theater dim and the movie trailers begin showing on the screen. Mike's words come to an abrupt halt and he bewilderingly looks around as though he forgot where we were.
I take the interruption as evidence that maybe there is somebody up there that watches out for little people like me - some supreme being that gives mercy to people suffering. Or at the very least, the movie projectionist is punctual to a fault. Either way, I am grateful.
I whip my head towards the giant screen and feign interest in the animated movie being advertised. "Oh look. The movie trailers are starting. It's my favorite," I whisper in a rush, hoping that he wouldn't have the courage to go on with whatever it was he was planning on asking me.
In my peripheral vision, I see Mike slump down into his seat and hungrily attack his corn dog. Despite his claim at the concession stand earlier, it doesn't appear that he is too concerned over the quality of ingredients or its nutritional value. The corn dog disappears into his mouth in seconds. I've seen crocodiles take more bites of their meal before swallowing.
As my panicked breathing goes back to a normal rate, I soon realize that going to a place that customarily plunges the room into darkness is not the place you want to be if you are trying to have a relaxing and entertaining Saturday night. Directly in front of me, a couple that does not appear much older than high school freshmen pounce and grope each other with wild abandon. The girl and guy have wrapped their arms around each other's necks and suck face with an enthusiasm that I have seldom seen. And I lived with two newlyweds before. However Mom and Phil at least kept their tongues in their mouths when in public.
But what's most annoying is that the young couples' energetic little make out session is blocking my view of the screen. While I am trying to watch the movie trailer, the couple's undulating tongues and constantly moving bodies are keeping me from seeing what Bruce Willis is currently blowing up.
And I paid almost seven bucks for this.
Soon I hear Edward shifting around a little in his chair. I look and see him blankly staring at the teenagers whose arms resemble octopi tentacles haphazardly flailing around. A deep, exasperated sigh escapes from his lips. His head turns to the side and he catches me watching him. My eyebrow rises slightly and I pointedly dart my eyes between the amorous pair and Edward, silently asking if he can believe what's happening right in front of us.
With a sheepish smile, he shakes his head and gives a "what can ya do?" shrug of resignation. He doesn't appear thrilled by the situation either, but I guess he's taking it better than I am. He's so tall that he can easily look over their heads. I have to make due with any tiny crack that appears between the young lovers.
By the time the movie begins, I discover that if I shut my right eye and squint a little below the area where their mouths meet, I can get a pretty decent view of the screen. Admittedly, this isn't the most pleasant way to watch a movie, but at least I now can see that this horror flick has one of the most unrealistic plots I have ever seen.
Not much later, I feel my stomach rumbling, demanding food. I wasn't very hungry this afternoon when I made Charlie his food for dinner, but I forced myself to eat a little anyway. Now I'm ravenous. And I know that the bucket of popcorn I bought earlier still sits on Mike's tray. I decide that now is a good time to ask for it back.
I reopen my right eye and blink a few times, my vision temporarily blurry from not using both of my eyes for so long. It takes me a few moments to fully regain my sight. But when I do, I notice a strange development playing out next to me and all thoughts of food evaporate.
Mike seems closer to me now than he did earlier.
I keep my head aimed towards the screen, but my eyes are now secretly monitoring the situation. While I watch, I see Mike creeping towards my seat - as if he thinks I won't notice as long as he goes glacially slow. Even his hand, which once rested peacefully on our shared armrest, is inching its way towards my right hand with seeming determination.
Now, I have been through plenty of unpleasant experiences in my life. Broken bones. Sprained ankles. Bloody noses that left me a fainting mess. Once at a concert, I had hundreds of people taking photos of myself after I tripped and butt-slid down the stairs of the stadium. I could barely sit down for days afterwards.
But I would give nearly anything to go through those things again if it meant that I wouldn't have to deal with Mike right now.
My options are limited. I can either admit to him that the thought of his grubby hands on any part of my body makes me want to vomit - thereby embarrassing the both of us and hurting his feelings. Or I can slap him until he slinks back to his own seat - thereby embarrassing the both of us and creating a scene for everyone in the vicinity to enjoy.
Or...
I can retreat as far away from him as humanly possible. I can scoot over as much as I can, sit tensely straight in my seat, and wrap my arms around myself in order to make any hand holding an impossibility. Maybe he will even notice from my stiff body language that he is making me uncomfortable. Plus, this strategy has the added benefit of being non-confrontational.
So this is what I choose to go with. If it turns out to be the wrong choice, I'll review my options again.
Immediately, I try to make my body as small as possible, pushing my legs together and binding my arms around my middle section in hopes of creating a couple of more inches to distance myself from him.
Soon thereafter, he halts in his movements, his hand no longer crawling after mine and his body unmoving. I take a tiny, relieved breath, thankful that he appears to have given up pursuit.
But my relief is short lived.
His arm is currently on the move in a different direction, slowly traveling up the armrest. At first, his new approach stumps me. Why would he still be moving around?
It isn't until his hand reaches the place where the armrest meets the back of our chairs does it dawn on me what his new plan is.
He is trying to sneak his arm around me.
I'm surprised that he didn't just use the old "yawn and stretch" technique used by countless young males throughout modern history.
Now that I know what his new plan entails, I gradually lean forward in my seat, trying to escape his steadily approaching arm as it slides across the back of my chair.
Paranoia and troubling new questions soon fill my thoughts.
Where is his hand right now and what are its intentions?
Is it at any moment going to appear on my shoulder and make me scream louder than the actress that just died on the movie screen?
Is it OK to yell "Fire" inside of a crowded movie theater as long as it's for purposes of self-preservation?
While I contemplate these questions, I hear Jessica's voice. I take a quick peek to my left and find that she has buried her face into Edward's chest, murmuring to him how "scared" she is of the monster on the movie. However, the beaming, satisfied smile on her face makes me highly doubtful of her claim.
On his part, Edward is sitting rigidly as he tries to gently push her back to her chair. Though it looks like he is trying to be understanding about the whole thing, the grimace on his face tells me that he is miserable.
Looks like I'm not the only one getting unwanted attention tonight...
As I watch what's going on with Edward and Jessica, Mike's roving arm continues on its quest. In retaliation, I lean forward even more - soon bending so much that my face is now directly behind the kissing couple in front of us. I'm so close that I can practically smell the pheromones coming off of them. If one of them would detach their lips from their partner for a second, they would see a terrified brunette inching her way towards them. I'm practically sitting with them now. In fact, I kind of wish that I was. Sitting with them has to be better than what I have been going through tonight.
Buzz... Buzz...
My head jerks from the sound coming from my left. In seconds, Edward pulls out a small cell phone from his pocket, flipping it open and placing it by his ear.
"Yes?" he softly mutters. His back stiffens a little and his eyes dart over to look at me. "Yes, Bella's here," he whispers a little louder than before.
My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
Huh? Who would be calling me on Edward's phone?
Almost unconsciously, I assume a more natural position in my seat as I watch and eavesdrop on his end of the conversation.
As if he is in shock at what he is being told, his mouth drops open a little and his eyes widen. "I see... That's terrible!" he proclaims. He pauses for several seconds. "Yes, I can do it. It's no problem." While he listens to the person on the other end, he begins vigorously nodding his head up and down as the call comes to a close. "Thank you. I'll tell her right away. Goodbye."
He deftly flicks his phone shut and shoves it back into his pocket. Looking up, he sees that I'm watching him and leans in a little to talk to me. A heavenly scent invades my nostrils, something warm and spicy. And, despite the darkness of the room, his eyes are somehow just as striking as ever. Dazzling and deeply probing as they stare into mine.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Bella," he reveals with a sorrowful yet soothing voice. "Your Aunt Beatrice has taken sick and was sent to the hospital."
I blink back at him for several seconds, wondering what the heck he's talking about.
I don't have an Aunt Beatrice. I don't have an "Aunt" anything. Through years of untimely deaths and very few children to take their place, my immediate family has been reduced to just myself, Charlie, Mom, Phil, and a few second cousins that are scattered around the country which I have never met.
But Edward keeps staring at me, his head dipping down a little as his gaze intensifies. He doesn't say another word, but it's as if his eyes are speaking to me. As if he is trying to convey something important without having to say anything in front of-
My eyes fly wide open with a startled gasp.
He made Aunt Beatrice up.
Edward is attempting to utilize the greatest excuse in order to escape from virtually any lame date or boring party that you may be sucked into. It's the well-known but still useful "my relative is sick or dead and I gotta go be with my family during this difficult time" excuse.
Edward Masen may be more brilliant than I previously gave him credit for.
"Oh?" I stutter out, trying my hardest to sound distraught by the news. "Oh no. Not Aunt Beatrice!"
I briefly wonder if I should be crying. That would help boost our credibility. But I shouldn't push it, I guess. I'm not that good of an actress.
"I'm afraid so," he somberly nods. "Your family has been trying to find a way to contact you. They called my house and told my family that they want you to come home as soon as possible. I offered to take you, if you don't mind."
Wow. He's very convincing. For a split second, I begin to worry that maybe I really do have an Aunt Beatrice at the hospital.
I grab my jacket off the back of my seat and shove my arms into the sleeves. "That sounds fine. Thank you," I confirm.
While Edward stands up, I notice that Mike's arms are back where they belong - placed rigidly across his own chest. His eyes are searing with hatred as he glares at the bronze-haired boy currently waiting to escape with me.
"This sucks!" Jessica whines while reaching for her coat. "And just when the movie was getting exciting, too!"
I briefly freeze in place. If Jessica tags along with us, she'll find out that Edward and I are lying. And how will we politely explain to her that Edward and I are tired of being hit on tonight?
"Yes, yes, it's quite unfortunate, isn't it?" Edward muses aloud, his voice sounding remarkably calm in the face of impending disaster. "But, please, you and Mike stay and enjoy the rest of the movie. I'm sure Aunt Beatrice wouldn't want everyone to miss out on the fun tonight." He pauses for a moment, takes another pointed look at me, and adds, "Come on Bella."
I jump up from my seat and shuffle down the row, trying to keep my pace normal as to not arouse suspicion. In my haste to get out of here, I don't even stop to tell Mike or Jessica goodbye. By the time I hit the aisle, Edward is already waiting and we swiftly flee the room.
Once we reach the lobby, I take a fearful glance behind me. I have a disturbing hunch that Mike will try to follow us and ask me for that date before I can leave. And that's one plotline far more horrifying than that stupid monster movie that we were watching tonight.
"Do you think it's safe to make a run for it now?" I ask Edward under my breath.
Edward's eyes are darting back and forth, silently scanning our surroundings for danger just as thoroughly as any Secret Service agent protecting the President.
"Not yet. Too many witnesses," he mutters, barely moving his lips.
As soon as we throw open the doors to the outside world, the night air seeps through my clothes and chills me to the bone. I ordinarily hate going from a warm, heated room to the freezing cold - I'm not used to the drastic change in temperature. But tonight I have a different opinion. Dealing with subarctic temperatures for a little while sounds a lot more doable than spending the remainder of my night snuggling with a boy that swallows corn dogs whole.
Edward catches my eye and points down the street. "My car's this way. Now we can run," he stresses seriously.
I walk faster but don't actually break out into a sprint - I would probably trip if I tried anything that required that kind of coordination. Edward doesn't run either. He stays by my side as we make our escape down the lamp lit sidewalk.
Now that we are putting distance between ourselves and our admirers, I can't help but laugh a little at how ridiculous this is. All I wanted was a night away from Forks where I would not dwell so often on how homesick I am or how much I miss my mom.
I guess I got what I wished for.
Between Mike's flirting and roaming hands, Jessica's failed attempts to capture Edward's heart, and Edward's strategy for our escape, I forgot all about my problems for a little while.
"Thank goodness that you brought your own car," I giggle as we jog. "I don't know how much longer I could have taken that."
Edward let's out a deep, despairing sigh. "I feel the same way. No one felt the need to inform us that we were on a double date," he dryly emphasizes, his nose crinkled in revulsion.
I laugh again - but louder this time, and with more genuine amusement than I have had in weeks. It feels good.
As we approach his parked car, I get my first good look at it. I already knew that it was probably new based on the few times I saw it in the student parking lot. I glimpse its auto maker and I try not to hyperventilate. It's a Volvo, foreign and expensive - though it's not flashy like the cherry red sports car his sister Rosalie drives around in. Edward's car is simpler in design - tasteful but subdued. The shiny silver paint job is flawless, as if he buffs and polishes it every day.
While I'm standing in awe of his car, he pulls out his keys and opens the passenger side door. Trying to hide my nervousness at being around such an expensive car, I duck down and slide onto the seat. It's even nicer inside than outside. Everything is in pristine condition. The gray leather seat is supple and comfortable. The dashboard is free of holes, rips, and stains from fast food's past. There's even a state of the art sound system built into the front.
Seeing his car up close like this makes my rusting, dent-filled truck feel even more dilapidated and ancient. I feel so out of place now. I'm scared out of my mind that I will accidentally break, scratch, or tear something. I may be extremely careful about other people's property, but I do suffer from a debilitating form of klutziness. I might hit my head on the roof and break the overhead light. Or I could bend over, smack my forehead into the dash, and trigger the car's airbag system. There's no telling what havoc my bad luck could do.
Once I move my legs inside of the car, I reach out to close my door. But before my fingertips can wrap around the handle, the door swings shut seemingly on its own. Startled, I look up and see a hint of a smile on Edward's face as he strolls towards the driver's side of the vehicle.
Seconds later, he slips inside and revs the engine to life. In no time he's backing out of the space and driving to where the parking lot connects to the nearby street. I sit stiffly upright with my hands placed in my lap, hoping that my clumsiness will hold off until we make it back home. Having to spend the next five years paying for the damages I might inflict upon his car is not a future that I wish to endure if I can help it.
Edward makes a coughing sound in the back of his throat, clearing it and simultaneously grabbing my attention. His hands are tightly griping the steering wheel, his eyes trained on my face. With the tip of his tongue, he lightly wets his lips. "Are you hungry?" he gradually asks.
I'm starving. And the thought of going home and cooking anything after what I've been through doesn't sound particularly appealing.
I let loose a gush of air, trying to relax a little. "Umm... Kind of. Mike put all the food too far away for me to reach. I didn't want to reach over him just to grab a handful of popcorn and give him the wrong idea," I reluctantly admit.
Edward puckers his mouth a tiny bit, musing over what I said while he nods. Tilting his head as though an idea has occurred to him, he leans back in his seat before he speaks. "There's a little café a couple of streets over. We could grab something to eat before we make the drive home?" He says this last bit like a question, giving me the option to accept or reject his proposal.
And I want to accept.
I'm hungry and not that anxious to get home right now. Charlie would ask me questions about why I'm back so early, and I'm not ready to testify at his murder trial if he finds out what Mike was trying to do to his daughter tonight.
But what will Jessica say if she were to find out that I spent time with Edward alone? She might get jealous.
Of course, it isn't like it's a date or anything. Edward and I are just friends. He hasn't flirted with me or said anything inappropriate. I mean, it won't be much different from when we eat together at lunch. I'm sure Jessica would understand that.
And I guess it doesn't hurt that if we're alone, I can maybe find out more information about him.
He's still waiting for my answer, quietly staring at me as the seconds tick by. With a smile spreading across my face, I nod in agreement. "That sounds perfect."
The left side of his mouth curls up into an answering, crooked smile as he guns his car out onto the quiet street. By reflex, my hands shoot out to steady myself from the unexpected movement. He isn't going over the speed limit, but I guess the fact that his vehicle can go from zero to fifty much faster than the two minutes it takes my old truck to get going is further proof that I am out of my element here.
Edward drives silently while I sightsee, the quiet a welcome relief after listening to Mike and Jessica all evening long. Port Angeles is pretty small - around twenty thousand souls call this place home. But it has far more to offer than Forks. This town has restaurants, boutiques, multiple grocery stores, office buildings, department stores, and even fast food joints. After spending more than two weeks in a hamlet that wouldn't know a Quarter Pounder from a Whopper, my stimuli deprived brain is absorbing all of the sights hungrily.
Civilization.
It's good to be back.
It isn't long before we're in the downtown area and Edward is parallel parking a few spaces away from a moss-covered brick building. A sign out front has "Milling Grounds Café" written in a fancy, antiqued font.
I begin worrying about the place he brought us. Based upon his taste in designer clothes and luxurious automobiles, his choice in restaurants is most likely more sophisticated than what I'm used to. And expensive, too. I'm sure it's the kind of place where I would need to take out a loan or sell a kidney in order to purchase anything more filling than a bread stick and a glass of water.
Once I see that he is getting out on the driver's side, I try to push away my anxiety before he notices. Following his lead, I climb out onto the sidewalk and wait for him on my side of the car.
He adjusts his black leather jacket and slams his door shut. One of his hands are thrust into his pants pocket as he rounds the front of his car - posed like a male model in a car advertisement. He then joins me on the sidewalk, his free hand raking through his hair. I catch a brief glimpse of green eyes looking at me through dark lashes, a nearby street light giving his irises a fiery, warm effect that burns right through me.
The painfully familiar tingling in my stomach reemerges as I stand here watching him. He may be just a friend, but I can't deny that looking at him makes my stomach and accompanying organs flip, twist, and flop out of my control. I put this phenomena down to the undisputable fact that he is pretty easy on the eyes. I'm sure one day I'll get used to it. One day we will be able to laugh and joke and talk without me suddenly dazedly staring at him like a zombie. One day - I'm sure - his good looks won't give me any reaction at all.
But right now, I am screwed.
"Ready?" he asks moments later.
I want to respond, but I'm too concerned that I will either stammer like a fool or huskily rasp out my answer like a phone sex operator. So, instead I keep it to a brief, silent head nod as I feign interest in the business across the street that sells neck braces, adult diapers, and wart remover pads that are currently on sale.
Look at that. You can get two boxes for five dollars...
Once we reach the café, Edward reaches out and pulls open the polished wooden door for us. He stands unmoving and waits for me to walk inside before he follows behind me. I take a deep breath, walk a few steps inside, and then become paralyzed.
This place is nothing like I expected it to be.
There's no snooty waiter at the front taking reservations. There's no pure gold light fixtures or Oriental rugs decorating the room. There's no tables laden with ornate fine China. No fur draped women or tuxedo wearing men eating six course meals.
Instead, what I see is almost the exact opposite of what I imagined.
The tables are bare - beat up with tiny scrapes and imperfections marring the surface. Most of the chairs don't match and are often colored differently from their partner. There's no waiters in crisply-pressed uniforms running around here either. All this place has is a woman reading from a People magazine while sitting behind a large display counter. Behind the glass of the counter are dozens of baked goods - cakes, pies, cookies, tarts, and every other treat you could possibly think up. The wooden floor of this place is scuffed and plain, looking more like something you would have seen in an old-fashioned general store than a café in the twenty-first century.
But what's most surprising are the walls of this place. They're covered in folk art and memorabilia. Posters from World War II. Old advertising signs from products no longer in production. Pictures from local sawmills that shut down decades ago. Yellowed newspaper articles detailing events from the town's past. Rusting tools and old fishing poles hang from the rafters, their original owners probably long dead and buried.
This place is unique. Nostalgic but with a modern twist. To me it looks on par with that coffee shop on Friends - quirky and fun. It exudes a certain charm that would be impossible to pinpoint. It's comfortable. Relaxed. The type of place where you wouldn't need to go into debt if you bought more than one item.
But I never would have guessed that Edward would hang around in a place such as this. Although this café is undoubtedly interesting, it's kind of shabby looking, too. He always seems so polished and refined. So well put together. It's hard to believe that he would ever willingly set foot in a place that sells lattes in a paper cup. I had always imagined him at a classy place where some guy is playing a grand piano with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling...
"What's wrong?" Edward whispers behind me, interrupting my reverie.
I twist my body and discover that he is keenly studying me, his eyes worried and his brows pinched together. I guess since I've been awkwardly standing here, stunned into silence with mouth gaping open for an extended period of time, my behavior has made him concerned about my sanity.
"Nothing," I claim, nervously chewing my bottom lip.
He says not a word for several beats, his eyes becoming sharp and observant as he watches. "We can go somewhere else if you like," he softly suggests.
My eyes enlarge as I realize what my reaction must have looked like from his point of view. I stood there frozen near the entrance like an idiot, dumbly gawking at everything instead of just continuing to walk inside like I should have done. He must think that I hate this place.
"No!" I quickly yelp, panicked by the thought that we would leave and head straight back home.
Edward's eyebrows ascend nearly to his hairline, surprised by my anxious, half-crazed response. Now he's definitely going to want to skip our meal, race back to Forks, and dump me on my front porch as soon as possible...
I try to relax my breathing and calm myself, hoping that he will overlook my prior outburst. "I mean... this place is fine," I reply with a tight-lipped smile.
Edward's attentive, perceptive gaze steadily increases. "What's wrong with it?" he stubbornly presses, arms crossed skeptically across his chest.
"Nothing," I tell him again, trying not to roll my eyes.
But he doesn't buy it. His eyes have now locked onto my face, persistently waiting me out until I give up and decide to give him the real answer to his question.
I don't understand how he knows that I'm keeping something from him. I thought that my acting skills had improved a little since our little performance in front of Jessica and Mike, but I guess not...
"Fine!" I snap at Edward, giving him a nice glare to show him how much I hate it when someone catches me in a lie. "I was just surprised that you brought us to a place like this. OK?"
Leaning his head to the side a bit, he appears to ponder my claim for a few moments before he replies back. "What were you expecting exactly?" he curiously asks.
I throw up my hands, exasperated by his question. "I don't know," I frustratingly heave out.
Ugh! I didn't want to go into specifics. I can barely understand it myself...
My brows furrow, trying to find a way to explain my feelings without making it sound too weird. "I guess I didn't expect for you to bring us to such a trendy looking place," I unwillingly admit.
His head jerks back, appearing astonished by my admittance. He then takes a thorough look around the room, his expression perplexed. "Trendy?" he repeats uncertainly.
I feel myself relax a little. He isn't screaming, crying, or glaring at me. I guess he's taking my answer better than I thought he would...
"Yeah. I never pictured you being in a place like this," I honestly confess, taking another peek at our surroundings.
Lapsing into a musing silence, his eyes stop roaming the room and land back on my face. His confused, puzzled expression gradually gives way to something else entirely. A lopsided grin, the kind that gives him a charming, boyish look, reappears on his face in all its glory.
"Really? And where do you picture me then?" he asks with a slight teasing quality to his voice.
My mouth drops open in horror. My face goes up in flames. I basically admitted that I sometimes devote my free time in speculating about his life and personal habits.
I shoved my foot deep inside of my mouth this time...
Seconds go by while I struggle to find a way to explain myself. And all the while, Edward has an amused grin that just won't go away, making me nervous and distracted at the same time.
"I..." I stammer out, unsure how to begin. "Don't know..." Nervously, I take a gulp and try not to look directly at him as I give my confession. "Maybe someplace more... conservative?"
The bright smile on his face instantly vanishes.
One moment it was there, the next it's gone.
Then, before I can assume that I said something wrong or hurtful, a new smile is back in place. A warm, rich chuckle vibrates through his body. "A tea room, perhaps?" he humorously teases, his voice sounding playful and self-deprecating.
With a tiny smile, I nod my head and decide to play along since he's in a good mood. "Yes, that sounds about right. With puffy cushioned chairs, balding butlers carrying silver trays, and elderly spinsters sipping from teacups with Persian cats on their laps."
He bends down slightly, as though he is about to speak confidentially. "Well, I'm afraid that we'll have to make do with this place until some retired British governess decides to move to Port Angeles and open up such an establishment," he purrs with mock sincerity.
"Too bad," I add with a grin. He just smirks a little in response.
I follow along behind him as we walk towards the huge counter across the room. As we get closer, I realize that this place carries even more treats than I had originally thought. And it all looks fresh and delicious. The smell is divine.
I spot what I want almost instantly. There's just something about a brownie that calls to me. Be they plain, frosted with icing, or topped with sprinkles, I almost always go for a brownie before anything else. But the brownies they serve here are perfection. It's the Holy Grail of brownies. It's huge, the square is the size of my hand. The walnuts are evenly distributed throughout the large chunk. I can smell the scent of the rich chocolate from where I stand. And as a finishing touch, caramel sauce has been crisscrossed across its top.
It's love at first sight.
I soon tell the lady what I want while Edward meticulously studies the choices. Eventually he asks for a gigantic cinnamon roll that is drenched in a sugary glaze. I wouldn't be surprised if it surpassed a thousand calories.
So much for that "diet" he told Jessica he was on...
"What do you want to drink?" he asks me.
I twist my mouth as I think. Catching the lady's eye, I ask if they serve Coke. She mutely confirms that they do.
"Two cokes, please," Edward orders while I go back to studying the wall decorations.
A muffled thud echoes in the room, distracting me from the newspaper article I was studying. Confused, I look around until I discover Edward bending slightly over the countertop, his hand moving away from a crisp, new twenty dollar bill. It isn't until I see the lady reaching for and thrusting the money into her cash register that it occurs to me what is happening.
"What are you doing?" I accusingly ask Edward.
He turns around, a bewildered expression on his face. "Paying for our food?" he replies, sounding puzzled.
His simple answer stumps me. I was planning on buying what I ordered. This was supposed to be a quick, uncomplicated snack before we go back to Forks. Why would he try to pay my bill?
"Why?" I ask aloud.
He gives me a beaming smile before he speaks. "I believe it's customary for patrons to pay for their food, Bella," he replies nonchalantly.
I stare back stonily, not caring for his jokes at the moment. "I'm well aware of that. But you shouldn't pay for mine, too. That's not fair," I explain to him evenly, trying not to get more upset than I already am. The fact that he is buying my food makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel inadequate. Like he thinks I can't afford to pay.
Appearing carefree and untroubled, he casually shrugs his shoulders. "But it's better for the cashier this way. I was simply making the transaction easier for her to handle. Two customers, one transaction. Much simpler for her to deal with."
My eyes narrow further.
I have to amend my earlier assumption of him: Edward Masen is a brilliant boy, but he can also be an irritating smartass.
"That doesn't make any sense and you know it!" I practically growl, keeping my voice low so the cashier lady won't overhear.
Leaning his elbow relaxedly against the counter, Edward sighs - no longer smiling and his face suddenly serious. "Then how about this. You are my guest. I asked you if you wanted to get something to eat. You accepted that invitation. Therefore, it is my duty as a host to pay for anything that results from said invitation," he explains matter-of-factly.
While I'm trying to come up with something to combat his logic, he stares back patiently. I really want to tell him that his reasoning is stupid and unnecessary. It's a throwback to bygone days where a gentleman would throw down his cape across the muddy street so a lady would not sully her shoes. And nearly no one does that anymore. Today it's everyone for himself. I pay my way, you pay your way.
However, what he has says feels like something he would truly believe in. He seems like the type of guy that takes etiquette and good manners seriously. He opens doors for others, doesn't chew with his mouth full, and says "please" "thank you" "excuse me" with startling regularity. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt...
But it hurts my pride to go along with him wholeheartedly. So, I come up with a compromise to make myself feel better.
"Fine. But, next time it's on me, Edward. And I mean it, " I insist, sternly looking him in the eye.
That is, if we ever do anything like this again.
"Oh, you're offering to pay for our future meal at the tea shop?" he wryly quips, seamlessly going right back to teasing me. When the lady hands him his change and he stuffs it back into his wallet, I detect a hint of a smirk on his handsome face.
I can see that he thinks I'm joking.
I guess he doesn't know me very well yet.
"Don't tempt me," I mumble crossly under my breath.
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A/N-
Next Chapter- An impromptu question and answer session. The drive home. Edward makes an offer that Bella can't refuse. And Bella has a revelation.
Thanks for reading! :-)