Chapter 17- Love Is A Battlefield

March 3, 2005

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I'm in the pantry trying to locate seasoning for the steaks I plan to cook when I hear Edward's cellphone chime in his pocket. When I return to the kitchen, I catch him rising from his chair at the table. He announces that his car has been dropped off outside and the things that I abandoned in Biology class are there, too. I ask if Alice wants to come in, but he says that she's already been picked up by the other Cullens and they're all long gone.

While I busy myself with heating up the gas burner of the stove, he goes to retrieve my things. Once his task is complete, he ambles up to me and leans his lower back against the counter, attentively watching as I drop the steaks into the sizzling skillet.

"Need any help?" he offers.

My head pops up to meet his eye. "You know how to cook?"

"Unfortunately, no," he answers in a soft chuckle. "Esme is in charge of the kitchen and prefers to do most of the cooking herself. And as for my mother and our cook Martha back in Chicago, they held on to the belief that only women and a select few men were worthy enough of possessing that particular skillset. However, I am well adept at washing, peeling, cutting, and smashing whatever you may need. That's all they would allow me to do," he ends with a cheeky smirk.

I put him on salad making duty while I man the oven. By the time I hear the front door knob rattling in the living room signalling my dad's entrance, dinner is almost ready. Edward and I are resting at the table when Charlie marches into the kitchen. Right away his chocolate brown eyes land on Edward and turn steely for a split second before reverting back to normal.

"Hey, Bells. Something smells good," he comments. He takes another brief but pointed glance at Edward and his brow arches up questioningly at me. "I take it that you're not having any problems?" he openly hints.

I release a sigh and shoot him an annoyed glare. Does it look like Edward is giving me trouble? Charlie makes it sound like Edward is holding me hostage. I'm shocked that he hasn't asked for me to blink twice if I need help.

"Everything is fine. Just like it always is, Dad," I cuttingly retort.

"Good evening, Chief Swan," greets Edward. His lips curve up into the type of smile that puts most people either at ease or into a swoon.

It does neither to Charlie. He presents a curmudgeonly frown that would have made Ebenezer Scrooge proud. "Thanks," he grunts sharply, all while watching Edward with eyes of stone.

Wow. What a crappy way to greet someone. Charlie can't even say "hi" to Edward. A primitive caveman ten thousand years ago would have come across as being more friendly than the police chief of Forks, Washington. Maybe getting him to like Edward isn't going to be as simple as I had thought.

I loudly clear my throat to break the tension that has settled into the kitchen. "Guess what? I'm making steaks tonight," I announce in an upbeat tone, hopeful that the news will soften my dad's gruff mood.

His forehead lifts in pleasant surprise. The word steaks brightens his whole outlook on life. "That sounds great, but isn't tonight usually leftover night?"

I can't inform him that I'm trying to manipulate his emotions just so that I can have a boy at our dinner table tonight. So, I try to sound easy-breezy when I give him my prepared explanation.

"Yeah. It is. But I decided to do something different for a change. Eating fish again didn't sound very appetizing."

He readily accepts my answer, not suspecting a thing. There's a small but clearly happy smile peeking out from underneath his thick, brown mustache. I don't think he could look this content even if I told him that he won the lottery. The man sure does love his red meat.

I come to the conclusion that it's now or never. Charlie is in as good of a mood as he'll ever be. It's time to let him know that things are going to change around here.

"And-Edward's-eating-with-us, too," I add without pausing for breath.

The smile he had breaks apart and his entire face morphs into alarm. "What did you just say?"

"Oh... You know. Edward's going to have dinner with us tonight," I explain nonchalantly. Then, hardening my eyes in challenge, I add, "That's fine with you, isn't it?"

We enter a battle of wills, each of us stubbornly staring down the other. Charlie can do one of two things right now. A) He can be open-minded and accept that Edward will be dining with us. Or, B) He can make a scene that will humiliate me forever and order Edward to leave the house.

But, if Charlie knows me at all, he will understand that I will not be pleased if he chooses B. I will retaliate. His beloved salt shaker will be exiled from the kitchen for the foreseeable future. He will forget the taste of meat when I feed him nothing but vegetables and - heaven forbid - tofu. I swear that Bella Swan will not fight pretty when it comes to this.

Roughly ten seconds into the unspoken war between us, Charlie's shoulders droop in defeat. "I guess it's OK," he murmurs, a visible pout jutting out from under his mustache. As is his habit, he then tromps out of the kitchen to go watch ESPN until it's time to eat. Although he can't help but throw in a grumbled, "Not that anyone bothered to ask me."

I ignore the jab and shout to his retreating figure, "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

My gaze temporarily falls to the dinner table as I take stock of our encounter. I'm kind of surprised that he caved so easily. I had prepared myself for more resistance on his part, but thankfully that did not happen. I guess he saw my threats to his diet burning in my eyes and couldn't risk angering me.

However, as he walks down the hall that leads to the living room, I catch sight of a bulge on his hip that reminds me of something important.

I cup my hand around my mouth and yell, "And don't forget to hang up the gun."

Charlie answers in a disgruntled caveman grunt, but I do see him remove the holster from his waist to put away. Although he is a honest and fair cop that hasn't fired his service revolver in many years, I am a firm believer in never taking chances when it comes to the lives of bronze-haired dreamboats who sit in my kitchen.

Once my dad is gone, I take a look at Edward. He is no longer politely smiling like he was earlier. There's a look of profound concern haunting his face. I don't like seeing him this way, so I bust out an encouraging grin to relieve his anxiety. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He gives an unconvincing smile in return. "The night's still young," he retorts, using a low, dispirited voice.

I roll my eyes at his pessimism and order him to remain seated while I finish up with everything. Ten minutes zoom by. As soon as the timer goes off to let me know that the baked potatoes are done, I rush around to put all of the food on to the table and announce that dinner is ready.

When Charlie returns to the kitchen, he's still frowning. I had hoped that a few minutes in front of the TV would have loosened him up, but that did not happen. Not even when I place the best cut of steak on his plate does he crack anything near a smile. But I think what's most irritating is that he still has his police uniform on - complete with dangling handcuffs on his belt and a badge pinned to his chest which proudly displays his authority. He had ten whole minutes to change into something more comfortable (and not to mention, less embarrassing for me). I guess he's hoping to make our dinner guest feel like we're at the police station instead of at home.

"How'd your day go, Dad?" I say as a way to introduce a noncontroversial topic to the table. I also pass him the salad bowl to subtly remind him that there are vegetables to eat, too.

"Good," he answers, shrugging his shoulders as he places exactly two lettuce leaves, a tomato slice the size of a quarter, and a sliver of carrot on his plate. "Slow, but good. But that's sometimes a positive thing when it comes to my job." I place a bite of my food into my mouth, and he adds, "And what about yours?"

Hmm. Let's see. In the span of one day I had Edward confirm that he's interested in pursuing a relationship, had hundreds of people gawp at me just because I sat at a table filled with Greek gods and goddesses at lunch, collapsed into a fainting mess a couple of times, and then had Edward all to myself for the remainder of the afternoon - where he unwittingly serenaded me by reading Shakespearian verse.

"I guess you could say that it was interesting," I reply, trying to sound apathetic. There's no way I am going to tell my father what really happened today. Especially that last part. Edward's life is at stake here.

The three of us eat quietly for a short while - although a certain someone at the table is finding ways to annoy me in a passive-aggressive sort of way. Charlie is ignoring everything even remotely healthy on his plate. He knows how much it drives me crazy when he does that. This is most definitely being done on purpose in order to get back at me. So, when he isn't scarfing down his steak like a starving carnivore, he takes bites of only the cheese, butter, and sour cream on his baked potato - taking care to not scoop up even a molecule of the potato itself. I'm surprised he isn't sucking the ranch dressing off the salad and spitting the lettuce back out onto his plate just to spite me.

Although my dad is doing a good job at getting on my nerves, my eyes keep being drawn back to Edward. He is as neat and refined as can be - especially in comparison to Charlie. I become somewhat intrigued by how he chews. His defined jaw rolls and tightens, strains and relaxes. It's oddly riveting. I never knew that watching someone eat their food could be so titillating.

"So, uh, Edward," Charlie begins out of the blue. My head immediately snaps to my left to look at my dad. "I heard that your father was being nominated for some award in Seattle," he says, studiously watching the boy who sits across from him.

Edward carefully places his fork and knife down to take a drink. After he sets his glass back on the table, he gives a response. "Yes, he is. It's for his work at the hospital and volunteering down at the free clinic in his spare time. However, he said that he will not accept it if he were to win. He's a very humble man and dislikes the limelight. He believes that there are many more deserving doctors out there that should be nominated over him."

Charlie's right eyebrow cocks up. "And what do you think?"

"He is, without a doubt, the most deserving man of all. But, like I said, he prefers to work quietly and unobtrusively. I can respect that."

Charlie's mustache twitches a time or two. I can tell that he likes that answer. Score one for Edward.

"He's the best doctor this town has had in years," trails off my dad.

"I can certainly attest to that," Edward nods.

Charlie resumes attacking his steak, gripping his fork and knife in his hands as he cuts it up. "Speaking of careers and the like, have you made any plans for college?" he asks with one eye still lingering on Edward.

I glance at my father suspiciously. He's never asked me that question before.

Edward shakes his head back and forth, his posture perfect. "No. Nothing definite yet."

Charlie's eyes narrow slightly. "Aren't kids your age supposed to be coming to a decision by now?"

I allow my fork to slip from my fingers and land on my plate, creating a nice racket to interrupt the little interrogation session Charlie is conducting. His startled eyes dart away from Edward to gape at me, appearing surprised by the disturbance I caused. He doesn't realize how lucky he is that I didn't throw my fork at him. I should have known that he wasn't merely making small talk. Charlie has a plan - to dissect Edward to try to find his faults and criticize him.

"Edward and I are in the same grade and I can assure you that most of us have no clue what college we're going to, Dad. There's plenty of time to figure that out," I remind him in a cold tone of voice. Additionally, I give my darkest stink eye to let him know how furious I am with him.

He gets the message. To placate me, he shoves in a forkful of potato sans its toppings and silently chews. "I guess you're right."

Assuming that he is backing down, I go to eat as well. I shouldn't have done that. As soon as my mouth is full, Charlie tackles Edward with another question.

"So what career field are you considering to go into, Edward?"

For the first time while in Charlie's presence, Edward appears uncomfortable. He squirms in his chair for a moment and coughs into his fist. "To be honest, sir. I'm not sure yet what I would want to do. I'm still looking at my options."

Charlie tilts his chin up into the air and looks down his nose at Edward. "Humph. I knew that I wanted to go into law enforcement by the time I turned sixteen."

I harden my glare. He's giving the sugarcoated version of his life. Too bad for him that I know the truth.

Mom may forget where she parks the car when she goes to buy groceries, but she practically has a photographic memory when it comes to her younger years. She has told me all the stories of how she and Charlie struggled to make something of themselves while also caring for an infant (aka, me).

"Didn't Mom tell me that you got a job at the sawmill after you graduated?" I counter.

His head jerks back, astonishment written all over his face. "Yeah, but that was because I needed to save up the money to go to the police academy," he explains with a humbled, contrite frown. Yet, just as quickly, his superior attitude resurfaces and his eyes grow cold again. "I had my priorities straight. I knew where my passions lay," he stresses, jabbing his finger at the table to make his point.

My lips smash together and I gnash my teeth. Edward is the most talented person I have ever met. The way he plays the piano is awe-inspiring. He puts everything into it. I have no doubt that he will one day do something extraordinary with his gift. He just hasn't accepted it yet.

"Well, Edward is passionate, too," I snap.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I said the wrong thing. Charlie takes my innocent comment and twists it to mean something else. His eyes burn in their sockets, stewing in silent fury at Edward.

Meanwhile, my cheeks heat up like red-hot furnaces. Edward and I have barely made it to the hand-holding stage in our relationship. But now, thanks to me, Charlie probably believes that we're having unprotected sex on the kitchen table every afternoon. He is squeezing the knife in his fist extra hard - as though he is tempted to use it on something besides his juicy steak.

Why didn't I just serve soup tonight? He wouldn't be able to attack Edward if all he had was a spoon.

"About music, Dad," I emphasize breathlessly, praying that he won't kill my almost, maybe boyfriend. "He is very passionate about the music field."

Gradually, my explanation sinks in. Charlie's grip on his weapon loosens and the look of rage dissipates. But he hasn't lost an ounce of his attitude problem. He goes from murderous anger to derision in the blink of an eye.

"Wonderful," he mocks, shaking his head. "What? Is he in a rock band or something?"

I sit ramrod straight in my chair, and proudly retort, "No. He plays the piano."

I love the dumbfounded look that flashes behind his dark eyes. "The piano?" he repeats incredulously.

"Yes, sir," Edward answers, looking remarkably calm considering that his life was under threat just thirty seconds ago.

"His mom told me that he plays every day. He's very talented," I elaborate.

Charlie's forehead climbs until his thick eyebrows reach their highest point. "You met Mrs. Cullen?" he asks, emphasizing her name.

"Yeah," I confirm with a curt nod. "I did the other day when she gave me some books to borrow."

In a state of mute bewilderment, Charlie picks up his fork and resumes eating. I hope he is digesting the information that I just gave him along with that steak he is consuming. I hadn't planned on telling him about my visit to the Cullen household. But this may be the only way for him to understand how ridiculous he is being. I went to Edward's house and his family treated me with kindness and respect. Then, I invite Edward to stay for dinner at my house where Charlie disparages and intimidates him. Charlie should be ashamed of himself.

"She's a lovely woman," he observes ruminatively.

Yeah. Esme doesn't contemplate attacking her guests with sharp objects before she gets to know them - unlike some people I know.

"The very best," Edward agrees, nodding his head.

While Charlie lapses into quietly chewing his food, I take the opportunity to steer the conversation back to stable ground.

"Have you thought about what your English paper will be about?" I ask Edward.

His lips move to the side for a moment. "I'm considering on making it about how Shakespeare's plays were influenced by his close relationship with the royal court."

"That's a good topic. It makes you wonder how some of his work would have turned out if Queen Elizabeth or King James had never taken notice of him."

"I thought so too... And what about you? Have you begun your paper yet?"

"No, but I've come up with a topic already. I'm going to highlight cases of possible misogyny in his plays."

He chuckles and slides a napkin across his mouth. "You could concentrate on just The Taming Of The Shrew and have all the material you could possibly need. Anything after that would be icing on the cake."

I smile back. "Probably so. Withholding food from a woman with the intention of subduing her I'm-better-than-you attitude doesn't sound very humane - even if it is just fiction."

He and I speak of a few other things related to school before we concentrate on eating again. Edward lifts a forkful of steak to his mouth and shakes his head as he chews. His eyes close temporarily, as if he is savoring the flavor. When they reopen, he finds me watching and visibly relaxes. "This is delicious, Bella. I knew that you were an excellent cook, but I had no idea that you were this good."

A rush of warmth flows into my chest at the compliment. Cooking is one of the few things that I am pretty good at. "Thanks, but I did have a little help cooking all this if I recall correctly," I smile.

One of his dark copper eyebrows rises, and he looks back askance. "I chopped up tomatoes and lettuce. That does not constitute as cooking," he smirks.

"And that was helpful. Knives and me don't always get along so well," I remind him. In a giggle, I add, "And, I think I've seen enough blood for one day." In response, he smiles in a way that makes my mouth twitch.

"What's this about blood?" barks Charlie.

My neck audibly cracks when I look in his direction. I was so lost in Edward-land that I had forgotten that Charlie was here.

"Um... Well, we had to do blood typing in Biology today, and I, uh, kinda got a little faint," I summarize reluctantly.

Charlie stares back pokerfaced, his eyes flicking back and forth from Edward to me. I become nervous. Is he going to find a way to blame that on Edward, too?

A few moments later, a guffaw bursts from his mouth and his upper body vibrates with laughter. "I wish I knew why blood does that you, Bells. You don't get it from me," he chuckles with a rare grin.

My head pivots to the side and my lips compress. "I'm glad that you can get good laugh from it. It wasn't exactly one of my most proudest moments," I deadpan.

His gales of laughter die a slow death and his smile subsides. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"It's OK," I breathe out.

"Did you get checked on by the nurse?"

"Yep. Clean bill of health. I was just a little woozy."

Across the table, Edward huffs out a tsk, accompanied by a subtle eye roll.

Charlie's attention instantly locks back on Edward. "I take it that you have a different opinion?" he questions in a coarse tone.

Edward's mouth puckers and he stares off musingly for a moment. "She was more than just a 'little woozy'," he emphasizes dryly. "She was white as a sheet and passed out twice."

Charlie's forehead furrows and his mouth drops open. "Twice?" he repeats. His focus falls back to me with eyes filled with concern. "How'd you pull that off?"

My own eyes briefly shoot daggers at Edward. My dad doesn't need to know all of the details. Now Charlie will worry himself to death thinking that there's something wrong with me. And there isn't. I just so happen to be freakishly affected by blood. That's all.

"It's not a big deal," I insist.

"Once in class. The other time in the nurse's office," tattles Edward like I'm not here.

"Bella," sighs Charlie, shaking his head sadly at me. Then, knitting his brows, he goes back to questioning Edward. "You were with her?"

Edward's gaze drifts down to the table for a moment before looking Charlie straight on. "I took her to the office."

With this additional news, Charlie stops eating completely and leans back in his chair. He's staring at Edward with unreadable eyes - which worries me a lot since I can usually guess what's going on inside of his head. Thank goodness I made him hang up his service revolver earlier.

"Anyway," I nervously blurt as a diversion. "A bunch of us will be going to the beach in La Push this Saturday. It's supposedly going to be sunny that day."

With arms folded in front of him, Charlie stops scrutinizing Edward and acknowledges me. "Oh? Who's all going?"

Thankful that my distraction has worked as planned, I shrug my shoulder. "Um... Mike Newton is organizing it. I can't remember all of the names but I do know a few. Jessica Stanley, Angela Weber, Eric Yorkie, Adam Temple, Lee Stevens, Jennifer something from my Gym class, Lauren Mallory, Ben Cheney, Austin Marks, Brandy Ferguson, Rob Sawyer, Christina Wilkinson, and Jason Schwartz."

"And you, Edward?" asks Charlie, his face expressionless.

"Yes, sir. I'm going too."

Charlie's head nods enigmatically. What that could mean, I have no idea.

Terrified of what he may be planning next, I start babbling like an idiot. I recite the few memories I have left of my childhood trips to La Push as a way to distract his attention. I remind Charlie of how he took me to the beach at six years old, and how I slipped on a rock that resulted in fifteen stitches under my chin. I reminisce about how he caught five huge saltwater fish during a fishing trip one summer while all I got was a piece of floating pine log - which caused me to accidentally fall out of our boat when I went to unhook it. I describe the day that I was giving food to hungry seagulls and one of the birds accidentally flew straight into my face. The black eye it gave me lasted for days.

Since it appears to be occupying Charlie, I keep throwing out the embarrassing stories to keep the limelight off of Edward. I hope he appreciates the sacrifice to my dignity I am making in exchange for his life.

After awhile, my throat goes dry and I am forced to stop talking so that I can get a drink. "How long have you been with the Cullens now, Edward?" Charlie wonders aloud. I eye him with burning suspicion, wondering what his strategy to criticize Edward might be this time.

Edward pauses in his task of mixing the sour cream up in his baked potato and clears his throat. "About nine months, sir."

"I'm sure that it was a big change for you."

A somber smile creeps upon Edward's face. "It certainly was. I was born an only child. Then, my parents both passed away and I was sent here to live with a whole houseful of people. That alone took a bit of getting used to. But, they have all been so accommodating and helpful. It took the sting out of my grief a little. I'll always be grateful to them."

Charlie grunts once with slightly frowning mouth. Several quiet moments pass before he speaks again. "Where are you from originally?"

"Chicago."

Charlie's eyebrows rise a notch. "Big place, Chicago," he murmurs. He goes to absentmindedly scratch his chin stubble, appearing to try to process this new information.

The three of us resume eating wordlessly. I keep my eyes and ears glued on Charlie, waiting for him to say something condescending or offensive about Edward's hometown. But he never does. He appears too lost in his thoughts to criticize Edward at the moment. Although this is a positive outcome, I am now too nervous to speak. I would rather sit here awkwardly eating my dinner than risk accidentally saying something that could send my dad into a hissy fit again.

A couple of minutes into the silence, Edward lifts his face up and unexpectedly says, "What do you think about Beltré signing on with the Mariners?"

Charlie's mouth temporarily pauses mid-bite. "I'm hopeful," he answers slowly. "Any asset we can get away from the Dodgers is a good thing to me."

Edward chuckles one small laugh - like he actually understood what Charlie just said. I'm glad he can, because I have no idea what my dad's talking about.

Charlie casually lifts his glass to his lips and drinks - observing Edward all the while. He then sets the cup back down and says, "I wouldn't have pegged you as a Mariners fan."

Edward displays a tight-lipped smile and shrugs one shoulder. "I follow them. They are the home team, after all. Though they aren't where my loyalties lay."

Charlie sucks in his cheeks, his head cocked to the right. "White Sox?"

"Cubs," grins Edward.

Loud, cackling laughter bursts from Charlie's mouth. "Wow. A Cubs fan? You'd have to be loyal to stick with them, wouldn't you?"

Sitting up taller in his seat, Edward says, "I don't know about that. They were the first team to win the World Series twice in a row."

"And when was that? 1912?" snickers Charlie.

"1908."

Charlie humphs and shakes his head. "That's almost a hundred years, kid. It would take a miracle for them to win after a dry spell like that."

"Stranger things have happened before," Edward counters solemnly.

"I'll tell you what's strange," replies Charlie, waving his fork around in the air. "How did Sammy Sosa wind up with a corked bat? He claimed it was a mistake or accident or whatever, but it makes me suspicious. No wonder the Cubs traded him out."

They begin chatting in a language that I don't understand. My mouth parts open as I listen to these two men say mysterious words like bunt, dinger, and slurve that mean absolutely nothing to me.

What in the hell is happening? Charlie doesn't normally say much at dinner. He prefers to focus on his food as opposed to making small talk. But here he is now, happily yapping for the past couple of minutes. How can he go from being a Grade A jerk to discussing baseball statistics with Edward? Is this a trick? Is he attempting to lull us into a false sense of security before he goes in for another round of unprovoked attacks against Edward's character?

And since when has Edward ever hinted that he cares about baseball? How can he even keep up with what my dad is talking about? Is this some sort of thing you can only comprehend if you're a guy?

Minutes into their conversation that I have tried (and failed) to follow, the phone rings across the kitchen. I rise from my chair to answer it, leaving the two of them free to continue to talk about the infield fly rule. Whatever that means.

"Hello?" I say into the phone pressed at my ear.

"Hello, Bella," coos a familiar voice.

My eyes fly open wide. My attention focuses back on Edward across the room. Although Charlie goes on chatting, Edward is watching me with a look of curiousness. He doesn't know who waits for me on the other end of the telephone. But I do.

Jessica.

I snatch the phone's cradle and drag the long cord to the living room in order to speak privately. I had forgotten all about the fact that she planned to grill me for information about Edward and me tonight. If Jessica is going to attempt to pluck gossipy information, I at least don't want my dad to overhear.

Once I am at a safe distance away from the kitchen, I take a breath to prepare myself. "Hi, Jessica. What's up? Need some help with your homework?" I lamely joke, nibbling nervously on my bottom lip.

"Don't play games with me. You know why I'm calling," she chides with a hint of annoyance. "Tell me everything!"

I slowly lower myself down onto the arm of the couch to sit. "Well... What do you want to know?" I ask cautiously.

"How about telling me how long this has been going on."

"How long has what been going on?" I reply as a delaying tactic.

"You know! You and Edward!"

"Uhh... A few hours?"

Jessica huffs a cold, scoffing laugh. "Yeah, right. That's not what I heard."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what I heard is that you two have been sneaking around for months, trying to keep the fact that you're dating a secret. How could you keep something like that from me, Bella? I thought we were friends!"

My eyes roll so far into the back of my head that it almost hurts. You'd think for a town obsessed with gossip that they could at least get the facts straight. "That isn't true. I've only lived here for a month and a couple of weeks, Jessica. The two of us 'sneaking around for months' isn't possible."

"So...are you trying to say that you aren't really seeing him then?" she quizes, using a skeptical inflection.

I am aware that what I say right now will be spread and analyzed by a large portion of the community within a matter of a few hours. I need to take great care in what I say and how I say it. My goal is to give her truthful information which also will not reveal anything private.

"Well...I didn't say that. It's...kind of new. We haven't talked about anything yet."

"But there is something to talk about, right? You're more than friends?" she presses, her voice rising at the end.

"I think so."

"Oh. My. Gosh!" she shrieks. "I can't believe this! I knew something was up with you two when he came to take you to lunch. What did it feel like?"

"What did what feel like?"

"Being able to sit at the Cullen table! What happened? Did they - like - really talk to you and stuff?"

"Yeah. All of them them talked to me except for Rosalie. She just ate her lunch and listened. They're very nice." And a little eccentric. But I'll keep that to myself.

"Wow," she breathes into the phone. "You know... I kept my eye on you and Edward during the entire lunch hour today. And you know what, Bella? He couldn't stop looking at you! He must be really into you. So, I gotta ask - how did you do it?"

My brows lower confusedly. "What?"

"You know what I'm asking! What did you do to get his attention?"

That's a great question. And I have no idea what the answer could be.

"Nothing," I respond honestly.

"Come on! Throw me a bone or something! Can't you understand that I spent four months of my life trying to attract him and failed with nothing to show for it? I tried everything I could think of to spark his interest. I flirted. I spread rumors that I liked him in hopes that he'd initiate something. And when that didn't work, I dropped him hints directly. Nothing worked! You must have done something new to attract him. Aren't I your friend? You could at least share your strategy with me so that I can learn. Maybe it'll help me with Mike!"

A tired sigh passes through my lips. "I'm serious, Jess. I didn't do anything special. For the past month, all Edward and I mainly did was make polite chitchat about our schoolwork. It's not like I went after him or anything. I treated him like a friend and just acted like myself. That's it."

"Wait a minute!" Jessica shouts. "Lemme grab my notebook. This is some good stuff! I gotta write this down so that I won't forget." I hear banging and rustling papers on her end of the phone. After a few seconds, I assume she is jotting down the information when she says aloud, "Act smart. Play hard to get... OK. So what else?"

"I didn't play hard to get," I explain with a frown. "I never expected for any of this to happen. I'm just as surprised as you. All I ever thought he was interested in was maybe having someone to talk to and improving his grades."

"Oh, my-" she wheezes, completely ignoring what I just said. "Why didn't I put two and two together before? You guys supposedly do your homework together - like - all of the time! I knew that if he would just hang around a girl long enough, he'd lose that shyness that was holding him back! You're freakin' brilliant, Bella! So, what is it that you two really do everyday after school, huh? Does he kiss you?! What's it like? And don't leave anything out!"

"Jessica, " I groan, my eyes squeezed shut. "We haven't made it to that point. We're just seeing how things go for now. OK?"

"Oh," she replies, disappointment clearly evident. "Have you gone out on a date yet?"

"No."

"Well...when will you?"

"I'm not sure," I reply hesitantly. Even if I did know when that might occur, I don't plan to share that information with her. Edward and I would have to worry about having Jessica trailing us the entire night like the paparazzi if she knew a time and place. I'd much rather experience my first date without worrying that our faces will be splashed across the front page of the school newspaper.

"Hmm... OK. Just let me ask you a couple of things," she says.

Those "couple of things" turns out to be a couple of dozen things - most of which I wouldn't know anything about unless I lived in the same house as Edward or regularly invaded his personal space. I mainly tell her "I don't know", which only serves to her frustrate her more. And as for the few questions that I do know the answers to, I either give her a one word response with no details or outright lie and claim ignorance. There's just some things that I don't want to share with her - for example, the things he has said that's made me weak in the knees. That's mine alone to enjoy.

Right as she asks if I've been to his house yet, I hear the distant scraping of dining utensils against plates. Suddenly, I am reminded of something very important.

"Edward's all alone with Charlie," I gasp, my eyes bulging. Jessica has had me on the phone for so long that Charlie could have done nearly anything to him. I hope Edward knows self-defense...

"Huh?" Jessica grunts.

My face grimaces. I hadn't planned on telling her that Edward was having dinner with us tonight. Though, I guess it's not that big of a secret. His car is parked outside right around dinner time. I'm sure the neighbors are aware of its presence and have already made assumptions. Since the neighborhood watch program doesn't have any crime to monitor, the poor things are reduced to keeping track of the comings and goings of their neighbors. And having guests over piques their curiosity even more. Their monthly meetings usually are nothing more than glorified gossip exchanges.

I brush a stray hair away from my face and carefully explain myself. "Edward...stayed for dinner. And my dad hasn't been as well-behaved as he should. I need to go make sure that everything is all right."

She makes a sound similar to the blast of air which exits from a whale's blowhole. "You brought him to meet your dad? Whoa. This must be serious then."

"They've already met before," I remind her in a flat tone. Everyone in Forks has met Charlie Swan at least once. And I highly doubt Charlie could ever forget meeting Edward. Finding a semiconscious boy in the wildness is a memory I'm sure he will keep forever.

"Oh, yeah..." Jessica mumbles.

"Yep. So, umm. I need to go see what's going on with them now."

"OK. I'll just wait and talk to you some more about this tomorrow then. Bye!"

My nose crinkles in response. What else could she possibly want to know? I thought she had covered everything.

When I walk back into the kitchen, I try to appear casual as I catch sight of what lies in wait for me. I had worried that I would find Charlie doing something unsavory - like slapping his cuffs on Edward's wrists with the purpose of transferring him to the county jail. However, all I end up seeing is the two of them relaxedly eating and discussing small town politics. Charlie thinks the city council isn't devoting enough resources for road repaving. Edward thinks that new road signs should be installed along Main Street. And I think we've all just entered the Twilight Zone. How else can you explain this? My dad wanted to disembowel Edward only twenty minutes ago. Now they're chit chatting like grannies at a knitting circle. This isn't right.

The only logical theory I can come up with is that this is all an act. Charlie probably did something terrible while I was gone and threatened Edward to keep quiet about it. I'll have to find out the truth before he leaves so I'll know how upset I should be with my dad.

Once dinner has been eaten, Edward wishes Charlie a good night with a firm handshake. My dad grunts out a surprisingly decent goodbye when he grasps Edward's hand. This alone makes me very suspicious. Charlie will barely shake hands with people he has known for years. He isn't exactly known for being touchy-feely with others.

Edward and I walk out into the chilled, nighttime air soon afterwards. I close the front door behind me and the two of us slowly creep down the sidewalk towards his car. Once we're far from the house, I inform him of my earlier phone conversation.

"Jessica asked about everything under the sun, Edward. What did I do to get your attention. What do we do together after school. Have we went on a date. She even asked questions that I wouldn't have thought of in a million years. Where do you buy your clothes. Who cuts your hair... What does your hair smell like - which, I have to admit, was the strangest question of all," I remark in a suppressed giggle.

He gazes back sympathetically, hands stuffed inside his pockets. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't wish Jessica and her unquenchable curiosity on anyone, especially you."

My shoulders slump as I release a sigh. "She only let me off the phone when I accidentally let it slip that I was worried about you being alone in the kitchen with Charlie," I add exhaustedly. Then, recalling the question that has been burning in my mind for the past half hour, my eyebrow cocks up. "Speaking of that, how was he after I left? Was he good?"

His lips tilt up into a smile. "Of course, Bella. He's a very... understanding man. I think he'll be more congenial to me from now on."

I gape up at him, wondering if he's referring to my father or accidentally getting him confused with someone else. Once Charlie Swan makes his mind up about something or someone, it's difficult to change his mind. The only way that Edward could have altered Charlie's opinion of himself this quickly is if he spiked Charlie's drink with mind-altering drugs when I wasn't looking.

"What did you do?" I ask dubiously.

Edward chuckles with bright, dancing eyes. "Nothing. I think he understands now that I only have the best of intentions for you." His grin gradually retracts until only one side of his mouth remains lifted. "And, my intention for tomorrow morning is to walk you to your first class - if you don't mind," he finishes in a low timbre.

My mouth spreads into a matching smile, no longer concerned with the mystery of how he managed to sway my stubborn father to his side. "You know for a fact that I don't mind."

"Well, it is always nice to hear," he admits.

His smile soon dims and his expression changes. Magnetic eyes draw me in, the darkness of night not affecting their power in the slightest. They stay fixed upon me as he bends a few degrees at his waist and gallantly sweeps my hand from my side. My breathing halts. I stare at him - too riveted to blink - as firm lips press softly against my knuckles.

"Goodnight, Bella," he murmurs, his warm breath tickling my skin.

I try to swallow down my bedazzlement, hoping that I will be able to speak intelligibly. "Goodnight," I whisper back.

He slowly straightens back up while his hand releases its gentle grip upon my fingers. He takes a step towards his car, unlocks the door, and settles into the driver's seat. I stay glued in place, only a foot or two away from the front bumper. All the while, I can feel his eyes on me, burning with a force that leaves me at the boiling point.

I ordinarily hate the feeling of being watched. It makes me jittery and self-conscious. But it's different somehow with him. The anxiety gets mixed in with the excitement surging through my veins. And now that I know that he feels something for me too, the effect is doubled. So, I don't mind it when he watches me. Actually, I think I am addicted to it now.

He breaks into a slight smile right as he starts his car's engine. The noise helps bring me back to my senses somewhat and I rapidly blink my eyes. I then move onto the sidewalk so that he can drive away without running me over in the process.

I reluctantly turn away from his car and practically float up the sidewalk. My fingertips brush against my knuckles as I relive his goodbye in my thoughts. I can still feel the kiss lingering on my skin, as if he branded his lips there for all of eternity.

A bemused smile overtakes my face. What he did was almost comically chaste, yet it didn't feel that way to me. It felt like so much more. And here I am sounding like one of those prim, virginal heroines from one of those two hundred year old romantic novels I borrowed from the Cullen library the other day. Back then, a mere peck on the hand would have been enough to send a girl's heart aflutter.

My legs promptly go rigid on the sidewalk and immobilize me. Goosebumps erupt from my shoulders all the way down to my wrists. An eerie sensation tingles its way through my entire body.

Is it usual for teenage boys to do that? I may have never dated before, but I've listened to my fair share of dating stories over the years. I remember hearing of goodbye French kisses on front porch steps. I remember hearing about backseat petting under cover of darkness, the fogged up windows hinting at what's going on inside of the vehicle. But I don't recall any of my past female acquaintances ever bragging about how their boyfriend placed a kiss upon their hand and then left without demanding to fondle any of their girlie parts.

I slowly turn my head until I can peek over my shoulder. Edward is still there in his car with its motor running. Thanks to the street lamp, I can make out his silhouette. He's probably holding off on leaving until he sees that I've made it inside of the house unscathed. Just like he always does.

I try to push away the strange feeling that overtook my senses and force myself to continue on walking. I already knew that Edward was different from a lot of the boys I have known in my life. He isn't fascinated with video games to the point where his brain has rotted from misuse. He doesn't try to cop a feel under the guise of giving you a "friendly" hug. So it shouldn't matter that he didn't try to shove his tongue down my throat like the average guy would do. If he wants to limit our interactions to hand kissing before working up to more complicated displays of affection, I'm fine with that. Besides, even if he had tried slipping his tongue in there, I probably wouldn't have known what to do with it. I might have accidentally bit it. Then I would have died. I prefer taking baby steps as opposed to suffering from that shame.

Edward drives away as soon as I shut the front door. I take a couple of steps into the living room and find Charlie sitting in his raggedy recliner, still wearing his police uniform. Although the TV is on and currently showing a hockey match, he isn't watching it. Instead, he is frowning pitifully at me like a toddler who has been caught dunking his mommy's makeup into the toilet.

"I'm sorry," he says in a subdued grumble.

I cross my arms and hold off on saying anything right away. I kind of like seeing him squirm a little considering how he acted earlier this evening. I'm surprised that Edward made it through the meal without bolting for the door.

"You should be," I reply icily. "Are you planning on treating Edward like dirt again in the near future, or was that something he should only expect every so often? You know, just so he'll be aware if he should strap on a bulletproof vest before coming over to visit?"

Charlie's eyes drop to his lap for several beats. "I won't do that again," he pledges in a murmur. Yet, when he raises them back up, I see that they have turned frosty. "It's just-" he continues in a rough growl. "After the way he pestered you that day, I figured he was just some immature punk who doesn't understand the word 'no' when a woman rejects him. I wanted to put a little fear into him so that he wouldn't make the same mistake again. And it must have worked, too. You've got to admit that he hasn't bothered you since."

My forehead scrunches down and my folded arms slowly drop to my sides. "Dad, what are talking about? He's never bothered me."

Charlie's bushy eyebrow arches high. "Really? You're going to stand there and pretend that you didn't order him once to never call this house again?"

"No, because I don't have to pretend. Edward's never even called here before."

"But you told me it was him," he insists, his face set into an irritated scowl. "He called here and annoyed you one day, but you wouldn't tell me what it was about. Though, I did hear you say 'no' to him several times before you hung up on him." Charlie's mustache wiggles when he adds, "Then, I asked who that was on the phone. You said it was the boy you were in the accident with and told me to not worry about it."

My face falls into my hands. "Please tell me you haven't spent the past month trying to intimidate Edward just because of that," I beg from in between my fingers.

"Well...that's not the only reason. I would have made sure that any boy who was planning on being alone with you know that he'd have to deal with me if he screws up... I'll just say that what I overheard was a contributing factor."

My hands slide down my cheeks and I stare tiredly at my father. "It wasn't Edward that called, Dad."

Charlie's eyes squint and his head shifts to the side. "But you said-"

"I know what I said," I interrupt, holding up my palm. "I was talking about Tyler Crowley. You know, the boy I was in the car accident with? Not the boy who pulled me out of the path of Tyler's van."

"Tyler Crowley?" he repeats incredulously, his forehead riddled with lines.

"Yes. But Tyler wasn't sexually harassing me like you think. He was actually bugging me about paying me back for the damage he caused to the truck. I told him not to worry since the truck was barely dented. But he kept on and on about it. He drove me crazy. It was like he couldn't understand anything I said. It took him two weeks before he finally shut up and left me alone."

Charlie remains quiet for a minute as he absorbs the facts, only his eyelids move as he blinks back. Then, by degrees, he comes back to life.

"His mom called me at the police station once," he begins with pursed lips. "Back a couple of years ago, some of Tyler's friends had made a bet with him to see how many windowsill paint chips he could eat without vomiting. Turns out that it was a lot."

My mouth twists to the side. "Well, that explains a few things," I mutter. I wonder how many of Tyler's brain cells passed away that day?

"He spent that night having his stomach pumped," Charlie adds in a reflective tone. A few seconds pass and he begins fidgeting in his recliner. His head then snaps towards the TV and his interest seemingly gets lost in the hockey game. Just as I assume that he's finished talking for the night, he says, "So...is - uh - Edward going to be having dinner here again?"

I rub at my elbow and draw my lip between my teeth. "Probably so," I reply, wondering where this question is leading.

He nods twice and grunts, his eyes still glued to the TV screen. "He's... not as bad as I had thought." Seconds later, Charlie abruptly barks a laugh, shaking his head back and forth. "Though, I can't believe he's a Cubs fan. I think he may be a tad bit too loyal."

I snort and roll my eyes. Charlie Swan doesn't hand out compliments easily. But, the fact that he has apologized and admitted (in a way) that Edward didn't deserve his rudeness is an outcome that I can't complain about. I'll take it.

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A/N- Reviews are like chocolate chip cookies. Each one is delicious, and I don't mind finding more than one on my plate. ;-)

Next Chapter- A trip to La Push where Bella hears a strange conversation between Edward and two giant men. And Bella meets a vaguely familiar boy who has a BIG mouth.

Thanks for reading! :-)