A/N: Hey guys! Just wanted to pop in at the top of this chapter to explain that this bit is kind of split into two mini chapters. We've got Alice's POV first, and then Jasper's down below! These conversations happen at around the same time, so I thought I'd put them in together.

death mention tw for this chap!

CHAPTER FIVE: FILLING IN THE BLANKS

He doesn't know the troubled story
that he's written himself into;
he doesn't know he's just a place for you to hide.

You ought to tell him:
best of luck, man,
roll tide.

(Roll Tide, Dawes)

TUESDAY
ALICE

I don't know how to explain what happened last night.

After my conversation with Carlisle and dinner with Jasper, something changed in me. Something was lost — or gained, maybe. Whatever it is, I woke up this morning feeling, for the first time in my reachable memory, like I could exist in my own body without the incessant scream of anxiety shaking my core.

This feeling — it feels a lot like what I picture serenity to be. I want to exist in this for as long as I possibly can, though I'm sure my time is running out.

I try my best to pinpoint when this good feeling started. I certainly felt it last night, when I floated back to my room after dinner. I felt it curled up at Jasper's side in the mess hall, for sure. I try to convince myself that it was my phone call home long before that — that Carlisle's reassuring words and Esme's contagious positivity brought me this feeling of calm.

My little family pep rally did help, I'm sure, but deep down I know that how I'm feeling right now has a lot to do with that look in Jasper's eyes last night.

He watched me so intently, like I was made of something more miraculous than skin and bone. Like I was magic, or impossible, or some kind of art. His eyes on me felt like some insane, wonderful kind of recharge. Like if Jasper watched me long enough, he might heal every tired cell in my aching body.

If I'm being honest with myself, I liked it. I liked it so much. Those eyes had me feeling drunk — floating on air — like I could trust Jasper to lead me anywhere.

Jasper.

Jasper.

The name flings itself around my brain like its trying to break loose. It's distracting. I can't get anything done when I keep stopping to think about those tanned, muscular arms of his, or those gold ringlets, or his eyes. Again — I keep coming back to those honey-coloured eyes.

The thought of his face keeps pulling me away from the array of makeup I've set out on the bathroom counter.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I get Jasper out of my head? Why am I so excited to see him? We've barely shared a hundred words and still, my heart is like a live wire, flicking with electricity and ready to erupt. All because of him.

I consider my options, fluctuating between wanting to spend the next hour putting on makeup and fixing my hair, getting myself perfectly together for our morning outing, or giving in — going as is — so I can take advantage of every minute I've got with my handsome cowboy.

Screw it, I think, I'm going now.

I pick up a chapstick and throw some on as I head for the door.

The house is silent and still around me — so settled you could see dust hanging lazily in the air. I feel like a tornado ripping through it, stirring up all that stillness. I take the the grand staircase two steps at a time and all but run towards the back door.

In my head, it's all still: Jasper! Jasper! Jasper!, like I'm some lovesick schoolgirl.

I get outside and a burst of impossibly hot air hits my face. The hum of cicadas surrounds me, along with the chatter horses and men in the distance. It's a strangely welcoming kind of noise, but unexpected considering the early hour.

Everyone is awake, it seems, except for the sun. I can't even imagine how hot it's going to be once she wakes up, too.

Outside, I take the dirt path towards the paddock — a word Jasper taught me yesterday — sitting closest to the main barn. It's only a two minute walk, but in the time I move, the sun creeps above the treetops, hitting everything with a warm glow. This place is beautiful first thing in the morning — it's still and dewey and quiet, which is something I'll never find in New York.

During my short walk I decide that I'll wake up early tomorrow, too. I'll enjoy the peace that comes with these sleepy, vacant mornings.

Peter is standing by the paddock. He's got his back leaned against it, and a cup of coffee up to his lips. I smile in his direction and wave as I walk closer.

"G'morning Miss Alice," Peter says.

"Hi Peter," I cheerfully reply. His sleepy voice puts a smile on my face. With puffy eyes and that groggy voice, he almost seems childlike.

"You ready to go?" He asks me.

I nod my head, lifting my purse strap higher on my shoulder. "All set," I say. Then — like I have no patience for small talk and no filter whatsoever — I blatantly ask, "where's Jasper?"

"Oh —"

My posture stiffens.

"Miss Alice, I'm sorry. Whit got called into an emergency 'bout forty-five minutes ago. I just heard from Quil that he's still goin'na need most of the morning, too. I thought he told you."

Jasper certainly hadn't told me. It's hard not to let this influx of information shake that good mood I've been enjoying all morning, but I try my best, forcing my smile to stay in place. Maybe I had missed a note! I was so excited to get outside and find Jasper that I hadn't bothered to look.

Once I contain my disappointment over Jasper's no-show, I move on to what should've been my most pressing concern.

"Emergency?" I ask, shuffling closer to Peter. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Peter insists. "We're just in a bit of a difficult labour situation."

"Labour? Labour like work, or —?"

"No ma'am," Peter says with a chuckle. "Like a birth. We got a mare up in the north paddock who went into labour early this mornin' and it's just been complication after complication. The vet's here now but Whit can't quite leave."

Well. That's an excuse I've never heard before.

"He asked me if I could take ya," Peter continues on. "If you're alright with that, of course. If you can't get Whit I'm the next best thing, promise. I've got a license and I can take ya wherever you need to go."

Part of me wants to turn down Peter's offer. He wouldn't mind, I'm sure. He'd probably be relieved. But maybe — just maybe — I can get the same information from Peter I would've gotten from Jasper. Maybe I can learn more this way. What better way to learn about a man than through their right hand?

As I consider my options, I chew at my inner cheek.

Peter watches me, brows raised, and keeps sipping at his mug of coffee. "I don't got all day," he says.

"Alright," I say, accepting the man's offer. It's better than nothing. "Lead on, Hoke."

"Pardon me?"

"Driving Miss Daisy?"

Peter looks lost.

I don't find it in me to speak until we're half way into town. Peter's got the radio on quietly and the windows down. I think he's humming along with the half-spoken country song playing through the speakers, but it's hard to hear against the wind rushing through the car.

Peter is quiet, and seems to appreciate me staying just the same.

I do, for the first half of our drive, but with each passing minute the silence gets more uncomfortable. I'm too curious to let this ride pass by without learning anything about my hosts. Or one host in particular.

I clear my throat and ask, "so — how long have you and Jasper been running this place?"

Peter glances at me, then back at the road. He leans his elbow out the window and shifts his hand on the steering wheel before speaking. "Almost a year now," Peter tells me.

"You both seem awful young to have so much responsibility," I chide.

Peter chuckles. "Yeah," he says, "maybe. Didn't have much choice in the matter."

"What happened?" I ask, so close to the answers I'm craving.

Peter takes a good, hard look at me. I can see the wheels turning in his brain, trying to process whether or not I'm a trustworthy vessel for information. I don't know what he sees, but Peter must decide it's good.

"Well," Peter says, letting out a heavy sigh, "it was always gonna be this way, you know? Me 'n Jasper takin' over. It was always in the cards. But when Mr. Whitlock got sick, it sort of accelerated things."

"Oh," I say. I don't know what I expected to hear, but Peter's answer sits heavy on my heart. "I didn't realize —"

"Yeah," Peter mutters. "So when he passed away, y'know, we expected it, but Whit 'n I were nowhere near prepared. Thought we had more time, y'know? And now, well — we're still learnin', really. Probably will be for awhile. We've got my Dad, at least. Bless his heart."

I nod my head and unthinking, I ask, "what about Jasper's mum? She must be a help —"

Peter shaking his head stops my speech.

"No?" I ask, that hole in the pit of my gut growing wider.

"No. She passed when we were all young. Five or six, I think. It's just us."

So he's alone.

Like me.

I stop the thought dead in its tracks. Jasper had lost his family. I'd found mine. If Carlisle and Esme ever knew I had such a thought, they'd be gutted. They are my family. Carlisle, Esme, Edward — I'm endlessly lucky to have them.

I'm not alone, and I never will be. That's the Cullen company line. I've heard it almost daily since I first met them. Hell, I heard it more than once last night, when I called home to unpack my awful day. I'm grateful for their trying. It's a never-ending job, curving my paranoia, and the Cullens are surprisingly good at it. They'll never let me forget I'm a part of the family.

Being far from the Cullens and my usual routine always opens old wounds. I've been anxious and short tempered ever since I left New York and it's certainly not a fitting look.

" — Maybe don't tell 'im I told you that," Peter blurts out, distracting me from an intense wave of homesickness.

I force a little smile on my face. "Don't worry. I won't say a word."

Peter visibly relaxes beside me, his body sinking into the driver's seat. I copy his posture, turning to face the road in front of us again. We're much closer to town now, little old houses sprouting up on each side of the road.

"If it's any consolation, I think you guys are doing a great job," I tell Peter.

We keep the conversation light after that. I think I've learned enough for one morning.

TUESDAY
JASPER

Ginger is nervous. I can feel it in how she moves — all jolty and too fast, like she's got somewhere to be and no idea where. I cleaned up real good, but she can probably still smell all the hormones and pheromones I caught hanging around during Cinnamon's labour this morning.

I run a hand down her muscular neck, patiently waiting at the horses' side until she grows used to me bein' around.

" 'S okay, sweetheart," I coo. Ginger huffs in response, lowering her head to my level. "She's alright, we'll have Cinn and the foal back in here by tomorrow."

I probably look ridiculous, mutterin' to the horses day in and out, but it's one trick I know to work better than anythin' else. Horses can sense what you're feelin' and they soak it up like sponges, but I've always thought the same about our words. Maybe they don't know what I'm sayin', but they sure as Hell can sense what I'm tryin' to convey. This is no different. Ginger settles under my hand, and once she does I go about gettin' her saddled up for the day.

We make our way out of the stable into the bright early morning. It's hot as sin outside today, so hot I can feel my hair gluein' to my skin only seconds after we get outside. Heat like this means everyone will be runnin' on fumes. We'll have to stop more frequently to water the horses and ourselves, and the boys will all be out of steam come early afternoon. It'll be up to me to make up the difference, to make sure everythin' still gets done when they all give up.

Man, I hope Alice doesn't keep Peter in town for long. We're gonna need his particular brand of work ethic today.

I let Ginger do a few laps around the paddock by herself. She trots off, stretching out her muscles after a long night in the pen. I lean against the fence, keepin' my distance as she wanders off.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice someone walkin' up towards me. When I see who it is — that photographer who's stayin' here with Alice — I straighten up quick and nod in his direction. Ginger slows to a stop at my side and I mindlessly grab hold of her reins, keepin' her in place.

"Jasper," he says.

What the Hell is this guys name? I rack my brain, hopin' the blonde doesn't notice my hesitation in the time it takes me to remember: "James. How you doin'?"

"Do you know if Alice is back yet?" James asks me. He hovers a few feet away.

"Not yet," I tell him. "Shouldn't be too long. Her and Peter left real early this mornin'."

James chuffs, a hand comin' up to run through his choppy blonde hair. He actually smiles. Might be the first time I've seen him do that. "You don't know Alice," James says. "If she's out shopping, they could be gone all day — all week if there's a good sale."

"Well, I'll let you know if I see 'em before you do." I turn to go back to my work.

"Actually —"

I turn back around to face James. The man is slowly stalkin' towards me, an expression on his face that could be closely related to nervous. I don't say anythin', but I raise an eyebrow in question.

"I was meaning to ask you something."

My heart all but drops out my ass.

"What's up?" I ask, tryin' hard to mask how nervous James' question makes me.

"I was trying to plan a nice dinner and I was wondering if you uh, knew any nice places around here I could like, you know, take a date."

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, tryin' not to react to the alarm bells ringin' wildly in my head. I know who James' is talkin' about - I saw how he was lookin' at Alice last night - but I don't want it to be true.

I don't need a clarifier, but I still find myself askin': "you goin' out with one of the models?" I'm so pathetically hopeful.

"Alice," James confirms, twistin' the knife in my gut. "This whole trip is a big deal, you know. Her finally being here and doing this is — I want to — I don't know." A big, goofy smile crosses the man's face. I want to hate him, but he seems so genuinely happy to even be thinkin' of Alice. I can't blame him for that. I've been smilin' just the same since I met her.

"I just think it's time, finally," he says.

"You two known each other for awhile?" I ask, tryin' to keep the man talkin' so I can think of how to best move forward. Do I give him a good tip? Do I help this man on his quest to woo the beautiful woman I want, but will never have?

"Two years now. I did a shoot with Free People and Alice was interning with their design team at the time. We just kinda hit it off, you know? I don't know. She's such a passionate person, it's hard to keep from wanting to be around that all the time."

I know exactly what James is talkin' about. Alice has an energy about her I've never seen in another person. She's like a wildfire and an undertow all at once — bright, powerful, demandin'. You simply can't ignore a presence like that.

"We've both been so work oriented, but I think we're both in a place where I should — you know — finally tell her what I've been, you know, feeling."

I reach out a hand and pat along Ginger's warm neck, scrambling' to get a better grip on her reins. Lookin' busy is better than tryin' to find something to say to the bumbling man.

"So, what do you think?"

What do I think? I think I've caught a crush on a girl I don't have a chance with. I think I've got the power to unravel her future with the man standing before me, if I wanted to, all with one terrible recommendation.

I think I want to punch him square in the face — that one comes to mind quick after I picture what'd happen if their date went well.

"Uh, yeah," I say, brows furrowing together. What was James' question again?

"Anywhere good nearby? Or in town, I guess. There's got to be somewhere."

Be the bigger person, I tell myself. "Yeah. Yes. Uh, Giovanni's is pretty good, if you want like, classic Italian," I tell James. "Or — there's this place called Mickey's. Sounds lame but it's really nice inside."

So I won't get the girl. I never really thought I would.

Like I told Charlotte last night — whether or not I find Alice wildly attractive has nothing to do with the fact that we've got no future. She's leavin' come Sunday and I'll be right here, like I always am. James is part of Alice's world. James gets to take her home … in more ways than one. He's the right choice.

"Mickey's?" James clarifies.

I nod my head. I even smile.

"Cool, that's perfect," James says. He tugs his phone out of his pocket and starts to type — I assume he's lookin' up my suggestions.

The sound of tires on gravel grabs our attention. We both look up to see Peter's truck rollin' down the driveway way off in the distance.

"Speak of the Devil," I say.

"We should go say hi," James tells me. I can sense how excited he is to get to Alice's side. "I've got to see what kind of damage Alice did," he says, before letting out a laugh.

"Sure," I say, standing still as James turns his body to watch the truck slow to a stop. He tucks his phone away and idly starts to wander in that direction, wavin' for me to follow along.

"You go ahead. I'll meet you over there," I easily lie. James takes my suggestion.

I realize that I'm mournin' something I never even had when I see Alice climb down out of Peter's truck. Her short black hair flaps around in the wind, just like the light coloured top she's wearing. Even from a distance, Alice looks beautiful. Something aches in my chest. That ache gets louder when I notice a pair of brown cowboy boots at the ends of Alice's legs. She looks so damn cute and I've got no right to be lookin'.

Peter helps Alice unload bag after bag from the back of the truck, all printed with the same strange logo from our local shoe store. A smile breaks across my face. How many pairs of boots did the woman buy? One for every day of the week, at least.

I need to get to work. I need to wipe the damn smile off my face. But I don't do any of that. I stand in place and keep watchin' Alice, like she's the most entertainin' thing around here.

She all but skips down the path with Peter in tow, talkin' her mouth off a mile a minute. Alice looks happier than I've ever seen, and that good mood hits me hard even from this distance, knocking the wind clear out of my lungs. I want to run over and soak up all that joy.

James is one lucky man.

I watch as the photographer approaches Alice and raises his hands in question. He motions towards all of Alice's shopping bags — of which there are far too many - and Alice lifts the bag she has in her right hand in response. When James gets closer, Alice hurls the bag in the man's direction with a grand sort of motion.

James drops his hands and shakes his head before reaching to take the bag out of Alice's waiting hand. When he does, a grin blooms across Alice's face, brightenin' the whole world around her. It must affect James same as it does me, because the man forcibly lifts Alice off the ground and spins her around. I can hear her fit of laughter clear as day.

Enough is enough, I think. I can't watch this anymore.

But I do. I stay and watch as Alice flings an arm around James' neck and holds on for dear life.

Why am I'm such a fucking masochist?

A/N 2: Also ... sorry to everyone who was excited about shoe shopping ! You'll get your Jalice shenanigans very soon, I promise ! Can't make it too easy.