"Everybody has a chapter they don't read out loud."

- Unknown -

Those Who Don't Search

Sighing quietly, I took a rag and began to wipe the counter, ignoring the fact that it was already perfectly clean and spotless. It was a slow Thursday afternoon at the café; most people were still at work, but I knew some of the tables would be full in an hour or two. I glanced at the elderly man who was sitting at the table in the far corner of the café, and I decided to go and check if his coffee cup was empty.

Taking a fresh pot from the machine, I walked across the café, offering the man a refill. I noticed his eyes were blue – not blue like cornflowers, but pale blue, like the summer sky. They didn't have the same effect on me as his eyes did.

Stop thinking about him.

I hadn't called him on Sunday like I'd earlier planned. Rosalie had tried to persuade me otherwise, but I'd made up my mind. He – I didn't want to think about his unusual, beautiful name – was clearly involved with someone. Maybe some were able to date multiple persons at the same time – or date people who dated multiple people at the same time – and be okay with it, but I wasn't that person.

He...the blond man with his sad smile and blue eyes, wasn't mine to pursue.

Maybe he never had been.

I walked back to the counter, rounding it and sliding the pot back into the machine. Rubbing my temples, I suddenly felt the familiar stirrings of a headache, and I had to blink to clear my vision. I'd been suffering from migraines since childhood, and I'd learned to recognize the early symptoms. I made a quick trip to the backroom and popped two pills into my mouth, downing them with a swig of water; taking medication early enough was the only way to stop the episode.

I made my way out of the backroom and vigorously continued to wipe the already spotless counter. I heard the door of the café open, but I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't lift my gaze right away. When I did realize someone had come in, I aborted my task and raised my eyes from the countertop, preparing to greet the incoming customer.

But as I lifted my gaze, I felt like all my strength left me. My eyes met with blue ones. Not pale blue, like the summer sky...but deep blue, like stormy seas. Like fields full of cornflowers.

I didn't say anything to him as he approached the counter – thank goodness the manager wasn't here, I'd have gotten some negative critique about that – and I just stared at him as he walked up to me. There was too much going on inside my head right then, and I tried to decide how to react, tried to understand why he was suddenly here. Seattle was the promised land of coffee, and I knew this wasn't the only café in this part of the city. There was another café across the street, actually, right next to a popular pub.

Why had he chosen to come here, then? Why here?

He stopped at the counter and smiled that sad smile of his. "Has that rag offended you?" he asked. "Or is it the counter you're displeased with?"

I blinked – that was not something I'd expected him to say. Apparently, he felt the need to explain, making me realize I had been quiet for a really long time.

"You were wiping the counter very passionately a moment ago," he qualified, a small smile still tugging at his mouth.

"Oh." I closed my eyes momentarily and shook my head. "Uh...I was just trying to make my time pass with something. It's a quiet afternoon." I put the rag away and washed my hands quickly. "What can I get for you?"

"Just a regular coffee, please. No sugar."

"Milk or cream?"

"Cream, please."

Carlisle went to sit down at one of the tables, while I poured the coffee and added the cream. When I took it to him, he gave me warm smile. I idly took notice that he looked even more tired than the last time I'd seen him. The shadows under his eyes seemed more prominent.

"Here you go." I placed the coffee in front of him and returned his polite smile – I had just come to the decision to be casual and not let him know just how confused I actually was about seeing him again.

"Thank you."

"Anything else? Would you like a pastry with that?"

"Some other time, perhaps." He flashed me another brilliant smile. I turned away and left him to enjoy his coffee. I began to collect empty cups from a nearby table; I had to take them away to be washed. I wondered if he watched me as I did that, and I tried not to think about what Rosalie had said a few days ago about my waitress uniform. "You look so innocent and sweet in that little red apron..."

"How's your hand?"

His question almost managed to startle me. I turned to give him a polite smile, holding up my right hand. "It's a lot better. I don't even have to cover the cuts any longer."

"Would you let me take a look?"

If his first question had startled me, this one definitely did. I placed the cups back on the table, clearing my throat nervously and walked over to him. I was pleased that my hand didn't tremble as I held it out for him to see. His fingers cradled my hand, and I shivered, despite the fact his skin was pleasantly warm. He examined the healing cuts carefully, giving a small nod.

"Looks good. I don't think they'll even scar." As he said that, I saw his eyes drift to the long, ugly scar on the inside of my arm. Once again, he probably wondered where I had gotten that.

"That's good," I told him and gave him a wan smile, pulling my hand back. "I have enough scars as it is, as you can see."

He gave me a sympathetic smile. "Is it because you're a trouble magnet, like you put it?"

"Yeah, I guess. That's only half of the truth, though. I'm really clumsy, you see. I can't even walk up the stairs without ending up in the ER."

He looked like he didn't quite know if he should be amused or worried. There was a beat of silence, and he just watched me and studied my face, as if to memorize it. I looked away first; I didn't want to experience the warm wave of emotion every time he looked at me like that.

Looking away didn't help much, though. I suddenly felt very warm. Too warm, like every inch of my skin was on fire.

"So." I was suddenly anxious to break the silence that had fallen for some reason or another. "No more classes for you today, Dr. Cullen?" I didn't know why I called him that – he had told me to call him Carlisle, after all. Maybe it was a desperate attempt to try to distance myself from him. Calling him by his given name seemed suddenly very intimate. Too intimate.

He shook his head, his expression unfocused for a moment. "No. I have some paperwork to do and essays to read over, and I was on my way home to take care of them, when I…" He paused and hesitated. "Well, I drove by here and remembered you told me you work here. I decided to stop and ask about your hand."

"That was very thoughtful of you." I gave him a small smile, but it turned into a grimace as a sudden stab of pain went through my head. He noticed it.

"Is everything alright?"

I nodded, rubbing my temples. "I'm fine. I think I'm developing a migraine, that's all. I've been feeling weird all day."

"Do you have medication for it?"

"Yes. I've already taken it."

"Does your shift end soon, so you can go home and get some rest?"

"I get off in an hour."

He nodded in a pondering manner, looking at me closely. "Have you remembered to eat?"

"Well... the lunch hour was a bit busy, I guess," I admitted. When I saw that he opened his mouth – without a doubt to remind me of the obvious connection between a migraine and low blood sugar – I found myself grinning. He snapped his mouth shut, smiling confusedly at my expression.

"Nothing," I said and gave a soft laugh. "It's just that...well, you told me you quit practicing a few years ago, but it seems as if you're still a doctor, heart and soul."

His smile fell faster than a stone dropping from the sky, and he glanced down at his half-empty coffee cup. His reaction confused me, making me realize I had said something wrong – unintentionally, of course. I was about to apologize and ask him if I'd offended him, but then, he lifted his gaze again, that familiar, slightly sad smile playing on his lips once more.

"Yes," he murmured quietly. "I suppose that's so. Old habits die hard." He frowned in a reflective manner, seeming lost in thought. After a moment, he snapped out of it and met my gaze again. "I was surprised to see you at the restaurant a few days ago," he said in a lighter tone. "It truly is a small world. We seem to keep running into each other every time we least expect it."

"True," I admitted, giving a soft chuckle.

"That friend of yours who was in your company," he continued, "Rosalie, was it? She seemed very...nice."

I had to force myself to keep the smile on my lips. I realized I'd possibly been right when I'd suspected he had a thing for blondes. "Yeah. She is nice," I answered. "I'd know. We grew up together."

"Really?"

I nodded, suddenly thinking to myself that I had nothing to lose. I might as well see how he would react to my next words. "You know, I'd give you her number, but she's taken."

He gave a confused laugh, shaking his head. "No, that's...that's not why I said what I did."

"Oh, right." I pretended I'd just now remembered he'd had company at the restaurant. How ironic that I'd spent several days trying to forget that. Forget her. "You know, I forgot that you were with someone on Saturday. She seemed..." I struggled for words, then – we hadn't been even introduced, after all, so I really couldn't comment.

He came to my aid – I wondered if I'd been too obvious just now. He probably saw through me and knew I'd just wanted to see how he would react to my words.

Damn. Rosalie was so much better at this.

"Kate is very lovely," he told me, giving me a small smile.

"Oh. That's a pretty name." Wow. That's a stupid thing to say. "How long have you two been together?" I was pleased that my voice was light and casual, like I didn't even give a flying...something.

I wondered if my question made him uncomfortable – it was a rather personal question, after all. He glanced down at his coffee cup again before answering.

"Not very long. Just a couple of weeks," he murmured, hesitating. "But, uh..." he sighed, "Well, I guess there's no subtle way to say this. We're not exactly together anymore. You happened to witness the beginning of our last date on Saturday."

"Oh." About a hundred thoughts went through my head during one single second. Like...why was he telling me that? I'd brought it up, of course, but if the topic was this sensitive, he could have lied. Or he could have just answered "just a couple of weeks" and fallen silent after that. But he hadn't. Why, why, why?

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, after I had managed to silence my inner dialogue. I was surprised to realize I was being honest – I was sorry, but only because of the bleak look in his eyes. Again, I wondered if he was lonely. It was as if he was suffering from some deep, inner sadness, and a stranger or not, I didn't want that for him. He seemed like a good man.

He gave me a long look and nodded. "These things happen," he said offhandedly. "We were just looking for different things, that's all."

I drew in a deep breath, for some reason feeling braver than normal. "And...what is it that you're looking for?"

The look in his dark, blue eyes was almost surprised. There was a spark in them I hadn't seen before; he clearly hadn't expected me to be so straightforward.

"I don't know, exactly." His tone was reflective, almost uncertain. "Perhaps...I'm not looking for anything. Sometimes, I think...sometimes, I feel that particular time of my life may be behind me. Perhaps I should stop looking and be content with my life as it is."

"But...you're not?"

His smile was sad again. "Perhaps not."

"Have you tried to be?" I shook my head and tried to rephrase my question. "I mean, you said that...that particular time of your life might be behind you. Do you mean relationships and dating in general?"

"The thing is..." He hesitated again, and there was confusion in his cornflower blue eyes – I'd suppose he was wondering why he was talking about such personal matters with someone he didn't even know. Maybe he was planning on not seeing me ever again, and that was why he felt like he could be so open with me. The thought hurt more than it should have.

"Well, it's complicated. The thing is, no matter what I do, no matter how much I search..." he sighed and gave a soft, sorrowful laugh. "Sometimes, it's impossible to regain what you've lost." He kept staring at his coffee cup, but after a moment, he seemed to remember I was still standing there. "I'm sorry. You must have better things to do than listen to my ramblings."

"You were just answering my question." Or not answering it – I had to admit, I wasn't much wiser than a moment ago.

"What about you?" he asked. For a moment, I thought he was just trying to take the attention off himself, but he seemed genuinely interested.

"Me?" I asked, slightly caught off guard by his question.

He nodded, smiling softly. "Are you searching for anything, Bella?"

I had to repeat his question in my mind to be able to answer – I was momentarily overwhelmed by the unexpected rush of warmth inside me. It was the first time he had spoken my name since coming here, and hearing him say it affected me more than it should have.

"I guess I used to search for something," I answered with a smile, keeping my voice light.

"But not anymore?"

"I guess not."

"Why? What happened?"

My other hand went to the scar on the inside of my arm, my fingers kneading the slightly uneven skin. The movement was involuntary, and I didn't even realize what I had done, until I saw his eyes taking notice of my unintentional action. I tried to cover it by crossing my arms over my chest in a relaxed manner, but it was too late.

"I don't know," I told him, giving an easy shrug and trying to hide my confusion. "Maybe I don't know what I'm searching for. Or maybe I do, but...I'm a hopeless romantic, like Rosalie always keeps telling me. And romantics usually end up alone, don't they? Nothing meets our standards, after all." I gave him a playful, dry smile, and he laughed softly.

"Well, I certainly hope that won't be the case with you."

Christ, his eyes seemed to turn even bluer whenever he smiled like that.

"I don't know. Maybe I should be more like you and not search for anything." I didn't know what made me say that, but I would have done practically anything to see into his mind at that moment. Carlisle's eyes flashed in a curious way as he heard the words, and then he glanced down at the table as if to gather himself. When he looked back up at me after a moment, the expression on his face made my spine prickle.

"Well, Bella..." his lips formed my name slowly, like he enjoyed speaking my name and tried to savor it, "I suppose that's a decision only you can make."

Okay. And what did that mean?

It seemed like he wouldn't be the one to give me an answer – he glanced down at his half-empty coffee cup, apparently about to drink the rest, even though it was probably cold by now.

"Can I pour you some more to warm that up?" I asked. "Or bring you a new one?"

"Thank you, but no. This is fine." He smiled before gulping down the rest of his coffee – for some reason, I got the feeling that he was used to having his coffee cold for one reason or another. Maybe he was so busy, he never had any time to enjoy it while it was still hot.

I collected the empty cups from the nearby table and took them away. When I was about to take him the check, once again, I began to feel unreasonably sorrowful, because I realized he was about to leave. I looked toward his table where he was still sitting, and my heart began to hammer in my chest as a crazy, self-destructive idea popped into my head. I took a pen and scribbled down my number on the check. Under the number, I wrote:

Those who don't search for anything are harder to disappoint.

- Bella

God, that was pathetic. And very cliché. But I'd told him I was a romantic, after all. And Rosalie had said it was me who should take the initiative – that he might be unwilling to take the first step because of our obvious age difference. This was my chance. If he chose not to react, well...at least I'd tried.

I took him the check and placed it face down on the table next to his cup, giving him a polite smile.

"Here you go, Dr. Cullen."

He returned my smile. "Thank you."

I turned around and made my way back to the counter, trying not to run; I didn't want to be there when he saw the check.

"Bella?"

Crap. I turned around, a wave of relief flooding through me when I saw he hadn't looked at the check yet. "Yes?" My voice sounded ridiculously frail.

He just looked at me for a while, long enough that I began to feel nervous. His gaze made some strange, intense heat flood through me. "Please. Call me Carlisle."

I let out a breath in a rush. "Carlisle." My lips formed his name, like they'd invented it. Like they wanted to own it. Maybe they did.

I couldn't stand there a moment more. I turned around again, making a beeline for the backroom door. I closed it behind me and leaned against it, raising my hands to my cheeks and realizing my face was flooding with heat. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths and counted slowly to thirty. Only then I ventured to open the door and step out.

Carlisle was no longer there. With trembling steps, I walked to his table and saw he had left a few bills next to his cup. I took another deep breath again, repeating Rosalie's favorite phrase; the ball was in his court now. As I collected his empty cup and took the bills from the table, my heart nearly jumped up to my mouth when I saw there was writing on one of the bills. I had to put the cup back on the table; my fingers were trembling furiously.

I couldn't agree more. However, those who know what they're searching for have fewer regrets.

- Carlisle

I stared at his neat, ornate handwriting, wishing his words would have given me answers, instead of invoking even more questions.