Chapter 2

Edward looks around the house and spies the painting, walking over to look at it closely. "It's finished already?"

"I think so." I pour us a glass of wine each, quite proud of how it turned out, and while he's staring at it, I can study him closely. He really is beautiful. His nose is very straight and the scruff can't camouflage a chiseled jaw. For a moment, I think of sitting in his lap, shaving him very slowly and then taking tiny random snips from his hair, prolonging a haircut for as long as possible. Shaking my head, I know I should stop fantasizing about him, but it's difficult when he's here in my house.

Handing him a glass, I ask, "You know I used your colors to transform the painting?"

He shrugs. "My colors? I'm not an artist. What does that mean?"

"The gold from your hair and the gray of your eyes are the highlights. Since you made the suggestion, I think it's fitting."

After a sideways glance, he scratches his cheek. "Hmm, well it looks like you've added more blue."

Standing next to him, I can see what he means. Because of the glow on the ocean, everything is lighter, tricking the eye into seeing a blue tint.

"Well, it's an optical illusion. There's no blue in the painting."

"Still, it is there. I can see it."

As we stand together, almost touching, I start to feel a tingling sensation. It's like I'm in heat and my body registers his maleness next to me. It's fabulous and awkward.

"Would you like to eat now, Edward? It's ready."

His shoulders drop slightly and he nods, as if he's been dying for this announcement. "It smells great, and I'm starving."

"That's good, but I'm not a very fancy cook. It's chicken."

"I like chicken."

I smile and serve my all-time favorite comfort food, one of Mom's specialties. Accompanied by mashed potatoes mixed with a dash of cream, it's perfect. While Edward watches the steaming stew hit the plate, he licks his bottom lip.

"More?" I ask, and he nods enthusiastically. When I hand him the plate, he grins.

Expecting him to devour it, he surprises me by being a refined eater, combining a little mash with the stew on his fork and savoring each mouthful. It's exactly the way Mom taught me to eat it. Then he puts his knife and fork down and smiles at me.

"Thank you for going to all this trouble. I haven't had a meal like this for a while. It's delicious."

Great. He's just given me an excuse to ask him about himself.

"Are you on vacation here?" He nods, taking another mouthful. "Where are you staying?"

"Three doors up. I'm rattling around in a huge house but I had to find somewhere pet friendly."

"I don't want to pry but…why are you on your own?"

He looks to the ceiling, as if he's wary of answering or looking for inspiration, and suddenly I wonder if I really want to know. "I needed to get away."

Swallowing a mouthful, I take a sip of the wine and wait, watching his body language.

"Something happened at work."

As casually as I can, I ask, "What do you do?"

"Traitor," he answers, and eats some more.

"Did you say traitor?" I ask, knowing I must have misunderstood.

He shakes his head and swallows. "No, I'm a trader, a stockbroker."

I breathe out very slowly, trying to hide my crushing disappointment. Why did he have to be in that line of work? Now I understand why he seemed arrogant and why he didn't blink over the cost of the painting.

"Something wrong?"

"No." I won't be rude because it's none of my business. He's just a nice man who is good company while he's passing through, taking a break from his addiction to making money. The "something" that happened at work will be a mistake or more likely, a crime, so it's best if I ask something else. "You're a long way from home."

"Well, as I said, something happened at work. I was working in the pit, the heart of the madness of the Stock Exchange, when I made a stupid mistake. It was the end of a huge Friday of stressful trading and my concentration slipped. A particular stock was on the rise and we were all watching it, ready for a killing. I had three clients ready, and at the perfect moment, I completed the first transaction, but I bought at top dollar instead of selling. In two seconds, I lost the first client thirty grand. I composed myself enough to make the other two sales, but the stock had already lost ground by then.

"It felt like someone was sitting on my chest when I found an office to do some creative tinkering, transferring the money back into the client's account. I contacted him and lied that I'd missed the sale, praying he hadn't been watching his account at the time, and he fired me, as he should. He won't find out what I actually did.

"I kept trying to ignore the insidious feeling in my chest. The other two accounts…Christ, there would have been hundreds of thousands involved. When the pain got worse, I called my father. He's a heart surgeon. He met me at the ER for a barrage of tests which showed nothing more than a panic attack, but he lectured me about managing my stress levels, saying he was worried about me, and it was like a wake up call. I knew I'd end up having a heart attack by the time I was forty and for what? Money? I already had enough money. Just the brownstone is worth two million now. I can trade my own stocks on line to give me enough to live on.

"I walked out of there and turned my phone on, having completely forgotten my girlfriend was waiting at a restaurant to celebrate our anniversary and that this dinner was my last chance to salvage our relationship. Her third text was two words, 'IT'S OVER.'

"A few days later, I rented a pick-up, grabbed the dogs, and took off. These two mutts have fallen in love with beaches. I've been travelling around, talking to people about small businesses, whether to buy something already in place or start something up from scratch.

"What kind of business?" I ask, intoxicated by his enthusiasm for change.

"My first love was music, so I'm thinking a music school or an instrument shop. I like your taste in classical, by the way. It's very relaxing."

He's a constant surprise. "Do you play?"

"Yes. Piano and guitar. I can teach kids out of the shop and have someone manage it for me. I want to be involved but I don't want it to own me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it makes perfect sense." He's really starting to impress me. I can't take my eyes off him when every expression, movement and hand gesture suddenly fascinates me. Minus the beard, I imagine he's devastating. "Do you always wear the beard?"

I see him taken aback slightly by the comment. Without being in my head, it's come out of nowhere, and I realize I've misplaced my verbal filter.

"You don't like it?"

Short of an appropriate answer, I start to giggle, having dug myself into a hole.

"What?" He frowns at me, questioning my sanity. I just grin at him, watching the moment he gives up and goes back to finishing the food, touching his lips softly with the napkin and humming in satisfaction. "That was so good."

Taking his plate, I tell him the only thing I have for dessert is ice cream and peaches. His eyes sparkle and a huge smile takes over his face. Suddenly, I want to offer him so much more for dessert, and my heart is pounding when I reach the kitchen. He follows me and parks himself on a stool, watching as I serve the ice cream with a slight tremor in my hand.

Quietly, he asks me, "So, are you sick of New York?"

"No, I love New York. I had to get away as well. It was uncomfortable after my husband and I split when all our friends were mutual. No one understood why I left him."

"Why did you leave him?"

"I don't discuss that," I say, handing him his dessert.

He looks down at the bowl in front of him. "Okay." Instead of going back to the table, he takes his spoon and starts eating, obviously too well-mannered to push me. However, I do want to talk. He's been so open with me, and there are many general things I can discuss.

"Look, he's not a bad person. He was very generous with his money—spoiled me really—but he was married to his job."

"What does he do?"

"Lawyer."

He nods as if this one word explains everything. "You strike me as a kind of thoroughbred, Bella. Where did you go to college? No, let me guess, Brown."

I laugh and shake my head. "No, I don't come from money. I won a scholarship for the art program at Columbia. It was there that we first met, actually. We were selling our paintings for charity and he came with one of his clients to the event, buying both of my paintings. There was definitely an instant attraction between us, but I declined his offer of dinner because I was about to leave for Paris. After a year away, he was waiting for me when I came home. He swept me off my feet and we were married six months later.

"Personally, I think he liked saying his wife was an artist, as if it gave me some credibility when I came from a completely different social status. Unfortunately, at only twenty-two, I became the wife of a socialite lawyer on his way to the top, and I didn't have the background required for the job. I no longer had time to paint when everyone was counting on me to create a magnificent home so we could present ourselves as the couple. We seemed to be constantly entertaining, and he had the money, so I employed people to advise me, and soon I was adding zeros to the price of my dresses, going out and spending a small fortune. I know how addictive money can be."

"Yeah, me too."

"I started to crave things like just the two of us going to dinner or a movie when I was alone while he worked until late. That's why I got Tiger as company. He was the cutest puppy." Edward smiles and nods, probably remembering how life is with a new puppy. "So, being married to Emmett McCarty wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

Suddenly, Edward nearly chokes on his ice cream. "Are you shitting me?"

"About what?"

"Emmett McCarty was the client. He's the one who fired me when I made the mistake that caused the panic attack. He's basically the reason I'm here."

Unable to speak, my mouth drops while I take this in.

Shaking his head slowly, he says, "Eight million people live in New York City. What are the odds?"

"I can't believe it."

"My sister introduced us. She's the interior designer who was working on his new offices at the time and we had dinner with him and a woman. Obviously, it wasn't you. She was a blonde."

Well, that confirms he'd been seeing her on the side for a while. Strangely, I had no ill feelings towards Rosalie. She was a sweet girl who idolized Emmett and she was welcome to him. I did want to warn her, though, about completely losing herself to his world. "That would have been his PA, Rosalie. He's marrying her in five weeks time. What is your sister's name?"

"Alice."

"Alice Whitlock is your sister?"

"Yes."

"She's done work in my home as well. I mean our old home. She's very talented."

"What is this...six degrees of separation?"

"I don't know, it's beyond incredible."

"Let's keep going and see if there's anything else. Where did you grow up?"

"Queens."

"Hmm. We were in North Brooklyn. Who are your parents?"

"My mom is Renee. She was a stay at home mom and my father is a retired cop. His name is Charles Swan."

Edward coughs and says, "As in the former Chief of New York City, Charles Swan?"

"Yep, he retired as Chief of Department."

"Christ. He and my father go way back. He worked the seventy-sixth precinct when we were kids. He used to be at the hospital all the time when Dad worked there."

"That's right, and Dad was the commanding officer for North Brooklyn before the big promotion."

"My dad did his heart surgery. Did you meet him?"

"No, I never met the surgeon. This is too much, Edward."

"So you were Bella Swan. I'm Edward Cullen." We shake hands and laugh together. "This is crazy."

After that, we take our wine to the couch and reminisce about growing up in New York and interesting people we knew, finding no more connections, but still astounded we met on a beach seven hundred miles away. When he leaves, we swap phone numbers, and I want to hug him like a long lost friend. I've had the most wonderful evening, and I don't want him to go.

"You should seriously think about delivering my painting in person, Bella. It's my mom's birthday in three weeks and she will love this because she knows the beach so well. Give me a note so she knows it's me in the painting."

I laugh again, my cheeks flushed and overworked from all the smiling and giggling, but what he just said reminds me of something.

Suddenly, his expression changes and he moves my hair over my shoulder. "Or you could tell her yourself. I know my dad would like to meet you." Wondering what he's actually asking, my stomach feels strange, sinking over what I've forgotten. Twelve months have passed since the dinner with my parents, the night before I came down here, when they didn't understand why I had to get away and I told them a pack of half-truths about why I was ending my marriage.

"It's my birthday on Thursday. It actually slipped my mind."

The frown and cute little pout shows he feels sorry for me. "You forgot your own birthday?" he asks, touching my hair again.

"Incredible," I answer, shaking my head.

"Well, if you haven't made plans, we could do something. I'll still be around, and I owe you a dinner now."

The invitation makes me smile. "I'd love that. I had a really good time tonight."

"So did I." He looks at my lips for a moment and then says, "Well, I guess I have to break up the party out back. Thank you for the excellent meal and company."

"My pleasure. Thank you for the wine."

He stands awkwardly for a couple of seconds, then heads out the back door. I hear him talking quietly to the dogs, saying good night to Tiger, and when I hear the side gate close, I go to the patio to wave goodbye.

"I still can't believe this. I'll see you later," he says, walking backwards and shaking his head as he leaves. I smile as I watch him go and hear him asking the dogs if they had a good time. He talks to them like humans too.

The following afternoon, I bound to the front door when I hear the knock, but it's not Edward. It's a courier with a huge parcel. When I open it, I find the most beautiful hand-made quilt from my parents. Mom has a gift for mixing unusual fabrics together and this one is a masterpiece. I call her immediately and the conversation soon turns to my new acquaintance and our connections.

Dad is on the other phone, as usual, and he relates all his history with Doctor Cullen, the man he credits with saving his life. He says he often had brag fests with Carlisle about their successful children, so he knows a little about Edward and Alice. When I tell them that Edward has asked me to deliver the painting, Mom jumps on it, saying she misses me, trying to persuade me to come home and stay for a while. She tells me I might need her when the wedding could be more emotional than I realize. Mom doesn't know I'm over Emmett, or that I'm only attending to collect my check.

Then she asks me something I'm not prepared for. "Are you thinking about taking Edward to the wedding?" I had always pictured myself going alone and not staying for very long, but it would be a huge confidence boost, seeing the old crowd with a handsome man on my arm. Imagining him in a tux with a shave, I wonder if he would agree.

The morning of my birthday, Edward arrives early with his two boisterous dogs and a huge bunch of flowers, asking if I'd like a walk on the beach. I'm so happy to see him that I hug him and he kisses me on the lips. It happens so fast that neither of us is prepared for it, clumsily backing away. With my cheeks on fire, I put the flowers in water, get Tiger, and we kick our shoes off to head down the walkway to the sand.

"What did you do yesterday?" I ask, wondering why I didn't see him.

"I checked out another business."

"Are you going to buy something down here?" Oh, please say yes.

Unfortunately, he shakes his head. "This area is incredible, but my home is New York and I love it there."

So, he's going back. Great. Happy birthday to me.

I don't know what to say, so I let Tiger off the lead and watch him run into the water. He never goes out far. Edward's two follow, bounding past him, swimming out much farther, until a wave crashes into them. They bark at each other, racing back to stand with Tiger in a couple of inches of water washing up around their legs. The three of them look like they've called a meeting, standing in the shimmering ocean.

"Do you think they communicate, Edward? I wonder what they'd say," I comment, keeping my eyes on them, fascinated.

"I haven't seen any friction between them, so it's probably just the usual: gourmet bones, the hot bitches in the neighborhood, whose ass smells good lately."

Looking up at him, I find he's deadly serious. Then the corners of his mouth turn up and a chuckle comes out. I crack up and can't stop giggling. He beams at me, pleased I enjoyed his joke, and holds his hand out. "Come on birthday girl, let's walk."

As I take it, I can't help comparing Edward to Emmett, knowing if I was here with my ex-husband, he'd be talking on his cell. As it's turned out, I get to spend my nearly forgotten birthday with a handsome man who, incredibly, has a lot in common with me, especially his love of dogs. Even if he does go back home soon, I'll always have this happy memory.

The dogs charge up ahead of us, dance around each other, and then take off again. They're having the time of their lives without restrictions, and Tiger is way more vocal than usual, enjoying the company. I am, too.

"Shit." Edward lets go of my hand. "Simon!" He yells at the top of his lungs when the larger dog looks like he's not going to stop. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls again, finally stopping Simon, who runs back at full speed, then drops down on the sand, panting with his long tongue hanging out.

"I've never heard you use their names before."

"Simon is the younger of the two, but he turned out bigger than we thought. Simon's not what you'd call smart. He was starved in the womb, looked okay, but he had micro-fractures caused by a severe calcium deficiency. It took six weeks of tablets to bring him back to normal, so I'm very careful with his diet. I only give him bones and—"

"Kibble. My vet told me the same."

"Yeah, I asked the vet if they'd get bored and he gave me a blank look and said, 'They're dogs,' so I guess they don't care. Simon's lovable, but Fang looks at him sometimes and then at me as if to say, 'This joker's a moron.'"

I start to giggle again, looking at that sensational tongue. "He's gorgeous. So the smaller one is Fang?"

"Yeah, he's missing…" Edward taps a finger up to his teeth at the side. "One of his canines. He was born that way."

"Can he eat okay without it?"

"Doesn't seem to bother him. You know you have the sweetest laugh, Bella. You sound like a little girl."

"Except that I'm thirty-two today."

"Oooo." He wiggles his eyebrows and then wraps an arm around my waist. "I like older women."

Blushing, I push on him and say, "We should be heading back."

He pouts again and takes my hand. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes. Do you want me to suggest somewhere?"

"Uh, I guess I like a woman who takes control," he answers, looking down at his feet.

I hope I haven't hurt his feelings, and I stop and pull him back. "I'm sorry, it's just because—"

"I'm kidding. I understand. You live here," he says, leaning very close to me. "Unfortunately." He looks at my lips again before we continue. The dogs keep a steady pace with us now, not venturing far away. He asks about Tiger and I confess all the trouble I went to in choosing the right breeder, and establishing the sire and bitch's temperaments first. It probably sounds like I was such a princess.

Edward points out the spot where he thinks their old vacation house might have been. It's no longer there, replaced by a mansion of concrete and glass.

When we arrive back, he says he has a few calls to make and that he'll pick me up at six. Maybe he registers the disappointment on my face because he pulls on my hand and says, "I want to get something off my chest, Bella. I think your ex-husband was an idiot."

He leans in and I wait for him to kiss me, but he lets my hand go and leaves once again with his two terrific mutts, scratching his scruff. It doesn't seem like he's teasing me. I just have to figure out what's holding him back.

Once Tiger is clean and toweled dry, we come inside, welcomed by the fragrance from Edward's flowers. I bury my nose in them and smile as I take a good look at the arrangement. Green hydrangeas form a clever framework for two dozen roses in classic autumn colors of yellow, orange, and an almost red. They are a beautiful and thoughtful birthday present for someone he hardly knows, and I feel guilty for not gushing over them more. I can't remember even thanking him properly except for the impromptu hug, and it reminds me he kissed me when he merely reacted and wasn't over thinking things.

As I carefully cut each stem on an angle, keeping the ends submerged, I decide it's time to give him some encouragement.

~ xxx ~