A/N- t&a- SO sorry this update is late. I know we've been good about the regular updates and we will again, but the holiday weekend got in the way. Forgive us?
Your reviews, recs and general LOVE continue to make us giddy. Thank you for every review. We read, share and savor.
As always, we were not lucky enough to have Bella and Edward come to us in a dream, but if we did they would definitely have a little ink ;)
No one likes to take a test
Sometimes you know more is less
Put your weight against the door
Kick drum on the basement floor
Stranded in a fog of words
Loved him like a winter bird
On my head the water pours
Gulf stream through the open door
Fly away
Fly away to what you want to make
I feel it all, I feel it all
I feel it all- Feist
I know that they say that you shouldn't eat when you're upset. Does this apply to pouting, moping? Hopefully, the answer is no. The word is restraint. That's the goal, the purpose of me buying ingredients to bake enough cupcakes to feed a small school.
I was at that point. I had talked myself into taking a risk, detouring from my rut and then, he turned my world sideways. There are too many sources that say I should have forgiven and forgotten. We were only friends, at best. Friends who kissed, friends who read bedtime stories complete with ridiculous voices, that was it. So it should have been easy for me to put it behind me. There was no reason for me to feel slighted, wronged. And yet I do.
He's trying. Obviously he wants to return to where we were. I don't know if its possible, if I can talk myself back into the illogical place I was. Because damn it, I want it to mean more. I want to be the only one he tastes, the only one his son curls up to. And hence the cupcakes.
The grocery cart whines as I push it to the check out. I avoid the judging eyes of the checker as I pile sugar and flour onto the conveyor belt. The plan is to bake away my bitterness. To shove it all into something sweet so I can move on from this feeling, even if I don't want to.
My phone chirps from my pocket and I reach for it, ignoring the annoyed eye roll of the judgmental checker.
"i miss your face…u home?"
This is my problem. He can't say things like that. Dialogue like that, lines like that aren't exchanged between friends. And I can't pretend that the way I feel for him can be categorized as 'friends'. I sigh and type back that I'm grocery shopping. I shove my phone back in my pocket and swipe my card so the checker will stop giving me the stink eye.
And yet, there has to be something said for the fact that he finally gave me his story. After a lot of avoidance and using his tongue to distraction, I finally got to see more of him. The parts that maybe he doesn't show everyone. And I felt it. Felt his words and emotions bind me to him, even if it was just a bit.
The bags are heavy and when my phone chirps again I balance all of them on one arm, cutting off part of my circulation and reach for the phone.
"for the rest of the night?"
A sigh breaks past my lips and I slide all the bags to the grass before revealing to him my conquest to cure the world through cupcakes and let him know I'll be home soon. This is one of those times I wish I had somewhere exciting to be so I wouldn't be available for him to spin his confusion around.
It takes me several minutes to restore balance to my groceries and I trudge home ignoring the last chirp. The cupcakes are essential, needed sooner than later. I may have successfully ruined pumpkin pancakes, but I never fail with my cupcakes. It was the one thing my mother taught me to cook that stuck with me.
I shove my door open with my hip and lose myself in the kitchen, my mind blissfully distracted by measuring cups and mixing bowls. When someone pounds on my door I lose a cup of flour to the floor. I stare down at the scattered white and take a second to mourn its loss. My baking euphoria slips away as the pounding on the door resumes. I wipe my hands on my apron and twist towards the door.
The door isn't wide enough for me to fully see who is on the other side before a tiny head of copper pushes through the space. I stare down at Finn and step back to allow his father to follow. I can't even look up before Finn is bouncing around.
"Issybella, Daddy says that you're makin' cupcakes. And he says that 'cause you made pancakes without me, you would let me stir and lick the spoon! Would you, Issybella?" he pleads. I can't help but smirk as he looks up at me. I nod once before he squeals and barrels past me to the kitchen.
"It's not nice to ignore people's texts, B," Edward states. I finally turn my gaze on him and then wish I hadn't. The smirk is in full force, but his face is tense. I bring my thumb to my mouth and chew on my nail.
"I thought I answered all your texts. You asked where I was, when I would be home. I answered," I argue. He reaches forward and slowly pulls my phone from my back pocket before flipping it around to show me the screen. I read the alert and roll my eyes. My inner Betty Crocker took over and I missed his text.
"Oh," I breathe. He nods and tosses my phone on the futon. He leans in slowly, placing a hand on my chin. I clench my teeth closed, but a crash from the kitchen saves me.
"I think I made an uh-oh," Finn calls. I break away from Edward and turn into the kitchen. Flour hangs in the air like fog and Finn stands in the middle of it, lip quivering. I smile sadly before making my way to him.
"Not an uh-oh. You're supposed to make a mess when you bake. See that pile right there?" I point to my earlier spill and Finn's glassy eyes follow my finger. He nods slowly before looking back at me.
"That was my uh-oh. It's not a big deal," I assure him. He nods before taking a couple of shaky breaths. I want to pull him to me but resist. Instead, I drag the lone chair from my table and pull it next to the counter. I don't have to tell Finn to climb on.
"The best part about cupcakes is making them," I tell him. He nods seriously and watches stoically as I continue to add ingredients to the mixing bowl. I fill the measuring cup with flour before handing it off to him. His little hand shakes in concentration as he dumps into the bowl and he beams at me with pride after.
"Bella," Edward's voice breaks into our little bubble. I shake my head and look towards the main room. I can't see anything but the bottoms of his shoes as he reclines on the futon.
"Yeah," I call back. I turn my attention back to Finn, who is about to dump an entire bottle of vanilla into the bowl. There is a long list of reasons to enjoy this small person. At the top of it, in this moment, is that he is taking my mind off his father.
"You know your file on here called 'goodies'," he answers. My stomach falls to my shoes. Shit no. I take a couple of breaths and refuse to react. I should have known he was being too quiet. Should have thought to hide my computer. My body tenses as I help Finn stir.
"B, you didn't tell me you had such an extensive collection," Edward adds. I groan softly and shut my eyes. This is why people keep their 'stashes' under their bed and in hidden places. So nosey people like Edward Cullen don't stumble upon them. I straighten my back and resolve. I'm not going to be ashamed of this. Lots of people watch… those movies. It's a billion dollar industry.
"Next time we watch a movie, I'm picking from yours," he chuckles. I roll my eyes and focus back in on Finn and the cupcakes. Finn sticks a tiny piece of his tongue out as he focuses on stirring. How can this tiny, amazing person be a product of the over-grown boy in the next room?
"That's not really something I watch with anyone," I call back.
"Issybella, what color cupcakes are these?" Finn whispers. I smile at his tone. I look down at the brown batter and know that wasn't what he meant. I reach behind me to pull a spoon out before dipping it in the batter and offering it to him. His eyes grow wide.
"It's more enjoyable in the right company," Edward adds. I had forgotten about the snooping perv in the next room. Finn sucks happily at the spoon as I take over stirring.
"I really wouldn't know. Come in here and help us cook. Don't look at that stuff," I plead. I wait to hear any kind of movement, but know I won't be that lucky.
"It's chocolate," Finn states reverently, finally pulling the spoon from his mouth. I smile and nod before he hands it back, eager for more. I dip it into the batter again and pass it back. I am not above buying this child's love through sugar. I lift him off the chair and pull the pans from the cupboard.
"We're going to have to cook some of them, Finn," I tease and he nods solemnly.
"Can I help put them in the wrappers?" he asks. I smile and assure him he can.
"What's your favorite position?" Edward interrupts again. I drop one of the half greased pans at his words before frantically picking it back up. Finn laughs.
"Another uh-oh," he states.
"Um, they all look interesting. Seriously, Edward, just come in here," I call. Again, no hint of movement. Suddenly I am cursing the invention of the Internet and the ability to save files on computers.
"Have you tried any of them?" This will not end. He will not allow this to pass. I try to occupy my mind with the three year-old currently filling the muffin tins to calm my embarrassment.
"Like with another person? No. Not considering… well, let's just say no," I answer dejectedly. I'm not sure even cupcakes are going to be able to recover this day. I guide Finn's hand with my own and take every ounce of goodness I feel from his smiles to counteract the discomfort.
"Not considering what?" I clench my jaw and place a little cupcake batter on the end of Finn's nose. He almost crosses his eyes trying to get a look at it. I laugh a little. His tongue tries to reach the chocolate and I cave and dip the spoon in again.
"Well all of those… positions… require… well, full penetration? So yeah. No," I relent. Talking porn in child friendly terms is hard and this is all making my head hurt. I hear something hit the ground hard in the main room followed by a string of non-child friendly curses. Luckily, said child is in a slight chocolate haze.
"Wait. Are you saying you're a virgin?" The question is heavy, his voice is hoarse.
"What's a virgin?" The child chooses now to slip out of his sugar high. I sigh and chew on my lip a little.
"It's the oil we use in cupcakes," I tell him seriously. He nods, appeased, and pops the nearly clean spoon back in his mouth. Damn Edward and his broken verbal filter. I pick and pluck the words to use from my mind carefully.
"Well there was an unfortunate event with a bike crash when I was 11, so technically, you know, that's not completely true. But as far as the boy-plus-girl bit... Yeah," I reply. My pride is broken. I'm baking with a three year old while revealing to his father my lack of sexual experience.
I slide the cupcakes into the oven and hand Finn the nearly empty bowl. His eyes grow wide as he cradles it in his lap. I finally hear the rustling on the bed that I've been waiting for, but now I wish he would stay put. Edward appears in the doorway, leaning his weight against it.
"Well, I doubt the bike gave you an orgasm. Girl, you've never had an orgasm?" he breathes. My face is on fire and I turn it away from him. This is not a conversation I want to have with a man that I—who could possibly—hell, with anyone. Much less with a child in the room. I turn my eyes on him, feeling anger now, rather than embarrassment.
"I didn't say that. You said 'virgin'. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," I hiss at him. I'm grateful that Finn hasn't asked what an orgasm is. I don't know if I can write that off as a baking ingredient. He swallows thickly and I glance back at Finn, who is now trying to build a sky scrapper with my pots.
"Toys or fingers?" he breathes and I feel my body flush. I glance down at Finn and see him perk up at the mention of toys.
"You have toys?" he asks excitedly. I glance around the kitchen and hand him a figurine of a dog my mother sent me as a housewarming gift. I keep my eyes on the counter.
"Either. Or both. It just depends. Let's not talk about this," I whisper. I want to be the kind of character strong enough to fire Edward's questions back at him, but I don't want to feel slighted by his experience. The energy in the room is thick and hot and I want to break out of it.
"How many fingers?" he presses. He moves to sit next to Finn on the floor, like we're talking about sports teams or music. The little boy grins up at his father, his face coated in chocolate. Edward stretches out his t-shirt and cleans his face off, not caring about the stain. These are the two parts I can't merge.
"Uhh, one, I mean that does the job so…" I'm hoping my candor will speed this conversation along. There's enough history between us for me to know that avoiding his questions won't help anything, and will just make him more persistent. I turn and lean against the counter facing him full on, ready to show him all my embarrassment.
His face is stoic and his mouth falls open as he holds up a solitary finger for me to see. His brows furrow in question and I sigh and nod my answer.
"Not every one has the same appetite," I defend weakly. His eyes fall from mine and he shakes his head slowly. At least he's not laughing. My fragile ego couldn't take his chuckles right now. He finally lifts his eyes to mine and they're hooded, heated.
"You have no idea what you're missing, baby girl," he breathes and I swear I can feel his heat from across the small space. I swallow and turn to wipe at the flour coated counter tops. Finn's tower crashes to the ground, causing me to jump and both boys to laugh. The tension cracks a little, but remains heavy in the air.
"That would be the definition of 'virgin'. Not knowing," I state. Little by little, my anger surges forward, fueled by my pride. I sink to the floor next to Finn, offering my construction assistance in his next attempt. Our fingers meet and rub in our joint efforts. Finn sits on his knees between us, oblivious to anything other than chocolate and towers.
"Well, if you want some assistance in that department, I'm ready and more than willing," he smirks. And there's the chuckle I knew was waiting under the surface. Suddenly, I'm picturing him and all the faceless women that he's helped in that way. I slide away quickly, grateful for the beeping timer on the oven.
"I don't want some one to 'assist' me with it. I could have gotten a quick fix plenty of times. That wasn't, isn't, the issue," I mutter, more for myself than anything else. This was never about someone being willing. I went to college, was dragged to my share of parties. There were willing men.
I reach into the oven and I can feel him standing behind me. I turn and maneuver around him, unwilling to think of his other girls, of anyone else seeing him like I do.
He follows my movement and stays behind me.
"I'd be more than a quick fix, Bella. We both know that," he breathes into my hair. I can't fight the shiver that works its way down my spine. Do I know that? Because I'm pretty sure I don't. I'm pretty sure I have no clue what he does when I'm not around. Who he does when I'm not around.
"I want more from it than just pleasure. I can get pleasure from my 'toys and fingers'. It's going to mean something to me," I argue. I want him to tell me he can't give me that. Help me move on from my fixation.
I don't realize how stiff I am until he pulls me back into him. I'm tense and rigid against his warmth. He tugs and pulls until my body sags against his. I feel tears prick at my eyes because I know I've lost this fight. I'm not going to be able to deny myself him, even if it would be an act of self-preservation.
"It'd definitely be a lot of pleasure, but it'd be more than that. What are you getting upset about?" he asks. His breath is hot on the top of my head and I choke a little of the tears that I will not allow to fall. I can't answer that question. It's damning.
"It's just a mess in my head. Something I have to work out on my own," I insist, trying to break from his hold. He hangs on, unwilling to release me. I sag against him again and tilt my head to lean against his chest. I'm at war with myself. My head and heart and body are at odds and it's exhausting.
He turns my body and gazes down at me. His arms leave my torso so he can wipe his thumbs under my eyes and catch the moisture there. I turn my head away, unwilling for him to see this moment.
"I don't mean to make you cry and I keep doing it. It's not a big deal, you know. I was just surprised," he assures me and even that makes me angry. He leans down and takes my ear lobe into his mouth, sucking lightly. I tilt my head, giving him better access.
"It's not every day I hear about a virgin that's into porn. It's actually kind of sexy," he whispers. The heat spreads through my whole body and I jump when Finn's latest creation falls to the ground. Edward turns and I break away, anxious to regain thought and sanity.
"You okay, Huck?" he asks, crouching down next to his son. Finn crawls willingly into the arms I had occupied so recently and I feel my anger ebb. Edward lifts him effortlessly from the ground. They stand before me and my heart twists a little.
I reach forward and run my hand slowly and carefully through Finn's hair. It's so soft and the small boy grins at me.
"Thank you for all your help, Finn. I couldn't have made the cupcakes without you," I tell him and it's true. He gave me sanity when his father was robbing me of it. Finn's tiny fingers clutch at Edward's white t-shirt, dragging it down and revealing a line of red on his chest. I lean forward subconsciously, trying to get a better look.
I've seen the blueprint of his back, but his chest remains a small mystery, hidden from me by darkened rooms and t-shirts. Edward reaches up with his free arm and pulls his shirt down lower, showing me the lopsided, uneven inked heart over his own heart.
"Oh," I gasp. It's an odd choice, but I can tell from the heaviness in Edward's eyes that it isn't without meaning. I beg him for the story with my eyes.
"The kid drew the heart on my Father's Day card," he states. I look from him to Finn, who is now tracing the ink with his small fingers. The emotion surges up and my eyes well up again. I reach forward and follow Finn's action and we stand there, me and his son with our fingers over his heart.
"It's the best one yet," I sigh. I can feel his heartbeat beneath my fingers and the whole day suddenly weighs in on me, heavy and full of too much meaning.
"I'm pretty partial to it myself," Edward agrees. I break away and place a couple of the cupcakes in a Tupperware box before shoving it into Edward's free hand. I bring my thumbnail back to my mouth and wonder about getting a piece of my story on my own skin. What would I want it to read?
"I let him eat too much batter, but I want you guys to take these home. Eat them later, okay Finn?" I instruct. The toddler nods his heavy head before burying his face in his father's neck. I place my hand on his warm back and try to fight the attachment I feel for him. It's supposed to stay light, no strings and yet, all I feel here is strings, like a fucking puppet.
"You want to come back with us?" Edward asks. It isn't an issue of want. Of course, I want to. I want to be near him, them, and the warmth they radiate.
"I don't know," I sigh. Because I don't. My convictions aren't enough to muster up a viable excuse. He shifts the cupcakes to the crook of his arm and reaches around, fusing his hand into my hair. He pulls me closer to them and I fall forward willingly.
"It's simple enough. Yes or no," he insists. I take a deep breath and let myself get lost in him for a moment. He's asking about right now, but this will mean more than that. The battle of wills is about to come to an end.
"You want me to?" I ask, because I need some kind of commitment from him, no matter how small. It would tip the scales, give me the excuse I need.
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," he answers simply and I sigh. I pull slowly away from his grasp and his face twists in disbelief. I reach behind me to untie the apron.
"Yeah, I'll come with you," I breathe. And just like that, I've submitted to the part of me that doesn't adhere to logic or warning. I've opened myself up to the unrelenting chant of 'I told you so', should this all crumble around me. I don't bother with my laptop, not wanting to know what the faces on the wall think of my decision. For once this is about me writing my own story, without narration.
"Good, that's good. Don't think I haven't realized that you haven't kissed me. We're fixing that when we get home," he states. Something swells up inside of me at the word home and it pushes me forward on my toes and presses my lips to his soundly. If this is what I'm going to do, then I am going to do it completely.