Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Twilight characters or the rights to "Pardon Me" as performed by Incubus, and I will not be earning income from using these materials. I do, however, own the storyline and any original characters. Thank you.

A/N: As always, to my FFA buddy clarabella75, your amazing Grammar skills and ability to bring me nearer to correct comma usage in spite of my deathly fear of them warm my heart and make me love you all the more! You are a fantastic person who gets through these and keeps my stuffs together. Thank you for being such an awesome you. :D And guys, she writes! You should go read, cause she's awesome. Also, a huge thank you to all of my reviewers - SapphireSage, FlapperGirl, Kd-Masen, and mesmerizeme, you bring me the same warmth as RPatzz and a cigarette ... only in different places. :P

And I can't forget those silent readers. :) You warm my heart and I hope you are enjoying. Thank you for the love and the Alerts. :)

Also, if you'd like to keep up with some fun pics and teasers for this story, I'll be spreading the love daily at my Facebook page at this name - Skychaser Fanfic-Reader. Friend me, cause I'm a social networking h00r! :P And speaking of social networking, if you want to experience some awesome times with the MOST awesome ladies around, you should DEFINITELY check out the Fanficaholic Anonymous page and forum, because we rock! :D And if you want to rock, you should join us. Just sayin'.

Chapter Five:
Into Flames

"A decade ago,
I never thought I would be
at twenty-three, on the verge of
spontaneous combustion, woe is me …
I need you to hear,
I need you to see,
That I have had all I can take,
And exploding seems like an imminent possibility to me.
So pardon me while I burst into flames."

"Pardon Me" – Incubus

"Daddy?"

My feet, cushioned on the soft ground, pattered noiselessly as I ran, zigzagging through walls of trees, carpeted by thick oriental rugs.

"Daddy?"

My voice picked up an octave, frantic. Visions, half in shadow, drifted, appearing beside me. I ran, but my small feet never gave me any distance. The trees looked the same. Momma. Grammy. Angie. Over and over again, all looking at me. Worried smiles. I could never get them. I ran. I saw him. The carpet grew thicker under my feet. His smile lit up my world; his rough jaw, hazel eyes, and open arms the safest haven.

"Daddy!"

I ran. My feet gained ground this time, the shrill cries from my eight year old throat odd to my ears.

"Daddy!"

He raised one hand in the air. Immediately, my body ground to a halt. I crossed my arms in front of me. I looked forward expectantly, partial complacency competing with my need to simply hold him. My skinny body leaned forward, not understanding.

"Daddy?"

He smiled. I could see it from here, plain as day, a light to the dark tree line around me. He shook his head. I frowned. My eyelids shut and then opened. It was as though a lens snapped into place, transforming my vision from blurred into perfection. I could see.

"Edward."

His name was a breath on my lips. Snow covered the ground in thick, heavy layers, warm to my bare feet. I ran. I slid through the snow easily. Only a few meters separated us.

He smiled, farther, wider, and happier than my father.

My body collided with his, warm silk against pliable flesh. My arms, no longer skinny and short, slid, easily and eagerly, around his torso, buried inside of his over shirt. My cheek pressed against his, savoring the feel of the rough, granular edges and the pull of his cheeks as he smiled. He was warmth, endless and eternal warmth. And he was holding me.

He was holding me. Not eight-year-old me, but me. My lips pressed a small, hard kiss underneath his ear.

"Izzy," his voice was rough, granulated honey, sweet and torn, pure and tattered. His arms were growing looser. Mine tightened, pulling my vision over his shoulder.

An object sat in the grass behind him, melting puddles of snow surrounding its base. It was cold and hard, grey and granite …

Bang! Bang! Bang!

My … life … sucked.

Rolling over, I suppressed the groan and pulled my hair up from over my eyes, glancing at my alarm clock. Which hadn't been set for a damn good reason. The blinking red lights confirmed my irritation – 9:46 a.m. Which meant it felt more like 6:46 a.m.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I rolled back over, pulling my pillow over my head and feigning sleep.

Bang bang bang!

The knocking became more insistent. After a while of lying buried beneath my sheets, my mind reached enough lucidity to realize the banging at the door could very well be my absent-minded roommate who had locked herself out of our apartment. I rolled over and grumbled all the way to the door.

Bang bang bang bang bang!

"I'm coming!" My mumbled exclamation probably seemed more like a growl. I cleared my throat and reached for the doorknob.

"Geez, Alice, you're going to tear down the –"

It wasn't Alice.

His hand was raised, waiting to knock again at what was now a wide open door. His mouth was half open, stunned into silence, while his reddish-brown locks, which leaned towards brown in the early morning light, seemed more mussed and grease-ridden than the night before. He was dressed in the exact same clothes, his jeans hanging off of one hip and revealing one side of what – God help me – had to be a twenty pack, that I was ready to baptize … with my tongue.

His hand slipped to his jaw, lithe fingers creating an "L" around his mouth.

"I – uh …" he muttered. Finally, those fingers almost hooked around his lip.

I nearly drooled, until I realized he seemed stunned. Thinking for a few moments, I realized why.

I was standing in the doorway … in my underwear.

A sheer, white, cut-off tank top, with no bra and my underwear, which were pink.

With yellow rubber duckies dancing all over.

"Uh – I – um," I stuttered, my brain attempting to process not only the person standing before me, but the knowledge I was standing, practically nude, in front of him.

"You – uh, you might want to –" he swallowed hard, turning his head, mostly, to the left as one finger pointed towards me. I immediately regained sanity when he broke eye contact.

My first act of clarity?

I slammed the door and raced from the entryway.

A hollow yelp of pain broke my concentration, just enough for me to glance backwards as my foot caught on the raised landing. I fell forward, missing my hands and landing hard on my elbows, but managing to catch myself on my knees. The door creaked open.

"Oh my God, Bella, are you all right?"

Oh, for fuck's sake …

Just as I started to pick myself up without further shoving my ass in the air, my hands slid forward on the knit rug on the wood floor. This succeeded in deftly placing me in a perfect downward-facing dog – and my ass perfectly in Trevor's outstretched, helping hand.

I flinched away, so quickly I doubt even high speed cameras would have caught me, and everything would have been fine, if not for my traitor hand. The ill-received body part flew, on its own course, and punched the hump-able, off-limits man at my door in the eye. I cringed.

"Sorry!"

Vaguely, I noticed him fall backwards into the hall closet door as I sprinted up the stairs.

The door cracked loudly behind me. I think I may have broken a hinge.

I listened for a moment. Silence. Well, at least he wasn't a complete pussy.

Grabbing a pair of workout shorts, I pulled them, a bra, and a clean t-shirt on, but just as I reached to pull open the door, I stopped.

Why in hell had the man I had sworn never to see again, so long as Fate and Alice allowed, become the very next person I laid eyes on? Something, or someone, was playing with me. Or just wanted me to be in one hell of a mood.

I stumbled backwards and landed on my bed.

Well … He was here, now what did I do with him?

Sex?

No.

I was too horny for my own good.

I finished berating my mental self and moved on. Step one – figuring out why he was here. After fixing his eye, that is. Okay.

Step one: Damage recon to repair what I had injured.

Step two: Figure out what he wanted.

And step three? Well, that seemed obvious. Step three was to remove him from the apartment as quickly as possible.

Yeah. Because that was going to be easy.

Drawing in a deep breath, I set my mind to my task, trying to come up with a mantra. Those seemed to work pretty well. Sadly, 'out' was the only word I could come up with. Stupid Gandhi and stupid, non-functional meditation.

I gathered my courage and found Trevor sitting on the landing, his back pressed against the railing, the skin beneath his left eye swelling and rimmed in lines of light red and purple.

"Ow … I really am sorry."

He glanced up, startled, and tried to smile. Instead, he flinched.

"Not a big deal. I've had worse."

"Uh huh," I hopped over his legs and motioned for him to follow. "I'm sure you have, tough guy like you."

He laughed, walking behind me towards the kitchen.

"See right through me, huh?"

"Something like that," I half-smiled, standing on the tips of my toes to reach the cold pack in the back of the freezer and ignoring the twist in the pit of my stomach at his laugh. The warm arm brushing by mine didn't help my nausea as he reached in to grab it for me. Then again, the solid chest and muscle-bound sex abs pressed against my back didn't help either.

The oxygen evaporated from my lungs, and I jerked away at his touch, rivulets of heat running across the skin on my back and dripping down my wrist. He pulled away, giving me the same odd glance from the night before, as he leaned against the island and pressed the ice pack to his eye.

"How about a peace treaty? You don't tell anyone that I got beat up by a girl, and I won't tell anyone that I'm now intimately acquainted with your underwear. Deal?" he smirked.

I felt the heat flood my chest and cheeks. I wanted to rip that smirk right off his face, but it looked so good there. Still, I refused to look up.

"As long as you promise not to mention it to me, either."

"Alright, alright … duckling."

My entire body flushed crimson. His battle wounds were taken care of, so what was step two again? Out? No, why. Why was step two.

"What do you want?" The question spilled from my lips, complete and total word vomit. He looked amused and pulled a container of fire-engine red lipstick from his pocket. I quirked an eyebrow. "While I, uh, appreciate the gesture, I don't usually go for the stripper look." My mind floundered. I felt it coming … oh no … the rest of the vomit ... "At least during the day, you know, weeknights are more my –"

"It's Rose's," he said as he set the tube down on the counter and shrugged. "Well, technically, I think it's Alice's … but, anyway … she left it … in my green room, last night, and … I thought she might still be here …" he struggled, throwing me a pleading glance.

I had moved to lean over the sink and was staring out the window, focused on the raindrops that splattered against the thousands of insignificant, vibrant, insect-like blobs floating down the sidewalk. If I couldn't focus on that, I would focus on him. If I focused on him, I would come up with real vomit.

But could I look past the obvious lie?

Nope.

"Really?" The word gave off more sarcasm than I intended. "Except that they weren't meeting here. And," I glanced at the clock, "Alice and Rose aren't meeting downtown for more than two hours, so I'm pretty sure you could have found your fiancée at home." My words were pointed; my stance even more so.

"She wasn't there," he ground out.

"So you thought she'd be here?"

"Considering this was her home a couple of weeks ago, yeah, I'd say I had a pretty good chance."

I considered this. "So, what, when five minutes of banging didn't get anyone's attention, you thought you'd keep going and hope the dead would open the door for you?"

"I saw a car in the garage, I assumed it was yours. Alice must have left it open."

"Oh." I traced a bead of water across the stainless steel. "So …"

"So, I thought I'd return it to you. I didn't realize a hibernating bear had inhabited your body."

"You went through all this, just to return some lipstick?" Water had lost its fascination. I turned to watch him.

"I –" he stumbled. "I – I guess I don't know."

His eyes were downcast; the cold pack was lying under his hands. His clothes hung against his body, damp. His shoulders slumped, and I could see a rough line of two or three day stubble running the length of his jaw. He leaned towards me, the island separating our bodies, but everything about him was magnetic. I crossed the short distance, placing my hands on the edge of the island.

His skin had dried, but his hair was still moist and mussed from the rain. Two faint scars ran through his left eyebrow; another, clear across his cheek; still another highlighted the bridge of his nose. He raised his head suddenly in the midst of my inspection.

His eyes were the same shape, crooked – one vaguely lower than the other. They were the same color – green, flecked by gold and fading to a light hazel near the pupil. His nose leaned a little to the right, and his mouth tilted a little to the left. Every feature, examined now in the closeness of the faded morning light, bore a resemblance that was unspeakable and beautiful in its imperfection. His lips parted.

"Bella," he breathed. Our hands were a foot apart, our bodies' farther across the large ceramic island, but he had reached me across the distance. I was paralyzed, ready to be poisoned and consumed alive by the fire burning low in those eyes. The tiles froze my forearms, icy cold when I felt so very warm.

His hand brushed my cheek, tucked slender pieces of hair away, and lingered against my chin. My heartbeat faltered. I ceased to breathe. So did he. There existed a time outside of that kitchen; the mere feet covered by his arm were nothing to cross. The soft pads of his fingertips against my skin … each place smoldered, a lovely heat, lingering and morphing into a cool burn.

"Edward," the whisper slipped through, unbidden. His forehead creased.

"Who … what are you?"

It was a slap in the face. The words, spoken so softly, stabbed me in the stomach, left me gasping for air, climbing and chasing a dream that was as broken as reality. The rain on the tin roof was hollow, echoing my stifled gasp of air. I snatched the lipstick from the countertop and stepped backwards.

"Leave," my jaw clenched. "Please."

My chest felt stripped and squeezed by the vice of failure and loss. I walked away, fully comprehending my actions and praying that he would just go so I didn't have time to ponder what I did. Instead, those heat-filled hands wrapped around my forearm and stung the skin.

"Bella, plea –"

"Goodbye, Trevor."

My eyes were cold; his were confused. I wrapped another layer of ice around my heart and pulled my arm from his grasp, walking across the hallway and disappearing into Alice's room. I shut and locked the door behind me, the metal clicking delicately in the knob.

I don't know how long it took him to leave. I didn't want to see a clock. I simply sat on my roommate's rumpled sheets, fraying the edge of a pillowcase and gazing out the window, unseeingly. I'm not sure where my mind went. I don't remember much of anything, only the vague sense this was where minds go, to a place of solitude and silence, to just rest and be, in the middle of some great stress. Mind nirvana.

It was the hard close of the door that brought me to reality. I listened again. Silence. The deep thrum of a motorcycle roared to life and quickly faded. I stared at the door.

I had called Trevor Edward. I was beginning to wonder if Trevor was Edward. This was stupid. But then why the connection? Why the banter, the ease, the feeling of knowing that only drifted in over years of companionship? I wondered if Edward had some long-lost twin he wouldn't have known to tell me about.

I was psychotic. I was mentally unstable. I was trying to bring my best friend back from the dead. Pretty soon unicorns, leprechauns, and dancing lollipops were going to be making appearances in my day to day life.

I needed a release. My eye caught on the lanyard hanging off of Alice's doorknob. A gym … where there were other people, and maybe even a pool. And, if I was really lucky, it might be a true pool – Olympic sized, for swimmers. It was exactly what I needed at a time like this.

My body found a reason to function again. I stood from the bed, picked up the lanyard and walked to the phone. I called Alice, confirmed the existence of the otherwise assumed pool and my usage of her country club membership, got directions, sprinted to my room, slipped on a sapphire one-piece, and was in my car driving before ten minutes had passed.

Sadly, the country club existed only on the outskirts of Atlanta, and, sadly, I was not one of the lucky, freak humans for whom driving was a calming act. By the time I handed my keys to the valet, I was desperate to lose myself in the long strokes of exercise. I hadn't swum in weeks. The tension strung tightly through my shoulder blades.

The muggy steam and smell of chlorine drifted lazily in the locker room air. I was like a junkie searching for a high. One deep breath and my muscles unwound. My mind cleared, focused, anticipating the feel of the slick water embracing my limbs. I could taste sweet, chlorinated relief.

I stepped around the pool, claimed a free lane, and set my towel down by the starting block. Biting my lip, I decided to go in from the stairs and relish the moment. The water lapped against the sides of the pool, curling around my ankles in little waves.

I slipped in. It molded itself to my shape, coiled around me like a glove. It felt me and knew me for who I was; I was complete in its wholeness like I never was anywhere else. Not even photography gave me this kind of high. Here, I was in complete control. I chose what to feel, what to be. And today, I would be me.

My body slid through the water, propelled by my own force, controlled by the angle of my limbs. I slicked back the stray edge of my pony tail, and, aligning with the wall in my lane, lost myself in a slow breaststroke, feeling my calves and arms begin to burn slowly … like green, gold-specked eyes, smiling, sadly …

"Isabella Marie Swan, I vow to stay with you for as long as you live, so long as you want and need me."

I rose from the water, gasping, but my body continued the practiced motion, leaving my mind to its own devices.

"Edward? I love you."

"I love you too, Izzy."

NO!

The verbal scream was unexpected, rising from somewhere inside of me that I didn't know existed. The memory voluntarily faded. I focused, wiping my mind as clean as it would let me, concentrating on the smooth striations my body made in the water, the movement that flipped me easily into a perfect backstroke.

I would not let him penetrate my every thought. After five more laps, I turned again, launching into a fast front crawl, pressing every bit of awareness into the stroke, listening to my breath in the water, the exertion which leeched the poison of insanity from my flesh. It melted into liquid and drifted away.

After another fifteen minutes of the exhausting stroke, I slid again into an easy backstroke. My mind felt clear. I could think again. I drifted easily, mentally shuffling through my wardrobe and putting together clothing options for my first day of work, before moving to decide on dinner.

When my fingertips had begun to pucker twenty minutes later, I pulled myself from the pool near the starting block and began to dry my limbs. I looked up, fascinated by the grey, swirling clouds and the hard, tinkling sound of the water on the glass panels above me.

"You're a beautiful swimmer."

I turned sideways.

"I –" I stuttered, mouth agape. The serenity of my mind didn't allow me to yell. Yet. He smiled crookedly, draping a towel over his shoulder – his bare shoulder – and looked at the ground.

"I swear, I'm not stalking you."

I blushed from head to toe.

"I – I didn't say you were."

"I know."

Silence surrounded us. The splashing of two or three other swimmers filled the air, along with the high pitched tings of rain on glass. Eventually, I sat down on the starting block, wrapping my towel around my shoulders and glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

He was lean, but also muscular, with limbs which obviously had some experience with exercise that wasn't weight lifting. They reminded me of the limbs of a dancer – long lines and artful strokes. His abdomen was smoother than I had previously thought; still, lean muscles formed a lightly indented six pack that was stunning.

Black gym shorts hung perfectly on his hips, a thin line of dark hair trailing downwards between the barest hints of perfect pelvic lines. But as much as his body made me slightly weak in the, well, everywhere, the slow burn that began in my stomach and dipped much lower wasn't what drew my curiosity.

Small, white lines that only just glinted in the incandescent lighting littered his body. I could see five or six of various sizes scattered up the length of his abdomen. More decorated his arms, the most noticeable cutting across the side of his shoulder.

"I could take a picture for you."

Oh … shit.

A cocky grin picked up the right side of his mouth. He pulled the towel from around his shoulder and threw it over my head. "I've heard they last longer. Or some kind of bullshit like that."

I sat inside of my light blue cocoon, more than absolutely sure he could see the red glow of my skin from outside. Maybe this was just a dream, liked that cracked-out kids movie with the scarecrow and annoying pig-tailed girl. I stared at my feet underneath the towel. Well … it was worth a shot.

I snapped my heels together twice.

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's –"

"Did you make it back to Kansas yet?"

His head slipped underneath the walls of my hiding place and he sat down beside me, his lips pressed together to keep him from laughing. I scowled.

"I didn't get to finish, you bastard. You interrupted. Now I have to channel my inner Dorothy all over again."

He laughed, pulling the towel from my head at the same moment I reached up to maintain its attachment to my scalp. Unfortunately for me, those lean muscles were much stronger than my futile resistance. I proceeded to face plant his lap.

My hands flew out in front, immediately vying for some kind of surface to push me out of the "danger zone." The left one seemed to connect to something solid, but as I reached out, the softer surface I was headed for suddenly disappeared. My flailing had coincided with his surprise as he leaped out from underneath my face, leaving my upper body in a free fall, directly into the side of the concrete block.

Pain radiated through my skull. I clenched my teeth. My left hand finally found purchase on the other side of my head and I used it to begin pushing my body upwards, but a sharp pain laced through my right eyebrow. I hissed. A hand appeared on my other side.

"Bella, I am so sorry," he mumbled. I wanted to tell him it was fine, but the only words I could think consisted of lots of painful sounds and a long string of expletives. Hey … I was learning to control myself.

A warm palm pressed at my still dangling right hand, urging me upwards. I attempted to comply, taking more than enough comfort at the feel of his skin, which didn't seem to burn through me when my brain was occupied with letting me feel so many other sensory nerves. I made it far enough to roll over, my feet and knees dangling off of the starting block while I stared at the glass ceiling. Just waiting for it all to fall in on me.

Instead, I felt a warm body appear next to my head, followed by wet liquid dripping across my temple. I glanced backwards as far as I could.

"You're bleeding," he explained, and a small stab of pain made me wince when he ran the wet towel across my eyebrow again – his wet towel. The water dribbled down into my eye as he tended my wound, so I eventually closed my eyes and focused on my breathing until the pain faded to a dull throb.

A soft pressure swept across the injury. I looked up to find Treward – what the fuck kind of name was that? – pressing his thumb against the gash. My gaze flickered to the scar in his eyebrow.

"Looks like we'll have a matching set."

His motion stopped and I saw the skin above his eyebrow crinkle in confusion.

So cute.

Instead of commenting, I pointed at the place my eyes were fixed. The skin smoothed in understanding. A low chuckle reverberated through the block and into my body.

"Yeah, but you didn't give me mine."

Sudden curiosity struck me, and I pushed myself from laying to sitting in one motion, controlling my swaying head by firmly planting both hands beside me.

"So … who did?" He glanced down, but not so quickly that I didn't catch the first emotion that flashed plainly across his face – cold, all-consuming fear.

"Not so much a 'who,' really, but a 'what,'" he pursed his lips and brought his gaze back to mine. "Not a story for today, though." The smile leapt back onto his face so quickly that I was blindsided, stunned, and not prepared for his next move. "Let me buy you a drink, at a coffee place down the street – to apologize." His head tilted slightly to the left, like a puppy dog. "You do like coffee, don't you?"

I sat, mentally staggered at his blitzkrieg of schizophrenic emotions and nodded like a deaf mute. He slung his towel back over his shoulder, stood, and offered me his hand.

"Great," he smiled, the same crooked grin that lifted the right side of his perfectly imperfect mouth. I stood, grabbing the offered hand as I wavered, my brain still in a state of catatonic shock while he lead me back to the women's locker room.

"You're not going to leave on me, right?" he offered up when I leaned against the door. I shook my head lightly. I think his smile got wider. "Good. I'll meet you in the gym lobby in fifteen." He paced away, leaving me staring after, more confused than I had been in a very long while.

Treward was a mindfuck. And I had no fucking clue from what depths of my twisted mind that name had come.

Fruitlessly, I ran through the last two hours like a movie reel in my head, the droplets of the running shower mingling with the sounds of the rain and becoming a buzzing background noise to my confusion. I wasn't sure how to process any of this.

Why did we keep meeting? Why did everything about me around him seem so … natural? And why in hell did someone keep getting hurt every time we met?

I fingered the gash on my eyebrow, the pain bringing me closer to sanity from my mental fog. Only to realize that I had agreed to coffee. With my now-arch-nemesis' fiancé. How did I get myself into this?

I had no answer for my mental enigma. Instead, I decided it would probably be in my better interests to determine how I could fix this situation instead of how I had gotten into it in the first place. Because that obviously hadn't been my fault.

Well, fixing consisted of staying away. And obviously Treward wasn't going to give me that luxury anymore. For some reason we seemed inevitably fated to find each other in this giant metropolis of five hundred-thousand people. And something in his smile told me he didn't see staying away to be an option.

I glanced down at my phone. Damn. Slipping on my flip-flops, I snatched up my bag and raced out of the locker room, still not exactly sure why I was going and with no plan to make the going better.

He glanced up from his watch when I walked into the lobby, and the smile I received nearly stopped me in my tracks. It was almost as if he didn't expect me to come. Some unreasonable sensibility flared up in anger at his assumption. I raised an eyebrow.

"Don't trust me?"

He held out a hand.

"Now I do."

I glanced down at his hand and brushed past him, pulling my bag higher on my shoulder.

"How about I drive?"

"Would that make you more comfortable?"

"Only because it would give your fiancée less reason to claw my eyes out next time we unfortunately meet," I snickered, walking away. He caught up to my slightly harried pace with three long strides.

"I'm sorry Rose comes off so over-protective."

It took everything I had not to laugh.

"Over-protective?" I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Angry or not, I would have to measure my words carefully if I wanted to keep my home. We reached my car before I responded. "Don't you think that's a bit of an understatement?"

"Look, she just doesn't know you," he sighed, sliding his way into my car as I tossed my bag behind me and cranked up the ignition. "She's loyal and caring to a fault, but she's defensive because she doesn't know where you stand. She doesn't know you well enough to know if you're going to hurt her family or not."

My gaze flickered sideways again.

"But you do?"

Treward opened his mouth once, preparing to speak, but when nothing came out he seemed deflated. Silence filled the car, outside of Treward's curt directions, for the remainder of the five minute trip to Urban Grind, the local café.

We ordered our drinks in silence, everything in me protesting against him paying, even though I knew it was his way of saying he was sorry. Even if I wasn't even sure what it was for. Eventually, we settled down at a small table in the corner, my green tea latte and his double shot of espresso settled comfortably between us.

I tapped my nails against the side of the recycled cardboard container, my eyes drifting everywhere but his. He, however, continued to stare at me intently, as though he had no shame. The avoidance technique was going nowhere. Resisting the urge to huff in frustration, I finally looked him in the eye.

He had leaned back when I wasn't looking, and he studied me, casually, his soft, grey cotton undershirt pulling against his chest while the light, green open collared shirt was rolled up and pulled at his elbows.

"I could take a picture for you," I drawled, mimicry written in the lines of my face. He smiled, settling back in closer to the table.

"Sorry. You just …" he drifted off, one side of his mouth quirking up regretfully and then fading away. "Never mind. So, when you aren't showing up at the door in your undies, punching poor delivery boys, and getting knocked out at private swimming pools, what do you do with your spare time?"

"I photograph," I replied, pondering slightly over the irony of that statement. "I just got a job at the Spin office here." I took a long sip of my latte and sat forward, my elbows resting on the table. I couldn't take the pleasantries. "I just what?" I held myself firmly in place as he imitated my stance, sitting forward and placing our faces a mere foot away.

"Bella, you don't want to know what goes on in my head. I promise."

"Try me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," he sighed through his nose, a clear sign of his frustration, "my life is much more complicated than you can even begin to understand."

"So you can't even tell me what you think of me?"

"For safety's sake, no."

"Sounds like Rosie's got more of her hooks in you than you'd like to admit."

A bright flash of anger stole across his face. His jaw clenched.

"You can't manipulate me, Bella."

"I don't want to manipulate you. I just want to know you."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because …"

"'Because' is not an answer."

"Because you can't."

"That's a childish answer."

"This is a childish argument."

"So?" I stopped as the word slipped from my lips. He raised an eyebrow. I sat back in frustration. "Fine. You win. What do you want, a prize?"

A gleam of humor, and something I didn't understand crept into his gaze as he sat back and laughed, "Maybe."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What do you want?"

He shook his head. "You'll see."

I frowned, but it didn't reach my eyes. For the first time in a very long time, our bickering had left me feeling – happy. A warm kind of happy.

We sat in silence for a while, simply watching the people around us and each other, basking in the eerie companionship both of us seemed to recognize, but neither of us understood. Eventually, Treward glanced down at his watch and stood. I automatically copied his movements.

"Time to get back, I guess," he murmured. I simply nodded, unwilling to break the silence. We rode back to the country club, the silence holding strong. We parked a few rows down from his car. I shut off the engine. Both of us stayed in our seats.

I looked over to find him studying the floorboards. Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled out the courage to finally break into the peace of the last twenty minutes.

"Please," the word came out cracked, broken. I cleared my throat. He looked up, looked me in the eye. "Please tell me," I paused. Some kind of wicked serenity stole over me. "I just what … Edward."

It slipped through unbidden. I had been thinking Trevor, my mind knew the sounds, prepared to form the word, but something changed. I waited for him to become confused, to start asking questions. Time moved in slow motion, my mind reeling from the mistake and cursing myself relentlessly. But he never flinched.

"You just fascinate me, Bella," he murmured, and without missing a beat, he closed the distance between us, pressing that perfectly imperfect mouth against mine. His lips were warm and tasted like espresso, a perfectly imperfect mold against my own crookedness. Heat spread in tendrils across my skin; I was paralyzed, mesmerized, and stricken, lost in an ocean of fears, doubts, and absolute serenity.

As quickly as it began, it was over. He slipped out the open door, and disappeared into the sea of cars, leaving nothing but the scent of cinnamon, espresso, and my crushed red lips behind him.