DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer, along with Little, Brown and Company, owns all the rights to the Twilight Saga.

Sunday morning after Charlie departed for fishing with Billy and Harry, I left for a different house in La Push. I arrived at Sam's shortly before eight o'clock.

Exiting the truck, Sam pulled me into his arms.

"My mé'oonna, how did you sleep last night?"

"All right, I guess." Really, a certain redhead had made an appearance in my dreams, leaving me awake in my bed from three o'clock on.

"Bella," he said chidingly.

"Yes," I said, weary.

"Did you forget I patrolled by your house last night."

"Oh, yeah."

"You seemed pretty restless."

"Just a dream."

"Bella, I wish you would talk to me about these things."

"Sam, talking about it won't do anything. I may not control my dreams, but I can control what I'm thinking of during the day. I don't want to worry about what I can't control."

"Fine, but know you can talk to me if you change your mind." I nodded. "Then come with me," he said, taking my hand to pull me toward the backyard.

"Where are we going?"

"A little surprise I cooked up."

"Oh really? This surprised didn't involve actual cooking, did it?" We walked through the backyard and started into the woods.

"I did not cook, so you don't have to worry about contaminated eggs."

"So what are we doing then?"

"You do know what the definition of surprise is, right?"

"You know I hate them, right?" I countered.

"Just two more minutes, my impatient, little imp."

I huffed. "Who you calling little? I'll have you know, five foot four inches is the exact average height for women in America. That makes me taller than half the women in this country."

Sam laughed at my response. "Oh, my Bella, only you."

"What?" I grumbled.

"I call you an imp, the part most would take the greatest offense to, and you get angry at the 'little' part? Baby, when you hang out with a pack of werewolves, being average height among the normal humans means absolutely nothing."

"Whatever," I muttered.

"Well, you'll be happy to hear that we're here."

"What?"

Sam pulled me through a break in the trees. There sat a small meadow. Not the one I had already come to know but a new one. This one was smaller and sat at the edge of a little stream. Taking in the scene, I noticed a blanket and basket sitting near the center.

"I thought you said you didn't cook," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't cook. The little eatery on Main Street did."

"They were open? I thought that place was a myth."

"What do you mean?"

"Every time I've been by there, they've been closed. Angela said she'd only seen the place open once…her entire life."

"Oh yeah, that. The owners tend to only open when they feel like it."

"How is that a way to run a business? And how did you know they would be open today?"

"It's a retired couple that owns the place. They don't even live in La Push full-time. They got a large sum of money quite a bit ago, though, I don't know the origin of the money. It was either a settlement with some big corporation or a dead distant relative – I forget which. Anyways, they sort of just take off and travel as they please. Then they come back and open the eatery a few shifts here and there. And I didn't know they'd be open. I was just going to go to the diner, but after seeing the eatery open, I stopped there instead. Rare, great food and avoiding Leah equals a win-win to me."

"Oh. So is the food really as good as I hear?"

"Why don't we sit and find out. It's been a couple years since I've gotten the opportunity to eat there myself."

We sat down, and Sam pulled all the food out. I found my eyes closing in state of euphoria on their own once I took a bite of the best omelet known to man. I had no clue what was in it, but it tasted like a little slice of heaven. We each shared each item, allowing me try a bit of everything. Sam finished off the things I didn't particular care for, though, those were in very limited quantity.

Finishing my blueberry muffin, I couldn't help but voice my outlook on the eatery's scarce openings. "You do know this is crazy, right?"

"What?"

"Opening a restaurant on random whims. I mean, why don't they just close it down if they don't need the money or want the trouble."

"It's not about the money for them, Bella."

"Then why do it?"

"They love cooking, they love socializing with those that come in and I think they secretly love sparking such excitement on the res when they do randomly open."

"If they love it so much, then why don't the open full-time or at least part-time?"

"That would take some of the joy and excitement out of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Leather work." Um, can you say random? Not seeing the connection. "I love working with it on occasion. It relaxes me, gives me joy. But if I made leather work my full-time job, the pressure of it all would ruin the relaxation or joy I once got from it. If I had to worry more about what the customer wanted or deadlines than on the craft and what it means to me, then I would no longer cherish or value that activity. The freedom to start and stop whenever I wish gives it more power. I would assume that cooking and the eatery works the same way for the couple."

"Oh." That made sense. Actually, it made perfect sense.

It caused me to ponder the things I do in my own life. Did I hold anything dear like that? Suddenly some doubt I had been ignoring came to the surface.

"I don't think I want to be a teacher," I blurted.

"What?" Sam asked, clearly confused with his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth turned in a frown.

"I love tutoring and interacting with the kids, but I don't think I'd enjoy teaching like that everyday, all day."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Then what do you want to do?" That was the problem, wasn't it?

I let out a short laugh. "I have no freaking clue."

"Bella, you know I'll support anything you do, but you need to start forming some type of plan. La Push and Forks don't offer a lot of options, so you can't just get a degree in anything and hope you find a job with a description that meets your degree. You kind of need to have a job description already in mind when you pick the degree so they match up."

"What if the job I want doesn't exist?"

"I guess you could commute to Port Angeles," he said reluctantly.

"No, not there either." I say a short look of trepidation fill his eyes before a blank mask took over his face.

"I don't get what you're saying, Bella. Do you want to leave here and get a job somewhere else? Make a life somewhere else?" I could hear the next, silent question, 'with someone else?'

"No! That's not what I'm saying at all. I want to live here with you, Sam. But what if what I want isn't here?"

He shook his head. "I honestly have no clue what you're asking me."

"Do you think I could create a job?"

"Like, start your own business?"

"No, maybe, I don't know." I let out a loud sigh. "I just know that nothing that's here currently draws me in. I want to help the community, but I don't know how outside of being a teacher that I can do that. And I know that's not what I want to spend the rest of my life doing. So I feel stuck."

"Well, I don't know a job we can create for you off the bat. But I'm sure we can do some research and figure something out. There's plenty of ways to help the community, we'll just need to find one that fits you and that can be converted into to job. Maybe I can speak to the elders about it at the next meeting. The pack should have one coming up soon with them."

"But you do think it's possible then?"

"Yeah, baby, I do. We'll just have to wait and see. Don't stress over it, okay? And for God's sake, don't scare me with that 'job I want doesn't exist here' crap. I thought for a second you were leaving me."

"Face it, Sam. You can't get rid of me no matter what. You, my very large, furry friend, are stuck with me." I smiled up at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, my very little, pale friend."

My smile dropped like a ton of bricks. "I honestly want to hate you sometimes."

He grinned widely. "But you can't, because you love me," he said, drawing out the word 'love.'

After spending an hour more in the meadow, we headed back toward the house. Sam held the backdoor open for me, and I walked inside.

"Thank God, I'm starving," the most annoying voice in the world hollered from the living room.

"Paul, shut your trap," Sam snapped back. I rolled my eyes as I strode over to the fridge. I found it easier to give into some of Paul's demands than to have to listen to his whines all day.

Setting the sausage on the counter, I saw Paul hobble into the kitchen.

"You can't blame me. You know how I get when I'm hungry, and yet you still brought that basket full of deliciousness into the house without giving me even a crumb. I hate you."

"And I can't wait for you to return to your own home tomorrow night. I can't afford for you to live here any longer. And I'm not just talking financially. My sanity can't take much more of you either."

Paul put a smug look on his face. "You'll miss me when I'm gone."

Sam snorted in response. "I'm sure you won't let me with the constant visits and food stops you tend to take here."

"What can I say, you have a better television than I do at home. And more channels."

"Bella, don't let him push around. Paul, if I hear one complaint about your behavior from my imprint, the injuries from that vamp will look like a small scratch compared to what I'll do to you."

"Why always so cynical?"

"Because I know you too well – unfortunately."

"I am not feeling the love today, Samuel."

"Go back in the living room so I can say goodbye to Bella."

"Ew, I'll still be able to hear," Paul complained.

"Then close your ears," Sam answered.

Paul wobbled away, grumbling about 'stupid imprint couples.'

Sam pulled me into a strong embrace. "I love you, mé'oonna. And I'll see at dinner time."

"You're skipping lunch?"

"Yes, so fix a big meal for tonight. I'm sure I'll be starved by then."

"Okay. Anything in particular you'd like?"

"Nope, I love everything you cook."

I rolled my eyes. "Suck up," I said with an echo. My eyes widened when I realized Paul and I made the same comment simultaneously.

"Oh fuck. I've spent so much time around the leech lover that I'm sounding like her now too. Shit!" I heard him complain from the other room.

"Please don't try and kill one another while I'm gone. I'd hate to have to explain his absence to his mother and the blood on your hands to your father, the chief of police."

"What?" Paul yelled. "I don't think so."

I ignored Paul. "Be safe. I'll see you soon," I said, leaning up for a kiss. Sam nibbled on my lower lip, wanting access. In an act of defiance, I kept my lips firmly together. He'd have to work for what he wanted for I felt like teasing him. He forcefully opened my mouth with the power of his tongue. Our tongues met fiercely, each fighting for dominance. As one of his hands made its way to my hair, I moaned at the sensation he created while massaging my scalp.

"I think you've successfully devoured each other's mouths from the sound of things, so Sam can be on his way now."

I pulled back some gingerly.

"I can't wait to have my house back," Sam murmured against my lips.

"Me too," I whispered, thinking of the possibilities.

I took his late breakfast to Paul in the living room. We watched Spongebob, a show I had discovered seems to be on at all times on at least one channel. After I couldn't take much more, I retreated to the kitchen. There I started on my homework for the week.

Around one, I closed my Statistics book to fix lunch. I didn't feel like doing a ton since I'd be fixing a lot for dinner. So I just threw a couple of boxes of spaghetti noodles in the massive pot. Then I threw some butter and parmasean cheese on top.

"Paul, lunch is ready. Come get it."

"Can't you bring it to me. Patrick is trying to learn to ride a bike."

"You come in the kitchen and eat or you don't eat at all."

"Fine, I'm coming." He once again hobbled into the kitchen. Slumping in his seat, he stared at the noodles in annoyance. "Where's the sauce?"

"I didn't cook any."

"Why not?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"But it's no good without the sauce."

"Then you fix it."

"I don't know how."

"Then until you learn to cook, I don't want to hear any complaints from you."

"You're a bit of a bitch today, aren't you?"

"Shut up and eat."

Not soon enough, Paul returned to the living room. I finished up a paper due Tuesday in English. Then I set out on preparing dinner.

I pulled the ground beef and venison out of the refrigerator. I mixed both meats together and added breadcrumbs, eggs, tomato sauce, chopped onion and different seasonings. After thoroughly mixing, I divided the mixture into two cooking dishes and added the sauce on top. I placed both dishes of meatloaf in the oven and set the timer.

Before I knew it, the timer went off thirty minutes later. I pulled the dishes out of the oven. I turned off the oven and started on the pot of mashed potatoes. I decided on the easy route to potatoes: boxed. I threw the milk and water in with the powder. Next I washed and cut the broccoli for the other giant pot. I placed the meatloaf dishes back in the oven once I knew it had cool enough down to not burn the meatloaf but still keep them warm while waiting for Sam.

After the sides finished cooking, I put both on low heat. I saw the clock read six o'clock, the normal time Sam and I ate. I decided to check in on Paul, as he had been unusually quiet the past ten or fifteen minutes. Before he would randomly shout at the television characters for being stupid or me to bring him something to drink.

When I walked into the living room, I saw Paul bent over with his head turned away from me and the television sat on mute. From the angle he sat, I could just barely tell he wore a smile. How odd? I didn't know he could genuinely smile and not grin or look smug. I took a step into the room concerned, and his head popped up to look at me with wide eyes.

"I have to go now," he said in a low voice, and that's when I saw he was on the phone.

I wondered to whom he could be talking to. I had never heard Paul speak about anyone outside the pack before, so I really had no clue. The only things I knew for sure were that he didn't have an imprint and Sam had mentioned Paul wasn't one for lasting romantic relationships either.

"Yeah, sure, tomorrow," he said, looking at me with a stony face.

"Uh huh…Right…Yeah, you too." A second later he let out a frustrated breath. Sorry, I meant I love you too, Mom." His mom? Well, that made a little more sense.

He hung up the phone and took a deep breath before turning to stare me down. "Can I help you, paleface?"

"Talking to your mom?"

"Wow, you're a quick one, huh? And to think you're tutoring the next generation of this tribe. We're in trouble now."

"You're a jerk."

"I prefer asshole, thanks."

"Gah! You aggravate me to no end."

"Then I'm doing my job well. Is dinner ready?"

"Yes, but we're waiting on Sam."

"But it will get cold," he whined. "Besides, he won't mind, let's start without him."

"No."

"Oh, come on. It won't hurt anybody."

"We're waiting."

"I'm stronger than you; I could just eat regardless of what you say."

"You move so slowly with that bum leg that I'd have plenty of time to get the metal bat and hit your sorry ass upside the head before you lift the fork to your mouth."

He sat still, with a face of shock before letting out a low whistle. "Damn, leech lover, I didn't know you could be so violent."

"Paul, just sit there and be good."

"I'm a wolf, not an obedient lap dog."

"Could you just–" I started but stopped hearing a pair of howl echo out of the woods.

"Shit," Paul muttered. Another howl sounded louder, closer. "Fuck."

"What? What do those howls mean?"

"A bloodsucker."

"Where? How many? Is Sam okay?"

"How the fuck would I know any of that? I don't actually speak real wolf. One howl means non-urgent meeting, two howls mean urgent, bloodsucker-related get your ass here now. Besides that, I know as much as you do – nothing."