Nina makes this pretty. Indira and Tracy make me smile.

I don't own Twilight.

What do you wear to breakfast with someone who's not really a friend, but breakfast really isn't a date, and it will get warmer later on, but it's chilly now? I have lots of pretty things I haven't looked at in months. I have a few new things I bought in Seattle this week. I have a positive attitude, and brown hair that's prettier than my natural color, but so close that you can't tell it's not.

Dad left early this morning to do things that don't involve fishing and Uncle Billy. He never explains, and Mom never asks. I think she knows because he tells her things when I'm not around. When I'm around it's silence and grunts, and the warmth I heard in his voice when he asked me to move here must have been something I imagined. Maybe I made it up because I needed a reason to leave New York and return to the town I never cared for. The one I left knowing I'd never come back. I knew so many things back then. I know absolutely nothing now.

I don't even know why Edward wants to spend time with me, and I don't know why I agreed to spend time with him. I feel… I feel as though I had no choice. Something deep inside my body twisted, and I loved the small, sudden explosion that followed. It surprised me. It thrilled me. Thrills are so rare these days. You don't ignore them. They're what you live for. They're what get you in trouble, but if you're smart enough you'll ride the wave and know when to stop—which is exactly what I did. My mistake was to lose myself in the fog and dizziness and excitement so much that I had to share my secrets with others. But that fog and dizziness and excitement… it's everything I felt when I was talking to Edward last night. I was surrounded in it. I felt it everywhere. I was breathing it.

So I should be on alert right now. I should be aware of everything he says, how he says it, what he means, and why he's saying it. I shouldn't tell him secrets or make any new ones I'll have to keep from the world. Anything you have to keep a secret is something you shouldn't be doing, something you shouldn't have heard, something you shouldn't have seen. But those things are what we live for. A little bit of gossip, a kiss, or two, or three, pictures that make your eyes pop open and elicit giggles… Secrets are my favorite. Sucks that I have a big mouth.

I check the weather on my phone. It's chilly enough for a sweater, but I can handle shorts for the few minutes I'll be outside. I want to look cute. I don't know if Edward likes what Jasper likes, but Jasper liked this outfit with pretty socks and desert boots. I don't know if Jasper liked the outfit because it's cute, or because he likes my legs, and he's a guy, and the deep v-neck of my loose sweater is something that just appeals to people who happen to be into breasts. I'm hoping Edward is into legs, and boobs, and ass, and long brown hair.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?" Mom asks.

"Sure."

The door opens and she walks in with my laundry, which she places on the bed. She sits down and starts folding while I tie my laces. It smells so good, so I sit on the bed and rub my face against a towel. She tells me to stop, because I'll get my makeup all over it.

"I'm not wearing any."

"No? Let me see."

I look up and stare at her. "Just some mascara. It won't rub off."

"You look pretty. Is that what you're wearing?"

"Yes."

"You can't run in those shorts," she says, her fingers reaching out to touch the denim.

"I'm not running."

"Change of plans?"

"Yes. We're having breakfast," I explain.

"With Edward?"

"Yes."

"Where is he taking you?" she asks.

"He's making it."

"Carlisle and Esme are in Florida this week."

"Who…" Oh.

"His parents, Bella." Her eyes are on the blue bra I keep telling myself I'm going to get rid of, but can't part with. She folds it and places it on the neat pile of colorful things I like to wear under my clothes.

"I'm not having breakfast with his parents."

"Well," she says, "I suppose it's better than going out for breakfast."

"Yes, that's what we thought." My voice is soft and sweet. It makes her look up, a little surprised. "We decided that I'm not the kind of girl men take out to places. Don't worry. This is all a big secret. You won't have to hear the details of my 'breakfast' with Edward on the news, and he'll continue to be perfect and innocent in your eyes."

My phone rings, telling me he's here. 10am. Perfect. It annoys me that he's on time. Be less perfect, Edward. I'd feel less bad.

XxXxX

"Sorry about that. My mother decided to start a conversation with me just as I was running out the door," I tell him as I slide into the passenger seat of his car. Red is a good color on Edward, but I don't tell him that.

"It's cool. What was the conversation about?"

"Oh, you know, the usual things you hear after you embarrassed your parents in front of the entire nation."

He laughs. His smile is so big when he turns to me. "I wondered if you'd kept your sense of humor."

"Oh?"

"You're a funny drunk, and hilarious when you first wake up in the morning."

"So we're going there? We're comfortable discussing our epic night of raunchy sex?"

"Epic night…" he repeats. "Nice."

"What? It was my last night of freedom. I think about it sometimes. I remember some parts, and probably made up the rest."

"Did you… know? Is that why you were..."

"Is that why I was drinking and trying to get stupid? No. That was mostly because I couldn't tolerate the people around me before we started talking. I had no idea, actually."

"Yeah, I didn't think you did," he says. "I mean, when I thought about it after… I wondered if you knew that it would soon become public knowledge…"

"No, I doubt I would have decided to get wasted, let people take pictures of me, and have sex with a stranger, had—"

"It wasn't like that."

"No?"

Edward looks ahead, his eyes on the road. He scratches his head, and his hair sticks up funny. I smile and look away.

"Okay, it was, but I didn't bring you back to my house to have sex with you."

"Were you planning on playing video games?" I laugh, remembering his room, and the mess, and the Xbox.

"No, but I didn't know what to expect. We hadn't even kissed at the party. We had barely touched."

I find his choice of words interesting, like he had thought about kissing me when we first met. "Did you want to kiss me at the party?"

"I dragged you to my house, didn't I?"

"But not to have sex."

"You're trying to get me to admit that I had sex on my mind," he says.

"Of course you did, and of course I am."

We make a sharp right, which makes me jump, before coming to a sudden and complete stop.

"We're here."

The house is nicer than I remembered. Pretty flowers everywhere on the porch, big windows, a swing. For a second I feel like the sun has come out, but I raise my eyes to the sky and confirm that it remains grey. I try to think back to the night I spent here last summer. We came in and left through another entrance. It was his big boy entrance, which led straight to his room.

"You just dragged me to your house again. Oh, you're smart."

"Bella, we're friends now."

I nod. I don't tell him that we're not, or that I want to go home because he just annoyed me more than my mother managed to annoy me with the little speech she gave as I was leaving. I know what he's saying. We're friends, and he has no expectations. We're friends, and he's not interested in the things that brought us here after the party last year.

"It's a mess," he says once we're standing outside the front door. "I cleaned up last night, but some of my buddies came over and I didn't have ti—"

"That's fine."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm great."

"Ready for breakfast?" He makes an effort to smile big and wide and make it real. I don't have to make an effort when I smile back, because it just happens.

"Sure. Lead the way."

He places a hand on my shoulder and it slides down a little until it settles on my back. I take a few steps, but I really don't know where I'm going, and the hallway is long. He laughs behind me and grabs my wrist.

"This way."

I'm smiling and letting him drag me to the kitchen. I guess I'm not annoyed anymore.

"I don't smell pancakes." I pout.

"I was waiting for you to get here. We can make them together."

The kitchen is huge. Alice wouldn't stop talking about how she needed a big kitchen for the big dinners she'd throw for her big family. I smile, even though he just let go of my wrist, until I realize what he just said. I can smile evil, secret, little smiles about Alice's plans for the future and how she fucked them up later.

"Um, I didn't sign up for this."

"Well, I don't know how to make pancakes," he informs me.

"You pour the stuff from the thing onto the thing, and…"

"You don't cook?"

"I do… sometimes."

"But not pancakes."

"Not pancakes," I confirm. "We can have omelets…"

"Yeah. Sure. Okay. Sit. I know how to make omelets."

"Do you need any help?"

"Can you make coffee?" he asks, looking a little flustered.

"Not well, but you won't spit it out."

"Can you pour some milk?"

"Yes." I nod, looking into his eyes. He's so lost, and confused. "Do you drink milk every morning because you want to be a big boy?"

He stares at me until it becomes just a little creepy. "Your eyes are huge," he finally says.

"Only when I make them huge." His mouth drops open, and I continue with a smile that ruins the big, round eye effect. "And now you're useless, just standing there, staring. Is that a box of Fruity Pebbles I see? Let's just have some of that. I can pour the milk."

"I can make omelets…"

"Come on, cereal is delicious."

"It's no big deal," he insists. "I invited you here—"

"So colorful, and sweet." I walk over to the refrigerator and stand on my toes to reach the box.

"Your socks are colorful."

"You're silly."

"The milk is there on the left… inside the fridge…" I turn around and catch him covering his face with his hands as he leans back against the counter.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head back and forth. I swear, he's such a kid. No wonder everyone loves him. He's a loveable child with really good grown man looks.

"Just hand me some bowls, Edward. This will be the best breakfast you've ever had."

We sit across from each other and eat. I point out that the pink flavor is the most recent addition to the cereal, and he says he doesn't remember because he never had Fruity Pebbles growing up.

"But you eat them now?" I ask.

"No, but Bree loves cereal."

"So you don't like Fruity Pebbles, and you've never had them before. You could've just told me."

"They're pretty good."

"But not the best breakfast you've ever had."

"I'll have to think about that. How about you? Best breakfast?" he asks before bringing another spoonful of pretty colors to his lips.

"Hmmm… I don't know yet, it's too early to tell."

"Tell me about its competition."

"Oh, then it will get all nervous, because it's competing with a pretty great breakfast."

"It won't," he assures me.

"Okay, well, the summer after I graduated from college, my boyfriend and I went to Europe. It was my second time there, but I'd never been to Italy, so he rented a car and we just drove around the country. It was a tiny, ugly convertible. I'm pretty sure it was a Peugeot, and I teased him for renting a French car." Edward smiles. He's looking at me like I'm saying something important he wants to hear… not something he has to hear. I sit up straighter and continue, trying not to talk too fast. I haven't told anyone a story in a long time, and I can't help the speed at which the words are pouring out of my mouth.

"So, anyway, we drove down to Pompeii, and then we did the Amalfi Coast. We stayed at this place, it was more of a bed and breakfast than a hotel, and it was run by a crazy guy and his third wife. It felt like we were staying with them, in their home, and we were a little cranky from the drive and our usual arguments, so when I woke up, I expected more disappointment and just ignored Jasper as we went out to have breakfast on the balcony. Edward, it was so beautiful. The sea, the yellow cloth napkins on the table, the blue plates and mugs… All I had was a croissant and some jam, and it was nothing special, but the sun was so bright, and the colors were so vibrant. The water kept calling out to me, and I wanted to run into it, splash around, get tired, sleep, and wake up to the yellow napkins again."

He gets up, walks over to counter, opens and shuts a few drawers, and returns to the table with something in his hand that makes me gasp. I've seen yellow napkins before—they don't make me gasp. But his sweetness… it makes my fingers reach out to him, wanting to touch him.

"Not cloth," he says, sliding one across the table to me.

"This breakfast wins." I take the napkin and have this strange urge to run it over my lips. I just keep smoothing it with my fingers instead. Edward pours himself more cereal and milk.

"So… your best so far?" I ask him.

"Mine's a downer."

I shrug.

"I warned you," he tells me, and I nod. "I mentioned my sister, Bree, before. When I was home for the summer after my freshman year at Dartmouth, we found out she was sick. We didn't know if the treatments would be effective, and needless to say, I didn't return to Hanover in the fall. Seattle was closer. Anyway—"

"Wait, I don't want to interrupt, but is she okay now?" I never ask intrusive questions, but I wonder if he wants me to ask about her illness.

"She's doing well."

"That's so amazing, that you'd stay here…"

"Anyone would do that same," he says with a shake of his head.

"No… not everyone would."

Edward shrugs. "I'm sure they'd have their reasons not to."

I nod and notice how I'm tapping my foot, just a little nervous, not sure what to say, or do. "Okay, so your best breakfast."

He smiles, so I guess I didn't say anything too stupid. "When Bree completed her final round of chemo, she still had to undergo some radiation. That last day, when we were done with both the chemo and radiation, I skipped my classes to drive her back home myself. I hadn't had breakfast that morning, and it was still before noon. Bree was in a great mood. She was tired, but she wanted to go out and celebrate. She didn't even eat, but I did, and she just sat there, smiling and reaching over to keep my hair out of my eyes."

"You had long hair?" I ask him, trying to imagine what he looked like.

"Longer, but not too long."

"So you were really happy that day."

"Yeah. It was a good day."

"No breakfast is ever going to beat that… and I think you've had enough cereal," I tell him when he reaches for the box again.

"I was going to pour you some more."

"I'm good, thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Let me show you around," he says, standing up. "I'll deal with the bowls later, don't worry about it."

"I've seen your room, Edward." I'm just teasing and kidding around, but he's all serious.

"I have a new TV. It's nicer than that one in the living room. Unless you want me to take you—"

"I'd love to see the new TV."

It's a little awkward, sitting on his bed, watching the news with him. We're not touching, we're not lying down, and he tried to sit on the floor, but I told him not to be weird. An hour later, we're laughing because he's making me watching episodes of Arrested Development that I admitted I'd never seen. Twice, my head is on his shoulder for a second, because I'm laughing and moving around a lot, and he's close, and I don't want to be his friend.

"What do you want?" I blurt out.

"I'm sorry?" Maybe he didn't hear me; maybe he wants to make sure he heard me correctly.

"I'm not asking because I'm weird or insecure, but why do you want to be friends with me?"

"I don't know," he admits, his voice soft and low and barely there.

And I don't care.

I move until I'm lying down, my head on his pillow. He gets up and then sits cross-legged beside me.

"I'm hungry," he says.

"Already?"

"Yeah. Wanna grab something to eat downstairs?"

"I've been here since… I mean, did you have lunch plans or anything? Maybe I should leave."

"I can order pizza," he suggests. "Do you eat meat? What do you like on your pizza?"

"Onions and sausage and pepperoni and—"

"I'll be right back."

He runs off, and I want to call after him and tell him to be careful running in his socks. He can slip on the smooth wood floor that I was admiring on our way to his room. That would be funny, but I can probably find a better way to entertain myself than watching him fall on his way to do whatever he left to do.

His room is exactly like I remember. I shouldn't remember right now, because I remember things, and sounds, and touches. Shit. I really don't think I was quiet that night, and his family lives here, so close, and now I never want to meet them. But that's not something I have to worry about. The stupid, romantic little girl in me fantasized about sweet words and declarations and confessions. I told her to stop, but she wouldn't. In those fantasies, he told me he wanted me, he couldn't stop thinking about me, that night was special, blah, blah, blah. Obviously, he was never going to say these things, but now I'm a little less happy, a little less excited. Maybe disappointed, but not really.

I stand up and walk over to where his closet is. He has old campaign stickers and other random things covering the door. I run a finger over a name that is almost always followed by mine these days, and the words under that name are funny, a little cruel, and so irrelevant now that he is no longer in power. I bet Edward wants to know what I saw in him. Or maybe he totally gets it. And if he gets it, does that mean he doesn't judge me because he gets it? Or does he judge me because he knows what power and excitement and the forbidden do to me?

"So I ordered—" He stops when he sees me standing in front of his closet.

"Oh, I'm just checking to see what skeletons you have hiding in there."

"Nothing exciting," he says. "I promise you, there's absolutely nothing about me that's exciting or interesting."

"Oh."

"Disappointed?"

"No…"

He grins. Then he stretches and yawns, and the skin and the strip of hair from that morning in the classroom are back. I want to jump on him, back him up against the wall and rub myself against him, all over him.

"Yeah you are," he finally says, throwing himself onto his bed. "But it's okay."

Edward Cullen gets it.

I apologize for the lack of pancakes.

I really want to know what you guys think of Edward. If you're meh about that, just tell me about your best breakfast, or maybe just say 'hi'…

xo