Lauren (leckadams) rocks!

There were a couple of reviews I couldn't reply to because they don't allow PM's, so thank you to Hot4Chuck and Kristen618 for your kind words.

Layne Faire is my beta, and she's absolutely fabulous.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters. All places, landmarks and sights are figments of my imagination. That means don't plan any trips to Bon Terre, because even it exists, Jasper doesn't really live there.

Chapter 3

It's a sunny, seventy-two degree morning in Bon Terre. The scanty breeze is soothing and peaceful, as I relax on the porch swing – waiting patiently.

I'm scarfing down my second cinnamon-apple muffin, almost able to feel my jeans stretching tighter around my waist with each morsel consumed. I'm convinced I've gained at least five pounds since I've been exposed to Rosalie's mad culinary skills. I'm thankful for all the walking I've done, but I need to start utilizing the fitness equipment downstairs…or else, buy a new wardrobe.

I advised Rosalie this morning that she could make a killing selling her muffins, but she alleges her recipe is a dime a dozen around here. I hardly believe that, but she swears the secret is the White Lily flour. Apparently, us Northerners don't know that the stuff makes everything taste shamefully sinful; it's like some miracle ingredient.

While I'm licking the sticky remains from my fingers, the object of my fascination saunters from the back of the house, across the lawn, to one of the massive gardens at the front edge of the estate.

He can't avoid me now.

I don't waste any time in pursuing him. Reaching Jasper, he doesn't notice me right away, so I seize these few precious moments to study him without being observed. He looks tired. His stubbled cheeks look slightly sunken, there are shadows under his eyes, and his movements seem sluggish.

Not to mention he looks like he's a million miles away.

That theory is proven when he glances over, and is startled by my presence.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I explain, shyly. The pink of his cheeks become contagious, as I feel my own face heat.

He quickly lowers his eyes to begin pulling weeds. "What're you doin' here? I thought everyone went to the farmer's market this morning." His tone is pleasant enough, but his amiability is belied by the way he begins viciously tugging at the weeds.

"I didn't feel like it." I shrug, answering irritably. It annoys me that he seems to be avoiding me on purpose, choosing to do this task when he thought I wouldn't be around. I just want to get to know him, and he's doing everything in his power to make it impossible.

Well, too bad.

Like the stubborn mule I can be, his attitude only urges me to uncover, and possibly correct, whatever his issue is with me.

Actually, I wouldn't have minded the trip into town to check out the local goods, but I thought it'd be a perfect opportunity to accost Jasper with everyone else being away from the inn for a couple of hours. Rosalie almost didn't go when I told her I wouldn't be taking the field trip with the rest of them, but after some insistence from me, and some resistance from her, she conceded.

After missing Jasper by minutes, if not seconds, last night I vowed that I wouldn't go another day without seeing him. I realized in order to accomplish that, it may take drastic measures, and I fully planned on 'accidentally' stumbling upon his cabin, if it had been necessary.

I'm so glad it didn't come to that. I wouldn't have felt comfortable ambushing Jasper in his own home, knowing the importance I place on the sanctity of my own apartment.

"Would you mind if I helped?" I ask, hopeful.

"Rose would have my hide if she came back to see I'd put you to work." He speculates, quite accurately.

"Can I just sit with you then?" I question, not willing to give in.

"Okay." He appears anything but okay. I overlook the fact that he seems less than thrilled that I'm here, taking a seat next to him on the cool turf.

The tension is palpable, and I'm not experienced in easing strained atmospheres, so I begin with something I know. "Emmett told me you play the guitar."

"He did, did he?" He answers absently, while continuing to pulverize the weeds.

"Yeah, he said you were good – that maybe you could teach me something."

He snorts, "Doubt it. I don't have much time to play anymore."

"Oh. So, maybe…I can teach you something then." I'm stunned by my own brazenness, but if I have any confidence at all, it's in my ability to play, and to teach.

He looks at me then, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Silence reigns for about three seconds, before he bursts out laughing.

When he catches his breath he rewards me with a wide dimpled grin. "Maybe you can, Edward…maybe."

And so the ice is broken.

I know he probably won't be willing to share much without some coaxing on my part, so I do my best to squash my own inhibitions, hoping to encourage him to talk more about himself.

I tell him about all the instruments I play, but the piano is by far my favorite. He then tells me that when his grandpa passed away, he had inherited his Gibson acoustic. He'd only been ten at the time, but his grandpa had been teaching him how to play it for years.

Emboldened by the exchange of our stories, I divulge more about me.

I explain what it was like growing up with two surgeons for parents, the extreme pressure I felt to follow in their footsteps, which only increased after Alice had admitted to them that she wanted to go to school for design. I think they felt I was their last hope. Unfortunately, I have no stomach for blood. My parents hadn't been overjoyed when I told them about my career choice, but they learned to accept it.

In return for my confession, I learn that he and Rosalie came from a broken home. His mom had been pregnant with him, and Rosalie was just shy of two years old when their dad up and left the state. He admits to me how hard it was for him to take on the responsibility of being the man of the house when he was just a boy that wanted to play with cars, build forts, and ride his bike.

His mom hadn't remarried until Jasper was fifteen. His mom and step-dad still live in Baton Rouge, but they spend a few weeks during Christmas and Easter at the inn.

He also talks about what he does for a living. Apparently, Jasper does home repairs for not only Rosalie, but also most of the townsfolk in Bon Terre. However, his passion seems to lie in woodworking.

He builds custom cabinetry and furniture, and he's contemplating starting his own business one day, but doesn't know where to establish it.

That's when it hits me just how talented he really is.

"You made my desk?" I ask in awe, but amend quickly, "I mean, Rosalie's desk, but the one in the room I'm occupying."

"Yeah." He says quietly. "I made that piece for them when they got married."

"Jas, it's a masterpiece. The carving…it's amazing." I realize too late that I've called him a shortened, more intimate version of his name - a name that I've only heard his sister call him previously.

I'm not sure if it's how I said his name, or the compliments I gave him about his skill, but his cheeks turn a rosy pink.

He clears his throat, noticeably uncomfortable, then asks how my book is coming along, effectively removing him from the spotlight.

I make a mental note that another one of Jeremy's characteristics will be humility.

I tell him very little about the plot, informing him that he'll have to buy the book if he wants to know. He guffaws, but then turns serious in a heartbeat.

He keeps his hands busy with weeds, and his eyes are way too focused on what he's doing. "You're spendin' a lot of time with us, don't you have a girl back home waitin' on ya?"

"No…no, I don't." I croak, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat.

Jasper freezes for a moment, and then huffs.

He pulls back abruptly, sitting on his heels. He finally looks at me for the first time…and does he ever. His eyes drill into mine…probing, penetrating…and there it is, the damn twitching again. Once, and then twice, and now I have excuse myself because I feel myself start to harden under the scrutiny of his gaze.

I plead hunger, and ask if he'd like me to bring him anything. He seems disappointed with my reaction, but says he's fine.

"I'll see ya, then." He dismisses me, as he turns his attention back to tending to the garden.

There is a war inside of me. I don't know what to do. I don't want to go because I'm afraid that he'll vanish again and that I won't see him for another week, if not more. However, I'm sporting a semi that just won't go away, and I don't want to embarrass myself if he happens to notice it twitch again, or God forbid, become fully erect.

"Will you be coming to dinner tonight?" I ask, almost too desperately. Part of me hopes that he can hear the pleading in my voice, and that he won't be able to say 'no'.

"I don't know what I've got goin' on. Maybe..." He shrugs.

"Okay, well, maybe I'll see you later?" I wait for him to confirm or deny, but he does neither. It's a struggle to turn my body, to walk away from him. Each step feels like a mistake, and not knowing if I'll see him again any time soon saddens me.

I resist palming my cock while I walk back to the inn, cursing its interruption from what had been turning out to be an excellent conversation. Apparently, I've been neglecting my needs for too long, so my dick has decided to rear its ugly head – literally.

I shut the door to my room and lock it, something I seldom do. I sit in my desk chair, close my eyes, and trace the tips of my fingers reverently over the etched pattern on the desk.

Jasper.

It shouldn't surprise me that someone with his intensity could create a piece as elaborate and stunning as this.

It seems like opening up to him had been a success in convincing him to loosen his own tongue. I can't believe I told him so much about my past. I haven't shared the fear I carried of disappointing my parents with my career choice with anyone, but it had been worth every story I received from Jasper in return.

He is a man of few words, though he manages to pack a lot of meaning into each one of them.

I power up the laptop to insert more notes about Jeremy's character. I not only add humility, but also charismatic and passionate, to his personality traits.

After about fifteen minutes I realize there isn't any way I can put it off any longer.

It hasn't softened, like it normally would have after being ignored this long, so I pull up the Internet to randomly pick one of the free videos on X-tube. I won't pay for porn, since I very rarely ever need it.

I've selected a video with two lesbian women. They're decent looking, so I'm hopeful that this will get the job done fairly quickly. My semi is still hanging around; if I'm lucky I'll already be halfway done, since actually getting hard is one of the problems I've always seemed to have.

As the video I chose is loading, I remove my shirt and pants, tossing them into the hamper. I leave my socks and underwear on, merely pulling my boxers over my shaft and balls. I sit in the desk chair and hit 'play'. I spit on my hand for lube, taking hold of my cock in a firm grip.

Almost bored, I stroke myself while watching the two girls play with each other's tits and pussies. After ten minutes, I start to feel tired and figure maybe this isn't going to happen. I almost stop, but I don't want to continue to twitch and get hard at the most inopportune times. It seems like every time Jasper and I are getting to know each other, we're interrupted by my body's needs.

So, I forget about the girls and just shut my eyes, determined to find a release. I focus solely on the feelings. With my free hand I massage my pebbled nipples, surprised when I almost cry out after pinching one of the sensitive nubs.

My hand quickens; my fingertips graze over my rib cage to the flat of my belly that quivers under my touch. I rub my tightening stomach, where desire rumbles, like a quiet thunder just before a hurricane.

Goddammit. I need this more than I thought I did.

My head falls back on the chair and my hips begin to move, attempting to match the pace of my unsteady hand. Milky cum escapes in a high velocity pre-cum spurt, pouring out and dribbling in between my fingers, as I pump feverishly. The slurping noises of my cock screwing my wet fist finally pulls me over the edge, and I unload for the first time in almost three months, wringing a guttural groan past my dry lips.

I open my eyes, grimacing when I see the girls still working each other over, ruining what remains of my post-coital bliss. Grossed out, I quickly shut it down.

That seems to have used up my supply of energy, and so after I clean up and dispense of the tissues, I lie down, falling into a deep sleep in a matter of moments.

XXXXX

When I come down for dinner I'm elated to see Jasper there, seated between Jessica and Charlie. I find the seat directly across from him still available, and I steal it out from under Renee, forcing her to sit inbetween Eric and Angie. I'm not happy with the arrangement at all, wondering why the two younger couples had finally decided to play musical chairs on a day Jasper finally shows up to eat with us.

But, it's hard to be too upset when Jasper is looking directly at me.

"Evenin', Edward." His voice is like warmed molasses, smooth and low.

Of course, I'd given Jeremy the same southern drawl. He might be the sheriff of Halfway, Indiana, but Jeremy comes from more southern roots.

"Hi, Jasper. Did you have a good day?" I murmur, shyly.

He chuckles, smiling that disarming, wide, dimpled grin. "It was fair. I didn't get as much done as I was expectin' to. I had a sudden urge to take a nap, and slept longer than I should have." He finishes with a wink.

He glances toward the other end of the table, then lowers his head, taking an abrupt interest in his food. I turn to see what he'd been looking at in time to see Rosalie watching him carefully. When she notices me, she gives me a small smile. Her eyes flick to Jasper once more before they return to her own meal.

What is that about?

Maybe Jasper was supposed to do something for her today that he didn't get done because of his unexpected need for sleep. What a coincidence that he took a nap today, too.

I dig in, trying to eat with a smile plastered to my face.

The dining room is exuberant this evening with everyone telling stories, joking and just enjoying each other's company. I wish I could speak more with Jasper, but it seems rude to exclude everyone from the rest of the conversation.

It's not long after supper is over that the two younger couples prepare to leave for the movies. Each week, from April to October, the drive-in theatre partakes in different themes. Movies play Thursday through Sunday, but on Friday and Saturday they have double features.

They do play newer films, but I've noticed most of the movies they play are classics. This week's theme is horror, and they're playing 'The Omen I and II' tonight.

The first Omen scared the shit out of me so badly, I had no desire to the sequel. Although, I do wonder if it would still seem as terrifying now. Jessica asks me if I want to join them, but I decline since Jasper is still here.

Charlie and Renee begged off earlier citing that they had an exhausting day. The heat had flared even higher than normal, taking its toll on Renee.

Rosalie convinces Jasper to forgo his plans for the evening and stay with us.

I am overjoyed, to say the least.

We go downstairs, have a few beers, and play a couple rounds of pool, before sitting down at the card table to play Euchre.

Jasper's my partner, and we're having such a great time. He's a sneaky bastard. Toward the end of the third game I catch him stacking the deck, and I join in his antics. We smoke them a couple of games before they realize what we're doing, causing Rosalie to promptly put an end to our shenanigans.

Liquor is flowing, and I can't help but wonder if it's the reason that Jasper is being overly friendly…not that I'm complaining.

We are in the midst of our sixth game when Rosalie asks me the same question Jasper had asked earlier: Do I have a girl waiting for me back home?

"No, I don't," I repeat my earlier response. Jasper's looking at his cards, but his lips twitch.

"I don't believe ya Edward. Don't be lyin' to me now. You're way to good-lookin' to be single," she insists.

"Yeah, Edward, you're way too good-lookin' to be single," Emmett teases, reaching over to pinch my cheek. I swipe his hand away, but blow him a kiss, which he pretends to catch, and fawn over.

Everyone laughs at our exchange, but I still don't see anyway that I can avoid the subject.

"To be honest, my divorce just became final, so I haven't been single for long," I admit.

Its Jasper's turn to either pass or call trump, so I look to see what he's going to do. He's studying his cards intently, the lines around his eyes tight, confusing me.

"Pass," he says stiffly, not looking in my direction.

We continue to play, but the mood has definitely shifted after my declaration. Rosalie and Emmett begin to show signs of fatigue, while Jasper is just acting…weird.

So, after the final hand of that series, it's no surprise that the game breaks up. Jasper barely glimpses at me before he's gone, leaving me feeling extremely bewildered and depressed.

XXXXX

"Jeremy saunters confidently into the local saloon, his black Stetson sitting low and surreptitious on his brow. Every eye falls upon his wiry frame when he saddles up the bar, propping one foot on the bottom rung of the barstool, while the other long, muscular leg stretches out in front of him. He orders a whiskey straight, and after several slow minutes, removes his hat, letting everyone catch their first glimpse of the new Sherriff in town...

The men grumble, and the women gasp."

It's been two weeks since our card game, and I've seen naught of Jasper…at least not during the day. According to Rosalie, he's taken a job building an extravagant bar with custom cabinetry in a home just outside of town. He's been there morning until night to get the work done in time for a party the homeowners are having in the following month.

Yet, every evening, I watch for the sign that Jasper is in the backyard, and it hasn't failed me. I've been tempted to go out there again, to catch him before he disappears for the night, but the way in which he left our card game repeatedly forestalls me.

I don't know what I did…or what I continue to do. It seems like every time I have an encounter with Jasper, I screw things up even more. Sometimes, I think I'm just better off to leave him be.

It hurts to just walk away from what could be a great friendship, but it has to be a two-way street, and so far I'm driving down a lonely dead end road.

As Rosalie had said, people have come and gone. I barely learn their names before they've left, since most days I stay sequestered in my room, knowing Jasper won't make an appearance.

I'm getting a lot of my story written. I'm up to 150 pages, but the storyline is growing dark and intense. It isn't the direction I'd planned on, and I know my frame of mind is the cause.

I need to get out of this room.

I walk down the stairs to find one of the couples lounging in the living area. The woman is striking, with strawberry blond hair and lime green eyes. Her husband is more average looking, but he's built tough, like a body builder or wrestler.

"Hey, Edward? Right?" The redhead inquires.

"Yeah…um, I'm sorry…" I shrug helplessly, her name eluding me.

"Oh, don't worry about it. We only met once…like a week ago, and I don't think we've even seen you since then. I'm Tanya, this is Dmitri," she states, pointing to her mate. "We were just getting ready to head down to the Bon Terre Annual Festival. You're more than welcome to come along."

I'd been told the weeklong celebration had started this week, but I've been too busy being a hermit to join in on the festivities.

Rosalie appears in the doorway. "Edward, you should go on. They're havin' a music competition tonight at the high school. Most of the participants are gonna be young'uns." She turns to Tanya and Dmitri, offering an explanation, "Edward teaches music in Chicago."

"Oh, what grade level do you teach?" Tanya asks, seemingly interested.

"High school students." I battle to keep the discontent out of my voice.

"Oh, that sounds like a fun job," she supposes.

"Yeah." And I leave it at that. I don't inform them that I had found my dream job, but it's turned out to be just one more disappointment that I've had to cope with.

But regardless, I feel excitement bubble, eager to see what the kids here have to offer.

"Yeah, I'll tag along if you guys don't mind."

Rosalie's smile looks suspiciously like relief, causing me to make a mental note to get out of my room more often.

XXXXX

I'm astounded at the talent presented during the course of the competition. Bon Terre's young and old filed on the stage in the town's high school auditorium, their voices, instruments, and pride on display for the community.

From an older gentleman singing George Strait's 'Baby Blue', to an eight-year-old girl singing and playing the piano in a touching version of Evanescence's 'My Immortal', dedicating her performance to her mama in Heaven, there isn't a dry eye in the audience.

I'm also surprised to see instruments that I'd only read about in the past, like a cigar box fiddle, and a 'Button Box'.

Many of these kids have genuine talent. With nurturing and practice, I can definitely see them taking it to the next level, and more importantly, this community cherishes their musically inclined. The auditorium is packed, the applause deafening, while each person gives all they have into their performances.

That was my dream when I started college. As children, Alice and I were brought up surrounded by music, but of the two of us, I'm the only with natural ability. My voice isn't the greatest, but it's gotten me by. My bread and butter comes from my playing. I started with piano at the age of four, but quickly realized my talents extended to most other instruments as well.

My dream was to assist kids in fostering their talent, to help them grow into their capabilities. When I received my teaching degree, I'd immediately been offered the opportunity to be the music teacher at a high school in an upscale area of Chicago. I thought I'd hit the jackpot.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long to understand that the students had long ago given up any dreams of being a musician. Most of the kids that have any raw talent are either into sports, or too consumed with their academic studies to be bothered with something they only consider a hobby - at best.

Sebastian, one of my past students, has that rare talent. I struggled for months to get him to see his potential. It was arduous, his adolescent mind flip-flopping on a daily basis, but eventually, I made him see all he could be. I tutored him in the classroom during the summer, watching while he flourished into quite a musician, but as summer drew to a close, and he had other obligations, the poor boy felt the pressure.

One day I received an angry call from Sebastian's father, telling me to "butt out of his life" and "Sebby isn't going to be able to pay the bills playing that stupid violin, he needs to practice his football. That's where the money's at". I reminded him that his son plays a cello, and not a violin, but before I could explain the difference between the two, he hung up on me.

Sebastian dropped my class that following Monday, but stopped in to apologize for his dad's behavior. He seemed distraught over the choices his father made for him, but there hadn't been anything I could do about it.

And that's just the way it's been; my class has become an easy elective.

The problem is, I care about what I do. It isn't just about earning a paycheck for me.

Before the end of the school year, I requested a transfer to an elementary school. I still have hope, believing that maybe, if I start with younger kids, they'll have more time to hone their skill, and their parents will be more receptive to their learning to play.

After the contest is over, I find Tanya and Dmitri to let them know I'm heading back. They offer to drive me, but I tell them that I prefer the walk.

While I walk along the dimly lit road, my loneliness creeps up on me, tears stinging my eyes. What had started out as a nice evening crashed and burned, becoming just another reminder of how pathetic my life has become.

How the hell did my life get so screwed up? How did I become such a mess? I'm stuck in this rut with no idea how to climb out of it.

A truck drives by, and for a moment I think it's Jasper, being the same make and model, but the tailgate has stickers all over it and Jasper's doesn't.

A small hiccupping sob escapes me, and I bury my head in my hands, continuing to stumble forward along the gravely shoulder.

Where did I go wrong with him?

I've never tried so hard to be someone's friend before; it hurts that he keeps pushing me away.

I just don't know what I did.

I thought we were on our way to being friends…that he actually liked me. We seemed to get along so well, but then I mention my divorce, and he becomes distant again, disappearing for weeks. I know he's got the work doing that basement, but the job shouldn't keep him away from dinner every single night for the last two weeks. He's not a machine. He needs a break.

I know I'm not the best judge of character, but he doesn't seem like the type that would judge me for my divorce, especially when he doesn't know the circumstances.

I arrive at the inn, looking through the many lit windows at all the spirited activity inside. Ashamed of my pity party, I don't want to go in yet for fear the signs of my distress still visibly streak across my cheeks.

According to my watch, it's almost ten-thirty, and I realize that it won't be long before Jasper takes off for wherever the hell he goes at night.

I almost change my mind twice, turning and retreating a couple of steps, before my resolve turns me again toward my destination. Once I get to the back of the house, I lean against my favorite oak…and sliding down the trunk, I gather my knees to my chest.

From what I can see, there are no lights on in Jasper's cabin, but I'm confident he won't be giving up his evening ritual.

He'll be here…and so will I.

I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself. Good things aren't just going to fall in my lap. I need to create my own opportunities.

So, I sit…and I wait.

I'm not sure how long I sit before I hear the scuffing of boots on rocks and snapping twigs. I peek around the trunk of the tree to see the silhouette of a man…Jasper.

I watch his curls blow around his head with the exhilarating squall that only the backyard seems to provide. It's like a torpedo surrounding him, but he doesn't seem to be shaken by it, in fact it looks like it's a part of him. He takes a few steps toward me, and I get the chance to see his face when he lights his cigarette, cupping the flame with his hand until it's lit…and as his face illuminates, it causes my breath to catch.

I don't want to admit that the one word that comes to my mind is 'beautiful', but I won't waste a second wondering if that's okay, or what the hell's wrong with me, because what's even more shocking is noticing Jasper looking up at my window.

So I'm paralyzed, entranced, because every time he takes a drag from his smoke, his eyes raise, watching my window.

He's looking at my room.

"Fuck this shit," he mutters, stomping out his cigarette with the heel of his boot.

He heads toward the motorboat. An unknown force, like the gust that chased Jasper to my window, pulls me to my feet. I stand up - a mile tall and full of vibrant energy, feeling braver and stronger than I have in a very long time.

"Are you looking for me?"

Ed is getting braver. I wonder if he's ready to face the truth. You tell me what you think, and I'll tell you what I think.