Author's Note: I don't usually do this because I love you all equally, but I wanted to give a couple of personal thank you's today. Thank you to voldemortperfumes (I love that you like my style of writing) and ellamoo (you are completely adorable and I loved your last review) who I think have read everything I've ever posted on here. Your support means the world to me.

Huge thank you's to everyone who reads my work (And I really do love you all the same).

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

Six

Edward and I had been exchanging letters now for about a month, was I supposed to be feeling what I was feeling? I was exhilarated, my heart actually raced when I checked the mail (the mail), and a little embarrassed. What could I tell people? I'm writing to a guy I've never met who found a letter I dropped in a bar. They'd probably have the same reaction as Alice. Why was I thinking so much about this? I knew exactly why, I also knew I was thinking about this so much so I could avoid doing something.

I grabbed his newest letter out of my bedroom; I'd been keeping them in a small wooden box on my nightstand. I liked them to be within reach. I slipped on a pair of sandals and a sweater and walked outside, heading for the beach. It was almost six o'clock, sunset, my favorite time of day. Sitting down, I slipped off my shoes and dug my toes into the sand.

Dear Bella,

I actually spent a long time trying to think of my favorite ice cream flavor, but found it impossible to narrow down. Vanilla, because you can add a lot to it, chocolate for the same reason, cookie dough, rocky road, chocolate chip…I could go on.

I have a feeling there's a lot more interesting about you than you let on, maybe you just don't realize it yet. What kind of pictures do you take? This probably won't come as much of a surprise, but I sketch a lot in my free time.

Tell me more about your friends. Jasper and I met at the Yale School of Architecture; he and I are both the fairly serious, solitary type. I'm surprised we ever even spoke to each other. He was a little better with math; I was a little better with art, so together we make a pretty good team.

I grew up mostly in Connecticut until my mother passed away. My father wasn't sure how to handle me so I was sent to boarding school in New Hampshire through high school. I never really fit in there, so after I graduated I took a year off and came to New York. My father owned the apartment I live in now and offered it to me then, but I wanted to make it on my own. When trying to be an artist left me living in a studio apartment on the Lower East Side with two roommates I decided I needed a change. I discovered architecture and the rest is history.

My father passed away shortly after I graduated, so I took over his estate and moved back to New York. I sometimes think leaving me with everything was a way to tell me the things he was never able to in life, or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

So, now that my digression is over, tell me something about you that I don't already know. I'm not picky about subject matter.

Yours,

Edward, waiting with breath that is bated

It wasn't that part of the letter that caught me up, but the P.S at the end; he had added his e-mail address (for faster reply times). It was one thing to write back and forth, at least that way I could take my time and come up things to say that were halfway interesting. I suppose I could do that with an e-mail, but it still made me nervous.

By the time it was dark, I was sitting on my bed with my laptop, my fingers poised over the keys. I was signed in to my e-mail and I was in the process of adding Edward to my list of contacts, which at the moment consisted of colleagues, Alice, and Rose. I put in his first and last name, his e-mail address, and hit the Save button. Then I clicked on the Compose Message icon and got to work. Actually, first I changed positions, lying on my stomach; when that wasn't comfortable I moved back to my original position. Then I got up and got a glass of water, and then I washed the glass. Then I got to work.

Dear Edward,

This will definitely be faster than the letter writing, although I have to admit the other way was more romantic

I deleted the last part.

This will definitely be faster than the letter writing, although I have to admit I really enjoyed getting your letters; it's probably the first time I've ever looked forward to getting the mail.

So anyway, I don't really take pictures of anything in particular, my friends, something that strikes me as beautiful; it doesn't really matter what. What kind of things do you sketch?

My friends, this could take a while. I'll start with Alice; she's tiny and really feisty. She's a designer; she has a little store in Los Angeles that does really well. She also has this uncanny foresight into things; it's actually a little strange sometimes. Rosalie is not as tiny, but can be just as intimidating; she's very protective of the people close to her. She's married to Emmett, who owns a chain of gyms here, and she doesn't work anymore. They're trying to have a baby; we all can't wait. She's also really into cars, which you wouldn't expect by looking at her.

I also moved around a bit growing up; I was passed back and forth between Arizona and a tiny town in Washington until high school when I settled in Washington. I moved to California for college and I've lived here ever since. I can't even imagine what your first year in New York must have been like.

Something about me that you don't already know…sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong era, but that might have to do with the classic literature I surround myself with. Ok, same question.

Yours,

Bella the Sleepy

I read it over twice and then hit the send button.

I tried not to delve into my past much, although I could always feel it at my heels. Nothing was ever talked about, even with Mike, Alice, and Rose who knew everything. So that's why I kept my own history vague in the e-mail; it wasn't something I could just type out and send. But that tiny bit, just telling Edward where I'd grown up, was enough to bring the dreams back.

I was smiling; I knew that even though she couldn't see me, she would hear it in my voice. She wanted information, but I told her it was going to be a surprise; she was mad that Alice already knew. I told her the truth, that Alice had guessed, but I'm not sure she believed me. I felt Mike's arms go around my waist; he was kissing my neck. I giggled into the phone, becoming distracted as he worked at the button of my jeans; I said a quick goodbye, barely paying attention.

I woke up covered in sweat, the blankets pushed aside. I looked at the clock, 4 a.m.; it was better than when the dreams first started, back then I was usually up by two or three. I stood up and walked out to the kitchen, sitting at the table, my laptop screensaver the only source of light. I hit the space bar and the monitor showed my desktop; it was a little brighter. My little e-mail notification icon in the task bar glowed a bright blue; I had a new e-mail. I opened it, trying to push the dream back.

Dear Bella,

I wasn't sure if you would actually e-mail me or not, is it weird that I thought giving you my address was a little forward? I'm not sure what the etiquette is for something like this. I liked the letter writing as well; I'd still like to send you things from time to time if that's alright.

It sounds like you have some really good friends; Jasper has become my family. I'm sure you can relate.

When I lived in New York I painted using people as models, but now I sketch anything that catches my eye. Most of the time it's pieces of buildings, though when I was less busy with work I was a little more creative.

So, a little known fact about me, I'm teaching myself to play the guitar. I can sing too, but if you tell anyone that, I'll deny it. I'm going to have to end it here; it's time to start getting ready for work. Have a good day.

Yours,

Edward who thinks it's way too early

The small flutter in my heart made me feel strangely guilty. I ignored it and hit the reply button.

Dear Edward,

It's way too early here too, but sometimes I have trouble sleeping. Your e-mail was nice to wake up to.

Edward: Bella?

The message popped up in the corner of my screen; my immediate reaction - panic. I jumped up out of my seat as if he could see me and took a step back almost knocking my chair over in the process. Don't just ignore him! A part of my mind reprimanded. I wasn't going to, I replied back to myself. I sat back down.

Bella: Morning, Edward. I was just writing you an e-mail.

Edward: Isn't it 4 in the morning there?

Bella: Yeah, I have trouble sleeping sometimes; it's easier to just get up.

Edward: I do too.

Edward: Well, we make quite a pair.

Bella: We should start a support group.

Edward: Insomniacs Anonymous.

Bella: That's a good idea. So, what are you doing today?

Edward: Going to work, the usual. How about you?

Bella: The same, I have a new art project for the kids so that should be interesting. How's the new account coming along?

Edward: Good, I think. He keeps things close to the vest unless he wants you to change something. So if he doesn't say anything, we take it as a good thing. Sorry to cut this short, but I need to get going.

Edward: I'm really glad I got a chance to talk to you.

Bella: Me too. Have a good day.

Edward: Likewise, bye.

Bella: Bye.

I spent most of the day trying to regain my focus, but between being tired and that morning's chat with Edward, I was having a difficult time. I had to admit that my feelings for him were changing, but what good was that if I couldn't do anything about it? It's not like I could just take a quick drive across the country – oh hey, I was just dropping by to say I'm falling for you, take it easy. Plus I had no idea what he was feeling, if anything.

Maybe he was just being nice; he seemed like a polite kind of man.

Author's Note: I'm using Google's Gmail as the basis for all e-mail related things. They have a thing where you can chat with anyone on your e-mail contact list (no screen name needed).