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Stepping out of the truck, a warm breeze catches the bottom of my dress and I stop it just before it soars over my head. As I turn around, I make sure no one saw what just happened and quietly cuss the blasted wind and Rose for making me wear a dress in the first place.
Trucks and cars are lined up in rows out in the pasture, just a half mile from the church. I spot my daddy's truck, surprised that he's not driving the police car today. Mama must have insisted that they have a "normal family day".
"No guns or police chases, Charles!"
I've heard that my whole life.
Everyone is congregating under a big white tent, but there are blankets scattered out in the deep green grass surrounding it, where they've staked their claim for the afternoon. As I walk closer, I can hear the reverend greeting everyone and asking them to bow their heads in prayer.
Stopping just short of the crowd, I do as he asks, and listen to him thank the Lord for good health and the rain we got last week, and asking Him to bless the food we're about to eat.
"Amen."
"Nice to see you still remember how to pray." I hear the smooth voice of my father in my right ear, a little mirth behind his words.
"Stop it, Daddy," I say, swatting blindly behind me and making contact with his arm.
"Don't make me have to take ya in for assaultin' an old man," he jokes. "It really is good to see ya, Bells. And you sure do look pretty in that dress. You're gonna make your mama one happy lady today."
I glance beside me to see his mustache twitch as he smiles underneath it.
"Well, it's far too nice of a day to be cooped up inside," I say, smoothing my dress down in the front.
"Uh, huh. I hear you also had some smoothin' over to do with a Mrs. McCarty, who looks like she's comin' this way," he says, turning my shoulders to see Rose making a beeline for us. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I hear some fried chicken callin' my name."
"Chicken shit," I whisper, just before he gets out of earshot.
"What was that?" Rose asks, saddling up beside me and winding her arm through mine.
"Uh, I was just sayin' that chicken smells good!"
"Well, good, because I fried up plenty! Emmett found us a nice shady spot over by the tree. Let's hurry, before he eats it all!"
We say hello to people as we make our way through the tent and over to the large oak. I don't miss the side-eyes and whispers directed my way. Thankfully, I remembered my big girl panties, so I just smile and nod, not letting them get to me.
Rose wasn't lying when she said she made plenty. Emmett already has three chicken leg bones on his plate when we walk up.
"Bells!" he exclaims, wiping his hands on a pretty, paisley napkin, before standing up to hug me. "Fancy meetin' you here," he says, winking at me. I have a few choice words for him, but I'll save them for another time. I'm not pissing Rose off today. Next thing you know, she'll have me at her weekly prayer meeting or something.
Rose and I fix our plates and make ourselves comfortable on the blanket. The fried chicken is delicious. I could have used a few pieces of this yesterday. Anything fried is great hangover food. Fortunately, I'm feeling better today.
After we eat, the three of us fall into comfortable conversation, reminiscing about old times and talking about the future. I can't wait to become an aunt. Emmett isn't my brother, but he's the closest thing I have to one, and I fully intend on spoiling their baby as if it were my own. Rose looks at me with sad eyes from time to time. She knows about me and Jake trying for a baby, and I know she probably feels bad that she's the one who ended up pregnant. It's not her fault, though. Nobody knew what the last year would hold—it sure spun me for a loop.
A year ago, if someone would've asked me where I'd be in a year, I'd have said right where Rose is. But I'm not. I'm sitting here . . . divorced, single, and not pregnant.
"Hey, baby girl," my mama says, leaning down for a hug. "It's so good to see you out here today. I was just tellin' your daddy how pretty you look," she gushes, and I zone out a bit—nodding my head and smiling. When she gets going, there's no stopping her. I just hope she doesn't say anything too embarrassing. Emmett loves to use things she says against me at later dates.
As my mama starts visiting with the Webers, my eyes drift to a pair of long legs in faded blue jeans. I look a little farther up and see a taut chest squeezed into a gray t-shirt and a familiar head of copper hair. He's definitely not from around here. Even as a married woman, there's no way I could've missed that.
He's laughing at something that Mrs. Cope is telling him, and I see her hand reach out and rest on his strong forearm. The visual causes my mouth to go dry and I swallow hard, trying to ignore the pull I feel toward him.
"Lemonade?" Rose asks, as if she could read my mind.
God, please don't let her be able to read my mind. She really would go into early labor.
I nod and accept the glass she's offering, tilting it back and draining half of it before I come up for air.
"Thirsty?"
"Yeah, I guess it's all that chicken I ate."
"Uh huh," she says, as she eyeballs me and then looks back over to where the deputy and Mrs. Cope were standing just a few moments ago. I'm disappointed when I see that he's not there. I wasn't finished admiring. Just thinking about the way he looked in those jeans has me squirming.
Up until now, I've only seen him in his uniform, which wasn't bad, but those jeans. Damn!
What the hell's wrong with me?
I've got to get a grip!
"Uh, I'm gonna go bid on one of the pies over at the silent auction," I tell Emmett and Rose, as I stand up quickly. "I'll be right back!"
"Oh, Bella, be a dear and put my name down on your mama's Mississippi Mud Pie!"
"Rose, you know you're not supposed to eat all that sugar!" Em admonishes.
"Excuse me, but are you the one carrying around a Butterball turkey?" Rose starts. I've heard this rant before and I scurry off, before I get caught in the crossfire. If the pregnant lady wants a Mississippi Mud Pie, a Mississippi Mud Pie is what she'll get.
As I'm leaning over the table inspecting the pies and cakes that are up for auction, I feel someone come up beside me. Looking up, I'm greeted with green eyes and a smirk. Something cool hits my arm and I look down to see the good deputy swinging his handcuffs around his finger.
"I hope I'm not going to have to use these today," he says, with as straight of a face as he can muster.
"I don't plan on stealin' any pies."
"That's good, because I'm planning on taking these two home with me," he says, pointing down to my mama's Mississippi Mud Pie and the coconut cream that I had my eye on.
"Well, then you might be usin' those cuffs after all, 'cause I'm afraid I'll have to fight you for 'em," I reply, folding my arms across my chest and making myself as big as I can. It's hard to make five feet three inches look threatening, but I'm giving it my best shot.
"Oh, really? Well, that's a shame. I was really hoping we could start over, maybe even be friends," he says, mimicking my stance.
"Friends, huh?"
"Yeah," he says, smoothly, sticking out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Edward Cullen."
"Edward! Gah, I couldn't remember your name for the life of me!" I confess, laughing as I take his hand and shake it.
"I think if I remember it right, you wanted to give me a nickname."
His smile is blinding me, making it hard to look away and concentrate.
"A nickname?" I manage to get out. I've just about forgotten my own name.
"Yeah, you mentioned Ed or Eddie," he says, laughing again and drawing my attention to his incredible smile and his strong jaw.
I laugh, hiding my face in my hands and groaning. "Oh, gosh. Um, I'm really sorry about that and for anything else I did or said last night," I say, cringing at the thought of everything he's witnessed since he met me. I can't believe he's even talking to me. Most people just keep their distance. "You must think I'm crazy."
"Only in the best possible way," he agrees.
"Now you're just bein' nice. In case you haven't noticed, everyone thinks I'm crazy, and not in a good way." I look around and see half the people are watching us, while the other half are pretending not to. "You probably shouldn't hang around me too long. You'll get a bad reputation."
"I think I'll risk it," he replies, winking at me and making my knees feel weak.
"Okay, but you might regret it. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"I'll consider myself warned," he jokes.
Turning back around to the pies, I start to write my bids down on the sheets in front of them.
"Hey, hey! I thought we were friends?" he proclaims, pulling the sheets of paper off the table.
"What?"
"You know I want these pies. Friends don't steal friends' pies!"
"These pies are fair game! If you want them bad enough, you'll have to outbid me," I say, snatching the papers out of his hands and quickly writing down a bid on each.
"Bella Swan," he hums. "Such a pretty name. And, it's so sad that I'm going to have to outbid you," he continues, leaning across me to write his name and bid underneath mine.
"Well, this isn't over yet—it's the highest bidder who wins the pies!"
"I'll remember that," he chuckles. "So, are we just going to stand here and continue to outbid each other for the rest of the picnic, or should we go mingle or something?" he asks, looking around.
"Uh, I guess mingle?" I question him back.
"You're the local. You're supposed to tell me," he says, smiling.
"Yeah, well, in case you haven't noticed, this really isn't my scene."
We both casually walk out from the tent together. I still feel people's eyes on me, but I don't notice it as much with Edward next to me. He makes me forget all sorts of things.
"Yeah, I've noticed."
"It's hard to get revenge and keep a spotless reputation," I sigh.
I feel his eyes on me and look up to see him shaking his head. I can't quite make out the expression on his face, but it's not what I usually get. It's not pity or disgust; for that, I'm grateful.
"So, tell me something about yourself that I don't know," he says, walking toward an empty blanket. The manliness of it tells me that it's his. He motions for me to have a seat, so I do.
"Um, I hardly ever wear dresses," I say, trying to figure out how to sit without showing everything I've got.
"Well, I'm glad you wore one today. You look pretty."
"Thank you." I feel an immediate blush creeping up on my cheeks. Something about the way he said that makes me want to wear one every day. It's been a long time since someone besides my family has given me a compliment, and it feels nice.
"Now I need to know something about you," I say, turning the tables.
"I'm not from here," he answers, looking up at me and squinting due to the bright sun overhead.
"I think I do remember you saying that last night," I reply, trying not to laugh. "Chicago, right?"
"Good job," he says, nodding.
"Well, then, tell me something I don't know," I suggest.
"This is my first church picnic?" he answers, questioningly.
"Nope, you already said that," I push, needing to know more—anything he wants to tell me.
"Like what, then?" he asks.
"I don't know. Tell me about your family, since you already know about mine."
"Well, I'm an only child. My dad's a lawyer and my mom's a philanthropist, which is just a fancy way of saying she volunteers a lot," he laughs. I can tell by his expression that he thinks fondly of them.
"Were they happy about you moving all the way down here?"
"Not happy about the distance, but happy I'd finally decided on what I want to do with my life."
"So, that took you a while?"
"You could say that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. His forearm catches my attention and, again, my mouth goes dry.
"So, uh, how did you end up here, of all places?" I ask, as I try to distract myself from the uncontrollable reactions I'm having to this man.
"I actually went to school at the University of Texas," he begins.
"I'm sorry about that," I say, sadly.
"What?"
"I'm an Aggies fan," I say, making a horns sign with my hand and turning it upside down.
"An Aggie, huh?" he asks. "Well, we might not be able to be friends, after all. First, it's the pie, and now, it's your poor choice in schools. What's it going to be next? Are you going to tell me you hate action movies? Because that might be a deal breaker."
"I actually love action movies," I reply.
"Really?"
"Yes! Really! I love the adrenaline rush. Mission Impossible, Bourne Legacy, Die Hard—anything like that and I'm in!"
"I'll have to keep that in mind," he chuckles, narrowing his eyes as he looks at me. "What else do you like?"
"I love to bake."
"Are you any good at it?"
"Decent," I reply, smiling up at him. "At least everyone else thinks so. I went to school at A&M for business, but when I was finished, I couldn't imagine sitting behind a desk all day, so I opened up a bakery," I say, shrugging. "It's something I've always loved to do, even when I was a little girl."
"I think that's the key—finding something you love to do and figuring out a way to make money at it," he says, taking a drink from a bottle of Coke that was sitting beside him. I watch intently as his lips narrow around the opening, his Adam's apple undulating as the liquid slides down his throat.
Again, my body has a mind of its own and I lick my lips, feeling parched all of a sudden.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, holding up a cold bottle from his cooler,
"Sure," I reply.
"Maybe we should go check on our pies and make sure noboyd's outbid us," he suggests, standing up and offering me an outstretched hand.
I take it and allow him to help me stand up. The feel of his hand in mine feels good—warm and gentle.
"So, is being a police officer something you love to do?" I ask, as we walk back toward the tent.
"Yeah, it is. I've always appreciated the law. For a while, I thought that I'd like to follow in my dad's footsteps, but two semesters into law school, I knew it wasn't for me. Like you, I knew I couldn't sit in an office or a courtroom all day."
My steps halt, as I see Jake and Jessica walking into the opposite side of the tent. I knew there was a chance they'd be here, but I'd hoped not.
A/Ns:
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