Author Note: Thanks to Stephenie Meyer for coming up with such fascinating characters, and yes, there are some similiarites, despite how OOC they seem sometimes.

Thanks also to my awesome beta, tamelaine.

Enjoy! And please don't forget to read and review! You guys really do keep me writing!

BPOV

By the time we reached the Rogue Public House I felt both better and worse. Better because the lightheaded feeling had passed and I knew I was sobering up. Worse because without the comforting glow of alcohol, I was beginning to panic.

Edward had remained quiet almost the whole ride to the restaurant, only making some casual small talk, and thankfully, I had managed to reply to his questions without embarrassing myself. I knew that as soon as we were sitting across from each other at dinner, that was going to change.

Taking some deep breaths as we got out of the cab and Edward quickly paid the driver, I refused to send myself off into a panic attack by wondering if this was or was not a date. I'd just go with the natural assumption that no, he had not asked me out. We were simply two co-conspirators in a naturally complex plan who were in the same place, at the same time, and had a mutual need to eat dinner. That was all.

Besides, I didn't like suave and charming men. I liked straightforward and honest men. Men who didn't make you feel like you were melting into the floor when they simply looked at you. Alice and Rosalie might say I liked unimpressive men, but I liked to think of it as more. . .comfortable. Edward Cullen was definitely not comfortable, and that was why, I told myself as we walked into the restaurant, this was not a date. This was merely a business meeting.

Further proving my point, and relaxing me even further, was the waitress who showed up at our table the moment we sat down. Clearly, she'd spotted the gorgeous Mr. Cullen from across the room and had busted her butt to make it to our table as quickly as possible. She was young, maybe in her early 20s, and lean, blond and curvaceous, and unsurprisingly, her name was Tiffany. Basically, my basic nightmare, but in this particular situation, though I was fundamentally and understandably jealous, I was actually glad he didn't shut down her flirtation. If we'd been on a date, I knew without a doubt that he wouldn't have tolerated her overt friendliness.

Finally she left, and I leaned back in the high backed booth and let out a sigh of contentment. My question about whether this was a date or not was answered and I felt comfortable to be myself. There was no need to impress him, and I was eternally grateful because I honestly didn't think I could.

"I come here all the time," I confided to him over the antique wood tabletop. "It's one of my favorite places to go."

"Really? And here I took you for one of those classy, nose-in-the-air gourmet girls."

"Did you know, according to the Oregonian, 76 of women feel that sarcasm is an unattractive trait in a man?" I smiled sweetly at him, innocence personified. "Just letting you know, so that when Blondie comes back, you can make sure to avoid it."

It was amazing to me, really, how comfortable I felt as soon as I knew that Edward wasn't interested. Maybe I should only go out with guys who weren't interested in me. I'd probably have a better time all around.

Edward's brows shot together and he drummed his fingers on the table. "I was really hoping you wouldn't be a pain in the ass like your friends Rosalie and Alice, but it appears that I was wrong." Instead of looking perturbed at my behavior, though, it appeared that he was trying to hold back a smile. Good. I amused him. I was entertaining. That was fine, as long as he kept his flirtations restricted to the waitress.

"Just because I made things easy on you earlier today doesn't mean that the pattern is going to continue," I hissed good naturedly at him, as the waitress sauntered back to the table to set down our drinks.

I watched as she again turned up the charm, and while he definitely didn't shut her down, he wasn't exactly charming back. Still, my mind was made up. I was off Edward's market, and as much as a tiny piece of my heart cringed, I told myself that it was easier this way. If I was going to do this to help Rosalie and Alice, I needed to learn how to be comfortable with him.

Tiffany finally left and I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Maybe some women were okay being so ridiculously and ostentatiously forward, but I had a sneaking feeling that most guys that were worth the effort found such behavior unattractive.

Edward was clearly in the minority though, as he decided not to acknowledge Tiffany's behavior or my eye roll. Instead he broached a subject I'd nearly forgotten about.

"Didn't you want to hear why I was in the ER? Or was that simply a ploy to get me to buy your dinner?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed, remembering what he'd told me on the phone, "what happened?"

Edward sighed, and leaned back against the booth. "I told Emmett about our plan."

"And?" I asked, puzzled.

"And he was upset," Edward said, and pushed a hand through his mussy bronze hair. I felt my heart stutter but I firmly and promptly pushed away any jealousy I had toward his hand. I wanted to be the one messing up his hair, I told myself, before I could muzzle the thought.

"Rosalie was upset too, but that certainly didn't send her to the ER," I countered, knowing I was interrupting and not caring because I had to do something to offset the sudden wave of lust I was having. I hated how attractive he was and even more, I hated my own reaction to it.

"You are the damndest female, you know that?"

I tried not to take offense to that, but I couldn't help myself. "What is that supposed to mean?" I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Nothing. Nothing." I sent him a quick glare and he repeated himself again. "Bella, really, there's no reason to take offense. I'm just trying to tell you what happened and you won't let me."

"Won't let you?" I heard a definite thread of annoyance snaking its way through my voice, and I didn't try to censor it. This man had no idea how truly infuriating he was. "I asked you to tell me!"

"So let me tell you!" Edward's green eyes flashed at me and I couldn't help but feel exhilarated. He might be exasperating, but I hadn't had this much fun bickering with someone in a long time.

"Fine." I took a sip of water and sat back again, ready to listen to whatever it was he was trying to tell me. If he could ever get to the damn point.

"Emmett was upset. There was some yelling." I raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Okay, there was a lot of yelling. And the next thing I knew, Emmett had his fist through the wall."

"Emmett punched a wall?" I squeaked.

Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his face with his hands. "Yes."

"Is he okay?"

"Bella," Edward said, with as much aggravating patience as he could, "he punched a wall."

"Yes, I know that. So what, is his hand broken? His wrist?" I snapped back.

Edward sighed. "Unfortunately, neither. Apparently his skin is like granite. He just has some deep bruising and some swelling. And a cracked rib."

That made no sense. "I thought you said he punched a wall."

"He did," Edward said breezily, taking a large drink of beer.

"Then I have to confess, I don't understand whyhe has a cracked rib." I leaned forward and met his eyes. "You're going to have to explain."

"Believe me, Bella, I want to," he said, his voice softening as he too leaned forward.

"So?"

"I punched him."

"You're kidding." I looked at him with what was surely a flabbergasted expression. The neat, charming and GQ-cover model Edward had punched Emmett? The side he'd presented to me, at least, seemed incapable of violence. He wouldn't need to be nearly so brutish to accomplish what he wanted. Of course, his natural charm probably didn't work as well with his brothers as it worked with Tiffany.

"He wouldn't stop screeching like a girl."

I rolled my eyes at him. "He'd just punched a wall. I think he'd be entitled to a few shrieks," I said with a light teasing voice.

"A few yes. Not ten minutes worth. Oh good," Edward said, his eyes lighting on Tiffany and sending my stomach sinking to the floor again, "our food's here."

We mostly ate in silence, at least after Tiffany left and took her inane giggling with her. I savored my crab cakes and didn't want anything to disturb my concentration.

Nearly done with them, I looked up and caught Edward observing me. "What?" I asked, "do I have something on my face?"

"No," he said slowly. "You just. . .attacked those poor crab cakes."

I felt myself go on the defensive. "I was hungry and I like food. Do you have a problem with that?" I told myself he was probably unused to women eating in his presence. The women in his life probably existed off air and romaine lettuce.

"No," he responded "that isn't . . .that wasn't. . .oh nevermind. It's just nice to see a woman enjoy her meal. I'm glad you liked it."

I was barely refraining from licking my plate; of course I had enjoyed it.

"Thank you," I allowed, trying to be gracious. It wasn't everyday that an extremely attractive man, no matter how antagonistic he was, offered to buy me a meal at my favorite restaurant.

"You're welcome." Edward grinned at me, and I felt like I had somehow lost control of this conversation, this encounter, and of my heartbeat, even. The look in those deep green eyes was sending it exploding out of control and I was sure he could hear it hammering just across the table.

He tossed some bills on the table and stood up. "You ready to go?"

I glanced at my cleaned plate, and grabbed my purse. "Yes. Thank you, again."

"It was my pleasure," he said, and as I stood up, he extended a hand towards me.

I looked at Edward's outstretched hand like it was a snake that was about to bite. Then I glanced up and saw Tiffany watching us intently. That did it. I walked to his side, took a deep breath and wove my fingers through his, and almost missed my vicarious shot of triumph in her direction as the fireworks launching through me were so strong at the touch of his skin on mine.

We exited the restaurant, still hand-in-hand and he stopped on the sidewalk, turning toward me. He was so close I could almost sense what it would feel like to be in his arms. Dangerous thoughts, I reminded myself, dangerous thoughts. Don't go there. But it was nearly impossible not to go there when his hand was intertwined with mine and his eyes had such an intent expression.

"Shall we walk? Where are you parked?"

"In a garage on 3rd and Alder."

"Perfect," Edward said, turning in the direction we needed to go and starting to walk. He had to tug a little on my hand to pull me out of the stupor I was in. Something, I'd decided, was not computing. Something in between the moonlight walk to my car and everything I'd promised myself.

I glanced down at our hands, and wondered if maybe I should make a point saying that I'd only taken his hand in the restaurant to dissuade Tiffany from hitting on him further. Of course that would definitely bring up the fact that I hadn't liked him flirting with the waitress, and the only reason I'd be jealous at all was if I liked him.

It was becoming harder and harder to remind myself that I didn't, as we walked together, hand in hand, through the twilight-filled evening. The stars were nearly out, and it was undeniably romantic. In fact, unlike the unqualified disaster I'd expected dinner to be, I'd really enjoyed myself. More than I'd probably even admit to myself.

We walked in silence, just letting the charm of downtown Portland and the Pearl District at night wash over us.

"Do you ever go to First Thursday?" Edward inquired, breaking the stillness between us, as we passed the third art gallery on this particular block. First Thursday was a traditional event in the art-minded Pearl District. During the first Thursday of every month, all the galleries would stay open late and serve food and drinks to the public. It had evolved into almost a street festival. I personally found the tone of the evening a little too snooty for my tastes, but I had a feeling it was right up Edward's alley.

"Occasionally," I said, trying not to gasp as he chose that particular moment to rub his thumb in circles over my sensitive skin. "Alice likes to go, because it's good for her business to be seen at those kind of events."

"I went once and thought it was just an excuse for people to look at art they can't even begin to understand and pretend is interesting." Edward turned to me, a smile playing on his lips, and I felt the world begin to careen slowly out of control.

Every single assumption I'd made about him this evening had been wrong. I'd thought he was going to take me to a fancy restaurant that said more about him than the food. We'd ended up going to the Rogue Public House, my favorite place to eat.

I'd told myself that he was flirting with Tiffany, but really, he'd just been being polite to her. No, he hadn't stone-walled her, but he'd been a little distant and merely cordial. I could hardly fault him for trying to be courteous and well-mannered.

I was sure he'd brought up First Thursday so he could brag about how cultured he was. Instead, he'd decided to inform me that such events bothered him and his sense of artistic integrity.

Then, before I could even wrap my mind around any of these latest realizations, he spoke.

"You know," Edward said, suddenly stopping, and turning to face me. "You are awful distant sometimes. I'd give just about anything to know what you're thinking right now."

"Nothing much," I stammered, hoping he'd stop this line of questioning before it even got started.

"But your distance does make it terribly difficult for a guy to take you on a date," he finished, playfully bringing my hand up to his lips. He brushed a quick kiss on the back and let it slip down to my side.

All I could do was stand there, gaping at him. "A date? This was a date?"

He had the nerve to look cross with me. "What did you think it was?"

"A business meeting?" I asked, meekly. I knew how ridiculous it sounded, but my mind was blank and I couldn't think of anything else to say.

Edward threw back his head and roared with laughter. "As if a man would just want to take you on a 'business meeting.' You sure are a funny lady, Bella."

I wanted to sink through the sidewalk in mortification. I was sure I'd flushed a million different shades of red, all of them bright and conspicuous.

"Now that we've cleared this up," Edward said conversationally, apparently ignoring my humiliation, "let's finish our walk." He reached for my hand again, and I was still struck so dumb that I let him take it.

"Bella?" Edward enquired, glancing my way, "you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine," I mumbled, ruinously aware that any kind of comfort I'd enjoyed with him before had now completely evaporated and I was completely screwed.