6

A dozen white roses greet me when I get home from my finance class the next day. "I think you've got a keeper there, Bella," Mrs. Cope says, smiling hard as she presses the card into my hand.

To sweet kisses and new beginnings. -Edward

Being on the receiving end of Edward's thoughtful gesture feels every bit as wonderful as I'd imagined. I glide up the stairs, vase in hand, and rush to my phone.

Thank you for the beautiful flowers and a wonderful evening.

His answer comes back immediately.The pleasure is mine. Just when I catch my breath, he adds a kiss emoji.

.

.

.

TGIF saps my energy. I step outside for my break, grinning when I see Edward's text: Miss me?

Yep.

Good. ;)

Bastard!

Haha! XX

.

.

.

Morning, sunshine. Be good and get all your homework done today. Tomorrow night, you are all mine!

It's not exactly still morning when I wake to Edward's message. His last line keeps me puzzling for hours. Clearly, date one stops at kissing. What are Old School's rules for date two? It would serve him right if I had Mrs. Cope ask his intentions, but I try the subtle approach.

What time should I walk over? What can I bring?

I'll pick you up! 5:30 okay? Bring salad? Any food allergies/aversions?

Ugh, no clues. I have no choice but to throw a toothbrush and a thong into my purse.

.

.

.

Showing up fifteen minutes early is not playing fair. I'm stuck washing and chopping lettuce in the kitchen while Mrs. Cope greets Edward and chats him up in the living room.

Hearing Edward's voice now makes me rethink my ban on phone calls. His laughter carries into the kitchen, seriously disturbing my concentration. I struggle to work the sharp knife down the cucumber without slicing off a finger in the process.

"Screw it!" I toss the half-pared cucumber into the salad bowl on top of the lettuce, followed by the unpeeled red onion, a big, ripe tomato, and a whole red pepper—sticker and all. "I'm coming!"

My heart skips a beat when Edward turns toward my approaching steps. Fuck me. Is he serious with those distressed jeans and dusty gray t-shirt? So, my memory hasn't been playing tricks on me. He is that hot.

His smile cranks up about a thousand degrees, igniting my body as he takes in my skin tight jeans and white tank. "Hello."

I'm supposed to be cool and not tackle him because salad and Mrs. Cope, so I force one foot deliberately in front of the other. He squeezes my free hand and pulls me in for a chaste kiss on the cheek.

You're not fooling me, Edward Cullen. I can feel the heat coming off you. And damn, the way this man smells, even without the chocolate and cinnamon!

He glances into the deep wooden bowl as he takes it from me. "Um... interesting salad."

"Shush, you," I tell him, earning me a chuckle from Edward and Mrs. Cope.

"Ready?" Yeah, Edward's as eager as I am to bust out of here.

"Yes."

Mrs. Cope gives me a wink as she shoos us out again. "Have fun, you two."

"Good evening, Mrs. Cope," Edward says, taking my hand.

He walks me down the driveway and opens the car door for me. As he places the salad bowl on my lap, he says, "Oh, there's something I've been dying to tell you."

"What's that?"

His grin moves closer. "This." I draw in a quick breath just before he kisses me. His tongue presses gently against mine, leaving an ache between my legs. He pulls away with an even bigger smile on his face. "Much better."

We have a million things to talk about—my day, his day, that mysterious job of his—but we ride the mile and a half to Edward's house inside a silence bursting with everything yet to be learned about each other.

He parks in his driveway and escorts me to the front door. His house is similar in style to Mrs. Cope's, but this paint job is fresh, and there's a well-tended garden by the entrance.

A rich, meaty aroma wraps around us like a blanket when he opens the door.

"What is that amazing smell?"

"That would be the coq au vin."

"What?" I follow him into the kitchen and set my salad bowl onto the counter. "I thought you said you can't cook!"

"I learned." He takes in my surprised smile. "What, you don't believe an old dog can learn new tricks?"

"Let's just say I'm impressed."

"Mission accomplished." Okay, that was sexy as fuck. "What would you like to drink?"

"You're gonna make me a cocktail?" I settle onto one of the wooden stools at the island. "What's your specialty?"

"I don't like to brag, but I make a mean dirty martini."

"Will you have one, too?"

"I'd never make a lady drink alone. Vodka or gin?"

Oh lord, we are going to get wasted. "Dealer's choice."

Edward's smile never fades as he produces two martini glasses from the freezer and lays out all his supplies, including a handsome martini shaker trimmed with brown leather—an accessory that screams bachelor.

He shakes our drinks over his right shoulder, making me weak with his muscular display. No wonder my knuckles smarted from punching his arm! He strains the drink like a pro, back and forth over both glasses until the shaker is empty, then spears three olives to garnish each one. He slides one glass toward me.

He lifts his glass. "Here's to being alone together."

A shiver curls down my spine. "Cheers!"

He watches my first taste expectantly. "Well? How'd I do?"

"Beast level," I say, "though it'd be better with an umbrella."

"I'll have to get some for next time." Next time. "Why don't I finish chopping the salad while you enjoy your drink?"

"That'd be great."

He shakes his head and chuckles to himself as he removes the vegetables one at a time from the salad bowl. He pulls three knives out of the wood block before finding the one he wants. His slicing technique—slow, inefficient, uneven strokes—would never win Edward any "Top Chef" awards, but I can't look away from the careful motion of his hands. He finishes slicing the cucumber and glances up to see if I'm still watching. Hell yes, I am. I'm rewarded with a killer wink I can feel right down to my toes.

He slides the cucumber slices off the cutting board and plops the red onion down in its place. After a haphazard attempt to peel the skin away, he gives up and lops off the hairy knob. I'm pretty sure Edward has no idea what he's doing but it's insanely entertaining to watch.

The knife slices through the fat center of the onion, releasing a wave of tear gas that causes Edward to blink. He puts on a macho act and pretends it's not getting to him, but after a few more slices, he sets down the knife and pulls his sleeve across his eyes. "You got a strong onion, there," he says.

"I'm officially ruling out chef as a possibility."

His eyebrows rise as he realizes we're back to the subject of his work. "That's a safe bet."

"Here," I say, sliding the base of his martini glass toward his hand. "Alcohol keeps away the tears."

"Is that so?" Edward picks up his glass, takes a healthy swig, and sets it down again with a loud smack of his lips.

"See? Better, right?" I take a long sip of my drink too, being companionable and all.

He lifts the toothpick to his mouth and wraps his tongue around the end olive. "Actually," he says, fixing his watery gaze on me, "I've heard kissing helps."

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm." Leaning across the counter, he presses his shiny lips to mine, working them open with his salty tongue. He tastes like a day at the beach. "Yep, no more tears for me," he says with a contented grin.

There's a dreamy quality to his expression that makes me want to jump across the counter and get lost in his arms. He nuzzles his nose against mine as if he can read my thoughts, then pulls back with a sigh. "I better finish my work with the sharp knife before you get me totally wasted."

"Moi? You poured the drinks, mister!"

We're both smiling hard as he turns back to his task, carving the tomato into neat wedges. He doesn't just chop the red pepper like a normal person, but instead painstakingly carves out the seedy core and slices through the skin to make pretty rings. I don't know if Edward is showing off for me or if this is normal behavior, but he arranges the sliced vegetables on top of the lettuce in an intricate starburst design and drizzles the dressing in a spiral that starts at the center and radiates to the edges of the bowl.

"Wow. We could hang that on the wall."

He chuffs as he carries the bowl to the table. "I don't like to waste an opportunity to experience beauty."

"I've got it! You're a vegetable artist."

"That's a thing?" He grins hard, shaking his head at me. "Come. Sit." Of course, he pulls out my chair.

The square table is set with two woven placemats next to each other, a simple white plate on each. Two pretty daisies weep over the mouth of a porcelain bud vase. Classic, elegant, clean.

Edward scoops out a neat wedge of salad onto my plate. "So, did you want to keep guessing my occupation, or should I put you out of your misery?"

"Tell me! I mean… if you want to."

"Bella, I'm more than happy to tell you what I do. It's just that some women I've dated in the past have found my work a little intimidating."

"Wait, you're a plastic surgeon, aren't you?"

That would fit. All this time I thought he was checking out my boobs, he was calculating how to make them better. Or maybe he's noticed how the right side of my mouth doesn't lift quite as much as the left when I smile.

"I'm the farthest thing from a plastic surgeon. And please, don't take that as any kind of indictment of the field."

"Okay. So how are you the opposite of that?"

"I'm a photographer. I capture what is."

"You do weddings?"

"No, not any more. I specialize in portraiture."

"Like Sears?"

His lips hint at a smile. "A bit more intimate."

Wow, I've had Old School figured all wrong. "You do porn shoots? No wonder your dates are intimidated!"

Edward regards me with an amused smirk, as usual. "No, I do not do porn shoots. Everything is very tasteful, I assure you."

"Like Glamour Shots?"

"I like to call what I do 'empowerment photography.' My clients come to my studio—"

"You have your own studio?"

"Yes, downstairs. Most of my clients have some kind of body image issue that prevents them from embracing themselves as they are. By really seeing who they are through the lens of my camera, I can help them see the beauty in themselves."

This man is definitely too good to be true. "Your camera is like a very kind mirror."

Edward nods, and the unique light that he shines into the world beams out of those gorgeous eyes. "On a good day, that's exactly how I feel."

"So, you don't do any retouching at all?"

"I don't correct for biology. There's no airbrushing away moles or double chins. No nip and tuck of body parts."

"And your clients are okay with that? I mean, even Instagram has an edit option."

"I'm not out to change a client's physical characteristics. What I do is reflect the beauty in that person's soul on film. When we review the photos together, that woman sees something different than what we've all been taught to see on the surface, and she remembers how she felt about herself during our shoot."

"You keep saying 'she.' Are all your clients women?"

"Mostly. It's not that I won't shoot men; I just find I connect better with women."

Of course he does. "This is what you meant when you said your work is sometimes intimidating to other women?"

"Yes. What I do is intense and intimate. If I don't bring my full self to the experience, I'm not adding any artistic value."

Is it weird to feel proud of him? "I get it."

He gives me one of his gentle smiles. "Ready for the main course?"

For a second, I think he's referring to what I hope will happen after dinner—more kissing and maybe, hopefully, taking things a step or two further—when he reaches for the serving spoon. That works, too. I'm actually starved, and my mouth has been watering since I got here.

"Yes, please." Edward scoops a piece of chicken out of the Dutch oven onto my plate. "I cannot wait to taste your coq ohhhhhhhhhh shit!"

We both freeze as my gaffe sinks in. Edward drops the spoon back into the dish and bursts out laughing.

"Tell me how you really feel, Bella."

I'm too mortified to speak.

He cups my chin in his hand, forcing my gaze into his soft gray eyes. "Bella, don't you think I've made a few Hooters comments inside my head since I met you?"

"You have?"

"Um, I'm a man."

"I have definitely noticed that."

"And I've noticed you. You're a beautiful, sexy woman. Just because I respect you doesn't mean I don't want to tear your clothes off."

Gulp. "Thanks for clearing that up."

"Anytime." He drags his thumb across my lower lip, watching me with his smoldery eyes as I go into full-on swoon mode.

I'm not sure how I bring myself to eat after that, but the first taste melts on my tongue. "Mmm."

"You like?" He's so damn pleased with himself for pleasing me. It's post-munchkin Edward all over again.

"At the risk of embarrassing myself again, your coq is beyond delicious."

Old School doesn't take the bait. In fact, there's a tinge of pink to his cheeks as he takes his first bite. "Huh, it is pretty good."

It doesn't help to know Edward wants exactly what I want, and yet here we sit, finishing our plates of coq au vin all civilized-like, passing knowing, shy grins between us.

It seems the more time I spend with Edward, the more I crave his presence. The more I learn about him, the more questions I have. I can't remember ever feeling so utterly insatiable.

"Would you like some more?" he asks, and again, I wonder if Edward can read my mind, but he's only offering me what's in the crock pot.

"I'm pleasantly stuffed, thank you."

"Want to wait a bit before dessert?"

"Any chance you'll show me your studio?"

His head snaps up, and he gives me a look I can't quite read. "Sure, if you'd like."

The chance to see Edward in his professional space? "I would really like."

He rounds the island and takes my hand. "Come."

###


Author's Note: Looks like the cat's out of the bag and the coq's out of the crock pot... but hmm, what's with the unreadable look right there, Old School?

By the way, I loved your guesses about his profession! EdwardJournals wins the prize for her long list of possible-yet-outrageous ideas, a plot bunny in each idea! And a few crafty readers picked up on the breadcrumbs dropped by Edward on the ride home from their donut hole extravaganza: the Annie Liebovitz comment and his "help" when Bella attempted to snap his pic in the car. Thanks for your notes and thoughts and curiosity! I love them all! And special thanks to Pa Trizia for her help/whip-cracking on the story from here forward! And please don't blame chayasara if you find booboos or questionable punctuation situations. It's all on me for this version!

Here's where I really started to enjoy letting out the seams of the story a bit, giving their date a little more breathing room. Hope you enjoyed!
See you soon!
XXX ~BOH

PS- One reader mentioned being confused by "TGIF" which in this context is Hooters' happy hour on Friday, as opposed to the restaurant TGIFriday's. Just making sure... :)