9
Edward's patience with just about everything does not include waiting for our predetermined dates—a.k.a. my days off—to see me. I tease him to death for making the flimsiest excuses possible, the absolute flimsiest being a dire need for Hooters hot wings for dinner, but the truth is, I love his surprise visits.
After two days without an unplanned pop-in, I've come to appreciate the mad genius of Edward's courting methods. I miss him like crazy even though Friday's "happened to be walking by the library when you got out of class" was just a quick slideshow of the pictures from our date at the pier. A square of chocolate out of the whole bar is never enough, but it's so much better than no chocolate at all.
It's for the best, I tell myself, forcing my nose back into my accounting text. If I hadn't told Edward about my two midterms this week, he'd probably be distracting me right now—though, come to think of it, he has yet to drop in on me unannounced at home. Whether that would constitute crossing one of his invisible lines or because he's terrified of Mrs. Cope, I don't know, but the result is the same—no Edward.
I'm about three hours into my little pity party when the doorbell rings. I don't care if it's a Jehovah's Witness; anything is better than studying cost of goods sold. I fly down the steps, yelling, "I've got it, Mrs. C!"
I yank open the front door, revealing a completely startled Edward. "You didn't even ask who was there! What if I were a psycho serial killer?"
"Oh! You're right!" I swing the door shut in his face, giggling out loud as I peek out through the peephole at an even more shocked Edward.
He aims a nasty stink-eye toward the tiny glass circle, then raps the door with his knuckles.
"Who's therrrre?"
"Your friendly neighborhood psycho killer."
"Why didn't you say so? Come right in." I open the door again and he walks through before I can attempt to be funny again.
"You're a riot," he says, leaning in to kiss me even though he's not too happy with me. "I just stopped by to drop off a little care package."
I hadn't noticed the bright pink goody bag in his hands. As cheery as it is, the poor thing pales in comparison to Edward's face, even when he's attempting to give me dirty looks. I reach for the bag, and he snaps it away.
"Have you been good?"
"Of course! I've been holed up in my room for hours, slaving over hot accounting problems."
While he studies my face, deciding whether to believe me, the enticing smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafts into my nostrils.
"Oh my gosh! Did you bake cookies for me?"
He gives me a no-biggie shrug. "Maybe."
I step closer and plant a huge kiss on his lips. "You are an awesome boyfriend." He is the most awesome boyfriend anyone could ever have, but as soon as the word leaves my lips, I cringe and pray he won't be offended. The word "boyfriend" just feels way too frivolous to apply to a man like Edward. "Man-friend" would be more accurate, but who says that?
His warm chuckle fills my ears, which join my eyes, mouth, and nose as the happiest facial features on the planet. Okay, phew.
"You might want to taste the cookies before you make any sweeping declarations." He produces the bag, and I reach inside.
"True," I say, even though it's not. He already had me at hello, brightening this miserable day just by showing up. I play along, bringing the warm, soft cookie to my lips and taking the moaniest bite ever taken out of any cookie. "Obviously, keep your day job because you're good at taking pictures, too, but if you ever need a little income on the side, you could totally sell these puppies."
He huffs. "Considering how many batches I had to throw away before I got the consistency right, and then how many I sacrificed to the oven gods, I'd say they're more of a loss leader."
"Seriously? Have you never made cookies from scratch before?"
"Never. I usually just pick some up at Schubert's or plop the Pillsbury dough globs onto a cookie sheet. I figured you were working so hard, the least I could do is make you some authentic cookies."
"Wow."
He chuckles. "Yeah, I know. First the coq, now the cookies. What's next, Crêpe Suzette?"
"I hope not! I don't even know what that is!"
"Neither do I."
"Don't you want one of these?" I ask, reaching in for another.
His eyes glaze over as he stares at my lips, watching me consume the cookie, bite by delicious bite. "I'd much rather watch you."
I raise my eyebrows at him. "You know there's a word for that?"
"Yes," he answers with a smile that turns the tiny flecks of gray in his eyes silver. "I believe the word is 'happy.'"
"I was gonna say something else, but yours works, too."
He dangles the bag in front of me. "Can I trust you with these?"
"Absolutely not. You should definitely stay here and monitor the situation."
"Wish I could, but I have a client this afternoon."
"Oh." Buzzkill and a half. "In that case…" I nab the bag and console myself with another cookie.
"All right then. Good luck, Bella."
"Yeah, you too."
He turns to leave, then spins back around. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you…"
"Hmm?"
He slips his hand behind my neck and draws me into a slow kiss. I should have been ready for "his move," but I'd already begun to imagine the woman who was about to undress for Edward's camera. He slips his tongue between my lips, a cruel reminder of what he's about to take away. The chocolate chip cookies are no substitute for Edward's sweet kisses.
"What time do you get off work tonight?"
"I'm closing."
His "oh" is as sad as mine was. "Don't they know you have a big test in the morning?"
I shrug. "Not really."
I don't like to handcuff Emmett with my schedule. I know if I need a favor, he'll accommodate me, but unless it's really important, I'd rather stay as flexible as possible. So far, so good. Edward doesn't agree, judging by the scowl that takes over his face. I can see he's tempted to say something but, thankfully, decides not to.
"Text me after your exam tomorrow?"
"Sure. Thanks again for my care package. That was really sweet of you."
"My pleasure." He leaves me with a peck on the cheek and a hole in my heart that doesn't make any sense.
If I take these cookies upstairs, I will eat them all and feel even worse. I find Mrs. Cope hiding in the kitchen, fussing over the stove.
"Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?"
"Only if you'll help me eat these cookies."
"I suppose I could be persuaded. They do smell wonderful. I didn't realize your man was a baker in addition to being a photographer."
I pull down one of her pretty little plates and set out two cookies. "He's not."
"Well, that was awfully kind of him to stop by."
"Yes."
Mrs. Cope watches me silently while I busy myself with tea bags and spoons and napkins that don't really need to be folded or tucked just so under the saucers. The kettle whistles, and she pours the hot water for both of us.
"Edward had to head home to see a client."
Mrs. Cope understands what is about to go down at Edward's. She happens to be an amazing listener, which is probably why she's one of very few people I actually open up to.
"Oh?" She takes a cookie and chews thoughtfully. "Does that bother you?"
"I didn't think it would…" I dunk my tea bag… and dunk and dunk.
"It bothers you."
"It shouldn't."
"Ah," she says kindly, "since when do feelings pay any attention to shoulds and shouldn'ts?"
A weary sigh floats over my teacup. "He's a professional, and I know everything that happens in his studio is completely innocent—and beautiful, actually. It's completely irrational for me to be jealous of whoever is with him right now."
"Agreed. These cookies are delicious. Are you sure you don't want another?"
"Yes."
She reaches for the other cookie. "Bella, it's perfectly okay to feel how you feel. You know that, right?"
"No. I mean, Edward and I discussed this. He told me how some women he's dated in the past felt intimidated by his work. I knew that wouldn't be me." I take a careless sip and burn my tongue. Fuck me.
"And how were you so sure?"
"I know he doesn't look at any of his clients the way he looks at me."
Mrs. Cope looks up from her tea, a knowing glint in her eye. "So, what's changed?"
What's changed is he kicked my ass out of his studio before I could finish taking off my clothes, and even though I understand why, rationally, I guess it still stings. I take a slower sip of hot tea, choosing my words equally as carefully.
"Sometimes, I get the feeling that Edward is afraid to… you know… be with me."
"That's certainly not the impression I've gotten. He comes around to school and your job almost every day, doesn't he?"
"Yes."
"And when he's near you…"
"Yes?" How pathetic is it that I need her to tell me what I already know?
"Bella, dear." She pats my hand. "Can't you see that Edward can hardly keep his hands off you?"
"He manages," I grumble, feeling very much like a spoiled child who can't wait until Christmas to unwrap her present.
Mrs. Cope smiles. "Yes, he does. He obviously cares very much about you to take his time like that. No offense to you, Bella, but that James fellow who used to come around… I never wanted to hurt your feelings, but…"
"You don't have to say it, Mrs. Cope. I know. I'm not going to see him again." Once you've tasted filet mignon, you don't go back to Spam.
"Good." She sits back in her seat and folds her hands in front of her. "Not to sound like an old lady here, but your generation takes everything so fast. You've found yourself a true gentleman in Edward. These things take time."
"I understand what you're saying. I'm just feeling sorry for myself because he—" Rejected me.
"Didn't treat you like one of his clients?"
That takes all the wind out of my sails. I slump back in my chair. Is that what I really want? To be treated like one of his clients? Of course it isn't.
"Thanks, Mrs. C."
"Anytime, dear. You know, Edward is the kind of man who needs to be shared with the world—just as he understands he must share you. But that doesn't mean either of you gets less. You just need to remember all those pieces of yourselves that you set aside only for each other, even if they all haven't happened yet. You know what I mean, right?"
A deep blush comes over me. "Yes."
"All right then, young lady. I believe you have stalled long enough from your studies, don't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
.
.
.
If I had money to burn, this would be the perfect night to Uber it home from work. At least I can use my bus ride for one last cram session before bed. My ass is dragging at 11:45, when I finally shuffle outside.
A car door opens and shuts, jarring the otherwise quiet night. My head snaps up toward the parking lot, and there's Old School, jogging toward me.
"Edward?"
"Hey. Thought you might want a ride home tonight."
"How long have you been out here waiting for me?"
He shrugs his yeah-I-baked-you-cookies shrug. "A while."
I'm too tired and grateful to do anything but fall into his arms and deliver my answer directly into his shirt. "Thank you. I would love that."
He breaks our hug and practically carries me to his car. "C'mon, let's get you home."
My plan to review my notes falls apart the second my head sinks into the back of his seat. I hear Edward get into the driver's side and start the car, but I cannot convince my eyes to open. I can only hope this won't be one of those ugly day-sleeps where I wake myself up with a loud snort and a trail of drool dripping down my chin.
"Belllll-la… you're ho-ome." Wispy lips tickle at my ear, waking me ever so gently from my short sleep. "I'm sorry. I hate to wake you, but I didn't think it would be appropriate for me to carry you up to your room."
I giggle because that's exactly what Edward was doing just now in my car-dream. He helps me out of his car and up to the front door.
"Thanks so much for the lift."
"Anytime," he says. He cocks his head to one side and asks, "Why are you smiling?"
"Am I?"
"Yeah."
"I guess I was just thinking that you probably don't pick up your clients at midnight to drive them home from work."
His eyes light with recognition. "No, I definitely don't." His arms slip around my back as he steps closer. "You know what else I don't do with them?"
I close my eyes in the sweetest anticipation. "Tell me, Edward."
His whisper-soft kiss leaves me dizzy. "Good night, beautiful. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
###
Author's Note: I don't think anyone's ever said, "Good night, beautiful," to me. Sigh.
I thought it might be fun to push Bella's comfort zone a wee bit there. She's been awfully sure of herself, right? I think that wave of insecurity probably took her quite by surprise... but leave it to Old School to put her fears to rest. A bunch of you have asked about Edward's backstory, aka WHY IS HE SINGLE? Yep, that's a good question. Pa T asked me, too. It'll be along. Patience. *wink*
XXX ~BOH
