Author's Notes (October 3, 2010): Thanks as always to duskwatcher2153 and Aleeab4u.

Chapter pic: bit(dot)ly/sotpm11-pic

Chapter music: bit(dot)ly/sotpm11-music (Really, just crank up Bon Iver and Horse Feathers.)

"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"
CHAPTER 11: MEASURED ON THE SCOVILLE SCALE

"One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."

From "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho

ISABELLA SWAN
As I wiped crumb-covered tables, I stared out the restaurant windows. Rain pelted down in windblown sheets, gathering in puddles in the dips and grooves of the concrete parking lot. October had begun, and along with silly, ghoulish Halloween decorations, it brought rain and colder temperatures.

"So lover boy decided not to visit today?" Judy asked as she cleared a table beside me. It was a little after nine o'clock on Thursday night, and Hal's was empty, save for one couple seated in a corner of the restaurant. They were so busy staring all lovey-dovey at each other that they'd never finish dinner before we closed.

I blushed at Judy's words. "I guess he was busy." I looked over at her, then. "I didn't ask him to visit on Monday, you know. He just…shows up." Everywhere. All the time. To distract me and make me want to rip his clothes off.

"It's all good. He can come here whenever he wants." She sighed, almost dreamily, and her hand paused on the table she was cleaning. "Quite the looker, that one—a charmer, too." Judy shook her head and grinned a little. I snickered and grinned back. It was shocking to see a genuine smile come from Broomhilde, but then if anything could make a woman smile, I had to admit that it'd probably be Edward.

This week had been surreal, where he was concerned. After meeting Charlie last Sunday and following me back to Port Angeles, Edward had left me on my doorstop with an annoyingly virtuous kiss to my forehead. I'd decided then that whatever I'd hoped was happening between us was, in fact, just friendship. After all, no guy who was really interested in you only gave forehead kisses. It made sense, really. Mousy, short girls with shitty jobs and equally shitty prospects didn't get tall, sexy and gentlemanly musical geniuses. It was a fact in some book. I was sure of it. My type was probably lucky if she got a committed, employed man who kept his hair into his thirties.

I'd had a date with some fattening cookie dough ice cream and had considered it all said and done on the relationship front. I even told myself that it was for the best, that I didn't need anything else taking up my time. I cared deeply for Edward, in ways I could barely understand, and decided that so long as he was around, in whatever capacity, I would be happy—begrudgingly, perhaps, but still happy. Content. Okay.

Then Monday had rolled around to knock me on my ass. If I'd thought Edward was confusing and stalker-ish before, it was only because I hadn't really seen anything yet. He'd surprisingly shown up at Hal's right at the start of my lunch break and took me down to the pier for lunch and to walk Lucky, who he'd brought with him.

He'd seemed like a different person that day, like something had been righted in his life. His smiles were easy, relaxed. I wanted to ask him what had changed, but I was hesitant. Edward didn't like talking about himself much. He seemed to think he distracted me when I asked questions, but I was aware of most of his diversions. I knew better than to try.

Edward left me that day with a kiss on the cheek. Lucky had left me with an attempted leg hump. At least someone had obvious feelings.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, I was at Books & News, and Edward showed up yet again. He seemed to know my whole work schedule, erratic as it was in this little tourist trap town.

He brought me lunch both days, and while I ate, he read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies to me in a series of in-character voices. I had laughed so much that my cheeks hurt by the time he'd left.

Though he never said anything about it, I thought the book was maybe his way of apologizing for the way our first date had ended. If so, it was a highly ironic olive branch he extended. How many times had I read Pride and Prejudice as a girl?

I had to admit, though, that Austen was infinitely better with the inclusion of zombies. Maybe I'd just changed over time. I'd been such a romantic idealist in the past. What scared me was it felt like part of that girl was resurfacing her stupid little head, whether there were zombies in what I was reading or not. Monsters didn't seem to scare her away.

On Tuesday, my other cheek received a kiss. It was wonderful and sweet and fucking frustrating. Then yesterday it had been all I could do to keep still when Edward had cupped my face in his cool hands and leaned in…

And leaned in some more…

To kiss the left corner of my mouth. The fucking corner! Who even does that? I thought he was toying with me until we separated and I got a good look at him. Dark-eyed and breathing heavily, as if we'd had a marathon of kisses, he'd pulled away and given me a small smile that seemed mysteriously apologetic. I didn't want apologies, though. I'd tried to lean in again, but he'd turned away, rejecting my advances. That had sucked royally.

Did he or didn't he want me? If we were working up to something—whatever that something was—I was getting tired of the journey through the labyrinth.

It worried me that he hadn't come to see me today. I'd had my eyes on the windows all day long—waiting, hoping, longing. Had I been too pushy with the kiss? Surely not. It wasn't like I was trying to unbuckle his belt and nab his likely long-gone virtue. (I'd so far only had that sort of courage in last night's dream—which was amazing and completely unrealistic, even by Kama Sutra standards.) More than anything, though, I'd just missed him, his company and strangeness and humor. I hadn't even read our book—or eaten lunch. My stomach reminded me of that fact with an angry growl.

I yawned loudly and tried to hide it against my shoulder as I wondered whether I should call him when I got home. I was unbelievably tired. Thursdays were my hell days. I started with an early morning shift at the bookstore and ended with an evening shift at Hal's. I worked over twelve hours on Thursdays, not including the time it took me to get to and from places. It was a lucrative day for me, but I was dead on my feet by the end of it.

When I yawned for the third time, Judy reached over and grabbed the cloth I was using to clean tables. "You look beat, Swan. Go on home."

"I've got another half hour."

She shrugged. "The place is dead tonight, and besides, I don't want you to have a wreck on the way home. That's the kind of shit that would end up on my conscience. With all this rain, it's not like anyone else is going to show. Your tips are sorted for the night. Just head out."

I looked outside again. "I am really tired… If you're sure it's okay…"

"I'm sure. Get your ass outta here, Swan. At least you don't have a shift tomorrow."

I nodded and thanked her before I gathered my things from the back and made my way to the front door. Judy didn't know I worked a second job at Books & News. My shift there tomorrow didn't start until the late afternoon, but I still wished it was a day off for me, like she thought it was. Working six days a week and traveling on Sundays wasn't easy, and as one month bled into another—and especially now that there was no hope for my father—I felt worse and worse. It took some effort, but I managed to push these thoughts out of my mind.

Thinking about shit didn't change anything.

Of course, earlier in the day, before the downpour had begun, I'd parked ages away in some lousy bid for easy exercise as a clumsy person. By the time I made it to my car, I was soaked to the bone and freezing. I jumped in, turned the heating to max and grabbed Edward's jean jacket from the backseat.

I sat for a moment, watching the dark night through the rhythmic clunk-whirr of my windshield wipers. I'd been waiting for Edward all day, and I still kept thinking he'd show up out of nowhere, as he so often did. I was so aware of his presence when we were together, and there were times I thought I felt him, even when he wasn't around. It was that prickly, electric feeling you get when you think someone's watching you. But I never saw him during those times. That was just a feeling, probably a silly one born from reading too many fanciful romance novels when I was younger.

Shaking my head, I hugged Edward's jacket closer. My teeth were chattering as I made my way home.

When my house came into view, there were three cars parked in the driveway. Beside Angela and Lauren's vehicles was a shiny, black Audi I'd recognize anywhere now—which was really saying something about Edward himself, considering I didn't give a shit about cars, beyond the price of gas.

He'd shown up unannounced, after all.

My heart raced furiously as I parked beside his fancy car. What's he doing here? His being here, being inside my home, was new territory for us. He'd not even come inside last Sunday when I invited him. He didn't know Angela and Lauren, either, though I'd told them plenty about him, and they'd seen him briefly at The Rosebud before he ran out.

I sucked down a deep breath to calm my nerves before I laughed at how ridiculous I was being. "It's not like he's waiting inside to have his way with you," I muttered to my reflection in the rearview mirror. I was flushed, even in the darkness, clearly excited.

Imagine if he was waiting for you…

I laughed at myself again as I carefully navigated the slippery driveway with unsure feet. The front door was unlocked, and I entered quietly to the soft, mellow sounds of some folk song I didn't know. It sounded indie. It definitely wasn't Angela or Lauren's music. "Guys?" I called out.

From the kitchen, Lauren yelled more loudly than was necessary. "In here!" I heard Angela's sweet, girlish giggle and water running in the sink.

I kicked off my sneakers before making my way through the living room. I don't know what I expected to find in the kitchen, but it wasn't this. For a moment, my eyes were only for Edward.

Tall and lean, he stood with his back to the kitchen entryway, one of our garish, blue dishtowels thrown over his shoulder. Though he didn't say anything, I saw the way his head drifted sideways, as if he was aware of the very moment I entered the room.

A heavy, enticing aroma was coming from where he stood. He was in front of the stove, cooking it seemed, in his light gray button-down and dark jeans. His feet were bare, and his hair was disheveled, as always. I finally took notice of Angela and Lauren from where they stood beside him, facing me with giant, almost mischievous grins on their faces.

Lauren silently nodded toward the breakfast table.

It was an old, rickety thing we never used that we'd been talked into buying for twenty bucks at some old codger's garage sale when we first moved to Port Angeles, but tonight it was simply and elegantly transformed with a white tablecloth. Set on the center of the table was a thin glass vase which held a yellow, funnel-shaped flower. Even over the scent of whatever was cooking, I could smell the blossom's sweet freshness from where I stood. "What is—"

Angela interrupted me. "Edward came over to make you dinner."

"Edward?" My voice was soft and quiet.

He was slicing peppers on a cutting board, but stopped to look at me over his shoulder with one of those crooked grins that made me melt. His eyes were bright and golden as he answered. "I told you I like to cook."

"But he's still a man," Lauren added dryly, rolling her blue eyes. "He isn't that great in the kitchen. We're leaving him to handle the pasta sauce. We think he can do that himself." Despite her words, she was still smiling. I heard Edward's low chuckle. It sounded slightly embarrassed, and I wondered just how much trouble he'd had in the kitchen—or with Lauren, for that matter.

I was happy, though. My friends seemed to approve of Edward. I wasn't even around for the process, but it all seemed to have worked out. "Wait," I said, suddenly realizing Lauren's words, "you're leaving?"

Angela nodded, her smile morphing into a smirk. "We are."

Holy shit. I felt my eyes widen as my heart went into overdrive. I was going to be alone with Edward. In my home. I was assaulted with hopeful fantasies. It was like I was seventeen again and battling crazy hormones.

"We were just heading out, actually," Lauren said too casually. "We didn't even think you'd see us. You're home early."

I nodded dumbly, still stuck on the fact that Edward and I were about to be alone, in private. I only wished I was as confident in reality as I was in my head.

Angela came toward me and hugged me. She was so much taller than I was that it was a little awkward, trying to avoid being in her boobs and all. We worked it out, though. She whispered in my ear, "Have fun. We'll be back late. And you're right—he's really sweet." She squeezed me tighter, and I whispered my thanks. Her brown eyes were shining as she pulled away.

Lauren's smile had fallen a little as she looked between me and where Edward was cooking. I knew she didn't like leaving me alone with a guy, but she was trying not to show it. I gave her a reassuring smile, and she nodded sheepishly. "Have fun," she whispered simply before leaving the room with Angela. It spoke volumes about Edward that she didn't exit with some defensive, catty remark.

When I heard the front door shut, I spoke. "You didn't have to do this, you know," I said, feeling a little overwhelmed. Edward had a way of doing that to me.

With his back still to me, he shrugged as he put chopped, red peppers into a small pot. A heavenly, spiced scent was wafting up from it. "I know," he answered, "but I wanted to. Thursdays are long days for you."

I leaned against the counter opposite him, watching him work as I bit at my lip. It felt weird and right to have him here with me, doing domestic things. It made him seem normal, less like the unattainable Greek god I'd met a few weeks ago. Here, in my kitchen, it felt like he could be mine.

Getting ahead of yourself…

"How'd you know Thursday was my long day?"

"You mentioned it once," he said.

I didn't remember discussing my work schedule with him, but perhaps we had. I only remembered half of our phone conversation from last Saturday. Even when I was awake these days, my head wasn't always on the present.

"So this is why you didn't visit me today?" I asked shyly.

He looked over his shoulder again. "Were you expecting me, Bella?"

Way to look desperate.

I stumbled over my words. "Well, uh, maybe—I mean, you've been coming to see me every day. I just thought—"

He chuckled lowly. "I was planning to, but I decided to surprise you here, instead. I hope that's all right. Hopefully you didn't go to McDonald's before coming home."

"Um, no." I laughed as he began buttering dinner rolls. He went about it very…thoughtfully. Each roll was sliced perfectly, and two scrapes of butter were smoothed over both halves. "Just so you know, I usually don't like surprises," I said. Although, I was beginning to think that Lauren and Angela's surprise bed and breakfast trip for my birthday was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

"Do you like this surprise?" Edward asked. He sounded unsure.

"Yes," I said simply, honestly. "I can't remember the last time someone made me dinner."

Turned sideways to me, I could see his frown. "Why's that?"

"Well," I started with a laugh, "it was safer for me to make dinner than allow Renée in the kitchen. She liked to be…creative with her cooking, and there was that one time with the kitchen fire… I was eight and just barely got to that one fast enough." His frown deepened, but he didn't speak, and so I continued.

"As soon as I could handle stuff, I did. And then Charlie, he never cooked. He lived off pizza or diner food before I moved in. I was worried he'd have a heart attack if I didn't feed him better." I laughed bitterly, realizing how pointless my efforts had been, at least in terms of his health. He could have eaten greasy pizza every day, and it wouldn't have stopped lung cancer. "Then Angela and I used to take turns. Lauren hates cooking. I'm pretty surprised you even got her to help you. But we all have really different schedules this year. We just eat whenever." I shrugged. "I've always cooked."

"I could cook for you when you like," Edward said. Biting my lip, I forced myself to look away as he bent over and put the dinner rolls in the oven. "You only need tell me," he continued. "My schedule is very flexible."

It was a sweet, generous offer I'd never take him up on. I smiled and slowly walked toward him. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he stiffened strangely, his muscles locking up, hard like rocks, before he finally relaxed. "Thank you," was all I said.

He placed the spoon he'd been using on a rest and turned around then. His expression was soft as he finally regarded me in full for the first time since I'd entered the kitchen. "You're wearing my jacket."

"Oh." I'd forgotten to take it off at the door. I looked down as a blush lit up my face. I was sometimes like a fucking Christmas tree around this man. Awkwardly, I started to shrug out of the jacket. "You should really take this back." I didn't want him getting cold, what with his circulation problems.

Edward brought his hands up to cover mine along the edge of the jacket, where I was pulling it off. He slid it off my shoulders slowly, intimately, his fingers brushing over my shoulders and arms. I could feel his icy touch, even through my sweater. My heart thudded as our eyes locked. His were golden, deep and wise. Mine just felt wide. We seemed to be having a silent conversation, but I wasn't sure what either of us was saying. I wasn't sure I cared. It was just us in that moment.

My skin was alive under his barely-there touch, and I was supremely aware of the fact that we were alone in a house that was quiet, save for the soft background music and the boiling contents on the stovetop.

Once the jacket was off, he folded it and handed it to me. "Keep it. I have others, and I like this better on you, anyway." His eyes were smiling, crinkling at the corners.

"It's huge on me." I laughed, but I was silently happy that he didn't want it back. It smelled like him, like something warm and intoxicatingly sweet.

He shrugged. "It still looks good on you, but then everything does."

I rolled my eyes at him in a poor attempt to distract him from the fact that I'd turned red again. He went back to cooking, a lopsided grin on his face.

The penne on my plate looked and smelled amazing. Its orange-red sauce was accented with hints of bright green parsley and black specks of ground pepper. Softly cooked red and green peppers were buried in the pasta. A toasted wheat roll sat on the edge of the plate.

"I hope you'll like it," Edward said as he sat across from me. His posture was straight and stiff as he watched my every move.

I smiled at him, trying to ignore how nervous and self-conscious he made me when he stared like that. "I'm sure I'll love it."

I took a bite of the pasta, and the taste that hit my tongue was nothing short of magnificent, a savory masterpiece. Until it got spicy—very, very spicy. I swallowed hard and quickly took a swallow of the Coke he'd given me.

Edward was watching me anxiously, like a schoolboy waiting to hear what his parents thought of his latest report card, and I just couldn't make him feel bad. He had put so much effort into this—into meeting and getting to know my friends without me, into making me a sweet, romantic dinner.

"It's wonderful," I said, my voice barely even. At least my eyes weren't watering. Yet.

My words were exactly what Edward wanted to hear. His whole face brightened; his brows relaxed. It was like I'd given him a trophy. I watched in fascination as he eagerly shoveled a whole mouthful of pasta into his mouth, followed closely by another.

I didn't think I'd ever seen Edward eat anything eagerly, but he did now, a smile on his face. The spice didn't seem to register with him at all as he sped through his food, hardly chewing at all. A real man's man, Charlie would call him. That's what he said of those who could suffer through hot sauce and chili peppers better than he could. It was a surprisingly short list of people.

Carefully, I took another bite. It was slow going, but so long as I only ate tiny bites and tempered it with Coke and bread, it didn't kill me. I could only hope that this wouldn't turn my stomach into the next Chernobyl.

"How's your music going?" I asked conversationally.

Edward paused in his food shoveling. "It could be better," he muttered.

"Uninspired?"

He grinned slightly. "Oh, I'm very inspired, but it's not the right kind of inspiration for the music I need to compose."

"The right kind? What do you mean?" Would my list of questions surrounding this man ever come to a stop?

"Well, as you so perceptively noted the first time we met, my music is 'sad.'"

My brows furrowed. "Is it a bad thing to compose something that isn't sad?" I remembered the beautiful melody he'd played at The Rosebud, the one he'd hummed to me on the phone. That wasn't sad, and it was beautiful.

He pushed a piece of penne around his plate. The fork squeaked quietly on the dish. "It's about the stories behind the pieces. It seems—" He paused thoughtfully. "It seems inappropriate to make light of them." His eyes flickered up to my face before looking back at his food.

Ah, so this was another something locked away. I mulled over his words for several long seconds. I knew he probably wouldn't give me a straightforward answer, but I had to try. "You never did tell me. What are the stories behind your music?"

As I expected, he froze up—quite literally. He was eerily still, a statue of a man with a fork in its hand. It was all so postmodern.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, shaking my head. "You don't have to tell me."

"It's just very personal," he whispered. "They aren't good stories, Bella."

I sighed. "Do you think you'll ever let me figure you out?" I asked with a weary smile.

His body relaxed, his shoulders slouching just a little. "I don't think you'd like to know everything about me," he said, and his eyes were sad.

"We can't know that unless you tell me. I'm probably more accepting than you think." Between my upbringing with Charlie and Renée, I couldn't help but be.

Reaching across the small table, he took my hand in his. Cold as his touch might be, it was also incredibly comforting. "I don't want to dwell on the past when I'm with you. Isn't it enough to spend time with me here, now?"

And so our dancing around his past, around truths I'd eventually need to know, continued.

I squeezed his fingers. "Yeah. Enough for now." He frowned at me, and I shrugged in response. Did he really think I'd give up on this? It wasn't in my blood to do so. One day, and I hoped it'd be sooner than later, I'd solve the mystery that was Edward Masen.

With wandering thoughts, I picked up my fork again and took another bite of my pasta. Unfortunately, this bite was far too large. The spice hit the back of my throat and burned like hell. I tried to quickly swallow it all, but that only made it worse. My whole mouth was on fire, and then my throat joined in on the pain.

"Bella?"

Distantly, I could hear the concern in Edward's voice, and I was sure I was red, but there was no way I could answer him in that moment. I could feel sweat gathering at my brow as I fumbled for my glass of Coke, which I of course knocked over like some knuckle-dragging idiot that hadn't evolved proper motor skills.

Lightning fast as ever, Edward snatched it up as it was tumbling sideways. "Bella, what's wrong?" His eyes were frantically shifting left to right as he looked me over.

I fanned my mouth as I grabbed for the Coke again, and he seemed to finally understand. Frowning, he handed the glass over, and I drank greedily, hoping to put out the flames. It took stealing Edward's glass of Coke to finally cool the worst of it.

"I've hurt you," he said morosely when the minor catastrophe had ended and I felt a little less like an active volcano. "I can't even make dinner for you."

"Hardly," I said with a somewhat parched laugh. "It's just a little spicy…" And by little, I meant it felt like Satan had sublet my mouth.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

I shrugged. "It was fine." The inside of my mouth felt abnormally smooth, like all the natural ridges had been burned down by the wildfire.

"Clearly it wasn't fine," Edward growled. He rose from the table and took our plates to the sink. He was upset, but I wasn't sure what part had upset him—the fact that I'd not admitted that the food was too spicy or the fact that he'd made it spicy to begin with…or something else besides. Edward's moodiness could be a little difficult to decipher at times.

"Let me help," I offered as I began to get up, but he wordlessly shook his head, his jaw clenched, and I stayed where I was.

I sat awkwardly, like an alien in my own kitchen, as he cleaned dishes and pans. I thought about telling him he was too hard on himself, but I was beginning to think that we were both very stubborn people. I knew that if someone told me I was stubborn or wrong—well, I just went out of my way to fucking prove that fact, whether I meant to or not.

He dried the last dish before turning and leaning against the counter. He crossed one leg in front of the other and then crossed his arms over his chest. His whole body was rigid in this closed-off stance. "You have to tell me if I hurt you," he said seriously.

"You didn't—"

He gave me an incredulous glance, the one with a single, tilted eyebrow.

"Okay, it was pretty spicy," I allowed. "I just didn't want you to feel like I didn't appreciate what you did tonight, because I do." I smiled a little. "And the food really was great, so long as I didn't eat too much at once. Just, maybe next time, use less chili?"

Edward's face softened as he nodded. "Are you hungry still? You didn't get to eat much. It's late, but I suppose we could find something open…"

"I'm fine." At his annoyed glance, I amended my words. "I'm not hungry, I mean." I wasn't anymore. I didn't tell him that the fire had put out my appetite.

He uncrossed his arms and reached a hand out in wordless invitation. I quickly scrambled up, banging my knee on a table leg in the process, and went to him. He was grinning now. "What?" I asked as I took his hand.

"You're so clumsy." He pulled me forward until our bodies were pressed together. His was cold and hard, but I felt warm. Part of it was probably that my face was in a perpetual state of redness around him.

"I trip on air." I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to remind me."

"It's endearing, even if a little terrifying," he countered, folding his hands behind me, low on my back, so that I was locked in his embrace. How we'd so easily gone from awkward brooding, to sweet happiness was almost shocking. It made me doubt that I'd ever understand this man or my feelings for him, but I was willing to stay here forever trying.

You fucking sap.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking." He leaned into me and pressed his forehead to mine. He had a fucking hard head, too, in more ways than one.

I sighed. "That works both ways, you know."

We stared at each other again, in that awkward yet perfect way that couples do when so close to each other. I was surrounded by Edward—by his arms, by his scent. I was safe here, I knew. The world and all its problems couldn't touch me. I was invincible. Take that, Jacob Black.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?" I was half lost in his scent.

"Have you always blushed like this?"

"Yes, but you make it worse."

He grinned crookedly. "Good. It's lovely, you know."

His hands slid up my back and over my shoulders, until he cradled my neck, and then my face. He held me so lightly that in some ways it felt more like a cool breeze or the fluttering of a butterfly's wings on my skin than hands. Back and forth, his thumb brushed over the puffy scar on the right side of my face. Instinctively, I tried to turn my face away from him, but he held me in place and met my gaze head on; I shut my eyes tightly against his intensity. He was so unfairly, perfectly sculpted, and I…wasn't.

With my eyes closed, I was even more aware of him, aware of the way his oddly-sweetened breath floated across my lips, of the way my whole face was numbed by his chill, as if I'd walked outside during the start of winter.

"Be very still," he suddenly said in a low, breathy whisper.

Damned if my eyes didn't snap open then. My pulse raced. Was this going to be another kiss to my cheek, to the corner of my mouth?

I pled with my eyes, even though his had closed at some point. Please, please, please.

I didn't have to wonder or wait for long as Edward's lips pressed against mine without further hesitation. I sucked in a loud breath against him, and despite his request for me to remain still, my hands came up, unbidden, to tangle in his soft hair. The kiss was delicious and heady, better than I expected.

His lips were firm, like the rest of him, and my mouth bent and shaped to meet them. We kissed unhurriedly, carefully. It was so much like my first kiss—a little fearful, a lot wonderful—but it was also all-encompassing, erasing every kiss that had come before it. Everything paled next to this, which felt so right it hurt and burned in my chest.

It was the best kind of hurt.

I needed to be closer and pushed myself into his granite body, even as I pressed my tongue against his mouth. He tasted amazing, and I wanted more. Words were chanted in my head. Let me, let me, let me.

But just like that, Edward met one of his mystifying limits and transformed into unmovable stone. The kiss came to an abrupt stop, and he gently pushed me away until a few inches separated us. At least this time he still held me.

It was enough, I decided. It had to be.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Sorry," I breathed. I felt flushed, a little wild around the edges. Why do we have so many clothes on? I was sure most modern couples got further much faster than we were. Why weren't we doing it on the kitchen floor like all those normal twenty-year-olds in the movies? I wanted that.

Edward was breathing shallowly, his nostrils flaring with each inhalation. Beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights, his eyes appeared darker than usual.

After a moment, his erratic breathing slowed, and he slid his right hand down along the curve of my neck, until he came to a stop on my chest, agonizingly above my breast, but over my heart. He pressed his palm there firmly, and I felt the chill of his skin seep into my sweater. I wondered how well he could feel its beating. To me, it felt like it was going to pop out of my chest any minute now, all ghastly like the chestburster in Alien.

"You have no reason to be sorry," he said. "I am sorry—more than you know."

I saw the darkness threatening to cage him, as so often happened in the aftermath of our more revealing moments. My arms were still around his neck, and I gripped him tightly, as if I could hold him in place, in this happier moment, in the kiss that felt like it'd changed everything for the better. "Don't," I answered, my voice more authoritative than I felt.

Don't ruin this.

Edward's eyes stayed on mine as he nodded slowly.

"It's okay. Just spend time with me. Please don't run."

"I'm not going anywhere," he answered, his eyes once again sincere and warm, and I let out a small, relieved sigh.

I let my hands rest along his jaw, where tiny hairs pricked at my fingertips. I slowly moved forward, making sure he understood my intentions. He didn't stop me as I placed a simple, chaste kiss on his lips. "Thank you," I said.

With a lone lamp warmly glowing, we sat on the lumpy couch in the living room and tried to watch television, but neither of us seemed to be paying any attention to the screen. I didn't know what was on Edward's mind, but my head was still in the kitchen, replaying our kiss. I had no idea what we were watching.

"What are we?" I blurted out all of a sudden. Was it possible for me to be any more awkward?

Edward muted the television and looked down at me, amused. "Pardon?"

Oh, God. I'm going to have to spell it out. "As in, are we together?"

"Is that something you want?" His face was expressionless. I couldn't tell if he was genuinely asking or if he was being a bastard and enjoying making me stumble over my own words.

"Well, I don't go around kissing just anyone." Only Jacob, and now Edward.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Okay then." I felt my lips purse in a firm line. It didn't look like he'd be elaborating, and now I just felt like an idiot.

Smiling slightly, he brushed hair from my face before leaning forward and kissing my temple. It made me feel less catty. Actually, it seemed to make me forget everything for a moment. Since our kiss, he seemed much more relaxed about touching me. It was nice and frustrating, all at once. And confusing. Everything about Edward was, though.

He spoke softly. "I know I may not always make much sense to you," he said, as if reading my mind, "but please know that you're very important to me."

I stared at my hands and chewed on the inside of my mouth. His words were sweet, but I needed more to go by, like a flashing sign smacked repeatedly against my head. I wanted to make sure I wasn't making a fool of myself. Not again.

"Girlfriend important?" I asked after a moment of thought, hating how silly it sounded, as if I was in high school again. All we were missing was gossip queen Jessica Stanley and note passing in Biology class.

"Hmm," Edward hummed near my ear. "That's such a flippant expression to this generation. I think much more highly of you than that. So, something more?"

"You really like me, then."

He laughed against my hair. "I really do."

Well, that was much more forthright than I'd ever expected him to be. My heart swelled at his words. No one had ever spoken to me like that. Jacob and I had had our moments of teenage tenderness, our whispered promises amid fumbling touches, but they'd never been like this. "I feel the same way," I said, just barely skirting around the three words that yet petrified me. But I knew they were there, in my mind, on my tongue, just waiting to be set free.

"You don't know how happy that makes me." I heard the smile in his voice.

I leaned into his side more heavily and rested my head back on the arm he'd stretched out along the back of the couch. It was like leaning against a brick wall, and I still wondered what medical condition could cause such rigidity of his skin and muscles. Google had only turned up scleroderma, but that was some scary shit that I knew he didn't have. I wanted to ask him about this, and so much more, but I selfishly didn't want to give up this confessional moment just yet. If there was one thing I'd learned in the last three weeks, it was that asking Edward personal questions was a quick way to not get any answers.

"You've changed this week," I mused, looking him in the eye, hoping this was a safe topic.

"Unfathomably so."

"What happened?"

"Would you believe me if I said it was you?"

I snorted at the cheesiness of it all. "Um, no."

He flashed a smirk. "I didn't think so."

I brought a hand up to his face. I could touch him for days. His smooth skin, his sharp and angular structure, fascinated me. And somehow, against all odds, he seemed to like me, too. He'd kissed me and said I was important, more than a girlfriend. I smiled at him, content for the moment, and he smiled back.

My eyelids felt cottony and heavy. I knew it was nearing midnight, if we hadn't already passed it. Once again, I found myself listening to Edward's slow, even breathing. I fought sleep, not wanting the night to end. "You seem so calm," I remarked in a tired slur.

He chuckled. "Do I?"

"It's the way you breathe." I took a deep breath myself and let it pass through my lips. He swallowed audibly. "I like it," I said, then laughed a little. "I've tried to match you a few times, but I can't. I don't know how you do it. It's like you don't even need to breathe."

"Well, I do," he said with a small smile.

I smiled, too, and somehow scooted even closer to him until my forehead was resting in the crook of his neck. I curled my fingers into his shirt and turned my head a little to press a kiss against his skin. His Adam's apple bobbed beneath my lips.

"Bella?" he questioned hoarsely.

I hesitated at first, but then I thought about how nothing was set in stone, that tomorrow might never come for Edward or me or us or anyone at all. It gave me bittersweet courage to say what was in my heart. "Stay with me tonight?" I whispered.

His body stiffened. "What?"

He doesn't want you. "Never mind."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, is all," he said.

I nodded and tried to hold back weary tears. "Okay." I hid my face between my hair and his neck. "But do you think…"

"What, Bella?" His hand rubbed circles on my back, making me feel relaxed and sleepy, despite my emotional hurt.

"Do you think…staying one night might be something you'd want? In time?"

His fingers ran through my hair. Sometime later, he asked, "What does staying the night entail?"

"Anything," I answered without thinking. I closed my eyes in embarrassment.

I felt Edward laugh silently beneath me. "I see, and will you be content to just lie with me?"

I nodded.

"And you want tonight?"

Every night, I thought without hesitation. Instead, I merely said, "Yes."

He began to push me away, and I was worried that he'd decided he'd had enough of my advances and questions. But he only rose from the couch and offered me his hand. A small, reassuring smile was on his lips. "Come then."

I left Edward in my bedroom, where he signed into his email account from my laptop. It was tempting to just stand there and look over his shoulder, in an effort to learn something—anything—about him, but I left him alone and rushed through my nightly routine, eager to return to him and eager to sleep.

When I came back, clothed in the least ratty pair of sweatpants I owned, Edward was standing by my writing desk, staring down at the opened notebook that was there. His skin was bluish-white beneath the clear light work lamp I had at the desk.

I felt the wind go out of me as I anxiously tried to remember what I'd last written in the pseudo-journal I rarely had time to deal with anymore. I'd opened it up just this morning, but I couldn't remember what page I'd left it on. Please, please, please don't let it be about him.

"Do you write?" he asked, his long fingers sliding along the open page.

"I—yes. Hey, what page is that on?"

He glanced at me with a sheepish smirk. "It was open here, but I probably shouldn't snoop, should I?"

"Probably not." I laughed awkwardly. "You might not like what you find."

"I highly doubt that. I'd love to know what you're thinking in that head of yours." He looked back at the notebook, and I watched his brows come together. "We're all immortal until we die," he read.

Ah, quotes. I sighed in relief. That was fairly safe territory, minus a couple of words of wisdom from Anaïs Nin I'd put down, but she was many pages away from the one he was on. He was in the rather depressing section.

"I've been collecting quotes from famous people and books," I explained. "About life…and death."

Edward studied me. "The Percy Shelley poem—Music, when soft voices die?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Because of Charlie?" he asked.

I nodded again. "I have a eulogy to consider in time," I said stiffly. "And, well, it's the only way I can process everything that's happening. I'm not religious. I mean, there might be something out there, but I don't know. I don't think there is—not in my life, at least. I think when we die—I think we're just gone." Like plants and animals, like dying suns and collapsing universes.

Forever and ever and ever.

Edward stared at me with caring, cautious eyes. "I know it's not comforting, but we all have to lose our parents at some point. It's the order of things, the balance of nature—if everything goes right. Parents pass. Children live. I don't know your father very well at all, of course, but he loves you. That much I know for certain. He wants you to flourish."

"Yeah, but Charlie shouldn't die at forty-five. That's not how it's supposed to work, either. I was expecting another forty years with him. I was expecting…time. There was so little to begin with; I was always with Renée. And now…" I shook my head. "You don't know what it's like," I accused. "Seeing your dad die, it's horrible."

He looked away from me then, back to my notebook. His face was eerily emotionless. "I do know." He spoke so softly that I wasn't sure I heard him.

"What?"

"My parents. They're dead," he said more loudly, in an aloof, matter-of-fact tone.

Oh, fuck.

The blood rushed from my face so quickly that I felt like I might faint. "Edward, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I said that. I just… Oh my God, I'm so stupid. I just assumed they were alive." I wrung my hands together. "We're just so young. I didn't think—"

"It's fine, Bella. It was a long time ago." Even if it was, I could tell it still hurt him. His calm, almost tough exterior was a front. I knew it well, because it was my Port Angeles façade.

"How did they die?" I whispered.

"My father died first, then my mother. They were both very ill." His eyes were distant, as if he was off elsewhere, reaching back into his past to retrieve memories of his parents' faces.

"Sick, like you are?" I held my breath, afraid of what his answer might be.

His eyes left my notebook to rest upon me again. He gave me a soft smile. "No. My health conditions are different from theirs."

I stepped closer to him and reached up to place a hand to the side of his face. "You have to tell me," I said in a small voice. "Are you very sick?" My heart hammered in my chest.

He echoed his words from earlier. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me." It was stupid to ask for a promise, when nothing in life was certain, but I wanted it anyway.

"I promise. As I've said, for as long as you will have me, I'll be here." He leaned forward and pressed his cool lips to my forehead. This kiss was distinctly different from the one shared in the kitchen, and even those on the couch. I found comfort in its simplicity.

"I really am sorry."

"It was a long time ago." It was barely there, but I heard the crack in his voice.

I nodded, acquiescing that—of course—he didn't want to talk about it.

We stood in silence for a moment, caught in our own thoughts before I grabbed his hand. "Do you want to sleep?" I asked, nodding toward my double bed. I didn't look away from him as the blush rose to my face. Innocent as things would be, I'd never had a boyfriend stay the night. With butterflies in my stomach, I climbed into bed.

Edward climbed in beside me, fully-clothed.

"You're not going to be comfortable that way," I complained. Maybe he sleeps in the nude usually… Now I was fucking beet red.

"I'm fine. Just go to sleep, Bella."

"At least take your shirt off."

Beet red. Very, very beet red.

He sighed. "All right, but my pants are staying on."

Unable to look him in the eyes, beet red.

"Yeah, okay," I muttered distractedly and plopped down to my pillow. I turned away from him and listened to the shuffle of his shirt as he removed it. It fell to the floor quietly. The bed shifted as he lay down. It took everything in me to not turn around and ogle him.

Several minutes passed, and my face finally cooled against my pillow. I complained, "This is awkward."

The bed shook with Edward's soft laughter. "Do you want me to leave for the night?"

"No," I grumbled. "Just the opposite. I don't want you so far away." I reached behind me, beckoning him nearer in the small bed.

He clasped my hand in his and shuffled until his chest was against my back. The coldness of his skin was shocking through my sleep shirt, but I welcomed it. Beneath the sheets, our bodies still had a distance between them. "Better?" he asked against the back of my neck as he brought our hands over my front, to rest across my stomach.

I shuddered. "Yes."

"Rest, Bella." I felt his kiss on my neck. "I'll be here when you wake."

I sighed contentedly and shut my eyes. "Thank you for tonight. And for finally kissing me."

"Anytime." He sounded happy, too.

I wanted to ask him if he really meant that, but sleep was pulling me under. For the first time in a very long time, there were no tears at midnight.

Closing Notes: If anyone's unfamiliar with the term, the Scoville scale is what's used to define the "heat" level of chili peppers. American chemist Wilbur Scoville developed it, presumably because Americans love worthless trivia and so people everywhere can brag about just how spicy they can take their hot sauce. You're welcome, world.

"Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" is a real book. It was published in early 2009, though, so I've taken some liberty with the timeline here.

The quote "we're all immortal until we die" comes from one of my favorite urban fantasy novels, "War for the Oaks," written by Emma Bull. For the record, that book is not serious in the least, and the quote is taken completely out of context, purely to suit my needs.

Chapter twelve is tentatively titled "Skeletons in Our Closets."