Disclaimer: I own everything but their names.
July 30, 2001 – Santa Cruz, California
The evening I spent at Edward's house seemed to start a pattern of sorts. Every chance we had, except for weekends (those belonged to Lisle and I refused to infringe on the time Edward got to spend with him), we were together.
During the week we spent our mornings in the water surfing, kissing, and laughing, and forgetting everything else except for the two of us. I was getting better and better, and it was more likely to see me riding a wave than eating one.
After the sun rose, we would go to work together and I'd spend my day counting the hours until the end of the night when I went home with him. I knew we were moving fast, but you know what they say: time flies when you're having fun.
I was having the most amazing summer of my life with, someone I was convinced was the most amazing man.
Those early days were innocent though; beyond the making out we'd been doing, he hadn't tried to take it any further. I was mostly okay with that. What we were building was great and I was content just to be around him.
I learned a lot, not the least of which was the fact that he was a big faker. He actually could cook. Rather well, too.
"And you made me eat pizza last week why?" I teased, watching his hands move briskly across the cutting board.
Edward hesitated, dropping his knife and walking to the fridge to grab more ingredients. "I was nervous to bring you here, I didn't want to screw anything up," he admitted.
I shook my head, smiling. "I find it very hard to believe you could screw anything up."
"Don't be so sure about that," he said dryly.
I laughed and rolled my eyes at him as he went back to work. He was totally cute bustling around the kitchen preparing dinner for us. I liked watching him do most things, and this was no exception. Especially since I knew next to nothing about cooking.
"How'd you learn all of this, anyway?" I asked, changing the subject as I snatched a piece of carrot from his cutting board.
He swatted at my hand. "Stop that." I giggled. "And I learned from my mom. She's kind of a chef."
I smirked. "How does one become 'kind of' a chef?"
He shook his head. "Do you always have to be difficult?"
"Yep," I quipped, grabbing another carrot and running away before he could stop me.
"You'll pay for that later," he called after me.
"I'm counting on it," I yelled back, sprawling across his couch to channel surf until dinner was finished.
We ate dinner on the floor in front of the sofa, and I asked Edward to tell me more about his mom. He'd mentioned her before, but it seemed like every conversation produced some new piece of information. He was letting me in slowly but surely.
"I lived in New York with her until I was thirteen and she decided she wanted to go to culinary school."
Apparently she'd decided so quickly that she was forced to send Edward back to California to live with his dad, Carlisle. She couldn't juggle working part-time, going to school and taking care of a kid. Something had to give… and she gave up Edward.
I couldn't see how anyone would be able to do that. My mother had done it to me, and just the thought of him going through the same hurt I'd faced throughout the years when I thought of her made me frown.
"By the time I came back, Dad had married Esme, and I had a little brother I barely knew."
"Jasper," I said.
Edward nodded. "Yep. It was an adjustment for all of us, but we eventually got closer."
"So why doesn't Esme live here now?" I asked, curious why she wouldn't have been here when their father passed away.
He sighed. "My dad was a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes. Right after I graduated high school, he got diagnosed the first time."
"What was wrong?" I asked. "With your dad, I mean."
"Skin cancer. He had a small melanoma on his chest. They found it early and removed it with a simple surgery, but after that he didn't take care of himself. He didn't do what he should have done, and no matter how hard Esme tried, he fought her. He wanted to be the man who didn't need anyone to take care of him. Ultimately, his choices were what killed him, because when it came back, surgery wasn't an option anymore." He shook his head.
I felt awful for him. I couldn't fathom having to watch my own dad suffer and die from a disease that could have been prevented with proper care. I laced my fingers through his and squeezed to let him know I got it and that I was here to listen.
"And before his death, everything was already hard enough for me, you know? I was older, and I had to watch Jasper go through the same things I did when my parents split up. The questions and confusion and just… everything. And when it came down to it I didn't want to admit to myself that I was going through the same thing with my own wife. I think that was a big reason why I stayed with Mak as long as I did. I hated the fact that I was putting Lisle through the same thing my dad put us through."
Makenna was a topic he shied away from more often than not. He'd only spoken of their relationship that one time, when he admitted that she cheated. Beyond that, though, his lips had been sealed. Tonight, it seemed, everything was coming out.
"Your situation was very different," I said, scratching the palm of his hand with my fingernails.
He tightened his grip on me. "Maybe, but I was still worried about how it would affect Lisle. I didn't think about myself."
"You're a good man, Edward. Lisle's lucky to have you." I smiled and he pulled me closer to drop a kiss on my cheek.
"I'm the lucky one," he murmured, looking into my eyes. "Sorry for just unloading on you like that."
I smiled. "I asked. I like it when you talk. You're kind of a closed book most of the time. It's nice when you let me in."
"I'm trying."
"I know."
I stood up and began to gather up our dishes.
"What are you doing?" He rubbed his hands across his stomach and stretched as he stood up.
"The dishes. I figure if you cook me food, I should at least pitch in something."
He laughed. "Someday I'm going to teach you to cook. I need a woman who'll feed me."
I scowled at him. "Ha, ha," I deadpanned.
"Really! How is it that you don't know how to cook? Who makes the food in your house?"
"I can make things! Sandwiches. Mac and cheese. Soup. Popcorn!" I defended myself a little too strongly and Edward cracked up laughing.
"Babe, that is not food."
I turned my face away to hide a grin and walked into the kitchen. I loved when he called me that. "It is to me."
Edward joined me a few minutes later, snuggling up close behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He watched me scrub from over my shoulder, doing his very best to distract me by pushing his lips against the back of my neck.
I had to stop every thirty seconds or so to take a deep breath. He was making me crazy.
"Bella?" he whispered.
"Yeah?"
"Don't go home tonight."
The dish in my hands slipped and a loud clang echoed through the kitchen. My heart hammered in my chest at the possibility of spending the night with him.
I swallowed thickly. "I don't have any clothes."
It was the easiest – and stupidest – excuse I could come up with. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to stay, I did. But I was nervous because the possibility of what could happen if I stayed was big. Huge, even. And I wanted that, too. I just wasn't sure we were ready for it yet.
"I have clothes," Edward said, kissing my neck again. "Not that you need them."
Yup. I left it there. Please don't shoot the author. I promise to make up for it soon.
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