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A week after moving to Edmonds I became friends with my next-door neighbor, Rosalie Hale. As with Emmett, my friendship with Rosalie was easy going right from the start. Being that Rose worked from home, she offered to babysit Isabella - take her to and from school and keep her entertained until I got home. I was hesitant at first but I really needed someone to watch her so I could work. Besides, she didn't look like a crazy stalker…..To return the favor I'd make dinner for the three of us and we'd eat as a pseudo family. Quite often, long after Isabella had gone to bed, Rosalie and I would hang out. We'd watch tv, play cards, or simply talk. It was nice to have someone else in town I could call a friend.
When Royce, her (asshole) boyfriend of two years, broke her heart, it was my door Rose knocked on at one a.m. Her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks told me all I needed to know. I frowned as I pulled her into a tight hug right there in the doorway. Not wanting her to go back to her empty apartment, I didn't hesitate to bring her to my bed. There she cried herself to sleep, her head on my chest, while I quietly shushed her, running my fingers through her hair. There was nothing weird about waking up next to her the morning after, and no awkward walk of shame home because we hadn't done anything except sleep. Without sex, things with us were blissfully uncomplicated.
I was the one who stopped Rosalie, on more than one occasion, from drunk dialing Royce for a late night booty call. It wasn't for my benefit, either - I just couldn't stand to see her pining after someone who treated her like shit.
If I ever wanted company for dinner or a movie, Rosalie was my girl. If we went out and some guy was obnoxiously hitting on her, I threw daggers his way. She was my wingman and I was hers. Simply put, we were good friends. There weren't any romantic feelings between us whatsoever.
Until my darling daughter planted the seed.
It was a Thursday night, a year after our move to Edmonds. Seven year old Isabella and I were eating supper when her question came out of left field.
"Daddy, can Rosalie be my mom one day?"
I choked on my salad. "No, peanut, I'm sorry."
"Why not? She's pretty."
"Yes, she is. It takes more than being pretty for someone to become your mom, though."
"Like what?" Her words were garbled as she slurped up a long spaghetti noodle, flipping sauce onto her nose.
"Well, for starters, you have to be madly in love with that special someone. You have to want to hug and kiss them all the time, and be sad when you're apart because you miss them so much."
"Kind of like how I love you and you love me."
"Exactly like that." I smiled and kissed the top of her head as I started clearing away the dinner dishes.
"One day can I have a mom?" Isabella sighed after she asked, her lips in a pouty frown.
There was such a longing her in voice. It was then I understood how deeply Ally's absence affected my daughter; a realization that pained me. Even though I'd given Isabella so much – a stable home, unconditional love, material things, and all of my heart – I'd failed to give her the one thing she seemed to wish most for - a mom.
While in bed that night I mentally did a critical assessment of Rosalie. She was a shining example of what I hoped Isabella would become one day - successful, smart, and beautiful. In fact, with her big blue eyes, gorgeous blonde hair, long legs, and curves in all the right places she was practically everything I looked for in a mate as well. If I had time to date, that is.
The next thing I knew, it was her body I was picturing as my hand wrapped around my … yeah so, uh… Rosalie was hot. Who knew?
At work the next day I couldn't get Rosalie and those damn curves off my mind. I started a pot of coffee without placing the carafe under the drip first. Made a soy latte with whole milk, and twice closed the register without giving change back first.
That night Isabella had a sleep-over with her best friend so when Rosalie sent me a text asking 'Dinner?' I sent a message back that said 'You've got yourself a hot date. My place. 7:00' I don't even know where the words 'hot date' came from.
Instead of throwing on jeans and a tee shirt after my shower, I dressed in khaki pants and a button down shirt. I told myself it was only dinner with a friend but I still put on cologne and spent 20 futile minutes on my hair.
Even though Rosalie would've been fine with chicken and dumplings, I made scallops, risotto, Caesar salad, and dessert. I was a competent cook yet still found myself on the phone with my mom four times asking for advice. She quickly deduced that I was cooking for a girl, but I didn't reveal that it was Rosalie. Trust me, my parents would have been more than thrilled if we were an item.
A few minutes before 7:00 I turned down the lights, lit a few candles around the apartment, and uncorked the wine.
Rosalie knocked on the door and let herself in. I wiped my sweaty palms on my slacks.
"Hey." I managed to croak out.
"Hey." Rosalie looked around with one eyebrow raised. "Did you forget to pay your electric bill?"
"No, no. I just, uh, thought, uh, that... I figured it'd, uh, be a nice change is all."
Rosalie shrugged then sniffed the air as she walked into the kitchen. "Smells amazing. You cooked?"
"Yeah, I didn't feel like take-out. I hope that's okay?"
"It's more than okay. I figured we'd order a pizza but, damn, this looks so much better. Where's Isabella tonight?"
"At a sleepover. Have a seat, I'll fix you a plate." I pulled out Rosalie's chair, ignoring the funny look she gave me.
"Wow, thank you, Edward."
When we sat down, the conversation flowed easily – as did the wine. Typical of our conversations, we went from discussing the latest TV shows to politics to the trouble in the world without any awkward lulls. It was the least stressful first date I'd ever been on – though I'm not sure if it could be considered a date given the fact that Rosalie didn't even know it was one. Minor details.
After dinner, we moved from the kitchen to the living room with our wine. Rosalie chose a movie for us to watch and we got comfortable. I propped my feet up on the coffee table; Rose kicked off her heels and tucked her legs underneath her.
At some point I got up for a second bottle of wine. When I offered to refill Rosalie's glass she shook her head, covering the mouth of the goblet with her hand.
"I think I've had enough."
I shrugged before filling my glass and taking a sip.
"You sure?" I asked. "This one's from Argentina and it's pretty good."
"Maybe I'll just have a sip of yours."
I passed her my glass and watched as she brought it to her lips and took a small sip.
"That's pretty good," she admitted, sweeping her tongue across her upper then lower lip slowly. I doubt it was meant to be flirtatious in any way but it was about the sexiest thing I'd seen in a long time. I looked away.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Oh right, the damn Argentinian wine.
Yet I continued to drink it. And even though Rosalie had waved off my offer to refill her glass, she continued to steal sips from mine.
With my mind clouded I found myself thinking about making a move of some kind. I casually snuck my arm around Rose. Well, more along the back of the couch rather than around her, because I was trying my best to be subtle. Rosalie didn't seem to mind, or care for that matter, and I even thought I saw her lips curl into a smile. Perhaps it was the effect of the wine but there was a chance it was because she'd been waiting a year for me to make my move.
So, I went for it. I kissed her. I did one of those grazing kisses where my nose trailed along her jaw line before I left my mark against the left side of her cheek, close to her ear. Rosalie froze, then ever so slowly turned her head to stare at me with wide eyes.
"Um, what was that?"
Fuck me.
Why hadn't I left well enough alone? And why had I started in on that second bottle of vino? I rubbed my hands over my face, wanting to hide myself behind them.
"Edward?" Rosalie asked quietly.
I got up, paced the living room, and attempted to explain.
"God, I'm so sorry. I…It's the wine. Forget I just did that, okay?"
Rose raised her eyebrows at me. She wasn't one for putting up with bullshit. "We've gotten tipsy plenty of times and this," she paused to wag a finger between us. "Never happened before. What's up?"
I pulled my fingers through my hair.
"The other day Isabella asked if you could be her mom. The way she asked it...it just hurt my heart, you know? She's my kid; I'd give her the moon if she wanted. So, I got this crazy idea that maybe you and I could be a couple. You'd be Isabella's stepmom, and all would be right in her world. Anyway, I was stupid and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." I attempted to wave off the whole awkward situation.
Rosalie came over to where I was standing, placed her hand on my bicep and smiled.
"Edward, you've been my knight in shining armor countless times. When everything happened with Royce, you were the one who helped me pick up the pieces. You and I, we have this amazing friendship; that's been such a blessing to me and—"
"And I almost fucked everything up. I know."
Rosalie shook her head. "No, you didn't. Let's go with blaming the wine."
I nodded. She nodded. We paused. And then our mouths crashed together.
The kiss caught us both off guard and I was pushed backward against the wall, knocking off a picture. Rosalie's breasts - holy shit - were flush against my chest and I swear I could feel her heart beating as furiously as mine. While her hands tugged in my hair, mine circled around her waist. My fingers found the soft, bare skin of her lower back where her shirt had ridden up.
Things intensified quickly and we found ourselves fumbling down the hallway to my bedroom - whether stumbling from drunkenness or desire, I'm not even sure. Rosalie's shirt was left somewhere in our wake, and I nearly tripped as I shed my pants. It was all déjà vu like back to Ally, except this time I had condoms in my night stand and I knew how to use them.
Once in my room, Rose shimmied backward up the bed while I struggled with the buttons of my shirt. I finally rid myself of it and tossed it aside. Beautiful aqua eyes took in my naked torso. Rosalie trailed one finger down my abs before hooking it into the waistband of my boxers and pulled me closer to her.
"You've been working out."
I shrugged it off, but it felt good to be noticed and appreciated.
Speaking of noticed - wow, Rosalie looked hot. Still dressed in her jeans, she wore a black lace bra and I groaned at the stunning sight. Full breasts, flat stomach, and a trio of butterfly tattoos that looked to be in flight along her rib cage…God, Rosalie was beautiful.
I emitted a low growl before I pressed my lips to each colorfully inked butterfly and worked my way back up to her mouth. It was easy to lose myself in those kisses, in the scent that lingered on her skin; in the idea of what could be.
While the woman under me was gorgeous, supermodel hot, and apparently a fantastic kisser, through the haze of drunken lust I realized she was still Rosalie - one of my best friends.
The angel on my shoulder reminded me if we crossed the invisible line our relationship would be forever changed. Was I willing to risk her friendship for a night of sex? Hell yes, the devil on my shoulder enthused. Rosalie and I could be friends with benefits. Easy.
Except it wouldn't be that easy. And as much as the thought of having sex appealed to me - you have no idea - I knew there were a million other moments I'd be jeopardizing if we continued. Before I could let the devil convince me otherwise, Rosalie pulled away.
"Edward, what are we doing?" she asked, still breathless from the kisses. She sat up, effectively pushing me off her.
I shook my head, trying to find a coherent thought. "I have no idea."
We sat in silence beside each other on the bed, our backs up against my headboard, feet outstretched in front of us.
"I'm sorry." Rosalie reached for my hand as she apologized.
"Why are you sorry? This was my asinine idea."
"I didn't exactly push you away." She gave me a sheepish grin.
"Rose, I'm so sorry. Shit. This isn't going to make things weird between us, is it?"
"What could be weird about two best friends being half naked in bed together?" She teased. "Pass me your shirt." I grabbed my shirt off the floor and handed it to her.
"Thanks." Rose slipped it on. Foregoing the buttons, she crisscrossed the material in front to cover her breasts. She took extreme care to roll up the sleeves. I paid special attention to the imaginary lint on the quilt. We looked everywhere but at each other.
"Hey." Rosalie nudged her shoulder against mine. "You're not a bad kisser, you know."
"You're not so bad yourself." We exchanged smiles as we fell back into silence. With a quiet voice Rosalie spoke in a thoughtful tone.
"You're a good man, Edward, and more importantly a great father. One day you'll find the girl who'll be perfect for you…and Isabella. Unfortunately, it's not me - as much as I wish it were. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I was drunk off the idea that our platonic love would be enough to fill the void in my little girl's heart."
"Isabella will be just fine. She'll grow up to be a intelligent, beautiful, and successful woman. She's stronger and braver than you give her credit for. And so are you." Rosalie leaned over and kissed my cheek. "It's late; I should probably head back to my place."
At my door I wasn't sure how to bid her good night. We had one of those awkward moments, me still shirtless, her in my button down, where I stuck out my hand and she leaned in for a hug. Rose frowned.
"I have no plans to let this make things awkward between us. Now give me a hug goodnight, you dork."
Eventually, Rosalie found someone who loved her without boundaries in the all-consuming way a man should love a woman. And once I got over the fact that Emmett was sleeping with my babysitter, I was cool with them being together. They had a whirlwind romance, marrying just five months after they started dating. I was their best man, and cried like a baby.