A/N: Because the first prompt was a 500 word blurb, I decided to add Saturday's prompt to this chapter as well, which starts at the first break. I figured after three days off, you all deserved more than 500 words.

First Word Prompt: Perforate

Plot Generator—Binding Blurb: In 500 words or fewer, write a blurb or a short entry about self-denial.

Second Word Prompt: Bubbly

Something True

Perforate

This Winter

A knitted shawl covering her shoulders, Mrs. Cameron steps over the threshold.

Edward offers the old woman his hand. He meant it as a greeting but she uses it to help her into the house.

"Nice to meet you." He sounds confident. So different from a few days ago when Bella had invited him to dinner to officially meet her dad and Mrs. Cameron. "Great," he'd said. "The dad and the grandma-lady at the same time." He'd even joked about the pressure when he arrived this evening. But now he appears relaxed. She's not sure if he really is comfortable or just acting.

Bella and her dad baked a chicken and broccoli casserole, neither one of them talking about how it's her mother's recipe, though it was probably on her dad's mind as much as it was on Bella's.

Bella sets the table, Charlie serves the casserole, and Mrs. Cameron sits at one end of the table talking about a knitting project. She's heading a charity event, knitting blankets, hats, and booties for newborns and preemies.

As they eat dinner, they learn that Mrs. Cameron 's goal with her Senior group is several hundred sets ready for delivery by March. "I could use another helper," she says, looking at Bella with a gleam in her eye. Bella recognizes that look. There's more to the story than Mrs. Cameron is revealing.

"I can help you," Bella says, scooping chicken and broccoli onto her fork. Taking a bite, she thinks of all the times Mrs. Cameron has helped her, no hesitation, sometimes no questions asked. This is the least she can do.

"It's a lot of work," Mrs. Cameron says. "Time consuming."

"Now, hold on a minute, Marion," Bella's dad says, each firm word perforating the air. "This can't interfere with her studies."

"Which is why I would only ask for her help on weekends."

Bella looks at Edward, and while she'd spent the first part of dinner trying not to blatantly get caught in his gaze, she's now disappointed that his eyes are trained on his plate. She swallows her bite and dabs at her lips with her napkin. Her dad has given her an out. All it would take is to admit she's already behind at school.

But when she looks at Mrs. Cameron's face, into her eyes, watching as she coughs, Bella can't bring herself to use any excuse. "I can do both. I can - I can help."

"If you're sure," her dad says.

This time as she looks across the table, she finds Edward's eyes on hers and gives him an apologetic head-tilt. "I'm sure."

"She's a good girl," Mrs. Cameron says covering Bella's hand with her own. "You've raised yourself a good girl."

"By some miracle," he says.

Bella can't help her small smile. Across from her, Edward smiles back at her with a shake of his head as if he's not quite sure why he's smiling.

"Go on up and get your artwork," her dad says. "Show Marion what you've been up to."

...

Out front Bella pulls Edward to the side of the house. No lights or windows there, the Sequoia behind them shrouding them further from the weak light of the moon hidden somewhere in the sky.

"I'm not fragile," she says, kissing him, her hands resting at his waist, under his open jacket.

"What?" he asks.

"I heard what my dad said. Don't listen to him." She smiles as she says it, trying to sound bubbly and unaffected.

She'd figured out the real reason her dad had sent her to her room. On her way back downstairs Bella heard him telling Edward about her fragile state and basically threatening him to be good to her, to be careful with her. Her first instinct was to yell at her dad to shush and stay out of her business. Edward already knew all of that. He didn't need it reiterated by her father, didn't need every fragile moment he's witnessed brought back to the surface. Instead she had chosen to ignore it, showing off her drawings as requested.

"I'm not made of glass. Or if I am, it's very durable." Even as she says it she isn't completely convinced.

"I know," Edward says, clutching her arms through her jacket and kissing her back. "I can tell." He does seem convinced and that's all she needs.

She breaks the kiss. "I'm sorry about the knitting thing."

"We'll still see each other."

"But I-I'm behind at school. I have to really catch up so I don't disappoint my dad."

"There's still nights. She can't expect you to knit all night, can she?"

"My fingers would fall off."

He squeezes her fingers. "I have music to make anyway." With a hand to her cheek, he draws her to his lips, stepping forward, backing her up against the side of the house. "We'll work it out."

Parting his lips, he stills his mouth, pausing there for a second too long. Breaths mingle. Bella has to move. She brushes her tongue to his. A low hum comes from him and her stomach jumps. Sliding her hands under his shirt, she sweeps up and down his back and then around to his stomach where her fingertips press, feeling his inhale.

She remembers lying in his bed, his hand on her breast, between her legs, his mouth there, too, before nerves had her guiding his face back to hers.

"Bella." He takes her fingers from his stomach. "This is-" His breath is heavy against her face, her lips. "I want this too much. We're in the wrong place."

She lifts up to continue the kiss. He groans into her mouth.

Warming each other up this way on cold nights is becoming a regular thing for them. Their heated breath, bodies, lips, turn the icy wind into a relief instead of a deterrent.

"God, I'm going to miss you." He clasps both her hands, weaving their fingers, pushing his hips into hers, crushing her against the house.

It feels good, all of this. Him. No space between them. His strong body pressed against hers, the rigid wall at her back. But it especially feels good to hear him say he'll miss her even after talking about nights together. He wants more than nights with her.

How much time would he want with her if the choice was his?

Gathering her courage, she asks him. He drops his face to her neck, his laugh nothing but breaths on her skin.

Whatever the laugh means, she doesn't know, but it makes her feel embarrassed for asking the question. "What?"

"All of it," he says. "All of it, Bella."

But how else, she asks herself, is he supposed to answer a question like that? She wishes she could take the question back even if it means not knowing the answer.

She attempts to swallow her doubts of him, doubts of herself. Closing her eyes she blocks out the night, the world, everything but Edward, raising her face back to his kiss.

Tightening his arms around her, he welcomes her lips.

She chooses not to be fragile.

She chooses to believe him.

A/N: Thank you for reading, everyone!

And thank you to Vampshavelaws and Mercyrus Tales for rec'ing this story at The Lemonade Stand. If you feel like voting, or are looking for some great rec's, check out the poll: tehlemonadestand dot net