Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all of it's characters. I own Bella's snark, and Salty's easy smile.

Fifteen

"How do I know if it's cooked?"

Shouldering my mobile phone, I open the oven door a little further, wincing as the hot air hits my face.

I can hear mum's sewing machine whirring in the background as she talks. "Put a knife in the middle, and if it comes out clean, then it's cooked."

Pulling the cake tin out a little further, I scowl at the brown-almost-too-brown top. "I think it's burning."

Mum sighs. "Well, take it out."

Frustrated and so fucking over this sponge cake bullshit, I pull the tin out of the oven and set it down on the cooling rack.

"How's Dad?"

"The same," assures Mum, her words mumbled as she speaks around a set of pins between her lips. The thought of her; brow furrowed as she hunches over a pair of Dad's work pants, makes my heart ache a little. No matter how old I am, the thought of her; of her smell, her voice, her smile, is like a comforting balm on my soul. I would never admit it to her, but I miss her like crazy. Hence Nanna Swan's sugar-rich sponge cake recipe.

After some tin wiggling and plate jiggling, I flip the cake over onto the rack, ready to get it out of the pan. With a deep breath, I lift the tin off and watch in horror as creamy yellow cake batter floods the plate, settling on top of an inch or so of cooked sponge cake.

"Muuuuuuuum!"

Cake mix drips off the plate and onto the bench, making little pools of sugary batter.

"What?"

"It wasn't cooked, and now it's going everywhere!"

The sewing machine stops, and I stand, watching the batter drip onto the kitchen floor as I wait for further instructions.

"Um, I'll just get your Dad. He wants to say hi."

"Wait!"

Scrambling for paper towel, I try to stop it from running any further; my fingers ending up a sticky, gooey mess instead.

"Fuuuuuck!"

"Language."

"Oh, hey, Dad."

Giving up on the pile of soggy, sticky paper towel, I lean against the kitchen sink, licking the cake mix off my fingers, listening as Dad talks briefly about nothing in particular: the farm, his new chainsaw, the lack of rain. Listening to him sends a pang of longing through me again, this time it's a deep ache for the space of the country, for the smell of approaching rain over the farm and mum's roast lamb.

"What about Christmas? You coming home?"

Sighing, I look over at the calendar on the fridge; six weeks until Christmas.

"I dunno, Dad. I'll probably be working. I'll have to check."

He grunts in response. "I guess we could always come to you. Get your old man a bit of sun on the beach."

Visions of Charlie in shorts assault me, his thick hairy Dad-legs poking out the bottom.

"Yeah, we'll figure something out."

"Did your mum tell you she has a baby roo in the house?"

I can hear mum chastising my dad in the background as he sighs loudly.

The sound of their bickering makes me smile. "A joey?"

"A bloody joey."

"What is she doing with a kangaroo? Doesn't she have enough animals?"

I can almost hear my dad's eyes roll through the phone. "She found it by the side of the road. You know how she is with that stuff."

Ah, my mum the bleeding heart. If one of the ewes was pregnant, you can be sure she's the first one there when the lamb is born. Found a bird with a broken wing? Renee Swan will look after it. Stray dog? Take it to Renee. Dad always complains about the random animals in the house, but to be honest I think it's one of the things he loves about Mum. That and her great legs – a genetic trait I apparently inherited.

"Did I tell you Ange had a baby girl?"

"Who?"

"Ange – Ben's wife."

"Uhhhh..."

"The owner of the bar – oh, Christ, never mind."

Dad's never been one for remembering things.

"Heard from Jake lately?"

I stop licking my fingers. "No. Why?"

Dad clears his throat awkwardly. "Oh. No reason."

"Dad."

"Bella."

"Why, Dad?"

"Nothing! He was here the other day helping me with the engine in that bloody four wheeler again, and he might have mentioned something about a...girl."

A pang of jealousy hits me unexpectedly. "A girl? Like, a girlfriend?"

"I don't know, Bella," Dad whines. "Just a girl. Rachel someone."

"Rachel Allen!" I screech. "That skank."

"Language, Bella!"

I don't know why the news about Jake takes me by surprise so much, it's not like I haven't spent the past couple of months lusting over Edward. I guess it's just the knowledge that Jake's moved on, that he isn't sitting around the farm pining, sulking, waiting for me to come home. I'm part relieved, part annoyed, and it's frustrating as fuck. To make matters worse, I haven't heard from Edward since the morning I basically threw him out of my bed. I don't know if he's waiting for me to call and apologise, or if I should be giving him space. The thought that me mightn't call at all, is like ice in my veins, my stomach sinking with a heavy thunk.

After I hang up with Dad, I scrounge up some clean work gear and head over to Mint for the Friday night shift, my cake disaster nothing but a sticky mess in the bin.

It's mid-November, and the season is beginning to pick up. As soon as Friday night hits, the once peaceful esplanade is bumper to bumper with cars, every available car space taken, every picnic table full of tourists. Weaving my way down the busy sidewalk, I pick my way through slow walking oldies and sidewalk-hogging families. I can kind of understand why the locals hate tourist season; lines at the supermarket, all the tables full at the cafes, I'm starting to miss the quiet coastal town I've grown to love.

"Oi, Bella!"

I stop at the sound of my name booming across the road.

Hanging out the passenger window of Edward's van, is Jacko, his dark curly hair whipping around his face. Edward rolls the van to the stop, not caring that he's obviously holding up traffic.

I shield my eyes from the sun with one hand, waving with the other. "Hey."

The tip of a surfboard is wedged between Jacko and Edward, its bright red design one I've come to recognise as one of Edward's boards. Looking at him behind the wheel, it feels longer than a week since I saw him last, and his scruffy jaw line and dark sunglasses make me want to rip the car door off and launch myself at him. I don't of course. Instead, I stand beside the van, sweltering in my work shirt and jeans, feeling more than a little awkward.

"Hey, Edward." I wave again, accompanying it with a tentative smile.

His lip slipping from between his bottom teeth, Edward's lips curve into my favourite lazy smile. "Hey."

"You been in?" I ask, gesturing to the crowed main beach.

They both shake their heads.

"Nah," says Edward, ignoring the horns blaring behind him. "Full of fucking tourists and groms."

There's no trace of anger or resentment in Edward's voice, no clipped tone, no hurt in his voice. I wonder momentarily if it's just me that's spent the last week fretting.

Maybe this no-strings thing is easier that I thought?

"When are we gunna get you in a wetsuit?" he asks, smiling as I shake my head.

I raise an eyebrow. "When you teach me how to surf."

Rosie would kill me if she heard me say that. But somehow, Edward seems like a better teacher. Well, not better, just more preferable.

"Any time, Swan," he replies with another smile.

"Alright, you two," interrupts Riles. "Save it for when you're alone please."

As he babbles about his crush on the girl from the fish and chip shop with the massive tits, a small group of girls, who have sizeable breasts of their own, walk past the car, calling out to Edward. I watch as he waves politely at them, and I want to know how he knows them, and why they're waving and giggling like they are. It reminds me of the night at Rosie's, and the day on the beach - the way girls, and guys, seem to gravitate towards him.

The honking of the car horns becomes incessantly loud, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Fuck off will ya?" yells Riley out the window, flipping his middle finger up at the cars behind him.

"See you tonight?" I ask them, glancing back at Edward.

They both nod in the affirmative, and we go our separate ways, Edward's van spluttering and whining loudly down the street.

I'm not sure how he does it, but after just a few minutes with Edward, all thoughts of stupid Jake and that mole Rachel are behind me. I'm not going to let it bother me, I made my bed and I am happy with my decision. If anything, knowing he's not going to spend his days pining for unrequited love leaves me feeling a free, like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I do, however, make a decision to take a trip home soon. It's been too long since I've seen my parents, and after the call earlier I'm beginning to realise how much I miss them.

Rosie and Paul, as well as Jasper and a couple of the casual staff, are all working when I arrive, and soon enough the place is in full swing. I thought the bar was busy in the off season, but that night I realise I was mistaken. By ten-thirty there isn't a seat left in the place, the bar is full to capacity, and the line out the door grows with every passing hour. I've never worked so fucking hard in my life, but it feels good. The ache in my arms and feet makes me feel like I'm doing something – even if it is just working a bar.

"Can I get a...um...a Stella, please?"

My fingers tap the counter on the bar as I get a good look at the kid. He looks like a baby giraffe; awkward limbs and a body he hasn't quite grown into. Strawberry blonde hair tangles around his boyish face, a pair of familiar-looking eyes peering out at me from underneath.

"I'm going to have to see some ID."

His smile almost splits his cheeks in two as he passes the shiny new card over.

"Embry Masen?"

So that's why he looks so familiar. Chancing a second look, I realise he looks more like his brother than I'd first realised. Broad shoulders and an angular face, it's like looking at Edward as a teenager. He even has a hat on, although his is backwards with tufts of blonde hair poking out the front.

"Happy birthday," I say, handing back his ID.

He shuffles awkwardly at the bar, dimples forming in his cheeks as he shoves the card back in his wallet, mumbling his thanks.

I put his beer on the bar, and a shot of Jager beside it. "On the house," I say with a wink.

"You never give me free drinks!"

I don't even have to look up from the register to know whose voice it is.

"It's not your birthday," I yell over my shoulder.

Turning from the till, I watch as Edward slings an arm over his brother's shoulder. "It might have been."

"Uh-huh," I reply, unconvinced. The noise of the bar seems to slip away for just a heartbeat as I realise suddenly, that Edward is wearing a shirt.

Not a t-shirt - an actual shirt.

With buttons.

Sure, it's basically a flannel shirt with a collar, but it's the most dressed up I've ever seen him, and the way it hangs from his broad shoulders, the rolled-up sleeves exposing his lean forearms, makes me want to drop to my knees and thank whoever it was that made him wear it.

"How would you know it's not my birthday?" he contests. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Bella Swan."

I laugh, grabbing him a beer. "Amazing considering how much you talk about yourself."

Embry laughs, his cheeks already pink from the alcohol.

"Yeah, alright," chastises Edward, his brow creasing into a little frown. "At least I'd kissed a girl when I was eighteen."

Embry's face flames an iridescent shade of red and his mouth snaps shut. "Shut the fuck up."

I move to serve other customers as Embry and Edward trade insults for a while, the usual brother bullshit.

I feel bad for the kid, he obviously didn't inherit the Masen charm that Edward has, but there's no reason why a boy as cute as he is should be turning eighteen – the legal age of consent – without having kissed a girl.

Spurred on by Edward's teasing, and feeling a little bold, I lean forward and grab Embry by the scruff of his t-shirt and plant a chaste but impressive-looking kiss on his lips.

"Happy birthday," I say with a smile, as his friends, obviously watching from afar, howl and cheer as Embry's face goes ever redder, his eyes wide and sparkly.

As I get back to work, I can hear Edward behind me.

"Are you kidding me? She knows you for two minutes and she's kissing you!"

"Do you know how long it took me to get a kiss?"

And , "Wipe that grin off your face!"

He's kidding of course; I can both hear it in his voice and see it in his smile.

With a shy grin and mumbled thanks, Embry makes his way back over to his friends, walking tall and looking quite proud of himself.

"Another beer?" I ask, gesturing to Edward's half empty bottle.

"What? I don't get a kiss?"

My stomach flip-flops, but I do my best to keep a lid on it. As Rosie predicted, he's obviously not deterred by my momentary panic attack, and for that both my right hand and I are happy. I flip the top off a Corona, and shove a slice of lime down the neck. "You'll get a kiss. You just have to wait until I'm finished work."

"I can do that. How about a date instead then?"

Looking on the shelves behind me, and then under the bar, I shake my head. "You know, I think we're fresh outta them."

"Not even one? One date? Come on, Bella."

"What's with you and dates?"

"It's really not a big deal."

"That's what they all say," I reply, serving the guy beside him as I talk. "One date turns into two, two turns into fooling around, then the next thing you know you're in love with me and I'm stuck in Clearwater raising your little brood of surfer kids."

He laughs. "That doesn't sound so bad does it? I'll even buy you dinner first."

Sensing my hesitation, Edward's face softens and a gentle smile dances across his lips. "Relax, Bella, okay? It's just dinner."

Swallowing my indecision, I take a breath, and for once, listen to my heart instead of my brain.

"I'll think about it, okay?"

"Done."

I swallow the mixture of fear and excitement as it swells in my thraot. I don't want to want him, but I do, and no matter how hard I try I can't stop it.

"What time do you finish tonight?" Edward asks over the noise of the bar.

I look around at the packed pub. "About three, maybe?"

He nods.

"You gonna wait for me?" I ask, kind of joking, but kind of not.

"You want me to?"

I consider giving him a little witty retort, maybe play up the banter we're so good at, but I don't. Instead, I just nod.

His resulting smile is blinding.

I am in so much trouble.

- Groms - Short for 'Grommets'. A surfer term for young surfing kids.

- In regards to Embry's birthday - eighteen is when Aussie kids are coconsidered legal adults. At eighteen we can vote, drink, drive without our parents in the car, buy alcohol, get into clubs and bars. Therefore, eighteenth parties are all the rage, as are twenty-firsts, although I'm not sure why the latter.

Tiff, Thimbles and Ink are my team. I love them all.

Thank you for all the lovely reviews and for reading :)

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