No Betas were harmed in the making of this chapter.

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It seemed like an age before he could force a response past the great obstacle suddenly lodged in his throat. He should have thought of this. Should have realized she was clever, too. Should have known she was perfect. Rusty and hoarse, his words fell haltingly. "That was a long time ago. It's Edward now. Edward Cullen."

And then, he dismounted from his saddle, and came toward her with his heart singing, Yes, yes, and now.

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If Isabella was startled by Edward vaulting from Henry's back to share the road with her, she did not show it. He took care to come forward slowly just the same, not wanting to frighten her.

"I see," she replied, then paused and tilted her head, considering his words. "Mister Cullen, then."

He could only stare mutely, his head spinning with the nearness of her, precluding all thoughts except for one ringing question.

"You want to know how I know," Isabella stated matter-of-factly, somehow plucking his foremost concern straight from his head. "Well, it was my father. He was the sheriff right here in Forks, many years ago. He recognized you."

Air rattled in Edward's chest as he processed this statement for a few moments. If Isabella's father had been the sheriff, it was possible he'd told her what Edward-then still Anthony, though he hadn't thought of himself as that boy in quite some time-had done.

He was shocked he'd never recognized stoic Sheriff Swan in the old man who'd always accompanied Isabella to church.

He swallowed dryly. "Your father was right, Ma'am. He was a good man. The best I knew."

Isabella's eyes left his face momentarily as she looked off into the distance, the grief plain on her face.

"My father was everything to me," she said simply, and Edward found himself remembering the weight of his own father's hand, dusty and slack, a trickle of blood pooling in the curled palm. He'd thought the grief good and buried but the years were only a veneer, and if he scratched it just right, the familiar ache was all his again.

Anthony Masen had cried his eyes out into the dirt like a little child that day, with Sheriff Swan's hand heavy on his shoulder. Isabella's father had been the only one to give him comfort at the time of his great tragedy. Others avoided him like they would a leper, like he would infect them with his loss.

Now, it was Edward Cullen who closed his eyes against the memories.

"I've been watching you too, you know, Mister Cullen."

He looked up, and sure enough, her bright eyes were trained on him. In light of that uncompromising gaze, Edward was suddenly very aware of everything. The creaking of worn leather was too loud, the green of the forest too bright, his beard not nearly enough protection from the willowy woman on the road.

He was close enough to her to feel the crackling halo tingling around them, as though the air was rarefied in the exact spot where they stood. Close enough to count the freckles on her nose and see the imperfectly perfect arch and bow of her lips.

"Will you walk with me?" she asked, as if more than one answer were possible.

Anywhere, he thought, and clenched his fist around Henry's reins.

And so, they wandered together along the road, silent, studiously not looking at each other. He felt her presence so keenly, it raised the fine hair on his arms. Edward had never realized this sensation could exist; he'd never experienced anything like it. He thought he might suffocate inside his own skin.

He looked askance at Isabella, taking the opportunity to study her profile, the shape of her mouth drawn so delicate against her pale complexion. For the first time, he was close enough to notice the shallow creases at the corners of her eyes, the echos of past smiles on her face. He had the strongest urge to lean in and smell her skin, to run his nose along her cheek and test the texture of her hair.

"Mister Cullen-"

"Edward."

"Edward," she repeated and tilted her head, as though tasting the sound, and the thrill of having her say it tightened his already white-knuckled grip on the leather reins.

"I think we are both of us people of few words."

He nodded, hoping his beard would hide the quirk of his mouth at this astute analysis.

Isabella walked on alongside with her eyes trained dead ahead. Her words were careful. "Am I also right in supposing that we have both caught each other's eye?"

Heat prickled up Edward's spine like an army of ants, until his skin ached with it and he shivered. She knew. She knew and she'd seen him, too.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied, surprised at the clarity of his voice when it felt like his whole body was thrumming. Yes, I adore you completely.

"I think we are also both alone in the world," she said after a time, eyes sweeping over the greenery lining the road.

Edward nodded once more, not trusting his voice this time, as Isabella cut the legs from under him with relentless ease.

"It doesn't have to be that way."

Edward stopped dead in his tracks, Henry snorting indignantly beside him.

"There will be people along to see you now that you're on your own, respectable men coming to court you." His voice was hoarse, panicked. "Why, you could-"

"No. I could not and I will not," she interrupted quietly. She came to a stop in front of man and horse, and rounded on them with decisive eyes. Edward swallowed dryly. He had never faced anything quite as terrifying, nor as magnificent as this woman.

"I am finished doing other people's bidding. I'm done with expectations. I lived for my father, Edward, I did. But he is gone, and has need of me no more." In the space of a breath, Isabella stood taller, the forest canopy making a vibrant green crown over her head. "Now I must live for me."

And how exactly was a man supposed to keep safe distance? Better men than Edward would surely have failed when faced with such courage.

"Why are you doing this? You don't know me," he said, scraped raw with a sudden surge of desperation. She might not hate him yet, but one day-

"I know enough. I know what Charles Swan told me, and his words were good as gold."

They stood facing each other and Edward let her words seep through the creases of his coat right along with the sudden rain, soaking down to his skin and into his very blood.

With a distance still to go, he came up alongside Henry and offered Isabella his interlaced hands.

Without a word, she placed her hand lightly upon his shoulder, her black lace-up boot in his calloused palms, and lifted herself into the saddle.

Edward didn't immediately release her foot. He placed it into the stirrup, rubbing intently with the pad of his thumb at the caked mud on her heel. Looking up, he found her eyes burning into his, one corner of her lip held lightly between small, even teeth.

His hand tightened on her foot, and he allowed his fingers to encircle her ankle while soaking up her scalding gaze.

"What is it you want, Miss Swan?" he asked hoarsely.

"Isabella."

He repeated it under his breath, nodding.

"I need to put some things to rights, but then I want you to come for me in a week's time. I want you to come here and collect me, and then, I want you to escort me to your home."

Then she smiled, and for the life of him, Edward could not recall why he'd fought for so long against the tide when it was clear he'd been hers all along.

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A/N: Thank you for reading.