Thanks so much for reading. I truly appreciate the warm welcome back. :)

~(~)~

Want. . .

She closes the door to her apartment and turns the lock with a sigh. Before she even engages the deadbolt she has her phone out of her purse. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

"Get home safe?"

"Yeah, I just walked in the door."

"How was the drive?"

"Long." She flips the hallway light on and then grabs her suitcase. "How was your day?"

"Long," he says, chuckling. "I am not cut out to keep up with small children. Or my sister."

"Oh, I don't know," she says, dropping her keys into her purse and setting it on the entry table. "You seemed to have things well in hand yesterday."

"That was a onetime thing, apparently. No such luck today."

She giggles. "With Alice? Or the kids?"

"Both." She can hear the smile in his voice.

"What did you guys do today?"

"We took them bowling again and let them spend about a hundred bucks in the arcade. Then it was back here for board games, several rounds of hide and seek, and finally a movie. They went back to Mom and Dad's about half an hour ago."

She smiles, but feels a pang of remorse for Esme. It seems like her children are still avoiding her.

Because of you.

No. She shakes that thought off and heads down the hall to her room. "Sounds like a fun day. Have you spoken to your mom?"

"No. Emmett said she never came out of her room last night, and she was gone early this morning to open the bookstore. She left fresh-baked muffins for them, and notes for the kids promising cookies after she got home this afternoon, but I didn't go over there. I'm not going to either. I think it's best we don't talk for a while."

"I'm sorry, E."

"Please don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either, and it doesn't mean I'm not sorry you're going through this with her. It's very frustrating."

"Yeah. That's one word for it."

She flips the light on in her bedroom. "Well, you let me know when or if you need to talk. I realize you have a support network in place, but I'm here, too. If you need me."

"I know you are."

They both fall quiet. The hum of an engine filters through the phone.

"Are you in the car?" she asks.

"Yeah. Meeting."

"Ah." She takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that for a split-second, she'd been wondering if he was on his way here.

"I thought it might be a good idea," he continues. "All things considered."

"You don't have to explain. You don't even have to tell me you're going, you know that." She ditches her suitcase at the end of the bed and then kicks off her shoes.

"I know, but it's a pretty routine part of my life. There's no reason not to be open about it."

She wants to say something about there being such a thing as too open, but fears he'll miss interpret it. Where she's concerned, he could tell her anything, choose to make her a part of his accountability system, or ask her to stay out of it, whatever. In either case, she would respect his autonomy as a man and an adult. She would recognize his boundaries and his need for other people besides his loved ones to lean on for support. Other women in his life? His mother specifically? Not so much.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low. She realizes she hasn't responded to him.

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I was just thinking," she says as she plops herself onto the bed.

"About?"

"You," she says, smiling and putting her heavier thoughts aside for now.

He chuckles. "Funny, I was just thinking about you too."

Her stomach flutters. "Imagine that."

Silence descends on them again and she sighs, lying back and stretching out. "I actually have a bit of a confession to make," she says when she's comfortable.

"Oh?" His voice is light, but she hears the edge in it. As if he's not 100% sure where she's going with this.

She smiles. "I couldn't stop thinking about you today. And the farther I got from Forks, the worse it got. I'm freaking out a little, to be honest."

He sighs. "I've been having a similar problem. In fact, I'm half-tempted to ditch my meeting and keep going straight on to Seattle. I feel like I just need to see your face once more time, just to make sure what happened was real."

Her breathing accelerates. "Yeah."

He's quiet a long moment. She listens to the sound in the background. The hum of the engine as it slows, the clicking of the turn signal, and then the car accelerating and then decelerating again. She pictures his hand as he shifts gears, his face as he watches the road, then pictures herself next to him as she recalls their drive back to Charlie's just two days ago. A warm feeling blooms in her chest.

"Four weeks," she says. "We'll see each other in four weeks."

He sighs. "Four weeks."

"It'll go by really fast."

"Yeah, I'm sure it will."

"And we'll e-mail. Text. Talk."

"Right. I know."

The warm feeling cools a little. A lot can change in four weeks. A lot can go unsaid over the phone. "And there's no pressure, E. If you need more time. . . "

"More time?" He laughs. "I miss you already, silly girl."

She smiles, the warmth returning. "I miss you, too."

He hums, an approving sound. "I was worried, you know. Am worried, I guess. That you'll have second thoughts."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because sometimes things look different at a distance."

"Oh, E. . . "

"Look, Bella, you're. . . smart, and you're usually very thoughtful, and careful, and I. . . I think things took us both by surprise on Monday. Yesterday, too, with my siblings. And the kids. And the drama with my mother. . . "

"Edward, don't put that on yourself."

He doesn't seem to hear her. "No, look, I know it was more than you ever planned when you agreed to see me over Christmas. More than is reasonable to expect."

"It was more than I planned," she agrees, feeling the warmth burn hotter and then spread. "It was so much more. But in the best way."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She takes a deep breath and sits up, evaluating her state of mind, and trying to find the right words. She can't offer any guarantees—no more than he can—but she can let him know she's in this for now. She's not going anywhere. "Listen, I can't say that I won't feel like I have an emotional hangover tomorrow, or maybe the next day, and I can't promise things won't be awkward between us when we see each other the next time, because they might. But I won't regret a thing that happened this week—even if in the end, it doesn't work out."

His breathing is fast as hers is. "I want it to work out," he whispers.

"So do I," she says earnestly. So do I.