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Word Prompt: Seam

Edward takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Thanks for lunch," he says softly, the littlest smile gracing his mouth. His eyes flicker over me, like he's taking me in, seeing me for real for the first time.

I know, because that's what I'm doing. Being this close in proximity is exhilarating and nerve wracking, but it's nice to be able to really look at him.

"Is that from soccer?" I ask, pointing to a little scar by his eyebrow.

"Mhm." His smile grows, but he tamps it down.

"Oh."

He nods.

We stand there like goons for a moment, surrounded by warm, sugary, buttery smells. Charlie's migrated to the living room - I know because now Peppa the Pig is giggling throatily about something in that awesomely British way that I love.

"I love Peppa the Pig," I murmur.

Edward cracks a full on smile. "I don't even know what that is."

"A cartoon." I tuck my hair behind my ears and step back, glancing at the clock above the stove.

"You've got work to do," he says, eyes following me. He's observant, much more than I'm used to. People...we tend to be self absorbed. I know I can be, anyway. Edward's refreshingly - and startlingly - not like that.

"I do." I wish I didn't. I wish you could just stay. I wish I could kiss you, just to know what it was like, and then press rewind...so I didn't have to deal with any repercussions or expectations or weirdness. "And, you do too, I take it."

"Yeah." He nods, roughing his hands through his hair. "Thank you for lunch, Bella."

"Any time." Really. Any time. Jeez. "Thank you for dropping these supplies off."

"Any time," he says, winking.

My stomach flips, and he's walking away, poking his head inside the living room to say good bye to Charlie, who gives him a sleepy wave. I walk him to the door, giving him a shy little wave of my own, forcing myself to just close the door and not watch the man walk away even though I'm as confused, conflicted and giddy as a fourteen year old girl.

Because yes.

Yes, winking does get the chicks.

After lots of online research, phone calls and impromptu visits, I find a preschool I think will suit Charlie. She can go part time, just a few mornings a week, if we want. A couple of weeks pass without snow, and though it takes a little longer for the temperature to warm, I swear I can feel spring coming.

One sunny, crisp day I take Charlie to meet her new teacher - her first teacher. I'm not as emotional as I thought I'd be, thankfully. My daughter is a maniac, rushing excitedly inside and squealing goodbye before I've even had the chance to settle her in.

"You're lucky," says, her hand on my arm. "They're not all this eager to come their first day."

"She's really independent, I guess." Okay, maybe I am a wistful.

It's good, though. She's a go-getter, I think.

After giving her a hug, and letting her know that I love her, I leave. Like any parent, I assume, I'll always feel a little incomplete when she's not physically with me, but it's also freeing. I run errands for the business all morning, fielding a couple of phone calls while I do.

I'm getting off the phone with Mrs. Gerandy, who called to thank me yet again for their cake - when another call comes through. I say goodbye and switch over, not surprised to hear Mike's voice.

"Hey, Bella."

"Hi, Mike. How's it going?"

"Going good. Just finished booking the next two weekends. I'm sure Em'll tell you all about it."

"Yeah." I pull up to my house and get out, enjoying the sun on my face.

"So listen..."

Oh no. i know what's coming. We're long overdue for our "friendly" lunch dates, and now I can't use Charlie as a buffer because she's in school.

"...a date?" He pauses. "With me?"

"I can't."

"Oh. Okay. Is...everything all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It's just..."

I'm single. There's no one. Well, that's a lie. There's Edward, my ongoing fantasies starring him, and the suspicion that he likes me back. More than a suspicion...ever since my talk with Rose I see him through new eyes. How he's usually looking at me when I look at him. How he sits beside me when we all go to Em and Rose's place for dinner. How he offers to drive when I offer to grab beer or dessert or French bread for said dinners.

But still, I am single. And yet, no - I can't, Mike. I can't. Because you're catching feelings, shoot - you've had feelings forever, and you should just...find someone who is emotionally available.

"I think that," I begin, delicately, "we should probably focus on work. Stuff. I love you Mike, but...I feel like..." For the love of God, Bella, spit it out. "...we should remain professional. Friends."

"Professional friends?"

"Yes." I scrub my hand over my face. "Professional at work. Friends out of work."

He laughs, but it's hollow. "I thought that's what we were doing."

"I can't go out with you, Mike."

"I get it. That's cool."

It's not, but we're going to pretend it is.

"Ok."

"Ok."

"I'm gonna go, Mike."

"No worries. Give Chuck a hug from her Uncle Mike, okay?"

"Will do."

We hang up. Anxiety gives way to relief. I did the right thing.

Edward passes the salad.

I accept, schooling my face into something neutral when our skin touches. It doesn't have to, but he makes sure it does, every time.

There's an empty spot at Em's dinner table: Mike's. He's been coming around a little less since our talk. I understand why, but I feel kind of guilty anyway.

Then Edward asks for the butter, and I remember that unless I'm feeling just like this, there is no point. The last time a guy made me feel this crazy inside he ended up getting me pregnant.

Aaaand that is so not a road I need to go down! Mayday, mayday!

"Mom?"

"Yeah?" My voice is shaky. Thankfully everyone else is too caught up in conversation to notice the crazy going on over here.

"I ripped my shirt," she says mournfully, pointing to the seam of her little v-neck.

I love Old Navy, I really do. But it can be so cheap sometimes, I swear. Doesn't help that Charlie's a serial thread-puller, hole-widener, plucker of buttons and all around clothes abuser.

"Darn," I sigh, eyeing it. "Okay, just leave it for now. Aunt Rose can sew it."

"You need to learn to sew," gripes Rose, overhearing.

"We all have our talents," I say. "And that's not one of mine."

"Too bad," Edward says.

I side eye him. "Why?"

"I got a jersey that needs fixing."

"Pretty sure you can afford a new one."

"It's lucky."

"You really believe in that stuff?" I laugh.

Emmett straight up guffaws, hammering his fist on the table. "Bella, come on! I know you don't watch sports, but...this is basic."

"No more beer for you," Rose says under her breath, sliding his bottle away.

He catches it, swigs back the last of it, and points the empty bottle at me. "In fact, you should watch a game. Edward's got videos."

"No," groans Edward. "That's -"

"A great idea," Rose says, smirking.

"You have videos?" Charlie asks, sidling up beside Edward, resting her hands on his lap. "Peppa the Pig?"

"No -"

"Spongebob?"

"C'mon, Chuck. Let's go watch a soccer game," Emmett booms, really getting into it now. Yeah, it's been awhile, but I remember this aspect of his personality. It's the same one that used to do keg stands and toilet paper people's houses.

I glance over at Edward, but he's just sitting there in resignation.

"We don't have to watch it if you really don't want to." I don't want him to be bummed out. Or embarrassed.

"It's okay. It's just...cheesy to watch your own games."

"Like you've never watched yourself," I tease. "Give me a break."

"I have." He stands, collecting his plate, and then mine before I can protest. "But it was to better my game, see where I made mistakes so that I could correct them before next time."

"Oh."

The TV is on in the living room. Charlie's chattering away, a mile a minute, and now Embry and Makenna are in there, yelling for us to hurry so they can start.

Watching Edward in action is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I'm glad I was never a groupie, or some girl living over there watching games live. I might have been tempted to throw my respect out the window and chase him down.

His game is fantastic. I'm not even into soccer and I can see how talented he his. He explains the game to me in a quiet voice, patiently answering my questions. The kids wander out after awhile, and then so do Em and Rose (rather deviously, I think).

The recording ends. Edward clicks the television off and sits back, silent.

I look at how he rests his hand on his knee. "You miss it."

"Every day."

"How long did you play?"

"Professionally, six years. But I've been playing since I was little."

"I'm sorry."

He nods slowly. "It is what it is."

tomorrow, Sunday, is "reflection day" - no prompt. see you Monday, and thanks for reading!

xoxoxo