Hamilton sits on my bed, watching me throw clothes around as I try to find something to wear. I shouldn't dress up too much since it's not a date, but I've been living in sweats and don't want to look frumpy in front of him. Jeans work, but I can't pick a shirt. I have three button-downs and two hoodies out, laying around Hamilton on my bed.
"Which one, bud?" I ask, and he just meows. He's cute but not much help. Then he paws at a sage green hoodie I got from Gettysburg a year ago. "Okay, that could work."
I pull it over my tank top and look in the mirror. It's nothing fancy, but I look decent enough. I look relaxed but far from frumpy—mostly because I finally washed my hair, and it's not in a messy bun for the first time in about a week.
I scratch under Hammy's chin, calling him a good boy before going to the bathroom to put on some makeup. I keep it simple but make sure to cover the dark circles under my eyes. Sleep has been hard to come by. I can't lie flat without having issues breathing because of the fluid. I cough all night long it seems, just trying to take a good breath.
It's even worse that I can't have caffeine.
After I deem myself good enough, it's a waiting game. I'm done by three-thirty, so I just sit on the couch with Hamilton and watch some of Stranger Things. When I see Edward's truck pull into the driveway, I quickly put the show back on the episode Emmett and I left off on so he doesn't think I watched it without him, and then almost run to the door as he approaches.
He stands there, smiling crookedly as I bite my lip. "You look beautiful, Bella."
I can feel myself turn beet red almost instantly as I take him in. This flannel is blue and green with a white shirt underneath, and he's wearing another pair of dark jeans, which look perfectly worn. He has his sleeves rolled up, showing off his perfectly sculpted arms, and I about melt into a puddle.
This friend thing is going to be difficult to keep up.
"Thank you," I say, closing the door behind me. "You look pretty handsome yourself."
"I wear the same thing almost every day, but thank you." He chuckles, leading me to the passenger side of his truck. He opens the door for me, and then grabs my hips, lifting me up as I yelp in surprise. "Sorry. You looked like you could use a little help."
I smile sheepishly. "It's fine. Thank you."
He gets in, and we start to drive out of town. He must've flown to get here the other night because it takes us more than ten minutes to come upon a small cabin in the woods. It has a wide front porch the length of the house with two rocking chairs. It fits Edward perfectly. When we enter, I'm blown away by the style. It's much more modern, wide open with a ladder to a loft upstairs. All the wood is dark, and the kitchen features slick black counters and appliances. He has a dark leather couch that faces a massive TV in the living room area, and then a small office in the other corner.
"Your house is beautiful," I say, walking into the kitchen with him and sliding onto a bar stool.
"It used to be my grandfather's fishing cabin, but he left it to me when he passed. I kept the exterior intact but redid the inside obviously. I'm glad you like it."
"You didn't grow up around Forks, did you?"
He shakes his head as he pulls ingredients from the fridge. "No, Chicago, but I came here a few times with him as a kid. I figure with your baking skills, you might want to help me cook—unless you don't, in which case feel free to look around or find something on TV."
"No, I'd love to help." I grin, coming around to see what all he's getting out. The marinating steaks look incredible, and he's already made the Alfredo sauce. "You look pretty set, honestly. What can I do?"
"Boil the fettuccine and make a good salad while I grill?" he asks.
I nod, opening his fridge myself to see what all he has as he heads for the back door. "Thank you," I say. "Emmett … kind of treats me like I should barely move. He's even taken to doing meal prep so I don't have to. It's nice that you included me."
He puts the dish down, smiling softly as he comes back over to me. His hand touches my cheek and my skin vibrates. "You're not helpless, beautiful girl. I appreciate you helping me actually."
I want to kiss him.
I want to stand on my toes and take his lips, diving into the glorious kiss he's sure to give. He could make me feel normal. He's already started. All I have to do is just pull him closer, and I could show him how much this means to me.
But I don't.
I just grin up at him and say thank you once again.
He just smiles, keeping his hand lingering for a moment before dropping it slowly, leaving his caress on my skin.
Shit. I should have kissed him.
Thanks to May, Nole, Fran, Brier, and Meg for prereading and Sally for Beta'ing.
