-:-

I knew it wasn't considered the most polite thing to do, but I could not stop gaping at him as though he had come back from the dead. He'd been gone for three weeks, and I'd hopefully imagined this scenario too many times: going out to my truck to see him leaning against it; walking into the lobby and finding him at one of the café tables; even when I woke in the middle of the night, I'd wait to hear recognizable sounds transpire from the next room in hopes that he had come back while I'd been asleep. It was baffling that the moment I allowed him to slip from my mind, he appeared—and out of nowhere, too.

Angela broke the long silence first. "Hey, Edward," she said pleasantly, though her voice was still laced with surprise.

Okay, well at least I wasn't hallucinating. She saw him, too.

Edward raised his hand slowly, giving us a halfhearted wave. He seemed surprised as well, as if we were the ones to emerge out of the blue. Angela cleared her throat and lightly pushed my back.

"Say something to him," she whispered.

I was frozen, my mind racing with questions. My eyes were fixed on his face, which appeared to be spotted with odd shadows.

"Bella," Angela urged quietly.

Edward stared back at me and I couldn't ignore that he was, indeed, standing right in front of me. "Why are you holding my apple?" I blurted out.

Probably not the best first thing I could say.

He glanced at the apple core he was holding and took a few steps toward us, and I had a luring impulse to run and hug him tightly so I could feel that he was real with my own hands.

"It hit me when I was lying down," he explained, pointing down the hill.

I hadn't heard his voice in weeks, and the sound of it made me draw a deep breath.

Wondering why he hadn't made his presence known before, I felt my eyebrows crease. It wasn't as though Angela and I had just happened to round the corner. "Were you listening to us?" I asked.

"No," he answered quickly, walking even closer. "I must have fallen asleep. I didn't realize…"

He trailed off, suddenly appearing sheepish. Directing his gaze to the grass, he walked up to the picnic table, spinning the apple core between his fingers. When he looked up, I noticed that the shadows on his face were bruises. Large splotches of faint blue and yellow spread across his left cheek, up by his hairline, and under his eye. Seeing that he had been hurt was enough to make me feel ill.

"I'll leave you guys to talk," Angela said gently, letting go of my arms and retrieving her water bottle. "It's nice to see you, Edward," she added in a kind voice, to which he replied, "You, too, Ang."

I tried not to gaze at her too desperately, but I really didn't want her to leave. Then I would be alone with him, and truthfully, I wasn't sure if I could even speak to him while standing on my own two feet.

"Call me later, okay?" she said to me.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and watched her disappear around the corner. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them together before turning back to face him, still halfway convinced that either he was going to vanish or that I was going to pass out.

When I finally looked at him, he sighed quietly and pushed his hands through his hair, having set my mostly-devoured piece of fruit on the table. He was so close, I could have reached out and touched him. I wanted to, but he didn't make a move toward me, so I made myself remain still.

"Hi," he said after a moment.

"Hi," I replied, my heart hammering in my chest. "What, uh… what are you doing here?"

He cleared his throat. "Cleaning up the environment," he said with a small smile, pointing to my apple.

"It was for the raccoons," I said. "Doris said they are always scrounging for food up here."

"I'm joking," he said softly, turning to toss it back down the hill.

When he faced me, I was torn between crying and hugging him or giving him an angry shove down the hill as well. A few moments passed before I asked, "When did you get here?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe an hour ago, if I was going to guess."

"Where have you been?" I was in rapid-fire question mode and I couldn't stop.

Edward glanced at his wrist, which was bare—the watch he'd always worn was missing. Clasping his hand around the spot where it used to be, he said, "It's a long story."

I waited to see if he would say anything else, but he only crossed his arms tightly across his chest and shifted his weight, looking periodically from me to the ground.

"Are you staying long?" I asked. My throat was so dry, I could barely speak.

He narrowed his eyes, hesitating before he answered. "I'm not sure."

His reply sent a shiver down my back. It was likely that I would be leaving before he would, so there was no reason for me to get upset, but I was. Because if for whatever reason he was only staying a few hours, that meant I had to watch him leave again.

I glanced down, unsure of what to say next. Somehow 'So, Edward, I'm really glad you're alive and not bleeding from the chest on a street corner,' didn't sound welcoming.

"Why did you come back?"

Edward looked uncomfortable, maybe because my tone wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy. I couldn't bring myself to sound gentle even though I was relieved to see him. I'd been worried sick, and the weeks of repeated, unbearable anxiety—and the not knowing—hadn't exactly been glitter and lilies. Seeing him so suddenly felt as raw as an open cut.

Briefly, I wondered if he might be here because someone else had been murdered in Washington. Or maybe he had come back to say goodbye before going on the run; if he had killed the man for whom he'd been looking, then maybe he was seeking Canada as his next stop to avoid prison.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asked, pointing to the table.

Sitting was probably a good idea since my legs felt like they were vibrating. Running three miles and being severely stunned wasn't really equivalent to a calming, warm bath. I took a seat and he followed. The silence was thick between us for a few seconds, and he folded his hands on the table, tapping his thumbs together.

"It's really you," I managed, trying to ignore the haunting shadows under his eyes, still visible under his bruises.

He raised his eyebrows a bit, nodding as he bit the inside of his lip. "Yeah."

More silence.

"Um," he said just as it started to get awkward, "How have you been?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You really want to do the small talk thing?"

Edward pushed his hair back, keeping his fingers entwined in a section. "Kind of," he admitted. "I haven't talked to you in weeks."

I sighed, put my head in my hands, breathed in and out, and smoothed my forehead as I looked up.

He must have sensed my rising blood pressure and quickly said, "You look well."

I peered down at my sweaty shirt. As the breeze swept by, I felt a few strands of hair—escapees from my ponytail—hit my face. "Thanks," I said, knowing he was being polite since I looked like a sweat-soaked troll. My attitude softened as I said, "You… don't."

I spoke before I could find the words to lie. Exhaustion was a probable cause for the bags under his eyes, but besides that and the bruises, he had the appearance of one who had just gotten over a long illness. He looked sallow and thin—his face had never been full, but even with his haze of stubble, there was a noticeable difference. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as though he could barely hold himself upright, and seeing all of this was melting layers of resolve from the icy wall I was putting up.

"I'm sure I don't," he said, rubbing his eye. "I drove more than I slept in the past two days."

"You drove from Chicago?" I asked, concerned. It had been five days since his unexplained hang-up, but only a two-day drive from there to here couldn't have had many stops. He must have been in a hurry. "Was there another murder here?"

At my words, he straightened, looking surprised. "How did you know I was in Chicago?"

Sympathy went temporarily on hold as a bubble of anger started to grow inside me. I watched his eyes flicker from curious to puzzled as a sting of blood coursed through my cheeks.

"How did I know?" I asked in a low voice. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Sure, he didn't know I had dialed the payphone's number and talked to someone after he had disconnected our call, but I could have googled that area code any time.

Edward looked conflicted. "No. Do you mean about—"

"Calling me on Monday and not saying a word?" I finished. "Yes, I mean that."

He narrowed his eyes, uncomfortable, and cleared his throat.

"Are you going to deny it?" I demanded.

Slowly, he shook his head.

I took a breath, trying to remain calm, though I couldn't help frowning. "I was almost hoping you would. I thought maybe you'd lost my letter and my number probably was picked up by some drunken moron or that one of your friends called me as a joke."

"Of course not," he said, barely audible. "I—"

"Then tell me it was a bad connection," I interrupted, my pulse growing quicker. "Tell me you couldn't hear a word I said and gave up too easily on calling me back. But maybe you shouldn't bother, because the man who had answered the phone after I called back heard me perfectly."

He shut his eyes, shaking his head. "I hung up because I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't know how to tell you—"

My heart beat anxiously inside my chest as I watched him curiously, waiting for him to finish, thinking that he was about to confirm one of my worst fears. "Tell me what?"

"I didn't kill anyone if that's what you're thinking," he said wearily.

A relieved breath left my lungs in a whoosh. Thank God. At least that meant he wasn't a wanted criminal. "I'm glad," I said awkwardly. The implications that would have come along with that would have been a whole different story.

He nodded. "The man they caught wasn't the one we've been looking for. It was just some sick psychopath."

I shifted uneasily on the bench. "You're still looking, then?"

"Well, no," said Edward, and his eyes took on a faraway look as he glanced to the side, which quickly dissipated when he looked back at me. "I mean, the police are, but I'm not."

"You didn't come here because there was another killing?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No."

I waited to see if he would elaborate, but he didn't. "So, uh… are you going to let me in on why you came back?" I let ten whole seconds pass before I sighed in frustration, growing tired of his bouts of unexplained silence, and added, "Or are we going to sit here until sundown?"

"I guess I can't blame you for being angry," he said, rubbing his eyes again, trying to cover a yawn.

"God, Edward," I said, pushing my loose strands of hair back. "It's not that I'm not relieved that you're not tracking down a serial killer at the moment, and I'm glad you're okay and sitting here in front of me in one piece, but... I mean, I didn't hear from you at all. Did you not find my number for weeks or did you choose not to call, or…?"

He kneaded the back of his neck, looking tense. "I found it the day after I left. I just… I couldn't."

As I took that in, I stared at the table and felt my eyes fill with unwanted tears. I thought I had my emotions under control, but my voice broke when I said, "Can you even imagine what went through my head while you were gone?"

He kneaded the back of his neck, looking tense. "I thought about you, too."

I scoffed a laugh. "What, did you imagine me spending the last few weeks reading poetry by the fireplace and spending time with Doris and chatting with Mr. Miller? Out having fun with Angela and Ben? Warm and cushy thoughts, maybe?"

He eyed me with a little confusion, but mostly apprehension, which was appropriate, considering how worked up I was getting.

"I had nightmares about where you were and what might happen to you! I dreamt of you covered in blood, dying. A-about murderers and people that were after you. My stomach was in knots at every thought of you, and I—"

On the brink of sobbing, I cut myself off. Edward frowned apologetically, twisting his hands. "I—I don't know what to say."

"You couldn't even call to tell me you were coming?" I asked, wiping tears off my cheeks.

"What could I have said?" he asked, weary. "'Hi, I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by if you're free?'"

"Anything," I said, louder than I meant. "You could have said anything. But instead, here you are, popping out of the trees. And Monday—you have no idea how goddamn scared I was."

He tucked his arms firmly across his stomach. "I told you. That was a mistake. I don't know why I called. I couldn't find the words—"

"You could have said that!" I exclaimed. "Exactly that. 'Bella, this is Edward. I have no idea why I called and don't know what to say.' If anything, you could have simply told me you were okay. Do you know how awful it felt to not know?"

Edward stiffened. "I thought I was doing you a favor by not calling back," he explained. "It's hard to explain. And when I decided to come here, I didn't call because I was afraid I'd change my mind, or something would happen on the way and convince me to turn around. I didn't want to let you down again."

"So, why did you come?" I asked, mentally noting that it was the third time the question had slipped my lips. I didn't bother hiding my annoyance, and suddenly, neither did Edward.

"God, I don't know," he muttered, scowling.

Well, this conversation was fantastic.

"What happened to your face?" I blurted out.

He cleared his throat, avoiding my eyes. "Don't worry about it."

I felt like rolling my eyes, almost as much as I wanted to just burst into tears and hug him, tell him I didn't give a shit about fighting, and hold him. It felt hard to breathe just sitting still.

"So," I said, "if you don't want to talk about anything, then what should we do? I mean—what if your friend calls? Will you run again? Did you have a change of heart, or are you just taking a break from everything?"

I gave him a stretch of time, but he didn't answer.

"I'm out of ideas, Edward," I said, shrugging my shoulders and rubbing my forehead. "And my head hurts. I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

Edward exhaled, fumbling with the collar of his shirt as he stood up. "This was a bad idea. Coming back here."

I gaped at him, at a loss, feeling like he'd just kicked me in the gut. "Well, please, don't let me ruin your day," I mumbled, beginning to stand as well, with the intention of stalking off, but at that moment, I noticed a small piece of yellow paper sticking out of his pocket. Neon yellow, just like the flyer from Newton's Outfitters I'd used to write to him before he left.

My letter was in his pocket.

He noticed I was staring, and I met his eyes before he quickly tucked it in, all traces of yellow disappearing into denim. "I should have known better than to believe you," he mumbled.

My mouth parted in shock. He was talking about what I'd written—the words I'd so sincerely written from the deepest part of my heart.

"You think I lied?" I said, feeling my cool exterior begin to falter, and I lowered myself down to sit again. "Twist the knife a little further, why don't you?"

He looked as though he might make a smart remark, but after a few moments, he came around the table and sat down next to me with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. That was horrible. I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," I snapped, cringing as more tears invade my eyes as quickly as I could blink. "I can't help that I'm frustrated. I agonized over you every single day. I even prayed, and I'm not religious. And then you just show up out of nowhere, the day before I—"

"It was a terrible thing to say," he said, reaching out for my arm, but I quickly pulled away before he could touch me. His hand lingered in the air for a moment before he lowered it to the table. "I'm just tired and cranky and can barely hold my head up, and I shouldn't be taking it out on you. I don't think you were insincere at all. I—"

He stared at me with a wounded expression, appearing to be grasping for the right words, and I was moderately sure that his sudden inability to speak was due to the fact that I'd started to cry—really cry this time. Here we were, presented with more emotional wreckage to sift through—and for what? Just so we could say goodbye again? I couldn't do it.

"Bella…" he finally said, sounding helpless.

"I'm so tired of crying over you," I muttered, embarrassed, turning my face away as I tried to catch my breath. "You said it yourself before you left—we barely know each other. Sure, we know the things that we shared, but we were around each other for just over a week, Edward. A week."

Edward was silent, and I couldn't look at him. I twisted the hem of my t-shirt, curling my fingers firmly into the material, trying to release some of the tension that was making me ache. I didn't understand why he was so unwilling to give me any information about anything, especially since he looked as though he'd been through hell. Maybe he had, but I still couldn't comprehend why he was here in front of me if he didn't want my help or to talk about the past few weeks.

"This just shouldn't have to hurt so much," I whispered, wiping my face until it was free of tears.

"I'm sorry," he said, at last, his voice husky. I glanced up to see him rubbing his fingers over his forehead and eyes. When he lifted his eyes to mine, they were glistening. "I'm so sorry."

Moments like this had always been awful. As much as I was hurting, it killed me to see him so broken. I knew it hadn't been his intention to hurt me. Our journeys were poles apart, and his was so much harder than mine would ever be. Maybe, for once, he had put himself first, and I knew I should be glad about that instead of feeling slighted.

"I wish you would have said something when you called. I was so scared."

If he and I had actually spoken, things would have been very different, and if he had showed up at the lodge, unannounced, this reunion would have been happy. I would have been in his arms already, clutching him to my chest, tearing up in relief, and most likely fussing over his bruises instead of demanding what the hell had happened to him.

Just as I was reaching out to do just that—my fingertips barely brushing his shirt—he said, "If I could take it back, I would."

I slowly drew my hand back, unable to help thinking his words had a double meaning. "Calling me or not speaking?"

He'd watched my movement of almost touching him and my retreat, and he seemed to be fighting between both answers. Hoping to hear him say what would make things okay, I held my breath, but he hesitated for too long.

I took a deep, painful breath. "You wouldn't have called me at all?"

He seemed at a loss for words, and the opposite of what I wanted to hear became present on his face—just pure guilt.

"So you did mean that it was a bad idea to come back here."

His silence made my blood run cold, but he finally said, exasperated, "There is no right answer for this."

I felt sick. "There absolutely is," I said, getting choked up again. "You either wish you hadn't called or come back, or you wish you would have spoken up or called sooner, and you came back for a good reason. Which is it?"

He took a few moments but ended up shaking his head. And with that, his apologies felt like band-aids on gunshot wounds—a sprinkle of water over an inferno—and I finally understood that I had been wrong about everything.

"That makes it clear, then," I said, barely holding it together. "Fine. I accept your apology. You don't owe me anything else."

I quickly lifted my legs over the bench and stood up, heading for the parking lot.

"Bella, wait. Wait, please," I heard him call in a crushed voice. Seconds later, I felt his hand grasp my wrist. "I just—"

"Get off," I choked, snatching my arm away. "Why do you always wait until it's too late to say something? So you can pretend I'm the one who brushed you off? I can't do this—say goodbye or 'I'm sorry,' anymore. Leave me alone."

I took off and rounded the corner. As I passed the row of cars, I noticed something that I hadn't when Angela and I returned to the lodge. Right next to my truck, Edward's Volvo was parked, as if he'd never left. For some reason, it pissed me off that he had chosen a spot next to me.

He hadn't followed me from the back, so I took a second to prepare myself to enter the lodge. If I kept my head down, maybe no one would notice my tears. However, that thought was short-lived as I was met with a dreaded echo of high heels clopping across the parking lot.

Jessica and Lauren were hastily making their way up to the front door, and Jessica's mouth was running, of course, in a high-pitched, totally-like-whatever voice. Since they would beat me to the door, the only other option was to go back around to the picnic tables and use the side door.

Well, I was stuck. Before I could possibly gain a shred of hope that they would ignore me, Jessica spotted me and her eyes instantly lit up. That was never a good sign.

"Hi, Bella!" she called, her voice sickening sweet.

I didn't answer. I pressed my back against the wall, thinking I would wait until they went inside, and then follow. They were assholes, but they still hadn't faltered their semi-polite employee act under Doris's eye. Unfortunately, Jessica was in a chatty mood.

"I heard we won't be seeing much of you anymore," she continued, stopping by the door. Lauren paused along with Jessica, but she barely gave me a glance. When I still didn't answer, Jessica scoffed. "Wow. She doesn't even want to say goodbye."

Lauren looked at her nails, muttering an offhand, "Whatever."

Jessica pursed her lips as she took in my appearance, doubtlessly observing my red, tear-streaked face. Like a predator noticing wounded prey, she smiled wickedly. "No hoodie today, huh?"

I gave her a glare that hopefully conveyed a mental fuck you.

Lauren nudged Jessica's arm. "Come on, stop," she said, pulling on Jessica's sleeve. "Let's go in."

Jessica chuckled, evidently enjoying the rise she was getting out of me, and brushed Lauren's arm away. "Well, Bella, if you ever visit again, you'll have to, like, let me know what name to write across the next one."

I inhaled slowly and angrily, closing my eyes for a brief moment. I knew she wasn't worth it, and though I tried so desperately not to, I sniffled. Tears kept coming in fresh waves. I pushed myself off the wall and started walking for the door, not caring. I'd knock them both out of my way if I had to.

"Actually, which guy do we not want to see again?" Jessica asked, turning to Lauren for a moment before fixing her cold eyes back on me, putting her hand out to physically stop me in my tracks; the feel of her palm knocking my arm made me bristle. "I mean, clearly, whatever guy you fuck will bolt right out of town from what I've seen."

It was like a blow right to the center of my chest, and unbridled, hot rage shot through me instantaneously. Jessica looked past my shoulder, squinting her eyes, and her smug smile diminished. "Is that—"

She was cut off as my hand connected with her bitchy mouth. I had moved so fast, I was hardly aware of what I'd done until Jessica let out a shriek, covering her cheek, and as she took a step back, she fell right on her ass. Lauren gasped, shooting me a stunned look before turning her attention to her partner-in-slut-crime.

Oh shit.

Jessica was up in a flash, practically snarling, and launched herself at me. She slammed me against the side of the lodge, my head firmly connecting with the solid wood. Amidst an instant feeling of dizziness, all I could honestly think as her hand made contact with my face was, 'Holy bucket of fuck, fake fingernails.' I hoped to God I wouldn't scar.

It all happened very fast after that. It seemed as though the second Jessica had pinned me to the wall, she was off of me in the next. Then in a whirlwind of movement, I was pulled into someone's arms, and my vision went black as my face crushed against their chest. A moment after that, a very piercing, very angry voice hollered, "Jessica Stanley!"

Doris. Oh, God. OhGodohGodohGod.

"What are you doing?" I heard Doris cry, followed by hurried footsteps. I still couldn't see, but I was fairly sure that she'd either witnessed my attack on Jessica, or vice versa, and had come to break it up. "How dare you put your hands on someone on this property. On one of our guests, no less!"

My breath was coming in ragged, angry pants, and as I breathed, I recognized a ghostly scent that I'd all but given up on experiencing again; fresh masculinity and a touch of vanilla. I was in Edward's arms.

"She hit me!" I heard Jessica screech. "I was minding my own business and she came flying at me, yelling—"

"Don't you dare lie."

I'd never heard Edward's voice so deep and angry. As he tightened his arms around me, my heart leaped at the familiarly warm, protective feeling. I almost moved to wrap my arms around his back, too, but then I remembered the last ten minutes. I kept my hands against my chest, but didn't move out of his grasp.

"I—I'm not lying," Jessica said, suddenly sounding timid. "She—"

"Did nothing that you didn't deserve," he finished harshly. "I watched you put your hands on her first, and I heard what you said to her. Care to repeat it to Doris?"

Silence followed for a good stretch after that, and eventually, Edward followed up with, "I didn't think so." I heard Doris mutter, "Heavens to Betsy," and I felt Edward's hand gently stroke the back of my head.

"Are you okay?" he whispered to me.

I didn't answer. I was too embarrassed for a multitude of reasons.

"Lauren, go inside and report to Tom. Now," said Doris, and I heard Lauren's footsteps shuffle to the door, the bell chiming as it opened and closed. "Now, see here, Ms. Stanley—"

Finally, I pulled away from Edward and shook myself out of his embrace, feeling his hands reluctantly slide away from me, and decided to face the music.

"No, Doris, it's okay," I said, quickly swallowing as I tasted blood on my tongue. I didn't even care. "She's right. I did hit her first."

"See?" Jessica exclaimed, jabbing her finger in my direction. "She's admitting it!"

My face boiled as Doris turned to look at me. In my life, I'd never been so humiliated and irate, and even though it had felt awesome to watch her fall backward on her prissy ass, I should have held back. Now, if she wanted to, she could press assault charges. If anything, maybe I could finally pull my 'My Daddy was the Chief of Police' card and just be fined. It would beat going to court.

Charlie would still kill me, though.

"I don't care if she lit a fire under your pantaloons and kicked out your ankles," Doris said firmly as she looked back to Jessica, appearing a bit red in the face, too. "You assaulted a guest and are terminated as of this very moment. You're going to go and clean out your section of the break room and leave instantly. Do you understand me?"

My eyes were glued to the ground as Doris and Jessica continued a brief back-and-forth, and I absentmindedly rubbed the back of my head, feeling a slight bump already emerging. Great. All I needed was another concussion. At least I hadn't blacked out this time.

I only raised my eyes when Jessica finally retreated into the lodge, though I caught a glimpse of her hateful sneer before she disappeared. Oh well. I was leaving in less than twenty-four hours. Once I was back in Florida, maybe she would give up on getting me subpoenaed.

"Doris, I'm so sorry," I said, my voice cracking. Doris had been so kind to me during my stay and then I repaid her by causing a live Jerry Springer scene right on her property. "I'll go get my things and leave right now. I'm really sorry."

"Oh, honey, don't you worry about a thing," said Doris, waving her plump hands before taking my face in them. She fussed for a moment, smoothing my hair, and I stood, still and baffled, wondering why she wasn't yelling at me. "Are you all right? Did she hurt you? I'm the one who's sorry. That pretentious child should have been fired ages ago!"

I breathed deeply, trying not to go to pieces in front of her and Edward. I almost forgot that he was standing behind me. "I'm fine," I said thickly, wringing my hands together. "I just should go clean myself up. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, hush," said Doris, pulling me into her arms and giving me a quick squeeze. "Just between you, me, and Mr. Masen, I've always wanted to slap her upside her head, too. Of course, that's not very professional of me, dears, so keep that to yourselves!"

I would have laughed, but I was too close to tears. Instead, I reciprocated her hug, then brushed off my clothes before excusing myself. Thankfully, neither Jessica nor Lauren were loitering in the lobby, and I hurried up the stairs. My legs felt as thick and heavy as tree trunks as I climbed the last few steps, and I wondered if it was too soon to start taking pain relievers; I still had a full bottle from my concussion. I unlocked my door, desperately praying that Jessica hadn't let herself into my room and was preparing to attack me as soon as I entered. When I was sure that she wasn't hiding in one of the corners, I peeled off my sweaty clothes and turned on the shower; with the help of many deep breaths, I managed not to cry anymore.

-:-

Once I was clean, calm, and dry, I pulled on flannel pants and a t-shirt, not bothering to fix my hair—I had packing to do. I'd been procrastinating all week—honestly, it would have taken twenty minutes, tops, but instead I painstakingly drew out the time, folding and refolding every article of clothing and neatly packing most of my toiletries. The only things I kept out were my toothbrush and toothpaste, facewash, clothes for the next day, and an outfit for later. Lastly, I turned to the pile of things I'd set aside on my desk.

Edward's clothes and the Ludovico Einaudi CD.

I'd planned on keeping them all in my carry-on bag, wanting to keep them close to me in case my checked luggage was somehow lost. Now I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I was okay with keeping the CD, as it had been a gift, but the shirt wasn't, nor were his shorts (which I'd forgotten to give back, too). And as much as I'd grown to love that shirt, I supposed I should give it back to him. Maybe I could put them in his car; it wasn't like I hadn't snuck my way in there before without his knowledge.

I winced at the memory and picked up my phone to call Angela, deciding to keep my voice down in case Edward was in the next room; I had no idea if he actually booked a room again, and if he had, it was very possible that he asked for the same room. I'd never gotten another floor-mate, after all. However, I wasn't taking chances.

When Angela answered with a "What the hell was that all about?" I kept the details to a minimum. I only said that things didn't go very well with Edward, but I had a better story that involved Jessica, and I'd still be meeting her and Ben for drinks later.

"Well, I'm glad you still want to come, but I'll understand if you want to stay and talk to him. Or why don't you bring him along?" she said considerately. "I mean, you're leaving tomorrow."

"I know," I said, twirling my fingers around my hair. "It's just overwhelming. We tried talking—everything's so heavy between us. And I want to have fun tonight, not cry over… well, you know."

She hummed thoughtfully and said, "I understand. I just know how upset you were when he left."

"Yeah," I answered quietly, not sure what else to say.

"Okay, sorry, it's none of my business," she said quickly. "So, what's this story about Jessica?"

I snorted. "Let's save it until we have alcohol in front of us."

After that, I took a nap, finished off a Bentley Little novel, and fixed my hair. Eventually, I put on the fanciest shirt I had, which was the black one I'd originally worn to dinner with Edward in the dining hall, and moseyed around my room, tidying up and making sure everything was in good condition. The last thing I needed was to leave a mess for Doris. Once I had absolutely nothing else to do, I gathered the courage to venture down to the lobby. I figured Jessica was long gone, and Edward was nowhere in sight—luckily, neither was Lauren, but Doris was. I swiftly made my way over to her, and thankfully it didn't take long to convince her to sit and have tea with me: a little goodbye.

We sat in the café for a while, chatting animatedly, and we both grew wistful as I thanked her for all her hospitality. To my amazement, Edward's name didn't come up at all during our conversation. I'd been waiting for her to ask about him—why he had come back, or why I was distancing myself from him. But surprisingly, she didn't mention him. Not directly, anyway.

"Promise me you'll visit again, dear," said Doris fondly as we stood up. "Perhaps when it's a bit warmer. We have lovely flowers in the spring."

"Yeah, I remember planting daffodils with Charlie when I was little," I said, pulling on my sleeves. "He let them all die, of course. Not intentionally—he said he barely remembered to feed himself back then, much less water the flowers. I'm sure yours will be nicer. Ours were just withered, dried-up buds that never opened."

"Hmm," she said, patting my arm. "It's a shame to watch something so lovely not have a chance to bloom, isn't it?"

Her eyes were transfixed over my shoulder and when I turned around to see what she was staring at, I saw Edward. He was sitting on the couch with Mr. Miller, deep in discussion. When he turned his head in my direction, I swiftly looked back to Doris, who gazed at me knowingly.

"There's still time," she said softly. "I don't think you both have reached a dead-garden status yet, dear."

And that's how Doris was: if she wasn't saying something outright, she still had ways of making her point clear. Even if she didn't have all the facts, I could tell she just wanted things to work out for everyone. After I'd finished saying goodbye to Doris—well, when she let me out of her tight, motherly embrace—I hesitantly made my way over to the sofa, intent on directing my gaze only to Mr. Miller, but I could feel Edward staring at me the same way I could feel the warm heat from the fireplace. I glanced at him for a moment, capturing a freeze-frame of the contrition written all over his face, before turning away.

"Hi, Mr. Miller," I greeted.

"Well, hello there, missy," he said, smiling and getting to his feet. "Something tells me you aren't dressed up just to sit down with an old man like me. I'll let you two—"

"Oh, no, that's okay," I said, waving my hand. "I came to talk to you, actually. I just wanted to say goodbye now in case I don't see you later tonight. I'm leaving pretty early tomorrow." I didn't let myself survey Edward's reaction.

"Ah, it's that time already, is it?" he asked, looking pensive as he took my hands. "Well, it certainly will be less cheery here without you."

Mr. Miller gave a subtle glance to his left, to Edward, who suddenly stood up.

"Excuse me," Edward muttered before walking away. I turned to watch him shuffle past a few people before he pushed through the front door, disappearing from our sight.

"Sorry," I said, turning back to Mr. Miller, feeling my cheeks grow warm. "He and I aren't—well, we're not on the best terms at the moment."

"So it seems," Mr. Miller said thoughtfully. "He's not very heavy on the details, but his eyes tell all."

Tell me about it.

We talked for a few minutes, saying our goodbyes and such. Eventually, I glanced toward the door. "I suppose I should get going. I'm supposed to meet Angela at five. But thank you for spending so much time with me these past few weeks. I hope I didn't interrupt too much of your vacation."

Mr. Miller laughed boyishly. "It was my pleasure. I only hope my old geezer stories were entertaining. And if I ever see you again, I expect you to be saying 'Checkmate' to me, you hear?"

"Okay," I said, chuckling before giving him a hug. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too, Ms. Bella," he said, patting my back. "Don't be a stranger."

I smiled as we parted. "I won't. Doris is already promising to send me pamphlets for the spring. If your house is done being renovated by then, you'll give me a tour, won't you?"

"Sure will," he answered with a grin. "Take care, now."

"You, too," I said, waving.

I only got a few steps toward the door before he called out, "Don't be too hard on him."

I froze, my smile faltering as I turned back.

"None of my business, of course," Mr. Miller said, walking up to me and placing his hand on my shoulder. "But some people just have a lot of boulders strewn about their course in life. It takes time to clear a path before they can make a move to invite others to walk with them."

I stared at him, my emotions suddenly stirring like leaves in the wind. Maybe I was being too harsh. Evidently, whatever Edward had gone through was difficult to talk about; I should have given him the benefit of the doubt before reacting so quickly. Perhaps I was the one completely out of the loop; everyone else seemed to be a lot more clear-headed than I was.

"All right," he said, patting my shoulder again. "Goodbye, honey. Keep your head up."

Mr. Miller strolled to the staircase and began climbing, giving me one last wave. I mirrored his gesture, gently whispering, "Bye."

I sighed and walked to the door, running my hand through my hair as the wind blew it into my face. This was all such bad timing. Of course, he had to pick the day before I was going to leave to come and catch my apple core.

Edward was standing by his car, which was still next to my truck. There was no avoiding his face now. I pushed my thumbs into my pockets, walking until I was close to him. His gaze was fixed on the ground and I sucked on my bottom lip, feeling sheepish.

"I'm really sorry about earlier," I said softly. "I didn't mean to get so upset. I was kind of taken aback, you know? And I shouldn't have ignored you inside like that, I just—"

"You're leaving?" He finally looked up, a questioning look on his face.

I glanced down at my outfit. "Well, I'm meeting Angela and Ben at five."

"I meant tomorrow," he said briskly. "You're going home?"

I stared at him, shocked to see a glint of anger in his eyes and to hear the exasperation in his voice. He was upset with me. Because I was the one leaving this time? I was at a loss for words.

"Well, are you?" he asked again, his eyes boring into mine.

This wasn't fucking fair.

"Yes," I said hotly, my cheeks reflecting my tone. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

My footsteps clomped angrily as I walked to the driver's door of my truck, and after I firmly slammed it shut, I briefly considered calling a taxi to take me to Port Angeles; I wasn't sure I could keep myself to a two-drink minimum. And for a few, temporary moments, I actually empathized with Phil—no wonder he turned to alcohol to numb his pain. Having feelings for someone, yet constantly having issues with them, was a total bitch.

-:-