-:-
The in-between of midnight and morning had become my favorite. In the early hours when I would wake and check to see if the slight glow of dawn had yet kissed the windowpane—those were the moments for which I held a special spot. This morning, the smallest lines of grey light had outlined the curtains and I drowsily peered from my side of the bed, trying to determine whether or not the sun was on its way up or if it was simply moonlight from the night that hadn't yet faded. Today, I didn't want to welcome the sun—I wanted the overcast clouds and misty drizzle to stick around. I wanted the cold breeze and damp climate to encompass the environment again, and if it wanted to snow, I'd welcome that, too. Because selfishly, I wanted a reason to stay inside all day. Actually, if I was being honest, I wanted a reason to stay in bed all day.
Another two weeks had passed and, intuitively, I felt like my time at the lodge was coming to a close. Renée and Charlie's calls always ended with questions of when I was returning home, with sensible voices reminding me that I couldn't stay on vacation forever. So naturally I wanted to savor every moment I had left: the feel of the downy pillows under my head, the warmth of the fireplace, the polished walls, the earthy atmosphere. Every minute in this room, especially with the view I had at the moment, needed to be etched into my memory and cherished.
Blinking through my sleepy haze, I smiled lazily at the sight of Edward beside me, tangled and wrapped in the rumpled blankets, perfectly still and serene in the shadows. For whatever reason, I'd developed a habit of waking around this time. It never lasted long, seeing as I wasn't quite a morning person, but I figured it was my subconscious wanting to do some early-hour ogling.
I gently combed my fingers through his hair, making him stir a bit. He breathed deeply, humming indistinctly into his pillow, and I waited to see if he would scrunch his face and slowly wake. He didn't.
Feeling sneaky, I reached to the bedside table and picked up my phone, and before he could move, I snapped his picture. The rest of my phone was in need of serious medical/technological attention, but miraculously the camera still worked. I added the picture to my little folder of Edward and me, consisting of random shots we'd taken. Some were candid, like when he was reading or playing the piano, and some planned from when I asked him to smile or imitate the bear statue by the front door. Some were of the two of us—usually one of us stretched out our arm to snap one, but Mr. Miller or Doris would sometimes offer, and I didn't pass up the chance.
I had the idea in the back of my mind that I could make an album when I got home—maybe fill a page or two—and give it to him as something we could add on to later. Maybe it was girly of me, but I was optimistic for the future and I wanted him to know without only words to express it. After a few more minutes of watching him sleep, I felt a heavy, nagging pressure behind my eyes that begged me to do the same.
Edward's slightly outstretched arm called to me and I snuggled closer to him, cocooning us deeper into the comforter until everything was warm and blanketed in cotton. My cheek against his shoulder and his breath on my hair put me out quicker than I could process, and I could have sworn I only closed my eyes for ten seconds. Maybe fifteen. But suddenly, someone's hand was kneading behind my neck, and whispered words were tickling my ear.
"Are you awake? Bella?"
I made a noise, trying to avoid flailing and smacking the sleep-intruder.
"Wake up. The sun's out." Edward's voice. Realizing it was him made my fists uncurl, but he sounded way too excited—too awake.
"No, it's not," I argued huskily, flinching at the growing brightness behind my eyelids and burying my head under my pillow. "You're just dreaming. It's dark. It's nighttime. Go back to sleep."
My shadowy sanctuary was suddenly stolen and ripped away, allowing lamplight and sunlight to assault my eyes. I moaned in protest, but Edward laughed.
"It's time to get up," he said, proceeding to rub my back, presumably trying to make up for batting away my attempt to hold onto peace and quiet.
"Nuh-uh," I said, muffled, as I had a mouthful of mattress. "What time is it?"
"Five after nine."
Well, damn. The sun had to have been up for at least two hours. I hated that it only felt like five minutes.
"I have something for you," he coaxed, his fingers tracing shapes on my back.
I grunted again. "It'd better be pancakes. And a bucket of coffee."
"It's me—of course there will be coffee," he said, leaning down and kissing my neck, leaving a trail of tingles up to my ear.
"That's not helping to get me out of bed, you know," I told him, rolling a bit and reaching for the scruff of his shirt, cracking open my eyes. He was already dressed for the day, looking effortlessly preened. "I'll do naughty things to you if you let me have another hour."
He chuckled and pulled my hand, lifting me to sit up straight. "You shouldn't make promises when you're half asleep."
I sighed, rubbing my eyes and shifting my gaze around the room. Indeed, there was a fair amount of light coming from the windows. "You were the one who promised we were going to sleep in," I whined sleepily. It was true. We'd exhausted ourselves in the best ways imaginable the night before, and it was one of the last things he'd said before drifting off in the middle of a sentence. "Why are you up so early?"
"Well, for starters, you were trying to grope me in your sleep again a little before six."
That must have been after I'd gone back to sleep—and it definitely could have been true. The little, slutty sneaks that I called hands had picked up the habit of reaching over for Edward whenever I was in the Land of Nod. One morning, we'd both woken up to my entire arm inside his shirt. Thankfully, my hands had never subconsciously found their way into his pants. I doubted he would have complained, but my standards had to draw the line at unconsciously playing with his boy parts.
"And then you started talking about tuna sandwiches," he continued, amused. "And pie. And you made me hungry."
"Gross," I giggled, a bit of my grogginess fading away as I picked up a pillow and playfully smacked him with it. He grinned, and I was sure that the golden rays of sun that were filtering through the forest trees above his fireplace mantle had nothing on the beauty of his eyes. "So are you going to give me a hint, or is this like a scavenger hunt?"
"Just get dressed. You don't have to shower or anything. Maybe put on some pants, though." Of course, as he said this, he skimmed his hand along the bottom of my shirt, resting it on my hip and pressing his thumb into the crease of my thigh.
"As I said, you are not helping me see the good of getting up. Or putting on clothes."
I moved, straddling my legs over his lap and reaching to dishevel his for-once tidy hair, and tried not to immediately rock my hips to get closer. I hadn't felt this insatiable about something since first tasting chocolate chip banana bread, but the feel of him, inside and out, surpassed everything else; he was sweeter, warmer, and much more fulfilling.
Breathing deeply, I momentarily rested my head on his shoulder before gazing up curiously. "Why do you smell like cake mix?"
He shrugged. "Not telling." He moved to kiss me, but I pulled back, shaking my head.
"Not yet. I—"
"Right. Need your toothpaste," he said, used to my paranoia by now. "Go on before I convince you to stay." He lifted me off the bed, planted a quick kiss on my lips before I could stop him, and tugged on my shirt—well, one of his. "Do I get this back?"
"I don't know," I teased. So far, I'd captured three of his shirts in total. "I might add this to my collection."
He sighed, glancing toward the dresser. "I'm going to be shirtless by Thanksgiving."
"No complaints from me," I laughed, reaching to pull a pair of jeans from one of the drawers that he was kind enough to let me share. Every now and then we slept in my room, but on most nights his room was the preferred choice (I now had a special attachment to the fireplace and our shared shower time), so I'd kept a few changes of clothes in the dresser, even though some nights we didn't bother to wear anything to bed
"Jeans are okay, right? You're not going to make me run again, are you?"
"Don't worry, I already got that out of the way," he answered, chuckling under his breath as he remade the bed.
He'd pulled me out of bed like this before, only to plead with me to go for an early-morning jog with him. A few times, I begrudgingly agreed, thinking that he'd probably get a kick out of watching me run around like a wheezing monkey with flailing limbs—which he had. It was more fun to let him get ahead and watch the action from behind—the swish of his shorts and the shape of his ass and muscles, and… well, I couldn't say it was overall terrible.
But most of the time, I convinced him to go alone to clear his head. For him, running was therapeutic and medicinal—letting him focus his energy and thoughts on something that made sense and was familiar to him, mind and body. He remarked several times that he felt better after doing so and not only did it show in his physique, but he had a sort of vibrancy that sparked in his eyes and in everything that he did. It was contagious and I couldn't have been more happy for, or proud of him.
When I'd shyly pointed out how well he seemed to be doing, Edward remained humble, simply giving me a curl of a smile or saying something melt-worthy like, "I wonder who could be my inspiration."
After conversations such as those, no matter what actions we took—whether it was merely entwining our fingers together for a few moments or falling into bed, inciting pleasure and love unto each other—our connection grew. We were a breathing restoration, a tattered piece of art coming to life again. By no means were we a masterpiece, but we weren't trying to be; just the chance to experience color in our previous black-and-white felt like a promising grace.
When I was done playing wash-and-brush in the bathroom, he took my hand and led me down the stairs and into the lobby. Doris barely had time to call out a warmhearted "Hello, dears!" before Edward ushered me through the café and into the kitchen. Before I could ask him what he was doing, he grasped my hips and lifted me to sit on the counter.
"Close your eyes," he said, softly covering my lashes with his hand. "And open your mouth."
I couldn't fight a laugh and Edward snorted. "You little pervert," he said, chuckling. "Tom's just outside the back door. And there's hot oil on the stove. Like I'd take either of those chances."
"I didn't say anything." I heard some rustling, followed by a scraping sound. Silverware?
"Then stop smiling and open up."
"You'd better not be feeding me a tablespoon of cinnamon or anyth—mmph." I was cut short as a forkful of something silenced me. I stilled, trying to figure out what kind of mushy substance had just invaded my mouth. Well, not completely mushy… there was some sort of crispiness on the bottom. It was sweet and light, whatever it was, like cinnamony, nutty mashed potatoes with a delicate crunch.
"Like it?" Edward asked.
I opened my eyes. "Mm, yeah. Is this pie?"
"Your dad's favorite," he said, gesturing to the right side of the counter where a slice of golden-orange pie sat, missing the tip of the triangle. Ah—sweet potato.
"Now I know why," I said, already craving another bite. "This is so good."
"Guess who made it?"
"You're messing with me." He raised his eyebrows as I finished chewing and I eyed him curiously. "You made a pie?"
"Well, I helped. Tom gave me simple things to do so I didn't burn down the place," he said, looking slightly proud of himself. "And I know every ingredient."
I'd started to smile, but it fell short as I realized what he was saying. "What—" I sternly creased my eyebrows, gaping. "No. There's no way he told you the secret ingredient."
"Secret ingredients, actually." He grinned so stunningly, the smallest bit of a smirk present, and I knew he wasn't kidding. "Would you like your coffee now?"
Tom chose the next moment to walk inside the kitchen and I turned to him, my mouth still slack-jawed, and pointed to the pie. "I've helped you cook for over a month! He—" I paused to grab Edward's face, "helps you for one morning and you tell him your pie secrets?"
Tom chuckled, tossing his hands in the air. "What can I say, Bella? He's a cunning one. He asked me a few questions and I let 'em slip like a shoe in Crisco. Would've thought he'd gone to law school."
I rolled my eyes and Edward looked smug, continuing to smile. "That is not even fair," I said as they both shared a laugh. "One of you will tell me, though, right?"
"Sure, honey, don't worry," Tom said, reaching for an omelet pan. "If you can coax Edward to let you in the know."
Oh, so this was a male-bonding, secret-keeping thing.
"It's really not that complicated," Edward said nonchalantly. Tease.
"Do you know how many years I've spent trying to replicate that pie? I'm going to pinch you until you tell me." I reached for his waist but he grabbed my wrists and held me at bay.
"We'll see," he said as I struggled. "Are you going to finish your piece? It's not every day you get dessert for breakfast. And I'm kind of a master chef, now, so you should feel privileged I took the time to cook for you."
I let out a high-pitched giggle. "Tom, what did you let him smoke back here?"
Tom cracked an egg into a bowl, looking amused. "I don't think such accusations are going earn you any information, Bella."
Edward gave me a knowing look and I sighed, eventually giving up on trying to torture him for information. "Fine," I said, reaching for the plate and fork. "I'm taking this upstairs—breakfast in bed if you will. You two can stay here and discuss flan recipes."
Before I could move, Edward put his arm around my waist and lifted me until I was nearly over his shoulder. I yelped and barely managed to keep the pie slice from sliding onto the floor. "What are you—Edward!"
"Thanks, Tom," he called before turning to the door.
I didn't think he would, but he actually carried me out of the kitchen and into the lobby, passing the surprised guests, and started up the stairs. I was laughing too hard to make him put me down. Only on the third floor did I finally stop long enough to gasp, "I can't believe you did that."
"No? Flan is gross. I'd never stick around to talk about that."
He climbed the last few stairs to our floor and I huffed as his shoulder prodded my stomach. "You're lucky I didn't drop my pie down your shirt."
"That would be a shame, wrecking my hard work," Edward said, exhaling dramatically as he set me down. "I think I might have found my calling."
I opened his door, smiling at the thought of him dressed in a chef's hat. "Thinking of opening a bakery, are you?"
"Maybe I should," he said, following me inside. "I could make big, manly-sized desserts. And muffins."
"Muffins?"
"I like muffins."
I chuckled and climbed onto the bed, taking another bite of pie. "Oh, yeah? If you have dibs on the big, manly dessert and muffins, what do I get to make?"
He shrugged. "Whatever you want. The babies."
I almost choked. "Babies?"
He furrowed his eyebrows, suddenly seeming unsure. "The … baby desserts?"
"You mean mini?" I snorted, tossing my head back with laughter… and relief.
Edward shut his eyes with a scoff, laying a hand across his slowly pinking face. "You thought I meant—"
"Make the babies," I said between giggles.
He grabbed the plate and put it to the side, groaning. "That's not what I meant to—"
"Bella Stork and Edward Muffin. The only bakery you can get babies and black bottoms," I continued, cracking up.
Edward pushed me flat on my back, onto the pillows, and climbed on top of me before silencing me with his lips for a moment. "Laughing at me isn't getting you any further to discovering secret information, you know."
I locked my legs around his waist, trapping him against me. "Oh, I can make you talk."
He smirked. "Really? How's that?"
"How do you think?" I asked, bunching his shirt in my fists and pulling him closer. The slide and scratch of the sheets sounded like an invitation to slip under, so as soon as he submitted to my kiss, I rolled, flipping him over and pinning him to the bed. I grinned at his surprised expression. "I have ways."
"Clearly," he said with a laugh, clasping his hands behind my back. "I'm listening."
"Well, it doesn't have much to do with words."
I curled my thumbs under the hem of his shirt and slid my hands up his sides, trying not to think too much of how warm and good he felt. I had to concentrate if I was going to play 'Temptress,' though, I supposed I could tickle the hell out of him if I really wanted to. I knew by experience that if I so much as prodded under his arm, he'd be squealing answers in seconds, but I wanted to have a little more fun than that.
"Like I said, I want secrets…" I drew my hands back and unbuttoned his jeans, tugging at the material until black cotton boxers greeted me. I let my fingertips linger at the top of his shorts. "What do you want?"
Edward hummed and reached for my hips, pulling me to straddle his lap. "Dessert really is the way to get a girl, huh?"
"Yeah, with all this secret-keeping, you and your lucky charms are… lucky to still get lucky," I teased, bending down and pressing my lips to his neck.
Between soft sighs and our clothes getting lost in the sheets, I almost forgot all thoughts of strategy. I was too heavily caught up in the rushing heartbeat in my chest and the feel of hands and lips in all the right places, heightening both our needs and creating a familiar spark.
"You feel so good in the morning," he whispered, his breath hot on my cheek.
I moaned a bit as he pressed against me, hard on my stomach. "As opposed to the afternoon? Evening?" I teased. "Because if you need me to stop and save energy-"
"All the time. I just wanted to say it. I—"
His voice caught as I abruptly raised my hips and felt him slide between my legs.
"Tell me," I encouraged, deepening the pull and push, creating friction, and watching eagerly as he closed his eyes in anticipation.
"I can't… remember what I was going to say," he mumbled.
I drove my fingers through his hair, purposefully speeding the dig of my hips. The movement was intended for him, but God, did it feel good for me, too. "I want an ingredient."
He looked up, confused. "What?"
"What did you put in that pie?"
"Are you really asking me this now?"
I almost burst into laughter, but he shut me up with forceful lips on mine, kissing with determination. Before I could make another move to coax an answer out of him, he'd grabbed my waist and sat up so fast, I gasped. He cradled my back and pulled me close, so tight, impatient, and I tried not to dig my nails into his shoulder blades as I had so many times before. Still, I resisted, tightening my legs and keeping myself just out of reach.
I licked at his earlobe and curled my legs around his back and tried to touch and kiss every spot that drove him crazy, but he was playing hard, too—especially with his hands; his fingers were strong from practicing music, and he was now playing a kind of rhythm below my waist that was slowly, deliciously pushing me closer to the edge.
"What is this, a competition?" I breathed, tilting my head back to see his eyes, all green and glorious. "Are you going to tell me anything or not?"
"If I do, are you going to stop fighting me?"
I grabbed his hair and trailed my tongue up his neck, planting a kiss under his jaw. "Please? Then I promise I'll do anything you want."
He sighed with a throaty chuckle and he brought his hand up my spine, giving me chills. "You're bribing me."
"You're withholding information," I argued, smiling at how ridiculous, yet fun, it was to mess with him during a tangle of prolonged foreplay. "Tell me just one?"
Edward breathed deeply, biting his lip to hide what was undoubtedly a grin. "Fine. Ground hazelnuts go in the crust. And crushed ginger snaps. There—I gave you two. That'll hold you for now, right?"
"There's more?"
With a playful growl, he lifted my hips and hoisted me onto his lap. "You promised."
Maybe it was the flush in his cheeks or the throbbing pressure beneath me, or actually getting what I wanted from him, but I caved without any more resistance. I gave in, whispering words of love and squeezing his shoulders in encouragement. All was dizzying and wonderful as always—
But then a pealing sound, chiming like a little bird, interrupted our carnal sounds with bleats of high-pitched notes. Edward cursed under his breath and slightly pulled back, eyeing the night table where our phones were sitting. "Is that me or you?"
I fought a snort. We didn't have the same ringtone and he knew that, but I guessed being connected at the hot spot might blur a few details. "Me. Just ignore it, it'll cut off in a minute."
After a few more repetitive rings, it did stop… only to start again.
"Oh, my God," Edward growled, not because of what we were doing. He stopped moving and glared at the table.
"Wait—no," I whined, trying to grab his arm to stop him from reaching for the phone, but he did anyway. "Just throw it. It'll break."
"I'm just turning it off," he said, tapping the pad of numbers.
I expected him to toss it to the side and resume ravishing me, but his eyes suddenly widened. "I think I answered it," he said in a hushed voice, but, apparently, not quietly enough.
"Hello?" came a crackly voice from the other line.
Not a voice I ever wanted to hear while naked.
"Edward?" it continued.
I practically slapped the phone out of his hand. It was Renée. I was naked—naked—with my boyfriend inside me, and I was hearing my mother's voice say his name.
Girl Parts, Interrupted, now playing at Red Timber Lodge, starring me.
"Ms. Dwyer?" Edward said, his eyes wide as he pressed the phone to his ear. I contemplated how to sink through the bed and floor and find my happy place, where undisturbed sex existed without parents—the biggest cockblock known to couples everywhere.
"Fine, thanks. You?" he continued. I tried to swipe the phone, but he sat up and out of my reach. "Oh, we're just taking it easy."
"More like you were in the middle of taking her easy daughter," I chuckled under my breath.
Edward playfully hit me with a pillow as Renée started rambling, getting in a word when he could. Finally, he said, "Sure, she's right here. Just a moment."
Wriggling out from under his legs, I took my phone and covered the receiver with my palm. "This will teach you to throw it next time."
He only smiled, probably all too confident in his ability to bring me right back to being a horizontal, lascivious mess in a matter of minutes. He stretched out and rested his head on a pillow, looking sexy and angelic and completely unaffected by what had just happened. Damn him.
"Hellooo," I said into the phone, forming my lips in a dramatic 'o' and willing myself to stop staring at Edward's bare ass.
"Hi, honey," said Renée happily. "How are you guys? Edward sounds well."
Well, that was because he'd been on his way to climaxing.
"We're good, Mom. How's Florida?"
"It's great."
Oh, God. I knew that tone. Her voice was bubbling with under-the-surface excitement. She must have painted the house siding Pepto-pink or signed up for Irish dance lessons or started an alpaca farm—something that willed the 'I-Have-Something-Crazy-To-Tell-You' tone.
I smirked as I shook my head and reached to rub Edward's back. "What did you do this time? Get a pony?"
"I'm engaged!"
I almost dropped the phone and my mouth lost its grin. "You're what?"
"Well, we're engaged—your father and I! He proposed this morning, right on the beach! Oh, I wish you could have been here, baby. It was beautiful. The sunrise and the waves, and—"
She kept talking and I stared at the rumpled blankets that covered my feet. Edward tapped my elbow, his eyebrows creased in question. "What's wrong?" he whispered.
I shook my head slowly. Nothing was wrong. This was what I'd always wanted as a child—my parents back together again, married and happy. But the wish was like a dream that had been stuffed away and thought of less and less as time passed, growing dusty and pale like a childhood toy in an attic. It wasn't gone, it had just been forgotten.
"Wow, Mom," I said, trying to sound excited. "Just… Wow, I can't believe it. Charlie—Dad—you—"
"I'm so happy, Bella," Renée said, and then actually started to cry.
I was never good at the girly squealing that should come with happy, lovey-dovey news—well, except with Angela. But this, coming from my parents, anyway, was kind of weird.
"Mom, don't cry. Is Charlie there?" I asked. Edward looked heavily concerned now, probably thinking something was wrong, but I waved off his worry and grabbed a pillow to press against my bare chest. "She's fine," I whispered to him. "They got engaged. Again."
His eyes widened in surprise and unlike me, a smile bloomed across his face. "That's great."
I tried to grin back, but my lips wouldn't fully cooperate. I took to staring down at the bed and chewing on my thumbnail as Renée blubbered a tad incoherently. I did make out the words 'be my maid of honor', but thankfully, Charlie came onto the line before I could choke on my own breath. Just as I hoped, he was composed and instinctually caught on to my disbelief.
"I know what you're thinking, kiddo, but it just felt right," he explained simply. "We're going on a year together and we've thought it through a lot longer than the first time."
"Yeah." I felt foggy, unable to shake a weird, disconnected feeling in my chest. Edward's hands found my shoulders and squeezed gently, bringing me a bit more clarity.
"You're skeptical," Charlie said calmly. "That's okay."
"I'm surprised," I tried to correct him, only to realize I was both.
"I thought about giving you a heads up," he told me. "Actually, I wanted to do this when you were home so you could be here with us, but you've been pretty adamant about staying up there."
Though there wasn't any scolding present in his voice, his words hit me with a pang of guilt. I picked at a fraying string on the comforter, not sure how my plans would have changed if he had told me such a thing. "I'm sorry. I'm really happy for you. Both of you. It's just… this is new. I need a minute."
Charlie mm-hmm'd and I could hear slight scratching. He was probably playing with his mustache. "I arrested a naked parasailer yesterday," he said after a beat.
I finally cracked a grin. "Really?"
"Yeah. Drunk, of course. He had a lobster tattooed right on his—"
"Dad."
"Right. Sorry."
"Thanks for the mental picture, though," I said, chuckling at the thought of my sensible father handcuffing a nude, crustacean-cocked drunk.
"It was pretty eye-catching."
We both snuffled another laugh and I relaxed at the familiar sense of normalcy.
"I miss you," I said quietly, and as Charlie repeated my words, I felt Edward slide off the bed. I turned and watched him walk to the window, the sheet wrapped loosely around his waist. Another pang of guilt bubbled in my stomach and I wished I would have waited until I was alone to utter such a phrase. I knew he missed his family, too.
"Hey, Dad, I should probably go," I started, shifting off the bed. "Mind if I call you later?"
"Sure, but before you go," Charlie said thoughtfully, "I should remind you that Thanksgiving is less than a week away."
My gaze lingered on Edward. "Yeah, that's right," I said absentmindedly.
"And your mother's talking about Tofurkey."
That snapped me out of it. "Oh, Jesus. Poor you."
"I don't suppose there's a chance you'd come home to save your old man from that, is there? Maybe bring me one of Tom's pies?"
I narrowed my eyes, biting into my suddenly-smiling lips. "Funny you should mention that because I almost have access to that very recipe. Edward made one this morning and I'm in the process of trying to coax the ingredients out of him."
Edward glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name and I stuck out my tongue, teasing. Luckily, he didn't seem upset, just a bit pensive, and gave me a dashing curl of his lips.
Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, all the more reason to bring him along. It'll be nice to have him, too."
I straightened, wondering if I had heard correctly. Charlie never thought it was nice to see anyone that I knew whose lower half was comprised of male parts. A handful of Christmases ago, Charlie had caught me kissing my neighborhood crush and scared the hell out of the kid, telling him to keep his hands in church-appropriate places while flashing him a view of his holstered gun. After that, I imagined that if a guy would ever be invited over on a holiday, Renée would be behind it.
"Really?" I said hopefully, unsure if this was more surprising than their engagement. "Charlie Swan, have you gone soft?"
"Yeah, well. With the way you talk, it seems like you two are pretty serious."
Renée's voice suddenly sounded in the distance, with a very loud, embarrassing wail of "Tell Bella it's her turn, next!"
I creased my eyebrows, grimacing. "Has she been drinking?"
Charlie laughed. "Love you, Bells. See you soon, okay?"
I was then reunited with a slightly less hysterical Renée, who gleefully informed me that she'd Fed Ex'd plane tickets to the lodge, which were scheduled to arrive in two days' time. "We want you home for the holiday, baby. And like your father said, Edward's welcome, too. We'd really like to meet him."
"I'll, uh… I'll ask him." Well, wasn't this the morning of all surprises? My parents were getting married for the second time and they'd sent my boyfriend, whom they'd never met, a plane ticket without his permission and left it to me to ask him with almost no time to prepare. "How about I call you later, Mom? We were just in the middle of… breakfast."
Edward softly snorted from the window and I proceeded to congratulate her one more time with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Even though I wasn't exactly producing pompoms over their announcement, there was no reason to let her think I was so numb. She didn't deserve that. Soon after, I hung up with a sigh and crawled over the pile of shambled pillows to get to the edge of the bed.
"Sorry," I apologized. I tossed my phone to the side and stepped behind him, hugging him around his waist. "I wasn't expecting all of that."
He turned, taking me into his arms. "You don't sound happy, though," he pointed out softly.
I shrugged my shoulders and put my head on his chest, still trying to piece my scattered thoughts together and pinpoint why I felt so blocked. "No, I am. It's a good thing. They deserve to be happy."
"What's the matter?" he asked, stroking my hair.
"I'm Tofurkey."
He laughed. "Sorry?"
"I really am glad for them. But it's kind of a reminder of how good they've been without me in the way."
"Bella," Edward said with a sigh. "You said they were practically kids when they got married. Younger than we are. And you weren't the problem, it was just—"
"No, wait," I stopped him, tensing as he tried to pull away and probably stare at me with his beautiful eyes and manipulate me into buying a book on self-confidence. "It's not so much that. These past few weeks, so much has changed, you know? I don't feel so stuck in such a rut anymore. I thought, maybe, when I went home again I might be ready to… come clean."
Edward's kissed my forehead. "About?"
I pursed my lips. Saying his name still unsettled me. "Phil."
He hummed, "I thought you'd say that," he said. "And today changed your mind?"
"Well, yeah," I said, finally looking up at him. "I'm not looking forward to dealing with the fallout—the fight that's inevitably going to come. Renée's going to flip her lid and cry, and probably have a breakdown. And Charlie will go shoot Phil and end up in prison, and even if he doesn't, I'm sure they'll find a way to blame each other or themselves, and I'll have caused it all."
"For the last time, you didn't cause anything."
"I wasn't honest," I insisted. "Renée always made it known that I wasn't acting like myself and I lied and made excuses. I hid my feelings and disguised everything. I'm Tofurkey, attempting to fake everyone out. And I'm going to ruin Thanksgiving—well, their engagement. Or both."
Edward tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. "Always worried about everyone but yourself." I rolled my eyes and he mimicked me, saying, "I'm serious. I understand why you're worried. I do. But why keep something that's painful so secret from people you love?"
I gave him a deliberate stare. "Are you kidding me? There are secrets you still won't tell me," I pointed out. "Why do you do it?"
As much as I loved him, when it came to internal conflict, he rarely practiced what he preached. He sighed, turning on his back and staring at the ceiling. "Touché," he said, looking at odds.
He'd gotten better, but sometimes, getting him to talk was like pulling teeth. There were only a handful of occasions when his eyes would take on a melancholic glaze, as though reliving or remembering a particularly difficult moment, and when they did, he'd taken to speaking with Mr. Miller—or John, as Edward began calling him. I didn't intrude and always tried my best not to feel slighted when he opted to talk with someone other than myself. But honestly, it still kind of ate at me that he didn't want to tell me, too.
"You're stronger than I am, though," he added.
I shook my head, snuggling into his side. "I'm not."
"Agree to disagree?"
"No."
He chuckled, kissing my hair. "You're so stubborn."
"You know, the number of times I've mentioned the words 'pot' and 'kettle' to you might be in the hundreds by now," I grumbled.
"Let's get out of here," he said, sitting up and bringing me with him before I could protest. "Come on. We can talk about this later. You need a distraction. What will make you feel better?"
My gaze lingered on the sheet that was draped across his lap, only showing the v-shaped dip of his hips and the dark, soft trail of hair below his navel. I glanced up to find him watching me, following my eyes and reading my mind with a slight smirk. As much as I wanted to continue that, I was suddenly craving a different kind of comfort. "I could go for a latte."
He tried his best to keep a straight face, he really did, but he struggled with a look of downright amusement. "Sounds good to me," he said warmly, then creased his eyebrows in mock disappointment. "But don't forget, you owe me for giving you two ingredients."
I couldn't hold back a snort. "I know, I know. I promise we'll pick right back up where we started. But first, I need caffeine and time to get the image of my parents and their probable post-engagement sex out of my head."
He narrowed his eyes, taking that in. "Yeah, let's put on some pants."
-:-
