A/N: So long as I stay several chapters ahead I'll update early if I get another one written. So, hey!
Unbeta'd/unpre-read. I am full of faults, but alas.
Hope you enjoy. Oh, and rest assured, this Bella is not going to be a doormat.

ETA: Edward's texts are in italics.

Footprints in the Sand

Chapter 9

The only reasonable explanation I can make is Edward doesn't like the fact I react to him the way I do, but I am not compromising who I am for a handsome face, and I sure as hell aren't going to throw myself at him. My father would be ashamed of me, and that wasn't the way I was raised.

Sure, our coffee date was more often than not awkward, but what first dates aren't? Plus, he was the one barraging me with questions; some very personal. I really have no idea what he expected of me, and I'm not convinced that he didn't just want an out himself.

Okay, I'm rusty, out of whack, and the man seriously intimidates me, but giving him mixed messages? After an hour?

"Screw him," I mutter to myself, as my feet repeatedly hit the pavement. "Screw you, jerkoff!" I cement it further, using my anger to push myself harder.

Addie's not in the front yard of the Dutch Colonial as I approach, and I'm immediately reminded of her father's words from the day before. She's caught a cold, and the weather is still abysmal. In a way I'm relieved, and I should probably make plans to change my jogging route and ease myself out of her life, but I can't deny how much I'll miss her.

I cannot believe I allowed myself to get attached to someone else's child. To his child, no less.

My heart sinks knowing I probably won't see her for several weeks, but it's better to break it off now. She'll be starting school in the fall and she doesn't need any unusual attachments getting in the way of her new routine.

Alice calls not ten seconds after I practically fall through the front door. She has no idea Frowning Daddy broke it off with me over the phone, and I hope to keep it that way for the short term at least. While she means well, her investment can be tedious. An annoying.

"So, guess who invited both of us to her house for a cocktail party?" she alludes, putting forth a poorly executed imitation of a snooty accent.

"Who?" I ask with only a moderate amount of interest as I pull off my sneakers and grab a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge.

"Rosalie Hale."

"Ugh..." I groan, twisting off the lid and tossing it toward the trash.

I miss.

"You're coming, right? Ed—"

"Absolutely not."

"Oh come on, Bells. It'll give you a chance to spend more time with Mr. Intimidation before date number two."

I have no idea how I'm going to break it to her...

"Rose already thinks I'm using Addie to get to him." And I'm more than happy to use it as an excuse.

"But you're not, so screw what she thinks. You're coming right?" Her tone rises with hope.

"You're going with Jay, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"Then you don't need me there."

"Bella..." she complains. "You are such a killjoy."

"I'd rather not spend any more time than necessary in the world of people like that," I say, steadfastly holding my ground. And I don't want to run into Frowning Daddy any time soon.

She grumbles beneath her breath unintelligibly. "Okay, have it your way. Did you message Edward yesterday, by the way?"

"I did," I say simply, flopping down on my sofa and taking a large gulp of the lemon-flavored energy drink.

"...And?"

"You are so nosy."

"Well stop playing coy."

"It went fine," I completely bullshit, but I'm not exactly ready for more of Alice's condemnation right now.

"Good. Okay, I have to get back to work. Chat soon?"

"Bye, Al."

I hang up, and almost immediately after, my phone vibrates with a message alert.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Edward finally replied to my text, but it sounds stilted, cold, and really, really fucking patronizing.

It's also not the type of message you can reply to, as I think was his intention, so I don't. I'd rather not drag this out. If he doesn't want to continue anything with me, then fine.

It's fine.

"What's wrong with those two words anyway?" I say out loud to myself like a lunatic.

I do not need a handsome asshole getting in my head.

The problem is, he's already in my head, and under my skin, and lurking ever so close to my libido, and I can't stand it.

I have a shower, and then I do the one thing I should never ever do; I stew. I let that bastard fester in my head, wishing all manner of chronic erectile dysfunction on him, while mentally rehearsing one-liners I will never have the courage to say to him; to his face at least.

By the time I'm done throwing soap, shampoo and toothbrushes around in my small one-squared meter shower stall, hyped up on way too much anger and resentment, I do something I know even in the shallowest recesses of my mind that I will instantly regret.

I text him back.

Actually, I really do think you're an asshole.

And of course he immediately replies.

I know you do.

But I am not nearly done with him just yet.

And for the record, just because I'm not extroverted and don't like to pry into someone's entire life the instant I meet them does not mean I'm sending mixed messages. You're presumptuous and arrogant, and I'm not, so yes, we are very different.

The regret I was expecting to hit me doesn't happen. In fact, it's the complete opposite. This feels fucking good, and I am my father's daughter, after all.

Charlie would be proud.

You should have told me I was making you uncomfortable.

Because my body language wasn't indication enough?

Why did you lie?

When did I lie?

I asked you whether I make you uncomfortable and you answered that I didn't.

When you're not bombarding me with a million questions you don't make me uncomfortable. How would you feel if I asked you what happened to Addie's mother?

I'd tell you she died.

And why hospitals freak you out?

I'd change the subject.

Well, it's a good thing I didn't put you in such an awkward position, isn't it?

You're angry.

And you're an asshole.

I probably deserve that, he replies after several minutes when I almost convinced myself he'd stopped. If I apologized would you accept it?

I don't need your apology.

What do you need?

Not this.

At this point he stops replying while I attempt to rein in my very expeditious brain. I need to vent, but Alice is at work, and then there's the fact that she'll almost certainly blame me.

I decide to slip back into my active wear leggings, shove a navy blue Nike hoodie over my head, and set out for the mile and half walk to Subway for lunch on 4th Avenue. I mute my phone, blast out my Spotify jogging playlist, and am not even remotely successful at ridding my thoughts of Frowning Daddy.

An hour has passed by the time I arrive home, and I'm more agitated than ever. That's when I discover he'd texted me back.

I cannot work you out, and you have no idea how frustrating that is.

"I have no idea, do I?" I mutter dryly to myself, before flopping to the sofa for an extended stay, but I'd be lying if I said I was pissed off he keeps messaging me.

I'm far from it.

What are you expecting to find?

I need to know what makes you tick.

So you can discover all my flaws?

There's only one flaw I look for, and I've already ruled it out in you, he replies after a momentary lapse between messages.

And what would that be?

Narcissism.

Narcissists are master manipulators. How can you be sure I'm not?

Take my word for it, you're not. It's not hard to see the signs when you know what to look for.

Well that's good to know.

Sarcasm?

I ignore him. Had a narc ex, did you?

Something along those lines.

Well that makes two of us.

That guy you were dating?

Yes, him.

Scraping the bottle of the barrel, Bella.

Funny, but I was. He was more of an asshole than you.

Still mad?

Irritated. Why do you keep messaging me?

Why do you keep replying?

I have no idea.

I'd prefer to do this in person.

I'd prefer not to be interrogated again, thanks all the same.

I only asked you a couple of questions.

You put me on the spot more than once.

I apologize. You're sensitive about your mother.

You're doing it again. Yes, she's a deadbeat. Happy?

Why would I be? Do you want to play that game?

Which game?

The game where we see who's had the shittiest life.

My life only became shitty when my father died.

I've been the disappointing second son of Carlisle Cullen for more than a decade.

That one surprises the hell out of me. I was not expecting him to drop such a loaded statement.

You have Addie.

You have Addie as your friend.

You're her father.

I'm a widower.

I'm an orphan.

Not technically.

Wow. What an empathetic man you are. Is everything always so black and white with you?

Not always. Holidays must be hard for you.

They are. I usually volunteer to do extra shifts.

That's miserable.

Reality is not always rainbows and unicorns.

I'm well aware of that.

Don't you have a job to do?

I'm the boss.

Why are you such a disappointment?

No questions.

Weirdo.

You are driving me insane, Bella.

My father used to say the same thing.

You're multifaceted.

Is that a compliment?

I can give you one of those if you'd like.

Sure.

You're very beautiful.

That would be your daughter, not me.

You have a distorted view of yourself. Where did that come from?

No questions!

It's going to bother me. Was it that guy you were dating?

If I answer it will become one-sided again, and I don't want you accusing me of being hot and cold, or anything.

Sarcasm again. Did that bother you?

No. And you are very perceptive. It's really annoying.

I am. Occupational hazard.

I wouldn't call that a hazard.

I'm sorry about yesterday. You make me question. I don't like it, and I said something I immediately regretted.

It's fine.

It's not fine. If I upset you, tell me.

You upset me.

I'm sorry.

You don't need to repeat yourself.

Let's start over.

I thought we were too different? I ask, after stalling for a good five minutes with my heart in my throat.

We are, but I still want to start over.

Let's continue to do this for a while longer.

Text?

Yeah.

You're almost a different person. It leads me to believe my presence makes you extremely uncomfortable.

I already told you, you ask too many questions. The way you stare at me does make me uncomfortable, though.

The way I stare?

Yes.

How do I stare at you?

Like I'm an anomaly.

You are.

What?

Compared to the women I've known, you are a definite anomaly.

How am I supposed to take this?

It's a compliment.

Thank you.

I really didn't realize you were this sarcastic.

You are so black and white.

I don't beat about the bush.

Tell me about the women you've known.

Superficial, elitist, self-absorbed, sometimes gold-digging, bitches.

Ouch. Did you initially think I was like that?

I thought you were imaginary.

Ha-ha. When you realized I wasn't, obviously.

No.

Well that's reassuring.

There's that sarcasm again.

Why do I make you question?

You alternate between being sweet and outgoing, to shy and aloof so often I'm really not sure what to think.

Maybe because I am both simultaneously outgoing and shy.

Perhaps.

I'm not usually shy. You're just extremely intimidating.

So, we're finally getting somewhere.

Oh, you're good.

Damn good, in fact.

Shit!

I am.

And modest.

Black and white, remember?

Are you like this with Addie?

No. I'm a complete pushover, and you're changing the subject.

You tricked me into revealing more about myself.

You willingly volunteered it.

I hate to think what you charge by the hour.

I don't charge by the hour. Why do I intimidate you?

You don't. You're a complete puppy dog.

Going to be like that, is it?

Yes. Unless you make it even.

How would I do that?

Tell me something about you.

Let me think.

I'm waiting, I type after a couple of minutes where I receive nothing from him but the three dots indicating he's no doubt texting and deleting several times over.

I'll tell you in person, he eventually replies after leaving me hanging for ten minutes.

Ditto, I text back grumbling mutterances to myself about how stubborn he is.

That wall Rosalie spoke of? It's a mile high.

Bella, I have a client in 5. Let's do this again.

Sure. See you.

He doesn't message me back, and I'm in two minds about it. On the one hand, Edward is very artful, and he knows how to acquire information while offering only the bare minimum in return. The instant I put him in the hot seat, he went straight into avoidance mode. On the other hand, I never realized how seductive chatting through text could really be.

It left me wanting more. So much more.

I'm in sensory overload, my thoughts are racing, my hands are shaking, and I'm seriously considering getting creative with my showerhead.

One thing is clear though, Edward is no longer hovering near my libido; he's steering the whole damn ship, and that iceberg is right a head.

. . .

I wake Friday morning later than usual, and am greeted by the steady drumming of rain drops against the window pane. The instant I draw the curtains, I know running is out of the question today. It's dark and gloomy outside and more storm clouds are steadily approaching from the east.

With a sigh, I resign myself to a day of grocery shopping, house work and Netflix. And hopefully more text foreplay with Frowning Daddy. I have absolutely no idea what happened yesterday, except what began in anger ended with me in a conquered puddle on the floor.

I'm beginning to suspect that man could be a criminal mastermind, but then, the odds are more than likely that I'm just a flake that he's already worked out how to navigate.

I feel so inadequate when it comes to him. So flawed, with impaired concentration, and crippling insecurities.

Which I outed myself on.

He called me beautiful and I all but scoffed at him

What the hell is wrong with me?

He called me very beautiful.

Crossing food shopping off the list first, I grab my purse and car keys, and head into the foyer to take the elevator into the basement parking lot; bemoaning to myself about how shitty Friday nights are now that Alice is engaged. It's the first day of her break and my last and I really need to loosen and unwind before I'm thrown headlong into my next shift. Not to mention, I need her input on Edward, because I am so out of my depth with him and we both know it.

The elevator doors open with a ping, and I step inside just as my phone rings.

It's Mrs. Cullen, and it's enough to make me halt in my tracks. While she's texted me on the odd occasion in regards to my mail, she's never calledme.

"Hello?" I ask curiously.

"Hello, Bella, dear. It's Esme," she says, sounding ruffled.

"He—"

"I'm terribly sorry to ask, but I'm in a bind," she interrupts.

"Do you need my help?" I venture.

"I do. I have urgent business at the bank, but Addie's caught a horrendous cold and I can't take her with me," she quickly explains.

"Would you like me to watch her?"

"Yes." She releases her breath in obvious relief. "Would that be too much of a bother?"

"Of course it wouldn't," I assure her. "Do you want me to come now?"

"Yes. Thank you, dear."

"Okay, I'm on my way."

Punching in the first floor in the elevator, I exit my apartment block, put up my umbrella, and head out into the rain for the hasty trek to the Dutch Colonial.

Mrs. Cullen is waiting for me in the open doorway, wringing her hands and looking anxious. "Thank you so much, Bella."

"It's fine."

"I shouldn't be any longer than a couple of hours."

I nod. "Okay."

"And will you be a dear and see if you can get Addie to take her medicine? She refuses to for me," she adds, putting on her coat and gloves as she does.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Bella, you're too lovely. Help yourself to coffee and tea, and anything you want to eat," she offers.

"I should be fine."

She throws me a grateful smile. "She's in the living room. Goodbye, darling. I'll be back soon," Glancing over her shoulder Mrs. Cullen calls out her farewell.

"Goodbye, Grandma..." a strained, very croaky, congested little voice replies.

Mrs. Cullen leaves while I head into the living room and immediately stop short. Addie is lying on the sofa, bundled up like she's in the arctic, her face flushed and her hair plastered to her forehead in sweat.

"Oh, Addie," I say gently, placing the back of my hand to her brow. "Oh my god!" I burst immediately alarmed. She's burning up, her temperature is at least 103, and I realize I have to get these layers off her, and now.

"Bella, my neck is yucky," she sobs, grimacing because it obviously hurts her to swallow.

"I know, sweetie. I'm going to make you feel better, okay?" I assure her.

She whimpers but nods her head regardless, and that's when I realize she's clutching the stuffed puppy I bought for her birthday.

"Let's sit you up," I coax her after pulling three heavy blankets off her, and sliding my hand around her back, I ease her forward. If the blankets weren't enough, she's also wearing a robe, thick socks and slippers over her flannel pajamas that are soaked through with sweat. "Your grandmother must be trying to kill you," I mutter beneath my breath. I cannot believe the wife of such an esteemed doctor thinks this old wives' tale is effective. I strip her down to her underwear before laying her back against her Disney princess-cased pillow. "Does that feel better?" I ask, placing my palm to her chest. She's still so incredibly hot, and that's when I notice the thermometer on the lamp table to the right of the sofa.

She nods, but she's so miserable big fat tears spill down over her temples and into her hair. "Bella..." she cries.

"Oh, sweetheart," I sigh, and bending forward I take her momentarily into my arms. "Let's take your temperature, okay?"

She nods again and clumsily wipes her eyes, coughing thickly and repeatedly as she does.

Placing the spout of the thermometer in her ear, I wait for it to beep.

"104.6!?" I gasp, pulling out all stops to keep my voice a whisper. "Okay, sweetie, I'm going to get something to cool you down."

"'Kay," she replies, her voice hopelessly broken and barely audible.

I go in search of the downstairs bathroom, finding it after the third door I yank open. Behind the half-bath cabinet mirror is a little blue bottle I can definitely put to use. Tucking it in my pocket, I grab the washcloth hanging over the basin and soak it under the cold water; squeezing out any excess.

After returning to Addie, I fold the terry towel over her forehead, and scooping out a goop of Vick's VapoRub, I rub it over her chest.

"That's sticky," Addie says, wrinkling her nose. "And it smells funny."

"It does, but it'll make you feel better. Promise," I assure her, wiping her damp hair off her face and behind her ear.

"Bella?" she asks weakly.

"Hmm?"

"Gooby's sick too." She holds out her puppy, bringing the smile instantly to my lips. Even as sick as she is, she's still insanely adorable.

"Is he? Poor Gooby. Shall we put some on his chest too?"

"Yes," she says, wiping her runny nose with the back of her hand.

I humor her and smudge ointment into Gooby, before tucking him back under her plastered arm.

"Okay, Miss Adalyn, let me go find you some juice or something. Alright?"

"Mmkay," she mumbles.

I make my way into the kitchen and immediately spot two bottles of children's medicine on the counter. One is orange-flavored Ibuprofen, and the other is bubblegum Benadryl.

So, he listened...

After yanking open Mrs. Cullen's enormous stainless steel, double-doored refrigerator, I pull out a couple of juice boxes within, and take them with me along with the medicine back to the living room.

Addie spies it immediately and her eyes widen with alarm. "I don't like that, Bella!" she cries, her voice catching in the back of her throat.

"Hey," I placate her in a soothing voice, sitting myself on the edge of the sofa beside her. "Medicine tastes yucky, I know, but these two are special. They taste really nice."

"But..." she immediately objects.

"You know, my daddy used to give it to me when I was your age, and it made me feel better right away. And it didn't make me throw up."

"Really?" she asks, the tone of her voice as hopeful as it is full of fear.

"Really," I promise her. "How about if you take a tiny, tiny taste, and then have a drink of juice straight after?"

"O-okay..." she relents, unable to conceal the panic from reflecting in her big green eyes.

I feel positively rotten, but this fever needs to come down and fast.

I sit her half up, and drawing no more than a millimeter of Ibuprofen into the syringe, I slowly push it into her mouth. She hesitates for a moment before swallowing apprehensively, as I hastily shove the straw of the juice box between her lips. She takes a sip and immediately looks taken by surprise.

"See, not yucky at all, huh?"

"It tastes like Pez," she says, the relief clearly washing over her face. "And I didn't frow up."

"You didn't. Do you want to try some more?"

She nods, and while she's still anxious, I know I have earned this little girl's trust.

It's a process to get the proper dosage into her, though. It takes one mil at a time, and while she gags once, she still manages to keep it down.

"Now this one, is really nice." I hold up the Benadryl. "It tastes like bubblegum and it will stop your nose from being all stuffy."

"But I'm not allowed to have bubblegum," she confesses innocently.

"It'll be our secret," I tease her with a wink, making a giggling, raspy sound burst from her. "Wanna try?"

"...Okay." She's still incredibly cautious, but so willing that I honest to god want to scoop her up and take her home.

She opens her mouth while I again slowly squirt in only a small amount. "What do you think?"

"Oh, it tastes nice!" she says, her surprise just as open.

"See?"

"Daddy always makes me have yucky stuff and it makes me frow up."

"Hmm, well how about I tell your daddy to only give you the nice stuff from now on?"

She nods, her big, round eyes too bright, but they still make my heart melt. "Will you really tell him?"

"Of course I will. Okay, a little bit more." It's a lot easier for Addie to take the Benadryl. It's definitely easier on the palate, and she only requires one sip of juice to wash it down.

When I'm positive the medicine is down and staying down, I get her to drink apple juice diluted with water that she practically gulps; the poor thing was dehydrated.

"I feel better already, Bella," she says in a tired little voice.

I smile, and press my index finger lightly to her nose. "I'm really glad. Now, I want you to take a nap, okay?"

The Benadryl's going to kick in very soon, so this little girl is off to Hushabye Mountain—as my father used to say—whether she wants to or not.

"Will you read me as story?"

"Sure I can. Where are your books, sweetie?"

"In my bag." She coughs again, and points to a pink Moana backpack in the corner of the room.

I read her The Very Cranky Bear, which sends her into a fit of congested giggles, and before I can finish, she's completely out cold.

It's not long after that her fever breaks. Her temperature is down to 100, and she's so much cooler that I cover her with one of the blankets.

She sleeps soundly, and I can only gaze at her and marvel at how much her father is present in the beauty she's in possession of. I used to think she only had his eyes, but now it's very obvious she's her father's daughter.

The same way I'm Charlie's.

Addie wakes an hour later, drinks a full glass of diluted apple juice, and promptly nods back off. That's when the sound of the front door opens, and expecting to see Mrs. Cullen, I get to my feet only to be confronted with a very over-wrought Frowning Daddy.

He pulls up short, and looks from me to his sleeping daughter and back again with so much surprise it's clear he wasn't expecting to see me.

"Bella..." he says, the tone of his voice emphasizing it further, "where's my—"

"She had to go to the bank," I hastily disclose, wanting to sink into the cracks of the floor while my face flashes like a hot iron. What the hell is the universe doing constantly throwing me into this man's unannounced trajectory? "She asked me to watch Addie while she's gone."

He nods, expels his breath and immediately approaches his daughter, kneeling before her with concern contorting his handsome face. "How's she doing?" he asks in a hushed voice, placing the back of his fingers tentatively to Addie's cheeks.

"I got her to take the medicine, and it brought her fever down. Edward—"

"You did?" he puts to me as skeptical as he is impressed.

"Yes, just give it to her in smaller doses." I shake my head and start over. "Edward, when I came here, her fever was dangerously high."

His brow immediately knots, and he turns his attention back to Addie. "She feels okay. How high?"

"Almost 105," I answer as his eyes almost bug out of his head. "The Ibuprofen brought it down," I quickly reassure him, "but maybe your father can have a look at her when he gets home?"

He nods, and glancing back at Addie he drags his hand back through his hair in obvious anxiety. "Or maybe I should take her to urgent care now..." he deliberates, his eyes glued to his daughter, his frown furrowing deeper.

"She's asleep and her fever's down. I wouldn't disturb her yet."

He turns to gaze at me, the intensity of his eyes quickly making me want to sever them, but I'm stubbornly resolute, and I stare at his nose. "Was this your doing?" he asks.

My doing?

I quickly realize he's referring to the pile of blankets at the foot of the sofa along with Addie's discarded pajamas and robe.

"Yes, it was my doing. She was overheated and dehydrated," I say, my tone subtly flaring defensively, "and the poor little thing was drenched in sweat."

"My mother had her like that?" he asks, his expression steadily clouding.

"Hi, Daddy," a soft, very sick little voice speaks up completely breaking into Edward's distraction.

"Hey, tiger," he says tenderly, turning and kneeling down to her again, and removing the washcloth, he plants his lips to her brow. "How you feeling?"

"It was really hot, but then Bella made me better," she says holding her arms up to him for her father to gather her in his.

"Bella's a pretty good nurse, isn't she?" he murmurs to her, and I don't think he meant for me to hear.

Addie nods, lays her head on his shoulder, and when her eyes meet mine, she breaks into a smile despite how she's presently feeling. "Did you say yes to my daddy, Bella?"

"Say yes about what, sweetie?" I ask as her father rocks her gently back and forth in his arms.

I'm forced to suck in my bottom lip to make absolute sure I'm not drooling. It simply isn't possible for this man to get any more beautiful, and yet here we are.

"Say yes to getting married to him."

A/N: Yay, nay, something in between?

Thanks for reading.