First off, I want to tell you guys how amazing you all are. The support I feel from everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter was seriously appreciated.
Now, for those of you who like my Mobward stories, I've got great news! My piece for the Bodice Rippers contest won second place in the public vote and the best dirty-talking award! If you haven't had a chance to read it yet, go check it out! The title is Mia Bella, and you can find it under my profile. Even better news is that Mia Bella is technically an outtake from my upcoming story, Il Bellissima! A lot more Mobward is headed your way!
But for the moment, let's get back to the South and our little lovebirds :)
The flowers and insects of summer hibernate before the time changes in the fall. Darker evenings and cooler days give us a reprieve from the stifling humidity but make me long for the simple days lounging on the island's sandy beaches. Classes pick up their pace in school, and I sometimes find myself drowning in essays or pre-calculus problems. Most nights after shifts at work for me and baseball practices for Edward, we sit at our desks in our rooms, on FaceTime, while I help him analyze American literature and he helps me with math problems. Our time is so monopolized by our commitments that Saturday night dates and Sunday mornings after church seem to be the only instances where we get any semblance of time alone.
So, it's unsurprising that I'm counting down the few weeks before Thanksgiving break. Yes, I'll still have to work during our week off, and Edward will have a few practices, but our schedules will be light enough that we're even planning a trip to Savannah with Emmett and Rosalie. We begged our parents to let us stay in a hotel overnight instead of going up and down in one day. Despite our promises that the boys will stay in one room and the girls in another, albeit empty promises, we've only been laughed at.
"Did I tell you that the University of North Carolina scout wants to meet with me?" Edward asks, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms overhead. I ogle his biceps over the small screen of my phone, pausing the editing of my Government assignment.
My lip catches between my teeth as I try to calculate the distance from here to North Carolina. "Congratulations. That's kind of far, though, isn't it."
He shrugs. "Not as far as Texas, and I talked to them last week."
Recently, scouts have come from all over to see Edward and some of his teammates play. He's traveled as far as Mississippi for weekend tournaments and came home with a slew of business cards, mostly from universities, some of which rank in the top twenty-five baseball programs in the country.
But so far, none from a major league team.
I remember what Mama Esme told me: With Edward's injury and mistakes in Atlanta, he'll need to follow the college path if he wants to play professionally. Still, the idea that Phil is influencing decisions weighs in the back of my mind.
Shaking off my worry, I smile at Edward, showing my support.
"We're thinkin' about tourin' some of the schools over winter break. I'm supposed to decide soon, but my dad thinks I can wait until January."
"What about the trip for art history to The High Museum in Atlanta?" I ask. "You'll still go, right? Mrs. Cope had to work so hard to get the school administration to sign off on it." The trip our art teacher secured is the envy of every student in the school. An overnight hotel stay during the last week before winter break has everyone clamoring to score a seat in her class for next year. The rumor is they will have to open another art history period due to the interest in the course.
"Yeah, absolutely. I'll be home for Christmas, too," he assures me. "We'll leave the day after. Probably visit my top three schools and come home."
"And your top three today are?" I tease him, arching a brow because he changes his list almost daily. Except for one school.
His face scrunches in thought before he counts on his fingers as he ticks off his list. "Georgia, Alabama, and… well, you know."
I nod. I do know. I also know that his top choice, his dream school, is one of the few that haven't reached out yet.
"I still don't get it," he sighs. "I played so damn well when the Florida State scout was there. My earned run average is two point two for the season, and the movement on my ball has never been better."
"And you're throwin' heat," I add, proud of the baseball slag I've picked up from going to his games.
He chuckles, "And I'm throwin' heat."
"The season isn't over, Edward. Maybe they wanna see if you can get through the whole thing without injury?"
"Maybe." He props his elbows on his desk, glancing over the Anatomy study guide he's supposed to memorize. "Is Charlie budgin' on art school at all?"
"Mrs. Cope gave me a couple of college brochures the other day. I left them on the counter to see what his reaction would be. He just grunted and asked me how work was goin'."
"He liked the Thanksgivin' mural you drew at the coffee shop."
"Edward, it's a traditional Thanksgivin' meal. Of course, he liked it. All men like food."
"Mama and Alice started plannin' the menu last night," he says offhand, returning to his studies.
I gasp and slam my hand on my desktop, causing him to glance at the screen. "No! They were supposed to wait for me."
The corner of his mouth curves as his eyes dip back to his paper. "I'm sure they'll let you make somethin', Bella."
With my Government assignment forgotten, I pause our FaceTime video to scold Alice over text messages for planning without me. She writes back just as I'm about to give up on her and call it a night.
My assignment is the green beans and my coveted cream cheese dip.
I'm also on help-Alice-bake duty.
Laughing, I settle in bed and plug my phone in on my nightstand. Fair enough. Being Alice's sous chef is probably a bigger job than the turkey.
oOo
The glimpse of salt and pepper above Dr. Cullen's temples is new. It's a side effect of the past few years, no doubt. Edward actually made his father's hair turn grey.
I have to bite my cheek to stop laughing at the thought as Dr. Cullen finishes grace, and we all say, "Amen," ready to dig into the delicious spread.
"Look at how juicy that bird is," Charlie says, taking the job of carving into the turkey's meat. Edward turns to make a face at me at the use of the word juicy.
I lean close so only he can hear me, "At least he didn't say moist."
Edward's shoulders shake as he pinches his eyes shut, trying to stem his laughter. He has to keep a firm grip on his plate as Charlie serves him a few slices of meat, raving about Esme's ability to cook a turkey the whole time.
"Edward," Dr. Cullen sips his water after our plates are full, and we start eating. "I got an interesting email last night." His eye twinkles as I let my fork settle on my napkin, curious to hear what he says.
Edward glances up nervously. "Interestin'?"
"I think you'll be pleased with it." Dr. Cullen's mischievous smirk reminds me of the one I regularly receive from his son, and I wonder if I could catch them on camera with the same expression. They'd look like twins. "A certain scout from a certain school reached out to see if you'd be willing to meet."
Edward's eyes widen, and the dinner roll in his hand drops to his plate. "What scout?"
"Florida State."
The festive atmosphere becomes a celebration as Alice and I gasp, "Oh my God," simultaneously while Mama Esme claps. My father chimes in with, "Congratulations, Son." The smile on Edward's face stretches so wide his cheeks must ache.
"Holy crap!" Edward's knee bounces under the table as his hand tugs at his hair, pulling the styled locks and leaving them in haphazard disarray. "Florida State?"
"Edward language," Mama Esme scolds, but her grin doesn't falter.
"Now, while these meetings usually come with offers, I want you to stay level-headed. Don't decide until we have a chance to tour the schools." Dr. Cullen points his fork at Edward before cutting a piece of turkey.
"No, sir," Edward breathes deeply, settling himself. "But this is awesome."
When Charlie asks what other schools Edward is considering, the conversation shifts to the college tour the Cullens are planning. Discreetly, I reach under the table and squeeze Edward's thigh, whispering, "Congratulations."
His hand covers mine, squeezing back when he says, "Thanks."
It's not until late that night when we sneak away in his truck under the guise of getting more ice cream to go with Alice's apple cobbler, that I congratulate him properly.
After all, his back seat is comfortable.
oOo
Rosalie twists locks of her golden blond hair into a low bohemian style braid as she sits in the passenger seat of Emmett's jeep, complaining. "I say we tell our parents we had car trouble and get a hotel off the interstate."
I roll my eyes in the back seat and sink closer to Edward's side. His ribs shake with laughter. "Like they won't see right through that, Rosalie."
"Yeah. Charlie will probably drive up to Savannah to track us down. You know what doesn't sound fun, ridin' down the coast in the back of a police cruiser," I add as Emmett steers us off seventy-five toward our destination.
Rosalie ties her braid and humphs, crossing her arms. "Buzzkills."
Edward's fingers stay intertwined with mine as he rolls our hands on his lap and lifts them to place a small kiss on my wrist. He's tempting me, and I think he knows it from the playful glint in his eyes. For a moment, I consider saying screw it all and jumping on Rosalie's plan. But, police chief father...
"Where do y'all wanna go first?" Emmett asks. We left Amelia Island at seven a.m. to start our day in Savannah early, as the drive only takes two hours. Well, plus twenty extra minutes today due to holiday travelers.
"I'm starvin'," Rosalie declares. "There's that little cafe on the waterfront in the historic district. You remember Em, the one with the cheesy grits? What do y'all think."
"I could eat." Emmett nods.
Edward leans forward to pat his shoulder. "You can always eat."
"Hey, don't blame me. I'm a growin' boy!"
"Emmett, if you grow anymore, you're not going to fit through doorways," I tease, making him scoff and lift his arm off the wheel to flex a bicep, presumably for us to admire.
"This is all muscle, baby."
Rosalie laughs, patting his arm. "Yep. You're the biggest and strongest darlin'. Now, focus on the road so that camper going eighty in the slow lane doesn't take us out."
I glance behind us just in time to watch said camper cut across two lanes, speeding by on the left. Dumbass.
Rosalie's country songs play softly over Emmett's speakers as we pull onto side streets and watch suburban developments morph into rod iron fences and oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. Rosalie points out the homes rumored to be haunted and tells us stories about Savannah's more eclectic residents. She's a vault of knowledge after spending summer weekends here, visiting her mother's boisterous sister. We will miss her aunt on this trip as she's touring Greece with her fourth husband.
We're early enough to find parking in a lot tucked between two hotels. Edward pulls out his debit card and buys us four hours before linking his hand with mine and leading us toward the cobblestone pathways of the waterfront.
As Rosalie and I prop ourselves against the metal railing overlooking the seawater channel, the boys wait for our table inside the Creole-inspired cafe. The scent of fresh beignets and savory sausages floats through the open wall of glass doors. I breathe deep, my stomach rumbling while Rosalie points out a pelican swooping off its perch atop a dock to collect its breakfast of fish from the Atlantic offlet.
"Oh, Lord, look at that boat," she whispers, craning her neck to better view the two-story vessel cruising past.
"I think they call that a yacht," I correct her, squinting to make out the figures on the top deck and wondering who can afford such a lavish lifestyle.
Rosalie sighs, swinging her body backward as she uses the railing to support her weight. "Someday, I'm gonna be rich and famous enough to own one."
I give her a wide grin because if anyone I know will do just that, it's Rosalie.
"Don't forget about all us measly peons from your past."
"I could never forget you, Bella," she laughs, and the sound is more carefree and filled with life than I've ever heard from her. "Besides, you'll be right there with me. A world-renowned painter sellin' your art in places like France and Italy. I bet you'll have to have a boat like that just to sail around the Mediterranean to visit all the places that request your work."
My cheeks stain with color at her compliment. I'm sure she's wrong. That my talent isn't so big that anyone outside the southern coast will ever give me the time of day. But it's nice to dream.
"Hey, our table's ready." Edward's arm falls around my waist as he joins us, glancing briefly at the yacht we're admiring before tugging me gently.
Rosalie leans in close as she follows. "Plus, you can always use your famous ball player husband's money to get yourself a yacht." I smack at her arm and tell her to keep her mouth shut.
Breakfast is grits, sausage, beignets, eggs, and fruit, passed around the table so we can share the down-home experience of Louisiana-inspired cuisine. We stuff ourselves until Emmett is left picking at the scraps and ensuring each plate returns to the kitchen clean. I complain when the boys insist on paying. I have money now, but Edward assures me it's no good when I'm with him before he kisses my head and sends Rosalie and me away to shop in one of the boutique stores next door.
Rosalie's eyes widen when she spots a red lace dress, swearing she has to have it for the Christmas parties she's positive she'll be invited to. I want to remind her that the church social is hardly the place for short skirts and form-fitting clothes, but I give into her optimism. She's in the dressing room before I pass the first rack of tops.
There's a silky cream-colored camisole blouse with fine silver beading across the top. It slips between my fingers as if made from butter. I catch my lip with my teeth, racking my mind for any occasion that would warrant such an item. Maybe if Rosalie has a reason for her red dress, I'll have one for the cream camisole. Lifting the top from the rack, I admire it from all angles, noting the thin straps that would require a strapless bra.
"We're almost sold out of that one," a saleslady says over my shoulder. I turn, giving her a small smile.
"It's beautiful."
"Made by a local designer. The fabric is pure Chinese silk. Finest quality."
I nod, dropping the corner of the shirt that was rolling through my fingers, afraid of damaging it.
"Do you want to try it on?" Her eyes are eager. She must work on commission. I gaze at the price tag looped around one of the straps. My breath catches, and I choke as the number registers.
One hundred and seventy-two dollars.
"Oh, um, no, thank you." My voice trembles as I carefully place it back on the rack. "I have no events to wear it to." Her smile falters at my weak excuse.
"Oh, well, let me know if you change your mind."
She senses that I'm not her type of clientele. That my bank account won't cover her salary, and she flits away to check on Rosalie, who I assume she's now second guessing.
Afraid to damage any of the merchandise, I browse the delicate fabrics and unique styles by sight, eventually migrating to the jewelry tables in the center of the store. I take a break from admiring a pair of intricate silver earrings when Rosalie saunters out of the dressing room, posing and asking me what I think.
The dress fits her perfectly, and I tell her she looks like the movie star I know she'll be someday. Her grin widens as she flips her braid over her shoulder and declares she's buying it, even if she has to dip into her savings.
Envious of her higher-paying waitress gig, I return to my perusal of accessories that a measly barista can't afford.
And then I see it.
The necklace is gold and delicate, a simple chain with honeysuckle vines stretched across the front. I can't stop from reaching out and stroking the flowers with the pad of my finger. Out of habit, I tip my head to catch sight of the tag dangling from the back clasp.
One hundred and thirty-five dollars.
Not as bad as the camisole, but still well outside my budget.
But what if I pulled out of my car fund? The fund that we linked to Charlie's checking account, not mine, because I was worried about situations precisely like this.
I sigh in defeat, knowing the eighty dollars in my account can't cover the beautiful necklace.
Rosalie emerges from the back, holding her dress and taking it to the sales girl at the register. She holds her shoulders back and head high, full of confidence that she'll outshine every woman on Amelia Island in the garment. Jessica is gonna die if they end up at the same event.
Sending one final longing look toward my coveted jewelry, I turn to join my friend but stop when someone grasps my elbow lightly, keeping it from knocking into his chest.
"What are you lookin' at over here?" Edward asks, glancing around me at the display on the table.
My eyes dip to the necklace without my permission while I mutter, "Just some jewelry."
"Is that honeysuckle?" Before I can warn him not to touch, Edward steps around me to finger the floral design between his thumb and index finger.
"Yeah. But it's expensive," I warn, hoping he'll get my message.
Except he doesn't. Instead, he picks the chain off its display and holds it up, scrutinizing the piece. "It would look pretty on you."
"Edward, it's over a hundred dollars," I hiss, hopeful the saleswoman is preoccupied with Rosalie so she doesn't realize how much I don't belong in her store.
He flips the price tag over and shrugs. "That's not so bad."
"I don't have that kind of money. I'm savin' for a car."
"Yeah, but I do." The sapphires and emeralds in his eyes spark as he catches me in his gaze and my pulse quickens. He can't give me such an extravagant gift.
"But you-"
"Already own a car." He grins, the necklace dangling from his fingers as he strides toward the front counter to the saleswoman who has just finished with Rosalie.
"Did you get anything?" Rosalie asks while opening her garment bag to show Emmett her new purchase. He whistles in approval.
"Um, Edward is buyin' me a necklace." I lift the back of my hand to cool the skin of my chest as it flushes with heat.
"Y'all are adorable." She winks, retying the plastic bag covering her dress.
Edward returns holding a small white box and grinning with pride. I want to tell him it's too much. But I can't crush his ego like that. And truthfully, the idea of wearing the beautiful necklace is even more appealing when it's from him.
"Can I put it on you?" He asks as soon as we step out of the store.
I nod and lift my hair, turning my back to him while he fumbles with the box. The thin metal soon drapes across my neck as he works the clasp.
"Let me see," he says, spinning me to face him.
Rosalie leans in, admiring the piece. "Oh, that's beautiful. Is it honeysuckle?"
"Yeah." I smile at Edward. "It's honeysuckle."
"It's perfect on you," he whispers.
A simple "thank you" won't convey the rush of emotion running through me as I wrap my arms around his neck. "I love it," I tell him, but I mean, "I love you." So I pull him close, standing on my toes to mesh my lips with his.
He hums his appreciation as his tongue swipes against mine, and his hands grip my waist, promising he'll never let go. Quickly, our surroundings fall away, and we forget to notice the tourist that steps around us or the sounds of sea birds and the far-off horn of a ship arriving in the port.
It's not until Emmett's whistle sounds in our ears that we split apart, dazed and confused, the storefronts and cobblestone walkways a surprise.
"You two need to get a room," Emmett laughs, patting Edward on the back before leading our group toward a souvenir shop.
"See, y'all, that's what I've been sayin'." Rosalie throws her hand in the air. "We claim car troubles and get a room… or two."
Edward chuckles into the crook of my neck while I begin to seriously consider Rosalie's idea.
A/N: These two are sugar-sweet and growing a strong foundation for their relationship. But... teenagers don't always make the best decisions.
Next week it will be nearly impossible for me to update because of this whirlwind move I'm in the middle of. But chapter 19 is already written, and I promise I will get it out to you as soon as I can finish editing it!