Hello everyone! I've missed you all! Longer a/n at the end of the chapter!

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Perhaps it's because she finally had the chance to talk to someone about James, but Isabella wakes up the following morning feeling refreshed. Cleansed. There's a lightness in her heart she hadn't planned on feeling. She didn't get too much sleep, as she and Victoria had been up late in the kitchen talking like old friends, but the few hours she did manage were enough for her to wake ready to start the day.

The only reason Isabella remained in bed for as long as she had was because she was far too aware of the man sleeping nearby. It did cross her mind that maybe Edward had left while she was asleep, but a loud snore echoed down the hall as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She giggled in bed, rolling over to hide her laughter in her pillow.

There was no doubt in her mind that Edward would hate himself once he woke up and the events of the evening came flooding back to him.

Now, Isabella is standing in the kitchen at a quarter past eight in the morning, cutting fruit into a bowl for everyone to eat. She didn't expect anyone to be up early like she was; it had been a long night for everyone in the house, some more than others. Smiling to herself, she focuses back on preparing breakfast, a task she had taken upon herself a few months ago to show her gratitude for being able to stay here. It wasn't much, it never was, but it was enough for the girls to walk out of their rooms and find some type of normalcy, of predictability in their day, waiting for them in the kitchen.

Isabella places the last of the fruit into a bowl on the table, reaching for clean cups for coffee and tea above the sink, when she hears a low groan and a thud against the wall leading into the kitchen. Turning her head at the sound, she watches Edward stumble into the room, leaving whatever graciousness he normally possesses far behind him.

Judging by his squinted eyes, uneasy steps, and unkempt hair, it's fair to assume he is still slightly drunk from the night before. Perhaps a little more coherent, as he brings a cigarette to his lips with much more ease than the last time she had seen him.

"Morning," Isabella says, motioning towards the table. "You can take what you'd like."

She turns back towards the sink, hoping her nonchalance at his presence would be best. She didn't want to make an awkward situation worse, so she had decided before coming downstairs that her acting as if nothing had happened with Edward outside of the ordinary would be in her and their best interests. It doesn't matter that his words awoke a side of her she never knew she had.

In fact, Isabella now realizes that has become a separate issue in itself, one in which she has no idea how to proceed.

"Hmm." His voice sounds just as he looks; Edward has seen better mornings. Isabella struggles to keep a straight face, especially when he pulls a chair from the table and plops himself into it, groaning at the rare beam of sunlight that filters into the kitchen. He raises his hands over his face in protest, his cigarette hanging in a delicate balance on his full lips as he closes his eyes at the offensive light.

Isabella begrudgingly pulls her eyes away from his face, grateful his eyes are closed so he doesn't catch her staring. She clears her throat. "Would you like something to drink? We have coffee and tea."

He shakes his head, his eyes opening painfully once more. "Whisky?" He asks, bringing a hand up to pull the cigarette out of his mouth. Smoke fills the sunbeam, his eyes unable to stay open for too long. "Please."

This time, Isabella can't help but let a small chuckle escape her mouth. Edward opens one eye at her as she walks over to what he wants. "I think Rosalie keeps some under here."

"Thanks." He exhales loudly as Isabella readies him a glass. "It's like we're at the pub and not in Rosie's kitchen."

"I can still serve you a drink at home," Isabella replies good-naturedly, handing him his drink. She pulls a chair out from across the table and sits.

"You've served me too much in the last day," Edward reminds her, his eyes finally open enough for her to see them. She laughs at his obvious struggle.

"You've earned it," she says once she has stopped laughing. She stands to retrieve a cup of coffee for herself. "Everyone else seemed to think so too, judging by how wonderfully the night went."

"Hmm," Edward answers simply. He takes another sip of his drink, the robust flavor slowly bringing him back to life. With each sip, he begins to remember the night more clearly, but unfortunately, it fails to take away the consequences he faces this morning. As lovely as Isabella's voice is to hear, it pierces his ears and makes his head pound against his skull.

"Do you remember much of it?" She asks, blowing on her coffee before returning to her seat at the table. He shakes his head, putting his cigarette out in the remainder of his drink. Pushing the glass to the side, he tries his best to look at her face in the early morning light. She's soft in the sunshine, the curls from last night pulled away from her face in a loose twist at the nape of her neck. Unlike the last time he saw her, she is dressed for the day in attire appropriate for him to see, though he won't ever complain about what he saw her wearing in the hall the night before.

For a moment, he is too caught up in remembering her silky, ruby robe to realize she had asked him a question. He clears his throat once he remembers.

"Not all of it," Edward admits. His green eyes, now tinged with red from his late night and early morning, finally meet hers. "But I do remember most of it. The parts that matter, that is."

He is aware some parts of the night are simply unforgettable.

"I bet I can guess them all," Isabella replies, bringing the cup to her lips for a small sip only to place it softly back on the table. "All the parts that matter to you."

Edward leans back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Do you now?"

"I do," Isabella laughs. The sound doesn't hurt his ears as much as it did a few minutes ago. "How many guesses do I get?"

"Three."

"Three; all right," she considers. He watches her face as she contemplates all of her options, and soon she begins ticking them off one by one on her fingers. "The happiness of all your guests. I know you remember that part; it was undeniable all night!"

Flashes of all of his guests, new and old, spring to his mind at her mention of them, and he can't help the slight, upward pull of his lips at the thought of them all celebrating his pub. "Correct," Edward returns. "Go on."

"The whisky," Isabella says next, grinning as the mere mention of it makes his stomach turn in his seat.

"I couldn't forget that part if I tried," Edward scoffs, reaching into the pocket of his wrinkled suit to find another cigarette. He brings it to his mouth and lights it before inhaling long and deep. "And believe me, my pounding head won't let me forget at all."

"Serves you right," Isabella scolds, but he sees the way she's smiling across the table and likes how she speaks to him. Most people stay where he likes them; far away. Most never attempt conversation beyond anything of necessity. But Isabella talks to him like she is interested in whatever it is he wants to say back to her.

Suddenly, he feels like he has many, many things to tell her.

Exhaling, he nods towards her. "Your third?"

Edward watches her hesitate for a moment but is not surprised when she continues. She has never held herself back from him. "Victoria," Isabella says softly. "It looked like you two had a lot to say to each other."

Even though he sits at the table now, his mind goes back to the early morning hours when Victoria and Isabella had worked together to throw him onto Victoria's floor. It makes him assume they had bonded over that moment. He knows by the way Isabella is looking at him that she knows.

"She told you, eh?" He asks rhetorically; he already knows the answer, and she doesn't need to answer him. He shakes his head, a frown crossing his face. "Victoria and I can talk for weeks but still not manage to say anything."

"Last night was the happiest I've seen her since we've met."

He isn't sure about the moment Isabella speaks of, too preoccupied with the thought of another person knowing of their relationship. He is never embarrassed of his sister, but it is safer for them all if their connection is not made known.

"Victoria being happy is the only thing I've wanted since we were kids," Edward says with a sigh and a shake of his head. He raises a finger and points it at Isabella. "But you're wrong. That's not a part of the night I remember. At least not a part as vivid as others."

"I'm wrong? That doesn't often happen," Isabella jokes, leaning back in her chair with her cup of coffee. "You'll just have to tell me."

Edward doesn't remember the last time a woman made a joke in his presence, but that's not what makes him suddenly more honest than he's been in years.

It's the way it made him smile.

"I remember you," he admits.

He hears her sharp intake of breath and watches her nod slowly, her eyes rising to meet his again. "I remember you, too."

A low chuckle escapes his lips. "Do you always do that? Come out of your room at night wearing nothing but a meager robe when you hear a strange man in the hall?"

Isabella crosses her arms defensively across her chest, and Edward likes how she is able to defend herself. "I knew it was you, and it sounded like Victoria needed some help, considering you could barely stand without falling over."

"So you're also to blame for me being thrown on the floor?"

Isabella laughs at this, a hand coming over her mouth. "I couldn't exactly bring you with me into my room as you suggested."

Images, new ones, of what he wanted to do with her in her room, make him close his eyes in defeat. "Fucking Christ," he says, shaking his head. He was not aware he had shared those thoughts out loud, let alone to her. "I said that to you?"

"Ahh, a part you don't remember."

"No, I don't remember that part, Isabella. Perhaps it's because I should never have said that to you in the first place."

"You don't have to apologize." Isabella shrugs her shoulders, pretending his words haven't irrevocably changed her life. Their eyes meet across the table. "Maybe it should have bothered me, but it didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because you were the one who said those words to me."

Getting bold, now, are we??

September is notoriously one of the most busiest months of the year for me, and usually I have a quiet August to help me transition back to work (I'm a teacher and we go back every September). We also have new fall sports schedules for my sons - juggling three different teams this fall has made my downtime almost non-existent.

But I'm not giving up! Just asking for you all to bear with me until September is over and I adjust to my new routine!

This story is just picking up, and I won't leave you hanging.

See you soon!