Chapter Nine
For the next few weeks, Edward and Bella fell into a comfortable routine. Spending almost every day together, they found new and creative things to do. One day, they might enjoy a picnic at a park, and the next, they might go for a hike through their canyon, as Bella has dubbed it. Edward considered it theirs, too. He'd found the spot just after his mother passed away, and it's where he went when life got too hard.
However, lately, he found himself seeking Bella out when life got hard. She never pushed or expected anything from him. She seemed content with their relationship, and so was he.
Walking into the bistro after one of his lunch dates with Bella, he took the invoice Jasper held, whistling under his breath, and headed into his office without a word to his best friend. Lifting an eyebrow, Jasper watched him almost skip into the kitchen. Knowing something was up, he instructed their lunch hostess to cover the front for a few minutes. He would get to the bottom of Edward's odd behavior, one way or another. Bypassing the kitchen, he threw open the door to Edward's office without knocking.
Rolling his eyes, he scowled. "Gee, Jasper, come on in."
Edward should have seen this coming. He hadn't told Jasper about his relationship with Bella for two reasons. First, he wasn't sure how to define their relationship in practical terms. While they spent every available moment they could together, spending a large amount of that time kissing, he didn't know if he could call her his girlfriend or if he even wanted to. Second, he knew precisely what Jasper would say. It was the same thing he'd been telling himself since he met her. He shouldn't be leading her on, knowing they'd never be more than whatever they were. But just the thought of not seeing her again made his heart hurt.
"What do you want?" he drawled, avoiding eye contact.
"I want to know what the hell is up with you." Jasper snorted, falling into the seat across from him. Edward tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the order slip in front of him. "Ed, man, talk to me!"
"What?" he growled, lifting his eyes to his friend. "What do you want to know?"
Taken back by the anger laced in each word, Jasper stilled. Sure, they'd fought before, but he'd never seen this much turmoil in his friend's eyes. Leaning up, Jasper placed his elbows on his knees.
"Dude, what's going on with you? One second, you're singing show tunes and the next, you're biting my head off. Talk to me."
Sighing, Edward fell back in his seat, running his hand through his hair. "Nothing's going on," he lied.
Jasper scoffed, shaking his head. "I've known you for fifteen years, Ed; I know when something's up." He paused, being extra careful with the words he used next. The last thing he wanted would be for him to shut down into himself. "Have the doctors told you something new?"
"No," Edward muttered, adverting his eyes. "They all say the same thing."
Leaning back in his chair, Jasper waited for him to continue. Edward stood, moving over to the window, placing his hand on the pane, looking out over the parking lot. For months now he had been content with what his life would be or wouldn't be. Knowing he didn't have a choice, he started living in the now instead of focusing on the then. But, since he had met Bella, the thought of losing her, or worse, hurting her, scared him more than not having a future.
"I've made a terrible mistake." Breathing a sigh of relief, he went on, "And now, I'm . . . I think I'm too far gone."
"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?" groused Jasper.
Turning back to him, Edward spoke one word, "Bella."
"That chick who freaked out a few weeks back?" Jasper chuckled. He was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him to the wall. "Edward!"
"Don't talk about her like that," he snarled, leaning in. "She's not a freak. She's perfect!"
"Okay, geez, I'm sorry." Putting his hands up, he tried to make it clear that he surrendered.
Taking a deep breath, Edward let Jasper go, slumping back down on the edge of his desk. Placing his hands on his knees, he tried to calm himself. He overreacted; he knew it, but he didn't want anyone talking badly about Bella. She criticized herself enough; he didn't need to hear Jasper doing it, too. Just one more sign everything was spinning out of control.
Lifting his eyes, he sighed. "I've been seeing her."
"Bella?" Jasper couldn't hide his shock, no matter how much he wanted to. Edward nodded. "Dude, what the hell are you thinking?" he snapped. "She's already a stone's throw away from losing it, and now, you think it would be good for her to get involved with you." Shame filled him, and he looked away. "Edward!"
"What?" he yelled, throwing his hands up. "Don't you think I've told myself a hundred different times that what I'm doing is wrong? I never asked for her to come into my life!"
"Then why are you leading her on?" he questioned.
Shaking his head, Edward moved back behind his desk, falling into his chair. "I don't know," he admitted. "When I'm around her, I feel like . . . I don't know, like everything's gonna be okay."
"But you know it's not." Sitting back in his seat, Jasper watched a dozen emotions waft over his friend. The last few months had been hard on both. They were brothers, maybe not by blood, but by choice.
"I do know, but I want her," he muttered, leaning forward and laying his forehead on his desk. "I want her so bad it hurts, Jasper. Why can't I have her?"
"Because it won't be fair to her when you're gone," he replied.
—WSHB—
Tossing the wet dishtowel onto the bar, Bella slid the two whiskey sours across the bar, accepting the generous tip the men left her. Stuffing the money into the register, she looked around R&R. They were slow tonight, which she was thankful for. Her legs were sore from spending the afternoon rollerblading through the park, something she had never tried before. It took her a dozen tries, but she figured it out. A faint blush rose on her cheeks. Just thinking about Edward caused her heart to flutter.
"Bella, why don't you take off?" Carlisle suggested, bursting through from the back. "You work too much."
"Like you don't," she snickered. "But I will go home." Moving over, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Carlisle."
"You're welcome, sugar," he chuckled.
Grabbing her tips, she stuffed the bills in her back pocket and took off through the back. Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, she texted Edward, letting him know she'd gotten off early. No more than five seconds passed when he sent her a text back, asking her to come to the bistro. Fighting off the feelings of doubt, she agreed. Climbing into her car, an old beat-up Chevy Caviler, she headed to JC's.
The last few weeks with Edward had been nothing short of amazing. More than once, she found herself on the brink of telling him everything, but she didn't. She trusted him. There were no doubts there. She just didn't trust herself enough to let the words out.
Pulling up in front, she exited her car, rushing through the deserted parking lot and heading inside. Edward stood, leaning against the podium, tapping his fingers on the outer edge. Hearing the door open, he looked up, a breathtaking smile springing over his face. Rushing over, he slipped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair. It'd only been eight hours since he saw her last, but it felt like months had passed.
Leaning away, he brought his hand up, brushing her long brown hair behind her ear. "I've missed you."
"You just saw me," she giggled. "I missed you, too."
"Are you hungry?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
"Starving."
Weaving her fingers in with hers, he turned, pulling her after him as he headed for the kitchen. Dim lighting and soft music, the bistro surrounded her with a feeling of warmth and happiness, feelings that were new to her. Sliding up on one of the counters, she watched Edward pull eggs, onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, and cheese from the refrigerator, scattering them along the counter next to her.
"I hope you like omelets," he chuckled, pulling a metal bowl from under the feet.
"I've never had one," Bella admitted.
Pausing, he looked up at her. "Seriously?"
Shaking her head, she bit her lip. "We didn't cook in my house."
"At all?" He tried to hide the amazement but couldn't when she shook her head again. "Wow. Well, then you're in for a treat because I make the second-best omelets in the state of Texas."
"Only the second best?" she teased. "Not so sure of yourself, are you?"
"My mom made the best," he explained. "From the time I could walk, she had me in the kitchen with her, teaching me how to cook. She said every man should be able to make decent meal for his family."
Laughing to himself, he pulled two eggs out of the carton, cracking them along the side of the bowl. Showing off a bit, he dumped the yoke into the bowl, tossing the empty shells over his shoulder, landing right in the trash can. Grinning, he picked up two more eggs, once again cracking the shells. By the time he got all six into the bowl, he had a smirk on his face.
"Nobody likes a showoff." She swatted him on the arm, pretending to be offended.
"Good thing you're not a nobody." Smiling, he reached for the mushrooms. "Yes?"
"Please," she murmured, watching him make the perfect omelet for her. He added some peppers and cheese, but she held off on the onion. "What else did your mom teach you to do?"
"Everything, I guess. Laundry, how to iron, how to sew." Chuckling, he looked over at her. "I was the only guy in the dorms who could sew on a button and iron a shirt. I could have made millions."
"I never learned how to do any of those things, either," she confessed. Reeling from how much she'd never experienced, he lifted his eyes to hers. "My mother left a few days after I was born."
He pulled two plates down, flipping their omelets over onto them. Setting the plates on the counter, he moved so he stood between her legs, letting his hands rest on her thighs. "It must have been hard growing up without your mom."
"She left me with him," muttered Bella, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"Him?" he queried.
"My father," she whispered.
"Oh." He rubbed her back. "At least you have him, right?"
"No," Bella mumbled, lifting her head and looking him in the eye. "My father's dead."
"Baby, I'm sorry." He frowned.
Shaking her head, she felt her lips part, and the words tumble out before she had a chance to stop them, "He's dead because I killed him."
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