A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.


Chapter 12 – Overflow

September 13, 2024 – NYC, NY: 11:52 p.m.

I drew in a long, audible, and horribly protracted breath.

On its heels, chaos ensued with the speed and ferocity of several lightning bolts striking in almost mystifying succession.

The open and half-empty red wine bottle landed on my side of the door like a crime scene victim, splayed and bleeding on the ivory carpet. Before my mind could wholly make sense of that, I caught sight of what was once the half-full wine glass, now in matching crimson, murder-weapon-like shards on the hallway hardwood on the opposite side of the door. In my periphery, a shag of thick, copper-penny hair sprang forward, the quick action being what finally pulled the scene together like the brew for a perfect storm.

And yet I struggled to comprehend the view, even as he rapidly crouched at my feet. It was like a puzzle where all the pieces were there, but their current configuration boggled the mind. How was he here? Why was he here? What should I do now – well, other than clean up the mess?

In this lingering surrealness, I watched him snatch up the wine bottle before more of its ruby-red contents could spurt out. He stretched out an arm, and a swan's black wings emerged majestically from beneath white shirtsleeves only to fold themselves as he nudged the now almost empty bottle into the crook of his other arm's elbow. It was much how I'd just lugged the bottle, except another puzzle piece appeared, this one a bouquet – roses, a claret as deep as the wine and already taking up space in his elbow's crook. He began depositing pieces of jagged-edged glass into his palm.

"Ed-Edward, let me go grab a towel."

"Yeah, okay, Bella."

There was an almost imperceptible pause before my name -Bella- as opposed to the heartrending Izzy he'd called me throughout most of our relationship, which had slipped past his lips when I first opened the suite's door. I might have missed the name change, considering the current mayhem surrounding me and how taken aback I was by the gravelly, hauntingly familiar sound of his voice. Except Bella had always been what he called me when he felt off-kilter or on unsure footing. I remembered that viscerally, just as I remembered to breathe.

I couldn't blame him if he felt off-balance now. I, too, felt miles beyond stupefied. In illustration, despite my offer to grab a towel, I was still rooted to my spot. At my failure to move, he…Edward – Jay-sus, Edward – leaned into the door and nudged an elbow against it.

"I've got the door," he assured me in that smokey honey voice, keeping his eyes on the glass fragments he plucked off the floor and all of it looking like he was in the middle of an awfully complicated turn at Twister.

Suspecting I was close to losing my mind, I forced myself into action and sprinted back into the suite, where I beelined to the bathroom for that proffered towel. My pulse throbbed in my veins and temples. The throb kept time with my heart's pounding rhythm, which matched my harried footsteps. Reaching the bathroom, I grabbed the first towel I found, then spun around only to slip and slide like a slithering salmon set free across unfamiliar terrain. I screamed.

"IZZY!"

By the time his rapid footsteps came to a sneaker-screeching halt behind me, I'd managed to grab hold of the towel rack to keep my balance. Edward's anxious, heavy breaths washed over my neck, the sensation as searing, as heart-poundingly recognizable as if they'd washed over my skin just yesterday. For a moment, I was back on our ferry, surrendering for the very first time. I shut my eyes.

"What is it? What happened?" he asked.

"Careful, don't…the water…the tub…"

I neither turned nor opened my eyes, but I imagined him surveying the scene: a claw-footed tub filled to overflowing, water gushing over its porcelain rim and onto the white tiles, the floor mat, and my dirty, discarded clothing; yet another bottle of wine resting on the sink; and me, clinging to the towel rack and hugging it like a drunk hugging her toilet bowl, all while wearing a terry robe.

And the water faucet was still running.

And, oh God. Oh, my God. As if all that wasn't enough, the sound system. The sound system was still on in here, and only now did my ears tune into the song currently playing:

The countdown begins
It's our last call
And I'm making my way back to you…

"I was going to take a bath to…when you knocked…then I forgot…"

"Ah," he said, as if I'd made any sort of sense. Forcing myself to release the towel rack, I tiptoed carefully toward the tub.

Edward sucked in a quick, sharp breath. "Careful."

Leaning over the rim, I turned off the faucet. One less bit of noise just amplified the song in the background.

With every step, with every breath
I'm working my way to your arms…

I didn't twitch a muscle. In fact, it not for the heaving of my shoulders due to my heavy breaths, I would've resembled a statue, one that was leaning over the tub, with one hand gripping the shut faucet, and the other splayed against the tub's tiles.

Edward must've sensed I needed a minute. "Uhm, I'll go finish cleaning up by the door unless you need help here?"

"No, thanks. I've got this," I said with all the confidence of someone who hadn't just had the ever-loving hell shocked out of her and dropped a wine bottle and glass, wasn't currently bent over an overflowing tub while wearing a terry robe, didn't have another wine bottle visibly lying in wait on the bathroom sink, and didn't have her ex-boyfriend's power ballad playing in the background while said ex-boyfriend stood behind her.

"I'll be right there," I added when he failed to exit the bathroom.

"All right."

As soon as his footsteps receded, I sat (read: fell) heavily on the wet edge of the tub, setting a flat palm over my ricocheting heart, which felt as if it were trying to escape my body and just drown itself already. I attempted to reason with it, to catch my breath and calm my racing mind and shaking frame. It took a few. All the while, the sound system kept blaring Edward's song:

So just say the word
Show me you've been waitin'
Tell me you still want me, too
Say the words
I've always been waitin'
Never been no one but you

Snorting, I dropped my head and shook it from side to side. Apparently, I'd tuned into an 'Edward Cullen's Greatest Hits' channel. With a sigh, I pushed the water release lever on the tub and watched it gurgle down the drain.

After a minute – because despite the temptation, I couldn't exactly sit there until the entire tub emptied – I plucked up a few towels from the racks and carpeted the wet floor with them. At least the soaked floor had served to give my feet a soap-less wash. With no other valid excuse for the delay, I made my way back to the front of the suite, smacking off the stereo as I went.

But then I stopped.

For a moment, I actually wondered if I'd imagined him, if the strange combination of the evening's events – the wine, the nostalgia, and the Edward Cullen Special streaming on the radio – had all worked to play tricks on my mind. Slowly, I rounded the bend.

There he was.

Once again, squatting by the door, he'd apparently had the equanimity to grab a towel in the bathroom and use it to mop up the spill. His still-full head of hair snapped up as I approached, but his eyes quickly returned to the task. When I reached him and held out another towel, he looked up briefly, taking the towel from me with a brisk smile.

I caught a quick glimpse, and along with the two seconds or so a few minutes earlier, before I dropped everything, it was all I had of his face. I'd noted a few lines that hadn't been there before, as well as salt-and-copper stubble, still much more copper than salt.

He held the door propped open with one hand, keeping the automatic locking mechanism from clicking.

"Let me help," I offered, initiating a squat of my own, but Edward shot me down.

"I've got it, Bella. Watch your feet with the broken glass."

Straightening, I took him literally and watched my feet. But I was once again startled into stupidity by the sound of my name…names, in his distinctly deep voice.

"Here, I'll hold the door," I said.

Pressing my back against the door, I watched Edward soak up red wine with the pristinely white towel and absorb every blood-red droplet. His fingers kept a splayed grip on the broad terry cloth. They were adept fingers, always had been, fingers I must've watched in fascination hundreds, thousands of times, strumming chords to a new song, then caressing my skin with the same lyrical magic.

Wayward thoughts. In an attempt to shake them and ground me, I moved my gaze to my toes, curling them over the downy carpet. Still, my eyes soon returned to Edward.

Now, he flipped over the wine-soaked towel and transferred the shards – why was he still holding all that broken glass? – from his palm to the towel. He then folded the towel around the glass, forming a package. With an ensuing sigh, perhaps that of someone who realized no one had ever taken such care with a spilled bottle of wine and broken glass – Edward straightened from his crouch and, standing upright, met my eyes.

How often over the years had I imagined the eyes of an older Edward? I'd pictured him in his late twenties…in his early thirties…in his late thirties…

And here they were. Here he was, forty-two-year-old Edward Cullen.

He was…striking. Still had a full head of hair, yes, but I'd already noted that. Perhaps there was slight silver at his temples, but it was hard to tell. His forehead bore the marks of decades of expression etched into his skin – laughter and frowns, joy and sadness I hadn't witnessed. Those same lines, thinner and fainter, rimmed his eyes – eyes as vibrantly emerald, perhaps even more so than what my memory had managed to conjure. He'd kept the contacts, or perhaps, at some point in the past nineteen years, he'd opted for laser surgery. The fact that I didn't know abruptly felt like a dagger to my insides. Neither was he wearing the ear piercings he'd gotten late in our relationship. The tattoo of the swan…I'd already gotten a quick peek at that, too, and I didn't allow my eyes to drift in its direction again. He was still as tall, and from what I could only vaguely gather without embarrassing myself further, he'd maintained the build he'd acquired during our final months together.

Now, he offered me a genuine, if nervous, smile. "Happy birthday, Bella."

"Oh!" I reacted, only now cognizant of the fact that on his person, Edward carried a sticky wine bottle in the crook of his elbow, a wine-soaked towel wrapped around the broken glass in one hand, and a flower bouquet in the other. I reached for the dripping, cherry-red towel.

"No, no, no. I've got this," he said, pulling back slightly and holding the towel out of my reach while thrusting forward the flowers in his other hand. "You take- here. Take the flowers."

"Oh!" I took the flowers but also reached for the bottle. All the while, I prayed for a brain and also that I'd manage more than a series of inarticulate "Ohs" in the next few minutes. I finally rallied with, "Here, c-c-come- come on. You can throw that out here."

Leaning against the door, I motioned Edward inside. I may have seen his Adam's apple bob as he stepped forward, or I may have imagined it. What I didn't imagine was the clean, soapy, minty, and earthy scent, unique and unmistakable in my muscle memory. It wafted with him. While his back was to me, my eyes squeezed shut as the images that scent conjured threatened to overwhelm me.

He stopped in front of the hallway table and the bin underneath it. "Is it okay if I dispose of this here?"

His voice… was exactly the same; older, yes, but the cadence, depth, and rhythm hadn't changed.

"Yeah, that's fine."

Pushing away from the door, I heard it shut behind me, and glass jingled into the garbage bin before me. Edward clapped his hands together, wiping them off. With a grateful smile, he took the clean towel I should've remembered to offer him earlier. Both his white t-shirt and jeans were stained, and while he wiped himself down, I set the flowers and the wine bottle on the hallway table, apologizing.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, you're good," he said, uselessly scrubbing his shirt. "It's just an old tee shirt."

Jhih-vohn-shay

I shook the memory out of my head. "Do you need another towel?"

"No. I'm good, Bella. Really." Looking up, he cleared his throat. "Sorry about the flowers, but they were all I could find at this time of night."

Belatedly, I realized I'd unceremoniously dumped his offering atop the table, carelessly alongside a sticky wine bottle. Meanwhile, a crystal vase provided by the hotel expressly for fresh flowers rested beside them.

Fuck.

"Oh! Edward, no! They're great! Thanks! I'm just…"

Unable to take the tension anymore, I burst into laughter – stomach-aching, breathtaking, soul-cleansing laughter. Leaning a hip against the hallway table, I wrapped my hands around my stomach and surrendered to the peals. Soon, Edward joined in, leaning against the table, too, and rumbling along with that deep, husky laugh of his that I recalled all too well. And there we stood, almost two decades later, twenty-thousand words short, and sharing a bout of gut-clenching laughter.

"Jay-sus, Edward," I said once I could speak again.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, his own laughter mellowing. "I didn't mean to shock you, but there was no other way…"

"No, I don't suppose there was a way that wouldn't have shocked me. They are great flowers," I said as I set them in the vase. "Thank you. I'm actually impressed that you were able to find flowers so late at night. Then again, this is the city that never sleeps, right?"

Apparently, I'd gone from the non-word'Oh'to rambling.

"That's what they say."

"I mean, your bar's open 'til 2:30 in the morning, for goodness sake."

"'Til three, actually," he corrected. "Last call is at 2:30."

I provided an "Ahh," which wasn't much better than the previous "Ohs." Because the awkwardness we'd dispelled for a couple of minutes was back. Edward scrubbed the back of his neck, then rubbed the bridge of his nose with the knuckle on his thumb. This last one I'd only barely familiarized myself with before we broke up; it was a nervous action that replaced the one of pushing back his glasses.

I tightened the front of my terry robe and tied the belt tighter. "Come in," I said, leading the way out of the hallway.

"Are you sure?" he asked behind me.

"Sure," I shrugged. "Why not?"

Perhaps because, two decades ago, the last interaction between us was an epic betrayal?

Obviously, I didn't say that.

Instead, as we stepped further into the room, I cursed myself once again. Because on top of everything else I'd done wrong that evening, I hadn't had the foresight to be found in something other than a robe and with my hair tied into a haphazard knot. I could only imagine the frumpy picture I made right now from behind.

We made our way into the suite's living room, where a three-person upholstered couch faced a matching chair, with a coffee table in between and an electric fireplace crackling while a flat-screen TV sat turned off above it. I spun around, and Edward's rounded eyes met mine.

So, perhaps, I didn't look too shabby.

"How'd you find me?"

His head jerked back. "Oh." Once again, scrubbing his nape, he offered me a sheepish smile. "Uhm, you told Tyler – my bartender – where you were staying."

"Ahh," I nodded. "The Gen Z bartender. Yeah, that generation shares everything, doesn't it? I'm surprised it wasn't posted on Instagram or that a TikTok wasn't made about it."

He chuckled. "I see you haven't lost your sense of humor."

His cheeks turned scarlet at the admission, and he expelled a bashful chuckle that took me back to the first days of our relationship.

"But how did you know my room number? I'm pretty sure I didn't tell Tyler that."

If possible, he reddened further. Digging his hands in his pockets, he bounced nervously on his toes.

"I…sort of bribed one of the receptionists."

I quirked a brow. There were three receptionists I'd seen in the hotel lobby – two were men in their mid to late thirties, and one was a young woman in about her late twenties.

"Hm. That was pretty easy."

"Easy?" He snorted, a broad grin abruptly spreading across his face. "Yeah, I suppose finding out where you were staying was the easier part." He smirked and added, "Certainly easier than gathering the courage to come and find you."

I acknowledged that with a laugh. "I can sympathize with that. The way I ran out of there wasn't exactly the bravest thing I've ever done."

"You ran fast, I'll give you that," he snorted, still grinning. "By the time I came up onto the street and searched around, you were nowhere to be found."

"New York City's alleys are amazing."

We laughed, then fell silent. I realized we were still standing. Taking a seat on the three-seater, I gestured to the upholstered chair.

"Uhm, take a seat, Edward." He sat, and I popped back up, prompting him to jump up as well. "Actually, let me quickly put some clothes on." I flourished a hand at myself.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Looks like I caught you at a bad time, in the middle of…" He trailed off.

"No, it's fine. I'll be right back."

I sprinted to the bedroom, where I ran to the closet, anxiously yanking and shoving the suede hangers in search of something. "Fucking anything." I found a great leather outfit I'd been waiting for the right occasion to wear.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Bella?" I hissed at myself.

I ended up in a pair of clean athleisure wear sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. After yanking out the hair tie and about half of my head of hair, I quickly fluffed up my curls. With a quick look in the mirror that didn't exactly impress me but at least didn't frighten me, along with a handful of cleansing breaths, I made my way back to the living room, slowly and with feigned calm.

Edward stood up on my approach.

"Sorry I took so long," I said with a serene smile, taking my place opposite him.

"No worries, you're good."

He smiled graciously and took his seat, legs parted, resting his hands on his thighs and scrubbing the palms against the stained denim. He loosely threaded his fingers together between both legs. Meanwhile, I sat ramrod straight, like a model with a heavy book on her head and no clue what to do with her hands.

"So, how-"

"What have-"

We started and stopped simultaneously, then shared an awkward chuckle. Edward flourished a hand toward me.

"Sorry, go ahead."

"I was just going to ask how you've been, Edward. It's been…a long, long time."

He nodded, a wistful smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "It has."

"I was…shocked to see you. Hence, the quick escape. But I'm glad you found me."

"You are?" He quirked a brow that took me back to when we were kids, and I'd say something that would send his ruddy brow over his glasses.

"I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised to find you in NYC."

Again, he smiled. "NYC. I remember you used to call it that. Never New York City."

"Such a long, pretentious name," I teased. Then I sobered. "How's your family? Your parents? Cousins? Aunts? Uncles?"

It was a detailed list, but I didn't want to hear about any other sort of family—not yet.

"My parents are good," he nodded. "Still living in Staten Island, in the same house. Never wanted to move. I visit them regularly. Keep an eye on them."

"I'm glad Esme and Ed Senior are good," I nodded, swallowing back the regret at never having met them, though I'd heard a lot about them when Edward and I were together.

"As for cousins, aunts, uncles, they're all good, too."

"Good. Good."

"And your parents? How are Charlie and Renee – and Phil?" he added.

"Charlie and Renee are doing great. They're actually asleep, a couple of floors up," I said, jerking a thumb upward.

"Of course. Charlie wouldn't miss your birthday party," he said softly. "And Phil?"

I shook my head. "Phil and I pretty much lost touch."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Bella."

"It's fine," I assured him. "I made my peace with that situation a long time ago. Heiswell." I smiled. "The kids are grown, in their twenties now. His daughter, Leah, contacted me when she graduated high school and attended UDub. We're pretty close; we have a kind of big sister-little sister relationship. She would've been here for my birthday, but she's a journalist still building up her career and was on assignment."

"Bella, that's wonderful," Edward said with genuine feeling. "I'm glad you and she are close."

"Me too," I nodded. "Seth and I aren't as close, but he's a good guy, too. He's married, and he gave Phil his first grandchild a couple of years ago."

"Good for him," Edward nodded. He cleared his throat. "How about…your relationship with Charlie? Did it ever improve?"

"It did," I said. "We're good. Really good. I…" I sighed. Going into that would be a long, difficult story, requiring more time than what we likely had left for this visit. "I learned a lot about myself…accepted a lot about myself, and others, and I…"

I trailed off. But Edward seemed to understand, as he always had. "I'm really glad things improved there. I know…I know it was hard for you."

My throat tightened. Painfully. Constricting. I barely managed a nod.

Again, Edward appeared to understand my difficulty. "When Tyler said you'd mentioned you celebrated your birthday here in New York with a party, I thought to myself how great that was, Bella. And how right that you were celebrating your birthday so grandly, with…with your friends and family."

'…maybe, why you left your party has less to do with where, what, and who was there and more to do with where, what, and who was not…'

I relocated my voice. "How'd you end up owning a bar, Edward?"

He swallowed. "Yeah, that was…amazing how you happened to find TLC. Yeah, uh," – he raked a hand through his hair – "a friend of a friend owned the space and wanted to get rid of it. At the time, I was kind of looking for something…to tie myself to, I guess. To ground me. At first, I wasn't sure what to do with a bar," he snorted, "but I think it's worked out. Anyway," he waved a hand, "that's enough about me."

"Enough?" I blurted out.

Enough, as if he'd prattled on for five hours rather than having tossed me two horrendously protracted sentences – the Seinfeld version of, 'And yada, yada, yada, that's why you found me owning a cool yet out-of-the-way dive bar tonight!'

"I'd like to hear about you," he prompted.

"About me?"

He nodded.

"I…uh…" I stretched my legs. Shit, I'd forgotten socks and shoes. "Where do I begin?"

"Well, did you enjoy your birthday?"

It was…bewildering.

"It was interesting. It's a big one."

"I know exactly which one it is," he murmured softly. "You look great."

"Thank you. So do you."

Take note, Tyler-the-Gen-Z-Bartender: This is how you hand out the age compliment: Without commenting on the age.

"Thanks. Here with Alice and Rose?"

"Yeah. And Emmett. They threw me a surprise party," I grinned, rolling my eyes, "and invited a bunch of other people. I wasn't involved in the planning." It felt necessary to make that clear.

Edward nodded, smiling a pleased sort of smile. "I'm glad they did. Your birthday is definitely something to celebrate, and the guys were always really good at it."

The guys.

Our band.

Once, both our friends.

"Yeah, they were. They are."

"How are they doing?"

"They're all good. Rose and Emmett married straight out of college."

"Not surprising." His playful smirk made me chuckle again, less forced than before.

"Yeah. They've got two kids, a boy and a girl, two years apart: Garrett and Siobhan. They're teenagers in high school."

Whistling through his teeth, he sat back, appearing to let that sink in. He draped an arm over the armrest.

"Damn. Kids and all."

"Right? Alice married a guy named Jasper, who she met a few years after we graduated. They have a ten-year-old daughter they named Charlotte."

"Wow. Good for Alice," he said. His long fingers drummed erratically over the armrest, tapping out in atypical arrhythmia. I got the sense that, while his well-wishes and expressions of amazement were genuine, something else competed for his interest. He pulled his eyes from me and dipped them to his drumming fingers.

"And you? Are you married?"

My heart slammed against my ribs, and concurrently, a rush of heat infused my veins. It felt as if I'd been suddenly doused with gasoline and had a match set to me.

Guilt sweats, obviously. However, the question was, why was my body producing them? It wasn't as if I got married the year Edward and I broke up. It wasn't even in the same decade. If I had to be honest, it took…a while before I slept with someone without my mind conjuring Edward's image randomly during the evening's activities and playing a game of Compare and Contrast. What's more, I knew for a social media fact that Edward took no monkish vows of celibacy after me. While my relationships post-Edward were mine and mine alone to share at will, more than one of his played out on the world stage.

So, I answered with a tone of placidness I didn't feel at all, as if we really were just two long-ago exes exchanging pleasantries. Nonetheless, I felt the hitch in my voice when, halfway through my first sentence, Edward's eyes shot back up to mine.

"I got married a few years ago, but we divorced after four years. He was a good guy. It just wasn't meant to be. I've been single for a while now. You?" I asked before he could quiz me further.

He seemed to hold himself incredibly still for a moment. Even his fingers ceased drumming. Finally, his shoulders relaxed, and he released a breath.

He shook his head. "No. I almost-"

"Yeah, I know. You were engaged to Janey Ventura."

Fuck.

There was a long moment of mutual silence. Then, I chuckled to camouflage my massive embarrassment. Then I shrugged because, really, short of moving to a remote jungle in South America, unplugging from every form of technology, and sticking my head in the Amazonian clay sand, that bit of information was once unavoidable.

"It was all over the place for a while," I reminded him.

In its heyday, Edward and Janey's romance had been the equivalent of Taylor and Travis's. The fans shipped them hard, while the non-fans simply couldn't escape knowing every detail.

Honestly, Edward looked even more mortified at my knowledge than I felt. His face flamed red, and his Adam's apple bobbed furiously as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Uhm, yeah. But much like you and your ex-husband, it wasn't meant to be."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out. It probably would've been fun being married to your music partner."

For a few heartbeats, he eyed me silently. "Bella, she and I performed a couple of songs together. We weren't music partners."

Songs that were once supposedly composed for me.

"My relationship with Janey…" – scrubbing his jaw now – "it started after you and I…"

Bits and pieces from final conversations, from fights so long ago, flitted through my mind.

'I couldn't give two fucks about Janey Ventura.'

'Maybe he gives one fuck about her?'

"I know," I nodded, swallowing hard. Then I shook my head. "I never thought otherwise. Not really."

He held my gaze.

"Do you have kids?" I asked.

"A German Shepherd named Zeus," he answered quickly and with a tone of deep affection and pride.

"The Olympian god?"

"A tribute to a kick-ass band I once belonged to."

"Oh, my God, I love that." We shared a chuckle, much more genuine and comfortable than any we'd shared so far. "Olympia," I smiled again. "Wow. Those were the days."

"They sure were, Bella. They sure as hell were. Do you have children?"

"Rose's daughter, Siobhan, is my goddaughter."

And there went silence, lasting for just a beat too long before Edward cleared his throat.

"So, what do you do, Bella?"

"What do I do?" I echoed. "I'm a food stylist."

He did one of those furrowed brows and smiling combinations. "A food stylist?"

"Yeah. You know those food shows on TV, with all the famous celebrity chefs who travel worldwide creating all these amazing dishes, and all the dishes look so gorgeous, tempting, and mouth-watering?"

"Yeah."

"I style that food."

He stared at me. "So…they do the cooking, but you're the one who actually makes it all look good?"

"Yep."

And there we went, sharing another laugh.

"It's really a fun way to earn a living. Plus, I put that Arts degree Charlie hated to good use."

"I remember that, too," he grinned.

"And I get to travel and eat for free while I'm paid a decent sum to do it all."

"Well, that's always a plus."

More laughter.

But, again, the laughter faded.

"More than that, I'm glad you have fun doing what you do. That's the best part."

"It is. I take it you enjoy running TLC?"

"I do." He sighed. "A lot. Funny how sometimes life turns out so differently from what we plan in our twenties."

"Yeah," I breathed.

"I-"

"You-"

"Go ahead," I said. "I went first before."

He started slowly, his voice thick. "I just wanted to say that…that I imagined this moment for a long time. I hoped for it, for a chance to say…to say what I left unsaid back then. Or to correct what I said so wrong."

"Did you really imagine this moment?" I breathed, my heart thundering.

"Yeah." He sighed, long and deep. "Yeah, Bella."

I nodded, considering this.

"You've hoped there would be an opportunity to clear things up, to say the things that were left unsaid?"

"When I saw you at the bar tonight, right after I performed that song, it felt…surreal."

"I know," I agreed quietly.

"I was sure I was dreaming, imagining you standing there. A trick of the light, of the date on the calendar." He looked away from me and down at his fingers. "Of the song I was singing."

Full of nervous energy, I stood up and went to the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows. They looked out on a midnight view of New York City. It was undeniably breathtaking. For all its gleaming, sleek skyscrapers in the background, Central Park's lush landscape spread out in the foreground like an emerald sea framed by a concrete jungle. In the dark, the park was a black hole in the middle of the universe, the city behind it a sprinkling of twinkling stars. I recalled wondering once, on that ferry ride long ago, what this city's skyline was like. Now I had my answer.

"I'm…confused, Edward. Because unlike you, for the past twenty years, I've lived within a fifty-mile radius of the last place we saw one another. I wouldn't have been hard to find."

He said nothing.

"Whereas you…" I continued, swallowing thickly, "disappeared one day. At the height of your career, the career that…" -that took my place- "that you worked so hard for. You left everything behind." Turning back to him, I tilted my head sideways and shook it. "And I never heard from you again."

Edward held my gaze, his expression inscrutable. His long fingers drummed once again, a variety of rhythmic beats as if creating one of his amazing compositions. Once, those fingers were so familiar to me that I'd memorized the shape of every nail, the thickness of every knuckle, the length of every joint, and the placement of every crease.

He stopped drumming and splayed his fingers wide, then repeatedly opened and shut his fist so that his knuckles turned white and his bluish-green veins protruded. He seemed almost desperate to release an invisible yet maddening tension. He raked his hand through his hair – once. Twice.

Abruptly, he stood and strode toward me. When he stopped suddenly, a mere arm's length away, my breath hitched.

"Is that how you remember it, that I just decided never to contact you again? Because, Bella, I remember it way differently."


A/N: Thoughts?

Next week: EPOV :)

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