Your compliments continue to floor me. As I've said to many of you in replies, we don't deserve dogs, but I definitely don't deserve you.
Chapter 9
Edward is in high spirits the rest of the afternoon chatting and drinking. I don't get a chance to grill him about not telling me he owned the place, but I guess there is time for that. Let him enjoy today and enjoy Joey enjoying it.
The pup of the hour is currently under the table, fast asleep curled into a little ball. Edward sneaks glances at him every once in a while, and I wonder if it's to make sure he's okay, or if it's just because he won't be able to much longer. Most likely both.
He said he was going to put him down soon after his sixteenth birthday. Mentally, I go over everything I remember from our conversation on the beach and remember he said Joey's birthday was about two weeks away. My breath hitches as I'm suddenly overcome with emotion. I blink away what feels like the start of tears, telling myself I don't cry. It's been a long time since something has made me well up, and that's including Hallmark commercials when it's that time of the month.
Checking that Edward is occupied, I slip out of the back room and make my way down the gangplank out front and walk to the end of the parking lot overlooking the marsh behind the restaurant.
Insects chirp from the reeds and God knows what is lurking in the tall grass just inches from me, but it's a little soothing, getting me out of that room and a place where I can breathe. Never in a million years did I think a stinky, mosquito covered marsh would be a welcome respite.
My mind focuses on words. It's not a practice I've had to use recently, but thinking of physical words and typing them out, putting them down in a way that works is therapy. A puzzle I can concentrate on when life gets to be too much. When parents fight and when the only place you have to run to for solitude is a boat slip you hate.
The words float in front of me, flying through the air and landing in perfect sentences on a crisp new white word document.
My phone buzzing in my back pocket strips me away from my zen moment and I grab it, eyebrows rising when I see Michael's name pop up. We don't have cute screen shots of each other on our phones to gaze at adoringly when one of us calls. Just a bleak, black background with sans-serif white lettering.
"Hey," I answer, my foot toeing the asphalt.
"Dinner has moved to tomorrow, can you make it?"
No hello, no are you okay, no how is your trip going.
No 'I miss you'.
"Tomorrow?" He doesn't answer, busy talking to someone in his office. He could've just texted me. "I don't know if I can make it, actually, I–"
"I thought you would've wrapped up this little story days ago."
His choice of words anger me. "It's a bit more than a little story."
"Just going by what you called it. Tomorrow, okay? See you at Daniel at seven. Wear the black Dior." He starts barking orders to his long-suffering assistant about someone showing up unannounced. "I have to go, safe trip home." And with that, he hangs up.
My phone is in my hand and my mouth is open when Edward finds me. "Wondered where you went." He's definitely feeling the beer and ambles towards me with his hands in his pockets and a crooked smile on his face.
"Sorry, it was a… work call." Felt like it, anyway. Edward sort of swoons on his feet. "How much beer have you had? I think I'm certainly the one to drive home."
"I won't argue. It's a nice party. Quite the surprise. Did you know?"
"Me? Who would tell me?"
He nods in agreement. "It was great to see everyone. I'm floored they all came out for Joey."
"He seems to be a popular pup around here. But I think they came out for you too. You also seem to be well-liked."
"Is that surprising?" I roll my eyes as he turns towards the marsh. "See all this? They wanted to make it into condos."
"Who did?"
"Developers. Wanted to dredge the whole thing, put up those generic box buildings that people buy to have a summer time share. Could you imagine?"
As much as I dislike buggy, humid swamps, I have to agree with his contempt. He still doesn't know I know he owns the place, and I'm not ready to give that away yet. "That would've brought more people to the restaurant, no? More people to… bartend for."
"Don't care. Would've been a travesty to all of nature," he slurs slightly.
Laughing, I try to lead him back to the restaurant. My hand takes his arm and I try to turn him, instead he pulls his hand out of his pocket and grips mine. It's a strong hold, comforting. Not like the limp fish-style Michael gives me when important people are around to see him being attentive.
I don't pull away, even though I should. "I own the restaurant," he blurts. "I should've told you."
"You should've told me a lot more than that the first night we met."
"It was fun to watch you out of your obvious element."
"I'll bet. Let's make fun of the uptight New Yorker." I laugh.
"I felt bad about it." He swings our hands slightly. "But I had to know."
It's something he's said before. "That you could trust me?"
He stares down at me. "With Joey."
"I understand that now." We walk a few steps, but I stop us. "I know we've only known each other a few days, but I'd like to think that by now you do?"
Edward's eyes are shiny, squinting in the sun. "I do."
I think about leaving tomorrow after stopping at the library. There's still so much I don't know, still so much to navigate in my mind as to how this story has to go. I've just started to feel my creative juices flowing. What happens to that when I go back to New York? Back to my spacious–by New York standards–incredibly tiny apartment compared to the size of his estate? What happens to every idea I have once my heels hit concrete instead of bare feet hitting the sand and grass?
"Are you ready to go or do you need more time?" I ask, keeping my plans of leaving to myself.
"I think I'm ready. Jasper packed up some food for us to go."
"Thoughtful." He lets go of my hand and I feel the loss immediately. He's at least walking in a straight line and coherent while he says his goodbyes, thank yous, and see you soons. It takes quite some time for everyone to say goodbye to Joey, most knowing they probably won't see him again. My eyes blink back those pesky, new emotions that threaten to spill, and I stop myself from thinking about saying my own goodbye tomorrow.
Edward puts Joey in the back of the Jeep this time, strapped in and ready to go, and climbs in next to me. Fishing around for a hair tie, I pull one out of my bag and make a quick ponytail.
My hair still whips around like a horse tail, but at least most of it isn't in my mouth. I drive according to Edward's direction even though I don't really need it, just enjoying the fresh air and late afternoon sun.
"Never thought I'd see you smiling in the Jeep," he says, and puts his sunglasses on top of his head.
Glancing over, I stick my tongue out. "I kind of like it. Feels dangerous, no roof, no doors." I laugh. "You could never do this in Manhattan. Chance of getting stabbed," I sort of joke.
We ride in silence until I realize he's looking at me, making me feel self-conscious. "What? Is there a bug on me? Are you trying to make sure I don't damage your Jeep?"
"You should wear your hair off your face more often."
Startled, I finger my ponytail. "I'm not really a ponytail kind of girl, except in spin class."
My heart thumps in the silence that follows, because that's all he's said. It wasn't really a compliment, but it wasn't not a compliment. It makes me feel awkward and very self-aware of every movement I make. Like I'm suddenly on display.
Thankfully, we pull up his driveway soon enough, and he takes the keys from my outstretched hand. "Can you grab the food while I take Joey?" He nods to the bags in the backseat. "I really didn't eat anything, I'm starving."
"Food would be a good idea right now." I follow behind him with two shopping bags, enough for ten people at least.
"I've sobered up from the harrowing drive home, but yes, it would."
I take that opportunity to swat him in the leg with a bag. "I'm a good driver."
"I guess you weren't born in the city?" He asks it offhandedly, but I'm not prepared. I have no answer for him. It's one thing to talk about my current social life, another entirely to talk about my life before.
He's too busy settling Joey to realize I haven't answered. In the cottage, I put the food bags on the counter and pull out a piece of paper lying on the containers. A note from Jasper detailing what he's packaged to put in the freezer, and how to reheat certain items. I peer into the bag and I see he's labeled everything.
Such a simple gesture but a truly insightful one, planning for the week or longer ahead so Edward doesn't have to even think about it.
I stick the note under a magnet of Joey's picture on his fridge and put away the items meant to be frozen. Rifling through his cabinets, I find two bowls and scoop some still warm mac n cheese into them. There are some of the local lagers I enjoyed today in the fridge and pull two out, figuring Edward has no other plans with Joey tonight. And me, I suppose.
Instead of sitting outside, Edward plops down onto one of the stools at the island in the kitchen. Following his lead, I sit across and look around the combined kitchen and living area. It's not the same as the big house, it's cozier and not entirely nautical themed. It's definitely more lived in, with some shoes kicked off casually by the door and personal items strewn about. There is an empty glass and plate on the coffee table, a throw blanket and some pillows lying on the floor, and some dishes in the sink. I make a note to tidy up for him later. Like Jasper's intent, I guess, to give him less to worry about.
"So, you didn't answer where you grew up?" He's digging into his food, Joey on the floor next to him waiting for some dropped treats.
I chew and swallow, take a big gulp of my beer, swallow. Go for another forkful. Anything to not answer.
Edward's eyes narrow. "Touchy subject, I see."
Shaking my head, "No, not really," I lie. "Just not interesting."
"You give so little away, I'm actually fascinated."
Fascinated? By me? I don't think anyone has ever shown much interest in me, looking back. "I'm here to find out about you. Dig into your life."
"I can play reporter too." He leans back and crosses his arms. "Let's see. Normal childhood, upper class neighborhood, Yale or maybe Brown, and then a short distance move into Manhattan to land your big dream job."
"Nope." I finish my beer and he gets up to pull two more out.
Spinning around, he plops mine in front of me. "Rich parents who traveled a lot, you were sent to a boarding school where your best friend was named Muffy and you snuck out at night to meet boys on the golf course."
I can't help but laugh. "Even further from the truth."
"Hogwarts?"
"No, but that would've been awesome."
His eyebrows rise. "I never would've taken you for a Harry Potter fan."
"Why not?"
"I dunno, Jane Austen as a young girl, discovering the classics in college, some Steinem. Throw in some books about Carl Bernstein and Walter Cronkite, maybe a political humorist in there somewhere and I'd say that's your library."
"You'd be wrong. I'm very eclectic." He doesn't need to know about my Twilight hardcover box set, however.
"Okay, back to the subject at hand. Give me a little something about you, pre-New York Times reporter."
Fuck. "Hmm let's see. I once drank beer out of a random guy's boat shoe at the Jersey shore."
"You did not!"
Smiling, I nod. "I did."
"That's disgusting, and we'll revisit that. But not really what I was looking for." He falls quiet, staring at me. He sips his beer, taps his fingers on the quartz countertop.
"I told you, it's not that interesting."
He says nothing. Sip, tap. Sip, tap.
Getting up, I take our bowls to the sink and start to wash them. "I was not rich. Quite poor, actually. I had parents who hated each other, ignored me. I went out on my own as soon as I could. I don't know where my mother is, and my father is dead."
His fingers stop their tapping, but he doesn't say anything. Is he waiting for me to say more? Because he can keep waiting.
He's suddenly next to me and takes a washed bowl out of my hand, picking up the kitchen towel and drying. He takes the next one with no word, just dries it and puts it in the cabinet.
Not wanting to have nothing to do, I grab the dishes from the coffee table and bring them to the sink. "You don't have to clean up after me," he says and takes the plate, setting it in the sink.
"It's fine, no big deal." I skirt around him and start straightening the pillows and blanket on the floor. I can feel his eyes burning holes in me. "It's the least I can do."
"I have a better idea." He takes the blanket out of my hand and threads his fingers through mine. Pulling me behind him, he throws the blanket over his shoulder and grabs Joey with the other arm. "Grab our beers."
I gather them in one hand and follow him out the back door, over the pavers and up to the deck of the big house. He puts Joey on the couch and tells me to make myself comfortable, laying the blanket across my lap.
The fireplace roars to life with a push of a button and he settles in next to me. "Don't hog the blanket."
Doing as I'm told, I drape some across him and Joey, who is snuggled up into his side.
"So why did your parents hate each other?"
Frowning, I look at the flames. The only light other than the sunset is the faint glow from his cottage and the fire in front of us. The outdoor fireplace is a big structure, all beautiful gray and brown rock. The ocean is on our left and I can hear the faint lapping of water hitting the cliffs mixed with the crackle of logs. It's very peaceful, and I try to think of what place in New York makes me feel this calm so fast.
I swallow, nervous because I don't share myself. Michael knows my dad isn't with me anymore, but I don't know if he really knows much about me. I glance at Edward which is a huge mistake.
His skin glows orange in the flickering light and his eyes are firmly on me, giving me his full attention. My breath hitches, in awe of just how good looking he is. Like a Roman God etched out of marble standing in the Louvre or a Renaissance painting hanging at the MOMA. Like he's been plucked from some other world and placed here for others to stare at. I've never seen someone this beautiful in person.
But what makes him the most beautiful is the kindness in his eyes, focusing solely on me at this moment, obviously surmising this isn't a subject I talk about often. But something about him makes me want to.
"Um, I guess mostly because my mom was stuck in a life she didn't want, and my dad got stuck with a wife and daughter he didn't want."
I take a sip of beer to quench my parched throat. The blankets get rearranged and my feet shuffle together on the cocktail table in front of me. "An early memory is of my parent's fighting. We were on a dock and I just remember thinking that I was too close to the edge and no one noticed. I could fall off at any minute and they wouldn't know. Four-year-old me actually considered doing it."
"A dock? Is that why you don't like the water?"
"I like the idea of water just fine. I drink it, bathe in it, it's…" I sigh.
"What? You can trust me." I look up at him, still with that gentleness staring back at me. I've never felt this safe exposing myself before.
"I don't like sea stuff. Things having to do with boats and the ocean and fishing nets. Ports. The whole feeling of it."
I wait for him to pull away, to take offense to everything about this town, his restaurant, his home. But he doesn't. "Why?"
Sighing, I look away from him and stare into the fire, watching tiny bits of ash float up and extinguish themselves. "My father was a typical, commercial fisherman. Textbook variety–the kind you see in movies. Poor and drunk and mean. I was born and spent the very early part of my childhood in Unalaska, or as you'd know it, Dutch Harbor, Alaska."
"Well, I wasn't expecting that," Edward says with a small laugh. "That's a unique place to grow up."
"I suppose. That stupid crab show has glamorized it, but trust me, it wasn't a great place. We lived two families to one in rental houses built just for the fishing industry. It was sad and depressing. No playground, nothing but puddles and mud to run around in." My mouth turns into a frown, visions of my life flickering like an old movie projector. "I try not to ever think about it."
"I'm sorry I pushed you." Edward says and to my surprise, puts his arm across my shoulders and pulls me into him a little.
"It's okay. I guess if I hadn't wanted to share, I wouldn't have." I turn to him, giving him the stink eye. "You're too easy to talk to."
"That is one trait I've never been accused of." He sips his beer but doesn't take his arm away from me. I like it. I feel protected and comforted. Like I matter. "I guess being in a place like Ogunquit has brought up all sorts of memories for you."
He doesn't push but I find I want to continue to open myself up to him. "Yeah, I guess. I don't really remember a lot, I was five when my mother and I left. There was a boat slip I would escape to when my parents fought. It was covered in fishing gear, nets, pots, rods. Smelled like rotting fish and old bait. The whole gray town had that distinct smell. My clothes… my hair. Everything just smelled like old, dirty seawater. And everything was always damp."
"It must've been hard for you to come into my restaurant that first night. I didn't know, I'm sorry. I would've been more understanding."
"How could you know?" I look up to him, his gaze on the fire. "I assumed by the name what I was in for. Asked Alice to just steer me towards the best martini." I roll my eyes, remembering my distaste for all the restaurant names. "It made me uneasy and honestly, cranky, but the decor is what people want when they go to a seafood restaurant. I just… I don't hate fishing nets," I laugh slightly. "It surrounded me with symbols of the life I don't have fond memories of. My dad could've been a race car driver and I'd hate the smell of tires on asphalt." I shrug. "Circumstances."
"Did you get to see your father after you left? Where did you go?"
"We moved to Staten Island to live with my mother's sister. I saw my father exactly twice before he died, both times he was forced to take me. He thought a great way to spend the time would be to have me help him on his boat. A week of nothing but fishing. We barely spoke."
"You said on my boat you don't know how to swim. How is that possible? I'm sure your father must've insisted you learn if you were going to be out on the water."
"Oh, he did. He threw me in multiple times and gave up when it was obvious I was struggling. I'm lucky he pulled me back in."
"Jesus." He's silent and I wonder if my admission was too much for him, coming from such a seemingly loving family.
Edward doesn't say he feels sorry for me, most likely because he doesn't like hearing it himself. But the small squeeze his arm gives me tells me cares. "I don't think I've even told my therapist this much," I laugh weakly.
"We don't have to–"
Looking at him, I am overwhelmed with the desire to unload it all, but I hesitate, reminding myself we really don't know each other.
And most likely won't keep in touch when this is over.
Tomorrow.
"I feel safe with you," I say instead, my voice hushed over the crackling fire.
Our eyes meet and hold. "I don't take that statement lightly." Edwards voice is soothing and deep while his thumb rubs my shoulder. "Thank you for trusting me."
"Years of money thrown at a therapist wasted." I joke, but Edward isn't laughing.
His other hand reaches up to touch my hair, and I hold my breath. I feel like a teenager, will he or won't he?
When I really ought to be feeling should I let him or shouldn't I?
I let him.
Edward closes the space between us and kisses me. With conviction and sureness. My hand moves to rest on the stubble of his cheek and gives him permission to continue. The blanket slides to our feet as he fully embraces me. My body is electrified, stimulated in a way I haven't felt in a very long time. A mix of excitement, nervousness, butterflies.
Edward Cullen from Ogunquit, Maine is a very good kisser.
After a few moments, we break apart, and Edward is staring down at me. I say nothing, my eyes feel like I'm looking at him through a haze. I can't ever remember feeling half of what I just felt kissing Michael.
"Bella, you there? Did I kiss you stupid?" His grin grows, boyish and charming. "I mean, I know I'm pretty good."
Embarrassment floods my cheeks. "Um, yeah. That was nice." I sound like a moron. My hands fly to my face as my senses return. "Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't have done that."
He lets go of me and leans back. I feel the loss through my whole body. "Bella, I'm sorry. Your… friend, Michael. I shouldn't have. My fault."
A sharp laugh escapes me. "Trust me, it's nothing to worry about." I need to tell Edward that I'm supposed to leave tomorrow. To go to dinner with the 'nothing' we aren't worrying about. But I can't bring myself to do it.
He retreats from me, taking his arm away and moving over on the couch. "I am sorry. I would never put you in a position…" he trails off.
I want to stop him, to hold out my hand and grab his shirt to keep him closer. "Let's forget it, okay? Too much beer, fire, emotions. It's been a long day."
"Right. Okay. Um, well I guess I will take Joey and head in." He looks at a watch not on his wrist. "It seems to be late."
"It's only seven-thirty." I look at the sky, barely darkened. "But yeah, if you want to head in, I get it. I'll figure out how to turn off the magic fire." This whole exchange is getting more and more awkward and I don't know how to stop it.
He sits there, unmoving. "I don't really want to go in, not yet." He says it quietly and leans back against the cushions. "Want to know what we're doing tomorrow?"
Relief that he isn't leaving floods me even though I should let him. "I was going to go to the library, actually. A little research on the town," I fib.
And leave said town.
"You can do that in probably an hour," he laughs. "We have a bang-up afternoon planned." He ruffles the fur on Joey's head.
"Edward, that call I took at the restaurant today. I have to get back to New York."
If possible, he moves even further from me. "Oh."
Am I really done with this story? No, but I could probably piece something together, talk to Edward a few times on the phone to wrap up any other details, and do any more research from the paper's resources.
Am I really done with Edward and Joey, though?
Also, no.
Missing them is not something I thought would happen, but this isn't my home, these aren't my friends, they don't need me to stick around longer than necessary.
Impulsively, I reach for his hand. "But I'm coming back."
"Sure, yeah." He nods his head but looks away.
"No, really. I'm not done here." I lean over him to pet Joey's back. "I'm not done with this guy. Or you, either." I stare into his face until he can't help but look back at me. "I'm not done here with your story. I promised you I would take it seriously, and I am. I'll be back. That's a promise."
I hope I'm speaking the truth.
The next morning, I'm filling a to-go cup Edward kindly left out for me when I glance at the note stuck under the magnet of Joey that was on Edward's refrigerator.
We miss you already, hurry back.
I suck in a breath at the unexpected words. It's not like an errant thought spoken out loud. Written words have meaning, words can be deleted or crossed out and thrown away.
I've never had anyone miss me before.
Reaching for my phone, I hope it's not too late to catch him before he leaves for whatever adventure he has planned. My fingers fly over the keyboard.
Sorry, Michael. Something's come up.
Fun fact! If you've read my story Zuma, I mention a childhood friend a lot in my A/Ns at the end of the chapters, as that story has a lot of my childhood in it. Anyway, the drinking beer out of a random guy's boat shoe at the Jersey shore? Claire. Swear to God.
I love CarrieZM and LayAtHomeMom very much, but I would not drink beer out of their shoes.
This is for Squiggy.