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

I'd wanted to resume posting this weekend, but as most of you probably know, Fanfiction was acting up for a few days for some of us. Now that it seems to be working again, I'm going to try to take advantage! Lol. This is two chapters together, and I'm posting Ch. 19 tomorrow. Trying to mark 'Complete' on this one before the week is through! ;)

Chapter 18 – Just Friends

"Miss Swan, you made it home," Edward said.

Home.

When you think about it, a 'Home' is, in its most basic form, just a base camp, the origin and end of all the essential events that make up a day in one's life. But it's also the destination to which the GPS automatically directs you back upon your arrival at all the other destinations to which it guides you. So, it has some importance. Because 'Home' can have additional uses beyond being a space, large or small, fancy or plain, where an individual lays their head down at night and picks it up in the morning. At 'Home,' an individual might spend time bathing, cooking, cleaning, working, playing, exercising, vegging out, listening to music, watching TV, making love, fighting, spending alone time, receiving company, etc. Additionally, 'Home' might be more than one individual's space – roommates, spouses, families with children – which will further determine the activities at 'Home.'

But…home…said and presented the way Edward did so that afternoon lent it a wholly elevated definition. That 'home' had safety and security at the forefront and in equal tandem with warm and eager anticipation – with a spotless path from driveway to door that must've been constantly tended to in anticipation of an arrival time he had no way of predicting, with festive music meant to soothe and welcome, with comforting food and drink – a food and drink he knew were my favorite. This home had my physical and emotional care in mind, but more so, nurturing was its central tenet. Home, the way Edward treated it that afternoon, gave weight to the dwelling's shared importance and went beyond recognition that it was my space, too. Instead, it spoke of relief that the home wasn't just his anymore; neither was it mine now.

It was ours.

Then, there was the grin that accompanied the welcome. It began with teasing lopsidedness, then spread and morphed into an incandescence that had nothing to do with Christmas lights or even his otherworldliness. It was a grin that did more than merely stop my heart or, conversely, send it racing.

Edward's grin that afternoon melted my heart, then went ahead and outright stole the molten concoction.

That wasn't entirely right, either. Perhaps, by that point, I'd already lost my heart, and like a bonehead, I was only getting around to wholly grasping the matter.

It might've been amusing if it wasn't so devastating how it was at that moment – not when I decided to move into a house reputedly haunted, or when I began seeing signs of the ghost, or when I actually saw him, or when he threw me over his shoulder like a caveman and locked me in my bedroom, or when I was hit by that freakily bewildering – yet orgasmic – sensation engendered by his proximity, or when I saw him levitate an entire room's furnishings, or even when he shared a story with me involving murder and an inexplicable spectral return to the world of the living – that I genuinely feared Edward.

I didn't fear that he'd ever purposely harm me – that wasn't even a possibility. Still, as it turned out, Edward did have the power to pose me with significant personal risk. That peril now made itself as glaring as bright flashing Christmas lights.

It was simply this: He made me want what I could never have.

See, because as I held his gaze across the room, where he stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded, I realized that what I wanted wasn't something merely tricky to obtain, say, like my original dreams of writing a bestseller or even something as trite as flirting with a guy I'd always known, on some level, was off limits - even if those had always been wishes and actions with a slim probability of success.

No. What I now wanted was the definition of impossible. I wanted Home with Edward in all its complicated, elevated glory. I wanted the physical, the emotional, the safety, the security, the warmth, the eagerness. I wanted it all forever or for as long as we both lived.

And therein lay the massive rub. Because one of us no longer lived.

Somewhere along the way, over the past few weeks of his caustic attitude, of grouchy comments, of old-fashioned sexism, of my deliberate provocation, and of our mutual banter and occasional downright arguments…I'd fallen in love with Edward Masen.

I'd fallen in love with a friggin' ghost.

Fucking great, Bella, only you would do something as stupid as that, I berated myself, even as he held me locked in his gaze from across the room, that chemistry he'd explained that existed between us sizzling in my veins even from this distance. But that chemistry, the type that not merely attracted two individuals but made them see and feel in one another what no one else could, was doomed to remain unexplored.

Of course, in a day already overflowing with mind-blowing revelations, all these realizations hit me hard and fast, taking only a few seconds to shatter, burst, and blow my mental synapses like New Year's Eve confetti. But I concealed my devastation behind a complacent smile because the last thing I wanted was to spook Edward away even more than he was already spooked, to lose even the tiny bit of him I was allowed.

Yeah, I was in self-torture mode now.

"Aww, after weeks of wanting to get rid of me, were you now worried I wouldn't return?"

Edward's eyes darkened. The obscurity dissipated quickly, however, replaced by a smirk, which was a reaction I was accustomed to. His reply was delivered in his typically dry tone, that inflectionless baritone that had also grown as dear and familiar to me as my voice. By now, I knew him well enough to know that the façade of a calm and collected bootlegging quasi-gangster cocooned a man who felt emotions deeply – if perhaps not with the intensity I felt them.

"I was beginning to picture you buried in a snow drift."

See, this was his way of saying he had been worried. But acquaintances weren't supposed to come out and admit something like that, were they?

I arched a brow. "Is that a sexist commentary on my driving?"

"No. It's a factual commentary on your short stature."

I chuckled heartily. "You're a true gentleman, Ed."

Despite my sarcasm, Edward Masen was very much a gentleman. Even as a ghost, he maintained a code of chivalry, which, though perhaps out of style and silhouetted by old-fashioned sexism, had the care of others as its tenet. Over the past few weeks, I'd spent a lot of time with Edward and, conversely, not much time with other men. I'd forgotten the differences. Lunch with Tony today highlighted these differences.

But was it fair to compare other men to Edward when the world had changed so much in a hundred years?

I mused over this as I bit into my grilled cheese, and still, Edward remained at the kitchen's threshold.

"Listen," I said, flattening a palm over my mouth to cover my chewing as I spoke, "if I promise not to do or say anything that a court of law can later interpret as beyond the realm of acquaintances, will you come and sit at the table with me while I eat?"

He huffed out a chuckle at this. "Well, when you're that official about it, and you ask through a mouth full of masticated bread and cheese, how can I refuse, Miss Swan?"

I burst into laughter – because he could make me laugh even when my heart ached – throwing back my head despite that full mouth he mocked. In turn, he rolled eyes that were the warmest shade of green, like a night sat by a blazing fire while gazing at the Christmas tree. They were a summer picnic in a lush meadow. They were the jewels at the bottom of a fathomless ocean. They seared me with a heat no other eyes ever had or, I was pretty sure, ever would.

With his eyes locked on mine, he strode toward me and sat at the other end of the round table, setting his forearms flat on the wood and threading his hands together like a good little boy paying rapt attention. It wasn't a large table, but it was big enough to prevent the unique sensation that struck me whenever we got too close. It was undoubtedly much larger than the cozy table for two where Tony and I shared lunch a short while earlier – mind you, with no danger of my being struck by overpowering sensations.

"Is it not good?" Edward asked. "I may have overtoasted it."

I realized I'd grimaced as my thoughts drifted.

"It was my first attempt at toasting a sandwich," he continued.

"It's delicious," I said, rushing to assure him that the sandwich wasn't the cause of my distress. "I was just…" I flicked a hand in a gesture of insignificance. "But tell me something, Ed, because now I'm curious."

"Now you're curious? Miss Swan, you've been curious since you crossed the threshold into this house weeks ago. Since long before that, I'd wager."

"Wait, are we back to Miss Swan? Should I go back to calling you Mr. Masen?"

In this heightened state in which I now found myself, aware of feelings that would only leave me heartbroken, I was perhaps overly sensitive and on edge. I may have snapped the words. Based on how Edward reeled back, they were spoken sharply, and he was caught off guard. Before I could attempt to offer yet another fabricated explanation, he retorted,

"That's up to you, though I didn't mean to antagonize you. I was teasing."

"Are acquaintances allowed to joke and tease?" I sighed as soon as the words were out. Maybe I didn't have a rein on my emotions as well as I hoped.

"Edward-"

"Bella, perhaps I shouldn't-"

"No, no," I cut in, vehemently shaking my head. I set down my undeniably delicious grilled cheese and rubbed my temples. "I had a long day."

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice soft, gentle, and with way more tenderness than any mere acquaintance had ever spoken to me - except, perhaps, for Tony. "Do you have a headache? You seem a bit…out of sorts."

From across the table, he leaned in closer now, his emerald eyes narrowing as he angled his head sideways and searched my eyes. Thick, dark eyebrows furrowed over an intensely scrutinizing gaze, a small vertical line cutting through the space between them. It was such an intimate study, as if he were attempting to bore into my thoughts. It was also so unfair of him to make me fall in love with his gruff side only to show his sweet side and tell me we had to remain 'Acquaintances.'

"Like I said, I had a long day."

He blinked repeatedly, then pulled back. "So tell me, what were you curious about, Bella? I think acquaintances may share such information."

"Oh. Uhm…" I stared at the remaining two crusts of the two halves of my sandwich and stuffed one in my mouth, speaking around it. "I was going to ask if you made this grilled cheese the old-fashioned way or if you simply stood around and paranormally lifted the pan to the stove, floated butter to the pan, then supernaturally slapped some cheese inside a couple of slices you floated to-"

"I'll stop you right there," he said, scowling with mock indignation and lifting a palm. "I'll have you know that I blew a few brain cells trying to figure out all the complicated buttons on the stove and coffee maker."

Again, I threw back my head and laughed. When I met Edward's gaze, his green eyes twinkled with mirth.

"The struggle was real, huh?"

"Very real. And thanks for another bird's eye view of masticated cheese and bread."

"It's your fault for making me laugh while I eat," I said. "I think you like seeing my masticated food."

He didn't answer but kept right on watching me.

"I take it Charlotte never spoke with her mouth full?"

The question popped out as I gulped down my food, surprising me as much as it plainly startled him. What the hell was wrong with me tonight?

"No, she didn't," he confirmed.

"Mm," I hummed, shoving the last long piece of crust in my face hole and stuffing it down angrily. Maybe if I choked, I'd stop talking shit that Edward and I both glaringly agreed was none of my-

"She did, however, make a habit of disappearing, sometimes for days, when we argued. I'd return from a rum run and look for her at the speakeasy, only to find she hadn't shown up for work." He frowned, and his expression hardened as his eyes took on a faraway look. "I'd stop by her apartment by the waterfront and find she wasn't there either. It wasn't rare for her to stay away until I made it known through the grapevine that I had a nice present for her – some piece of jewelry, a fur, something nice and expensive." He shrugged.

The crust I'd crammed into my mouth now felt like a brick, and my cheeks resembled a blowfish as I tried to swallow it through a dry throat. The insults aimed at Charlotte and dangling on the tip of my tongue were even harder to swallow. The entire excruciating endeavor ended in another audible gulp. Yet my new awareness, knowing that my questions and comments were now shaded through a green filter of jealousy as much, perhaps even more than they'd be about neutral research or curiosity, kept my mouth seared shut.

"You and I, the…heated discussion we had yesterday afternoon-"

"Edward, wait." I wiped my mouth with a napkin, took a sip of coffee, and leaned across the table. "Is that what you thought happened today? You thought I was gone for hours because I was upset at you?"

His eyes flashed back to me, and he offered me a slow nod.

"Edward…" I expelled a breath, shaking my head, and set my palms flat on the table. "Okay, forgive me because I know she meant the world to you, but Edward? That was a pretty immature way for Charlotte to handle your disagreements." It was the understatement of the year, but I didn't think he'd appreciate my saying that Charlotte was increasingly sounding like a fucking bitch. "Now, I'm not saying I'm some paragon of maturity," I qualified, setting a hand over my chest, "but it never even occurred to me to stay away because of our disagreement." I shook my head again. "I wouldn't ghost you that way."

"As we discussed yesterday, Bella," he said through a tight jaw, and for a moment, I thought he'd been able to read my disparaging thoughts about Charlotte, "the possibility of your turning into a ghost is the last thing I'll risk, which is why I'm trying to-"

"No, no." I chuckled. "No, the term 'ghost you' means I wouldn't purposely disappear on you simply because we disagreed. It really was a long day full of unexpected events and delays."

"Ahh." He nodded slowly. "Ghost you. Interesting. Another peculiar...yet strangely apropos expression."

The silence that followed lay between us thick and heavy, like a blanket of freshly fallen snow concealing all the unspoken truths that still lay underneath. My gaze panned to the windows, where the winter sun was beginning its descent behind ivory-cocooned mountains. When I'd left this morning, that same sun had only been out briefly. I had been gone a long time, longer than I'd been away from the house since I'd moved in.

"Bella, I apologize for the misunderstanding," Edward whispered. "And please don't think I meant to imply that you need to justify your days to me simply because we share a home."

"Because acquaintances don't do things like that, right? Justify their feelings."

He held my gaze. "I will admit that I was…concerned."

I swept my eyes back to him. "When two people, whether friends or acquaintances share the same living space, it's natural that they inform if not necessarily check in with one another." I bit my lip, then stood with an abrupt determination that made Edward push his chair back and look up at me with a start.

"Ed, let me show you something. Hold on. Don't move from there, okay?"

He relaxed back into his chair, his long legs spread and his lips twitching with amusement and bemusement. Offering me a patient smile, he folded his arms against his chest.

"All right, Bella."

I sprinted to the living room, slipping and sliding in my socks like the Tom Cruise character in that movie my parents loved. After locating my laptop, I snatched it up from my desk and sprinted back.

Edward waited where I'd left him, in the exact pose I'd left him, only moving once he spotted me.

"Tell me something. Have they invented socks with grip on the bottoms?" He rubbed the tips of his fingers together to illustrate said grip. "Because if they have, you should own a few pairs."

I stopped abruptly. "Wait, did you follow me down the halls to make sure I wouldn't fall?"

He grinned. "Would I do something like that?"

I quirked a brow, unsure whether he would or wouldn't, but then I waved it off and sat back down. "Yes, they have invented grip socks. And shut up. I do own a few pairs. Besides, I didn't even fall once."

He only snorted as I set the laptop halfway between us. Popping it open, I angled it so we both had a clear view of the screen. Then, I the pad of my middle finger on the mousepad and navigated.

"So you see this tab down here? This is my messaging app."

"App as in the application for use."

"Yes," I smiled. "From here, I can send texts to anyone worldwide, and they receive them almost instantly."

I saw Edward's eyes dart to me in my periphery, then return to the screen. He nodded. "Like cell phones."

"Exactly," I smiled, proud of him for quickly making all the connections. "So, on certain laptops, like this one, the messages I send on my cell phone, as well as the ones sent to me, all appear in this window, too."

"So that you can keep track of them wherever you are. You're always connected."

"Yep. For good or bad, this world is always connected. Watch this now," I instructed while pulling my cell phone closer. I typed out a short message and sent it off. With the speed of light, sound, or whatever science governed it all, the message popped up on my laptop's screen.

Edward's head jerked back, reminiscent of someone who'd just been shown a magic trick. I stifled an undeniable urge to burst out laughing. On top of being funny, intelligent, slightly arrogant, and undeniably hot, he was also so adorable sometimes. Damn him.

"'Hi, Edward,'" he said in one of those monotone voices of reading without thought or inflection.

Now, I did give in to laughter at his expense. "Hi, Edward," I echoed. He smirked, eyes still on the screen, but a half-smile curled around one corner of his mouth. Clearing my throat, I pulled back from the laptop. "The reason I'm showing you this is that now that you know how to use my laptop, if you'd like…" and if it didn't stray too far from our 'Acquaintances' agreement into the land of Friends-where-one-is-in-love-with-the-other, "next time I'm out, and something comes up that might" – I swallowed – "cause a significant delay, I can text you, and you can read my texts here, and know that everything's okay."

Slowly, I turned to him, only to find his eyes already on me. With our gazes locked, I vaguely noted that, as we'd been navigating my laptop, we'd both leaned in closer to the laptop and thereby...to one another. There was still over a foot of space between us across the table, but suddenly, I could make out every shade and color swirling in his eyes, flecks of blue and green within a darkened frame. I felt lightheaded yet sublimely airy as if I were floating on the gauziest-

Edward cleared his throat and backed up. And just like that, the lightheadedness disappeared, and I was back on hard, solid ground.

"So…" he said, "if you'll be out late, you can text me and let me know. That way, I won't have to welcome you home with bribes of music and food, being I have no jewelry at hand?" His lips twitched.

"You jerk, you'd still better welcome me home with bribes of music and food. And I fucking hate jewelry and furs, by the way," I muttered.

He laughed so uproariously that the sound felt like it seeped through the table between us and traveled into me, reverberating deep in my stomach. And none of it felt like mere 'Acquaintances.'

"You would hate such things, Miss Swan." He smiled softly, his expression sobering. "Bella, I…appreciate this, and I hope it's not too much trouble. Or too presumptuous."

"It's neither," I assured him, "or I wouldn't have offered."

As I finished my coffee, I changed the subject to something less dangerous—for me, at least—and told Edward about my morning meeting with Rosalie. I didn't discuss the story she'd told me about her great-great-grandmother Victoria and the séance with the Victorian's first owner, nor did I touch on Tony. I told Edward I'd taken a few days to review the contract and ensure we were okay with everything before I signed off.

Edward nodded. "Makes sense, Bella. We're in no rush. Whatever or whenever you decide to sign, I agree."

I nodded, then once again changed the subject. There were loads of topics between Edward and me that had the potential to lead down dangerous paths.

"Hey, this was delicious. Where did you learn to make grilled cheeses?"

"By watching you," he answered quickly, his eyes growing round as if he hadn't meant to disclose that. He cleared his throat. "Though I had no idea you'd enjoy it that much. You didn't even leave crumbs."

I chuckled heartily.

"Seriously, have you not eaten since you left?"

I stared at my empty plate, remembering my lunch with Tony and my utter lack of appetite. My cheeks felt suddenly flushed.

"I grabbed some fries and a burger, but…I didn't enjoy them."

"Well, in that case, I'm glad I didn't ruin my first-ever toasted sandwich."

"Me too." Once again, our gazes held briefly before Edward pushed his chair back and stood.

Before I could feel too disappointed, he said, "All right, since we've established that you're not a jewelry or furs type of girl-"

"Edward..." I growled in warning.

He grinned but otherwise ignored my threat. "If you've got a moment, I'd like to show you something."

"Sure!" I agreed eagerly. "I mean, okay. Let me just wash-"

My plate and mug abruptly levitated to the sink. The dish sponge floated off its holder, scrubbing the dish and mug before the faucet opened and rinsed both pieces. The dishes were set atop the drying towel, the faucet shut off, and the sponge returned to its place.

"I can't say I'm not envious of that trick."

Edward chuckled. "If you ask nicely, I'll wash all the dishes from now on."

"Oh my Lord, where have you been all my life?"

He cleared his throat. "Come along, Miss Swan."

OOOOO

"This is simply gorgeous, Edward. Everything you crafted in this house is amazing. But this…"

We were up in the attic. The lone bulb up here cast a murky light around the ample space, bouncing shadows highlighting dust motes dancing like living entities, like minuscule ghosts holding their pre-Christmas extravaganza – which Edward and I had just crashed. Like most attics, this one stored everything forgotten, unwanted, handed down, heirloomed, maybe-I-might-want-it-later-ish, etc. This included the older pieces Edward once crafted, some collecting dust, while others were covered in white sheets resembling life-sized ghosts, waltzing across the room in different shapes and sizes.

Edward and I had been up to the attic once before, though we hadn't taken the covers off every piece. We'd agreed that if it was up here, and he hadn't missed its presence around the rest of the Victorian, we'd follow the Kondo Method and donate it to the Historical Society. Of course, I'd first had to explain the Kondo Method. But once I did, he agreed that most of these pieces hadn't sparked joy in a while.

Except one.

Tonight, Edward carefully led me around the clusters of dusty pieces and cobwebbed mirrors to a corner of the attic I hadn't been to. There, he pulled a white sheet off a piece of crowded furniture almost concealed by other covered pieces. It was a woman's vanity, carved of ivory wood, with delicate cabriole legs – 'S' shaped legs whose proper name I'd recently learned along, with other carpentry names and phrases, due to my 'Acquaintance' with a carpenter ghost and with a furniture restorer. The vanity tabletop had three tiers, with six medium-sized drawers on the first tier, four drawers on the second, and two drawers on the last and smallest tier. A series of rosettes were carved into each drawer's handles, and two spindles supported an oval mirror. The vanity was accompanied by a matching stool upholstered with a black velvet cushion. My fingers skimmed the smooth wood, tracing the intricate floral patterns.

"Charlotte must've loved this," I murmured, immediately irritated at myself for having her on my mind so much lately. Then again, I'd possibly bumped into her great-great-grandson today, so her prominence in my thoughts was perhaps understandable.

"I wouldn't know."

Furrowing my brow, I swept my eyes to Edward, whose gaze was trained on the vanity. A few feet away, he stood leaning against a wall. His hands were buried in his pockets, and one leg was bent at the knee, with his foot pressed against the wall.

"I made this long before I met Charlotte, not long after returning from the war. It's the oldest piece of furniture in this house. Then…" He shrugged and shook his head. "I never got around to showing it to Charlotte. She wasn't much interested in my cabinetry work."

He frowned and pursed his lips, but in the hazy light and shadows, a faint smile suddenly bloomed on his handsome face. It was wholly different from any smile I'd ever seen him wear.

"When I was a young boy, my mom had a vanity like this. I vividly recollect myself sitting on her lap while she brushed her hair at the vanity. I don't know what ever happened to that piece of furniture. I…I think I mentioned to you that she passed away a few years before I did."

"You did," I confirmed in a whisper. "She died of the Influenza pandemic. You lost both of your parents to the pandemic, and your cousin Jasper lost his parents. Then you went to fight in the Great War, but your cousin Jasper didn't."

He acknowledged it all with a nod, but otherwise, his gaze remained distracted; on the vanity, yes, but about a century in the past.

"Elizabeth Masen was a good person, but she was a great mother." His smile grew. "Don't get me wrong, my dad was a great guy too, but he was the type of father who performed his duties by the book and as per the requirements of the times."

"The sole financial provider?" I asked with a knowing smile.

Edward nodded.

"The discipliner?"

Another nod.

"The one who taught you your trade?"

Edward snorted. "That depends on which trade we're talking about." He dropped the foot he had pressed against the wall and shifted his frame around, bending the opposite leg and resting that foot against the wall. "My father made deliveries for a living, a trade I more or less modified and tailored later on for the bootlegging, yes. But my mom taught me everything I know- or should I say, everything I knew about cabinetry."

"That part I didn't know," I said, full of awe. "That is so cool, Edward. And you still know about cabinetry, by the way," I corrected.

"But, in those days, no one wanted furniture built by a woman," Edward scowled, continuing as if he hadn't heard me. He sighed. "So, cabinetry remained her hobby because her job was to take care of the house and the kid. So, she did her job, and in her spare time, she went above and beyond. She read to me, played cops and robbers with me, taught me cabinetry, and was the first woman to show me that women were just as smart, strong, and sometimes even more so than men. She was practical, too."

I angled my head curiously. "Practical how?"

He didn't answer immediately. "She taught me that an individual doesn't only need to plan for rainy days. You've got to plan for sunny days, too. Otherwise, those sunny days can easily turn into rainy days. Anyway," he said hastily, as if eager to move away from that train of thought, then met my gaze, "don't get me wrong; my dad was a good guy."

For a moment, I was left speechless, not only by Edward's strangely enigmatic description of his mom's practicality and the jagged segue to his dad but by the apparent affection thick in his voice when he spoke of his mom. That timber of tenderness hadn't been there when he spoke of Charlotte earlier. Then again, maybe it had been there, and I'd refused to hear it.

"Your mom, though…" I thought of how Edward greeted my return today with undeniable care even though we were 'Acquaintances.' All the while, my finger distractedly circled the drawer pulls, moving from one to the next. My eyes darted to Edward, and I caught him anxiously watching how I touched his handiwork. "Your mom was the nurturer."

Again, he didn't answer instantly. "When we were really young, my cousin Jasper used to call me a spoiled Mama's boy. I used to let it go because I felt bad for him. His mom wasn't like my mom." He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. "I guess that's also why I first took him under my wing. Well, because of that and because he was much smaller than me when we were little. It just felt like I was the older cousin. After a while, we just fell into that pattern."

"I remember you mentioning a bit of a rivalry between you two." I traced the oval mirror, peeking through it, but I couldn't find Edward's reflection even though I felt his eyes on me.

"Sometimes, Jasper would come to stay with us, and my mom would nurture him in a way his mom didn't. Sometimes, it seemed like that just used to set him off, and he'd start talking about how my mom treated us so sweetly we were in danger of turning into girls. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he hedged quickly, making me chuckle. "Again, I let it go. Until one day, when we were about ten years old."

I ran my hand over the stool's velvety cushion. "What happened?"

"We were at the riverfront on a Sunday. There was a fair my mom took us to. She bought us both cotton candy, and as we walked away from the stand, Momma set a hand on either of our shoulders, picking spools of cotton candy from me, then from Jasper. We were laughing and talking. Then she leaned in and brushed a kiss on my head. When she tried to do the same to Jasper, he yelled at her. Told her he didn't need her sticky damn lips on him after she'd kissed me."

My eyes shot up to his. "He was angry because your mom kissed you first?"

"Like I said, his mom was different; he just wanted to feel like he came first for once."

"I guess he was a little kid who didn't know better, but…"

"He was a little kid who didn't know better," Edward agreed with a nod, "and so was I. So maybe I didn't know better when I punched him in his mouth and told him never to speak to my mom like that again, or to any woman, for that matter, or next time, I'd knock out his teeth. Either way, as far as I know, he never spoke like that to a woman again."

For a few seconds, the only sound was the evening wind whistling through the attic crevices. Then Edward drew in a deep breath.

"But," he smiled, "I'm aware that physical confrontation is frowned upon nowadays and that talking things out is the better way to resolve a problem." His smirk made me think he knew no such thing.

"Yeah, sure, Mister Masen. That's why Mike the Handyman got snowballed within an inch of his life just last month," I snorted.

"Hey, I never mentioned when I turned over this new 'talking-things-out' leaf. Anyway, that fucker deserved more than snowballs up his ass," he growled.

I burst into laughter while Edward watched me with a soft grin.

"Yes, I see you don't disagree. Either way, I didn't bring you up here to discuss Mike the Handyman or Jasper. Honestly, I didn't even bring you up here just to show you the vanity."

My heart thumped so hard I felt it might burst out of my chest. Edward raked a hand through his hair, locking his angular jaw for a long moment as if debating something with himself.

"I know it's not in the best condition, but I wanted to give you the vanity if you'll accept it."

The words burst from him in a rush as if he actually feared I'd turn it down. Meanwhile, my breath hitched. Perhaps, for a second, my imagination had envisioned him making me a different offer. But that didn't mean I didn't appreciate the significance of this one. And while maybe it was an offer that contradicted Edward's suggestion that we remain 'Acquaintances,' I wasn't about to point that out.

"Edward…I'd be honored."

I gazed down at the vanity, stroking my palm over its silky surface again, my fingers reaching for one of the drawers, curling around the pull and curious to see inside the magnificent construction that marked all of Edward's handiwork. I pulled my hand back. The vanity was beautiful but old, older than everything else here. At the moment, my hands felt shaky and unsteady. I didn't want my spastic movements to risk breaking anything.

"You can open the drawers, you know," Edward said, his voice holding a slight quiver that felt unfamiliar, a strange nervousness almost bordering eagerness. "The vanity and every part of it is yours now. Not ours; just yours."

"Thank you," I said in a voice strained by all the emotion and pride coursing through me. No matter what happened in the future with the rest of the pieces in this house…and with the house itself, Edward gifted me this vanity. It was mine, and I'd take special care of it.

I chuckled to keep the tears of emotion that stung my eyes at bay. "I promise I'll open it up and explore all its nooks and crannies, but for now, I just want to bask in its beauty."

He murmured something mostly unintelligible; I only caught the last two words: "...feels like."

Looking over my shoulder, I gave him a grateful smile. "I'm not sure how I'll get it to my room. I really am scared to break it," I admitted.

Rolling his eyes, Edward pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward me and the vanity, stopping before he got too close.

"Take a step back, Miss Swan," he instructed. When I did, the vanity and its matching stool floated in midair. I watched both pieces move toward and down the staircase, disappearing from view.

"It's funny how such a sight barely even fazes me anymore."

"Really? I may have to step up my tactics then, Miss Swan."

My eyes met Edward's.

"Are you still trying to scare me, Edward?"

He shook his head. "Not scare you, no. Just show you..." He swallowed. "So, where would you like the set? Right now, it's hovering in midair without a home."

I sighed. "In my room. In a nice...happy corner of my room."

"Your wish is my command, Miss Swan."

If only that were true.

A/N: Thoughts?

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