I am replying to every review I get, if you have private messaging allowed (some of you do not). If you aren't getting notifications for those, check your PM inbox on the website. Doesn't work on the app, I believe. Silly.

Don't forget, if you'd like chapter updates (I know FF is working for most of you now) shoot me an email to get on the list. I have also been known to send out a pic tease or an actual teaser during the week. I have a lot of you signed up, it's been fun, so thank you!

planetbluefic at gmail dot com

Chapter 5

"So, I was thinking maybe you should move in with Joey and me."

The wind is whipping my hair around, and I'm positive I did not just hear what I heard. "I'm sorry, what?" I yell from the backseat. Joey turns to look at me and I swear, the look on his face reflects he knows he's the shit sitting up there while I'm a cramped prisoner.

"I mean, if you're going to write the best story you can about us, you should be spending all your time with us."

"I'm not moving into your cottage." I can just picture it, sleeping on the couch with Joey's discarded fur poking my back.

"No, not my cottage. No one stays there but me and Joey. You could move into the big house, that way you'd be a lot closer."

"The big house…"

"You could come tonight. I was going to grill some steaks for us. Joey loves steak."

I press my hand to my head. It would give me an ample way to garner private info. Maybe see something he doesn't realize he's showing. An Edward not out on an excursion, trying to guide me away from what's going on by making it about Joey. An Edward not on a mission. A vulnerable Edward.

A dying Edward.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. The 'big house' would certainly be an improvement over the motel, and it would give me the access I need to get this thing done by Tuesday.

But despite his invitation and it being his idea, I feel uneasy, almost like I'm taking advantage or using his good nature unfairly as I really didn't want this assignment. He's being gracious and open with his life and time and I'm a fraud, trying to convince him and myself that I care. I mull it over as I battle my hair flying into my mouth. "All right." I concede.

I guess I'm going to literally get closer to Edward Cullen.

"So, whose house is this? Do you like, maintain their property? Is this a vacation home?" The house is gorgeous, I can't deny that fact. Beautiful dark brown wood floors, shabby chic white furniture and shiplap walls. A bigger fireplace than Edward's cottage is also centered in the middle of the living room, dining area, and huge kitchen. You could feed twelve comfortably at the island alone. And the views!

Sweeping green lawn and ocean for days through the back wall of the house which is made up entirely of windows. A deck out back is nicely furnished with a stone, built-in grill and a large TV hanging on the chimney of a massive outdoor fireplace. Despite my city-loving lifestyle, a girl could get used to this.

At Edward's direction, I look over the side railing and see Edward's pebbled walkway and cottage peeking out above the slope.

"It isn't used much, but yes, I take care of it," he answers while turning back into the kitchen and grabbing my bag. I have no choice but to follow him down the hallway to the left. We turn a corner, and he puts my bag in a bedroom with a huge white canopy bed and the same views as the deck. Much nicer than that damn motel. Fuck, I forgot to call Aro to tell him I've left there in case he tries to reach me. I should tell Alice to bill him for the rest of the time regardless.

"Do what you have to, to settle in, then come meet me and Joey on my porch. Gonna put the steaks on. Just go out the back, you can leave it unlocked." He brushes my arm as he walks past, his fingers lightly touching. "It'll be nice to have company." And then he's gone. The feeling isn't unpleasant, and I rest my hand there, the thought that a barely there touch from a stranger feels better than any man handling from Michael.

Shit, Michael. Guess I should call him too, although he hasn't tried to reach me. Dialing his phone, I press the speakerphone as I pull a brush through my hair. His quick voicemail announcement chimes, and I leave a message.

"Hey, it's me. Hope work is going well for you. It's… going fine here. I've left the motel I was at so if you need to get a hold of me just call my cell." I leave out that I've basically moved in with my subject, but I remember quickly that I never told Michael what hotel I was in anyway, so this call is really unnecessary. "Okay, um, bye, see you Tuesday."

Grabbing an "I Love Ogunquit" hoodie I picked up with the shorts, I make my way out the back and down the steps, the grass leaving dewy marks on my shoes. As I get closer to the cottage, I hear the unmistakable voice of Eminem.

I narrow my eyes as I round the corner to the porch, and there is Edward in front of the grill, throwing hand signs and bobbing like he has to pull up those low pants rappers wear. I cover my mouth with my hand as he starts rapping at Joey, who seems to enjoy it, or is at least nice enough not to make fun of his owner.

The song ends, and he jumps at my voice. "Let me guess, Joey just loves Eminem."

He spreads his hands out, barbecue tongs and all. "Who doesn't?" He smiles and turns to place three steaks on the grill.

I come up behind him. "You weren't kidding about Joey loving steak. A whole one for him? Is that healthy?"

"He can have whatever he wants." Edward looks down at Joey, who's sniffing the air in anticipation while he sits on that silly white pouf of a bed. "Red wine is open on the table, if you want some."

"I would." I go to the table and pick up the bottle, my eyebrows rising. "Château Latour Pauillac?" I can't hide the surprise in my voice. That's at least a hundred-dollar bottle.

"Let me guess, you figured me for a jug handle wine guy I suppose?"

"No. Definitely a beer guy." I laugh, and pour a glass, swirling it under my nose.

"You don't have beer with Wagyu." He chastises and clicks the tongs at me.

Again, my eyebrows rise. "Wagyu? Seriously?"

"Sure, why not? We're celebrating."

"And what exactly are we celebrating?" I take a sip and stop when I see Edward's glare on me. Swallowing, I apologize. "I'm sorry. We're celebrating Joey."

"That would be correct." He smiles down at his pooch and lingers, letting out a big sigh. He must be heartbroken to know he has to give Joey to someone else when he… passes. It's a hard thought to have, even for me. I know I'm going to have to get to the bottom of that, ask those hard questions, but not right now.

Snoop Dog starts up on the stereo and Edward is back at it, bobbing his head and carefully turning the steaks, his trance broken. "Pour me some wine, would you?" He holds out his glass and I pour. "Don't be stingy, there's plenty more inside." I pour a generous dollop into his and a bit more in mine, and walk to Joey, scratching his back in time to the beat.

The garden lights strung across the porch blink to life as the sky turns a dark, rich blue. It's peaceful and I sigh, pleasantly surprised I don't miss the sound of honking, yelling, or subways rumbling under my feet. I'm happily stuffed, my belly full of steak and some really great roasted potatoes all swimming in a pool of red wine. My cheeks feel flushed and I look over at Joey, snoring away on his bed perched on the chair between Edward and I. He still has some steak juice left on his cheek his tongue didn't grab.

"I'm glad you didn't give him the whole steak, he'd be sick," I say, happy to not have to have seen a barfing dog tonight.

"I'm not an idiot," Edward says, but with a smile on his face. His cheeks are flushed also, and his eyes have that lazy, satiated look about them. He's definitely a handsome man. Possibly the handsomest man I've ever seen in person, if I'm being truthful.

Fuck, the wine is really getting to my head. "So, is there anyone special in your life?" I blurt. Fuckity fuck. "Besides Joey, of course." Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Edward's' eyes widen. "Is this for the article?"

"Of course," I scoff, and hide my mouth behind the rim of my glass. "Have to get to know my subject."

"No, no one right now. Can't focus on that at the moment."

Of course he can't. I mentally slap myself.

Edward stretches his long legs and clasps his hands behind his head. The action makes his shirt ride up and I see a slice of his taut stomach. Shaking my head, I try to regain focus. "So, what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"Well, there's a brewery we've been meaning to get to all summer and haven't, so I thought we'd start there."

"They'll let a dog in?"

"Breweries are generally dog friendly, but even if they weren't they'd let Joey in."

"I see." I shift in my seat, knowing I need to start the deep dive.

But I don't seem to be able to. Edward's eyes are on Joey as he swirls the last of his wine around and I just can't find it in me to ruin the peaceful mood. Maybe I don't actually want to know the answers, after all.

"So, what is Bella Swan's life like in New York? Full of fancy parties and three martini work lunches?"

"I'm not the subject here."

"You get to invade my life and I don't get to know a little about you?" His mouth lifts up into a smile at the corner.

"You signed up for this, I did not."

"True. But tell me anyway." His eyes gleam at me, waiting. Daring. Taunting.

I clear my throat, not used to someone having interest in me. "Well, I uh, work a lot, but attend some fancy parties, sure." I think of dinner at Daniel on Tuesday. "Work functions, mostly."

"That doesn't sound fun."

"It is," I answer indignantly. "Networking is important."

"But what do you do for fun fun? Like a hobby or sport or something? Tell me you're a closet Hallmark movie fan."

I blink at him, suddenly without an answer. I don't go skydiving, I don't go sightseeing, I certainly don't go to the beach on a Saturday afternoon. "Well, I have drinks with friends. Catch up over dinner. Um, I shop." I sound like a moron and not at all the worldly reporter I have told myself I am. "I have a significant other I spend time with," I blurt out of nowhere.

"I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend?" His eyebrows rise. "Girlfriend?"

"I see someone. I spend time with him, for fun." It hits me how deeply I want to call what I do with Michael 'fun'. Going to his dinner meetings, watching his news shows. Bland sex on nights I don't want to be alone.

"Is it serious?"

"No," I answer immediately and wish I hadn't. This is getting too personal for me. "We are a lot alike and it works." It sounds so… clinical, when said out loud. "Enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"I'm enjoying talking about you," he smirks and rests his chin on his hand. "What's his name?"

I hesitate. "Michael."

"He's not a Mike, or a Mikey, is he?" Edward sits up straight, voice lowering an octave. "He is a Michael. I bet he doesn't wear anything but suits."

A small laugh escapes me. "Definitely not a Mikey. And I don't think he owns one pair of sneakers that aren't golf shoes." I feel bad his assessment amuses me. I shouldn't be giving him any info, especially info he can poke fun at. I push my chair back and cross my arms, trying to put some distance between me and my subject. "Tell me why the bond between you and Joey is something that The New York Times needs to write a story about."

"You seem angry all of a sudden," he teases.

"I'm not angry, I just want to get this story written." And deflect, deflect, deflect.

Edward sighs, empties his glass in one gulp, looks at me and sits back in his chair. His hand lands on his chest and moves under his linen button-down, lightly stroking the skin there. "I was a sick kid. Joey was given to me at a time when I really needed him. We've been through a lot together."

The way he's always putting his hand near his heart, I can only guess he has an obvious heart issue that's resurfaced. My voice lowers, knowing I have to ask but suddenly not wanting to. "You say was, but that doesn't mean you aren't again, am I correct about that?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not sick, not anymore."

My brows tense, so sure I was on the right track. He leans over and lightly touches Joey, making sure to not wake him. He cradles Joey's head and runs his thumb over his cheek. It's an overwhelmingly loving touch, one that even I can see. One that I can feel.

I've never seen a pure love like this. Not from my parents to each other or my parents to me. Not from any relationship I've been in. It doesn't seem to matter that it's not a human to human love. Love is love, and Edward loves this dog so much he wants to spend all his time with him and show him a great life while he can.

It hits me like a freight train, what this story is. I feel so dumb I hadn't seen it before.

"It's Joey," I whisper, my eyes falling to the gray-faced, snoring pug. "It's Joey who's sick."

Edward looks at me, tears starting to brim his eyes. "Yes."

"You're taking time off from work to spend the last of Joey's days with him." I breathe, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of Joey dying.

"I'm devoting my life to the rest of his life."

Thanks to CarrieZM and LayAtHomeMom who I have enjoyed many a steak dinner with.

This is for Squiggy.