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24
Edward's house was fifteen minutes from downtown, and we spent the ride in comfortable silence, our fingers still intertwined on the center console. His neighborhood was filled with simple two-story homes with perfectly manicured lawns. It wasn't as highbrow as one would probably expect for where he lived, but given everything I knew about him, the driveway of the two-story suburban we pulled into fit him.
The structure in front of me is light grey with white windows and black shutters. There was a small front porch with a light on next to the front door. It was homey.
"Do you want to go inside?" he asks, making sure this is what I still want.
Instead of answering, I undo my seatbelt and get out of the car.
Hand in hand, we walk up the front steps. The house is dark when he opens the door and we step inside. Edward flips a switch, illuminating the entryway.
"Would you like a tour?" He smiles, and the joke behind his words is clear.
I smile back. "I would like that."
Taking my hand again, he leads me through to the kitchen, flipping on the light. The space was clutter-free, unlike my own kitchen, whose counters were covered with bottles of spices and cookbooks. It barely looked lived in, but from what he's told me, he doesn't eat home-cooked meals often. His schedule was too hectic.
The dining and living areas were open concept. The living room had a basic sectional and coffee table in front of a fireplace that had a TV mounted over it. What was supposed to be the dining area was taken up by a grand piano.
I walked over to the instrument, pressing one of the keys and listening to the note resonate in the air around us. "Do you play the piano?" I was surprised that he hadn't told me.
"Not as often as I'd like." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Would you like me to play you something?"
I looked at him, a little surprised by his offer. "I'd love that."
He walked over, taking a seat on the bench in front of the piano, patting the space next to him, and I sat down. After taking a deep breath and rolling his neck, he starts to play. The notes that fill the air are to a song I'd never heard before. The composition is filled with so much longing that it takes my breath away. It makes me think of a couple falling in love, and I close my eyes to let myself properly absorb it.
"What was that? It was beautiful." I asked once the song had come to an end, the final notes fading away.
"I wrote it." He looks deeply into my eyes. "For you." His words hang between us, catching me off guard.
"You wrote a song for me?" I asked, stunned.
"After we met that day, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every time I thought about the beautiful girl whose coffee I tried to steal, I'd hear those first few notes in my head, and I had to get them down." He looks at me, fingers running along my cheekbone. "Every moment I've spent with you since has inspired me to continue writing it."
"You wrote a song for me." I breathed still in disbelief. Then what he says hits me. "You started it after we met at Starbucks?"
"I came home that night and started composing it. I hadn't played in months, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't get you off my mind, and it's been that way ever since." He confessed, looking a bit sheepish. "Is that creepy?"
I shook my head. "No." I was just as guilty. "That painting you purchased when you first came to the store, the one that reminded you of your hometown. I painted that one after we met because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Your eyes are a color that I'd never seen before, and I had to capture it on a canvas."
He stares at me silently in awe before pressing his forehead against mine. "Jesus, Bella." His words are weighed down by emotion, so much so that it sends me reeling.
"What?" I asked, running my hands through his hair, watching as he battles with something, those emerald green irises searching mine.
"I'm falling in love with you." His confession is nothing more than a whisper and is filled with vulnerability. He's so unguarded right now, and I realize that he just gave me the power to break him.
I close my eyes, letting his words sink in as my heart starts to pound. Thinking he felt the same way and knowing he does is so different.
Being brave, I open my eyes, looking deeply into his. "I'm falling in love with you, too." I whisper back.
He releases a relieved breath, taking my hand in his. Placing a kiss on the back of it, he holds it against his chest, and I can feel how fast his heart is beating. It was hard for me to reconcile the fact that this magnetic force of a man was nervous. He was always so sure of himself, carrying himself with a confidence that was enviable. But when it came to telling me how he feels, he was just as terrified and clueless as me.
"You really thought I didn't feel the same?" I asked, giving him a teasing smile, still unable to believe he was nervous.
He shrugs noncommittally. "I hoped you did."
I bury my face in his chest, feeling myself blush scarlet. "Would it be overly cliché if I told you that I've never felt this way about anyone before?" As an avid romance reader, I'd read those very words so many times that they'd almost lost all meaning, but it was the only way I could convey what I was feeling in this moment. Clichéd-ness be damned.
I feel his chest shake with silent laughter as he brushes a kiss against my hair. "I would be a hypocrite if I said yes, because I feel the same."
I pulled back to look at him. "I've never been so happy it rained before."
His hand goes to the back of my neck, bringing me in for a kiss. It's soft and sweet as our lips move together, but there's an underlying heat beneath the surface. I can feel it in the restrained way he's kissing me, like he's holding himself back. I don't want him to.
It's my tongue that searches out his, making him groan. It's my hands that bury themselves in his hair, pulling him closer, that finally break the dam.
His hand comes to my chin, tilting my head to the side so he can have better access to my mouth, and I moan. I like feeling how much he wants me; it's petrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
In the next moment, I move so that I'm straddling him on the bench, making him freeze.
See you next time.