Chapter 18

Edward arrived at Mott’s Coffee Shop on Friday morning at 9:37 a.m. He scanned the room briefly on the off chance that Bella was actually early, then headed straight for his regular booth and ordered the usual.

More accurately, Lydia, the waitress, brought him his cup of straight Columbian and pot of creamer before he ever asked for them. As always, she inquired if he wanted to order breakfast, because she was never sure what the answer would be.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for someone. But you can bring us menus when she arrives,” he said this time.

Lydia didn’t bother to mask her surprise. The handsome young man with the unruly bronze hair never met anyone here. In fact, she was quite sure he’d been alone every time she’d served him. She knew this because that fact had nearly encouraged her to work up the nerve to ask him something a little more personal than, “How would you like your eggs?” But apparently she had waited too long to make her move.

She smiled regretfully and told him, “Sure thing,” before leaving him to stare out the window like always.

Edward liked the view from Mott’s, because it was across the street from a small park. He could watch the children playing and remember when he was one of them, being pushed in the swing by Mom, or encouraged to plummet down the old curly-cue slide by Dad waiting at the bottom. He liked how it felt when they were there to catch him.

He doctored his coffee with a dollop of cream and sugar while he mused over why he’d had his recurring childhood dream last night. He hadn’t had it in awhile. But early this morning, his subconscious found him sitting in Grandma’s back yard again, poring over the clover patch in search of that elusive four-leafed specimen.

“You’ll find one if you look hard enough,” he heard his mother say, her voice clear as a bell. His dream vision of Elizabeth Masen was just as clear, frozen eternally in youth, her honey hair and blue eyes rendering her a goddess in her young son’s eyes.

“I’ve been looking forever,” Edward heard himself complain in a pre-puberty whine. “I’ll never find one.”

“It only feels like forever,” she replied. “You’ve only been searching for a few minutes. Remember the poem I taught you?”

Edward nodded and recited the last couple of lines: “’If you work, and you wait, you will find the place where the four-leaf clovers grow.’”

“That’s right,” his mother said, beaming. “You just have to have patience, and luck will find you.”

“But what if Grandma’s back yard isn’t the right place? The poem says we have to find a nook, with gold and cherries and stuff.”

His mother laughed at his childish misinterpretation of the verse, and it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. “You’re taking the poem too literally, Edward. All it means is that luck is yours wherever you find faith, hope and love. And that is most definitely here in Grandma’s back yard.”

His mother then diligently searched alongside him, until she finally suggested, “Why don’t you try looking over here, Edward?”

She pointed out a particular spot in the clover patch, and he eagerly pounced on it, nose to the ground. Years later he realized that she had already found a four-leafed version and was merely guiding him in the right direction. But at the age of six, he was filled with pride and excitement when, moments later, he found the magic clover all on his own.

“Look, Mom! It’s here! It was really here all along!” he exclaimed, carefully plucking it from the grass and holding it up in exultation. “It’s a big one, too!”

“It sure is, honey!” His mother gasped right along with him. “Look how lucky you are!”

“We gotta go show dad,” Edward announced, jumping up from the ground and sprinting toward the house, calling his father’s name.

But the house got further and further away the harder he ran toward it, disappearing in a gray haze. His feet began to feel like they were made of wet clay, sticking to the earth and creating a heavy muck that held him in place. He was soon stuck, with neither of his parents in sight, clutching the clover in frustration; and then he began to cry.
His eyes were wet with a child’s tears when he awoke.

He hated having that dream. As wonderful as it was to feel his mother close to him, the image of her was so real that he felt the pain of losing her all over again when consciousness inevitably had its way with him.

He shook his head now, as if to clear the cobwebs of memories from his brain. There was no point in dwelling on the past, especially when the present had taken such an interesting turn. He was itching to see Bella again, even though he had no idea what would come of their reunion. If nothing else, he would have his planner -- and the good-luck charm inside it -- back in his possession.

He realized then why he’d had the dream, and let out a relieved sigh. He decided that it had been a truly bone-headed move on his part to leave his appointment book with Bella. Not just because of the memento he kept inside it, but because she had most likely looked through his schedule and been appalled at what she found there. Not only would she be accosted by the names of his numerous dates, but also his notes about each of them in the back. What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been thinking at all, obviously. Or maybe he’d subconsciously done it on purpose to sabotage his chances with her. He was a fool if he thought she could ever look past his occupation and want him regardless, for who he really was. Or used to be. Maybe that guy didn’t even exist anymore. Maybe all that was left was a soulless automaton who smiled and flattered and seduced, then conveniently forgot.

But he couldn’t forget Bella. He didn’t want to.

As he waited for her arrival, he idly wondered if Alice was on to him. He usually ate breakfast at home on Fridays, so his failure to make her favorite blueberry pancakes today brought a scowl of suspicion to her face.

“You don’t really have a breakfast date, do you?” she asked, her lip curling in that strange mixture of distaste, sympathy and guilt that the subject of his vocation always inspired.

“I’m meeting a friend,” he’d replied noncommittally.

“You don’t have any friends,” she reminded him with a twinge of sadness. “Well, not since Emmett moved in with Rosalie, anyway.”

He’d distanced himself from the handful of pals who were still in Seattle when he returned a couple of years ago. The fewer people he had to explain himself to, the better. He had no time to nurture friendships anyway, since most evenings and weekends found him working.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he replied evenly. “But maybe it’s time I changed that.”

Alice’s eyebrows raised in curiosity as he leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You should try to make your own pancakes for a change. How are you ever gonna land a husband with your cooking skills?” he teased.

“The Dark Ages are long gone, dear cousin,” she reminded him with a sniff. “I have other ways of luring men than with my culinary skills.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“I have Cullen-ary skills instead,” she crowed, putting emphasis on her last name with relish. “Get it?”

“I get it,” Edward replied with a slight roll of his eyes. “Clever. But whatever skills you may have with the opposite sex, I really don’t want to know about them.”

Alice’s grin smacked of faux innocence as she circled her index finger above her head in the shape of a halo. “I’m only eighteen. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have no skills. Only imagination.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way for awhile longer, shall we?”

“I don’t know why you get to have all the fun,” she grumbled.

“Alice.” His voice was cutting, and she cringed. She knew better than to joke about his job. She raised guilty eyes to his in a silent apology. His forgiveness was implied as well. He could never be angry with her for long, and she knew it. Grudges against one another were a luxury neither of them could afford.

“Do you have to work tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, ‘til closing. You want me to bring you any leftovers?”

“Only if they have that lasagna that I love,” Edward replied with a grin, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter while Alice rummaged through the cupboard for dry cereal.

“I think Sophia makes extra on purpose just so I’ll bring you some,” Alice informed him, pulling out a box of raisin bran. “She’s dying to go out with you, you know. But she says she can’t afford you.”

Edward ignored her comment and checked his wallet to make sure he had some cash.

“You could go on a normal date for once,” she continued. “Sophia’s cute, and she seems willing to overlook your line of work.”

“’Seems’ being the operative word there,” he scoffed, shoving his wallet in his back pocket.

“She would overlook it! She realizes this is just temporary. She knows like I do that you’re going to be a great concert pianist one day,” she asserted with confidence.

“Well, the two of you may be waiting for a very long time if you expect that to happen,” Edward replied gruffly before changing the subject. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave. And make sure you don’t leave the curling iron plugged in or the stove on,” he finished with a warning look.

“Would I ever do such a thing?” she shot back. “We just got this kitchen rebuilt. I’m so paranoid now that I check all that stuff three times before I ever leave the house. I’m not Em, you know.”

Edward’s expression softened. “I know,” he said, giving her face a gentle squeeze. He knew it was wise to once again move to a different topic. “Did you get your school books yet? Classes start Monday.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” Alice replied, her tone still annoyed. “I have three more days to get them. Have you been to any of the U-Book Stores right before the semester starts? They’re a nightmare, every single one of them. I’ll go Sunday, when I have the entire day to stand in the check-out line.”

“Fine, wait until the last minute. Just don’t come crying to me when you can’t find any more used textbooks because they’re sold out.”

“Geez, Edward, lighten up.” She turned her back to retrieve a bowl and spoon out of the brand new cherry cabinets. “I have plenty of money saved up for those kinds of expenses. I like new books anyway, so I can highlight them myself. Helps me memorize things.”

“All right,” he conceded. He headed for the back door, turning to Alice before leaving. “Be careful. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied, smiling and flashing those big, sweet doe eyes at him.

Edward and Alice always made sure they said the words, every day. They knew too well that there was nothing worse than things left unsaid.

He sighed at his reflection in the diner window now, drained more of his coffee and glanced at his watch. Bella should be here any minute. A ripple of anticipation traversed his spine, and he felt himself smiling already. He wondered if Alice might somehow go through Bella’s checkout line at the book store this weekend, even though there were dozens of temporary workers hired to handle the glut of book sales this time of year. The odds were slim. But he couldn’t stop imagining the two of them meeting, maybe even hitting it off. He had the feeling they would. Alice would appreciate Bella’s candor, and Bella would probably find his cousin’s quirks amusing.

Maybe Alice would even be able to talk her into overlooking the contents of his day planner, like she evidently had her co-worker Sophia. If anyone could perform such a miracle, it would be his wily baby cousin.

Edward was watching a boy and girl building a castle together in the sandbox across the street when his view was disrupted by a mane of long, brown hair swinging past the window. He snapped to attention and that crazy thrill raced down his spine again. As he watched Bella’s backside hurry down the sidewalk, he wondered how such a tiny girl could have such a big impact on him. He admired the blue-jean-covered sway of her hips as she neared the front door. He imagined placing his palms over each denim cheek and squeezing until she squealed in protest and pummeled him away. Or better yet, maybe she would just put her arms around him and return the favor.

His heart picked up its pace when his fantasy was replaced by the reality of her standing inside the entry, looking around. She appeared uncertain, maybe even a little scared. She looked like he felt inside. Her dark eyes circled the room, searching. He was surprised to see them sweep right past him to the other side of the diner.

Doesn’t she recognize me?
Oh, God. He’s not here. He didn’t show.

Bella’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach as she scanned the sea of ubiquitous Seattle plaid and chino that filled the café tables and booths. She looked at her watch to see if she was too late, or more unlikely, too early.

And then she heard that unmistakable sound -- the sound velvet would make if it could talk.

“Bella! Over here,” Edward called, just loudly enough for her to hear.

Her head whipped to the left, toward that sweet sound. How had she missed him? When he stood and motioned to her, she understood why. His rumpled, clay-colored shirt, worn tee and equally faded black pants were so far removed from the designer suit he’d worn last weekend that she was literally taken aback. He was every bit as breathtaking as she remembered, but down-to-earth, which she’d never expected. He looked utterly touchable now, in a maddening, finger-itching kind of way.

“Hey,” she said sheepishly, making her way to the booth he occupied. He waited until she sidled into the seat across from him and shimmied out of her backpack before he sat down again. The impeccable manners were still in place, even if his appearance was anything but.

“You look great,” he told her. Her attire was as understated as his; her face unadorned save for a slip of eyeliner and a thin coat of mascara. It reminded him of how she looked after their shower together. He then spent the next five minutes trying very hard not to picture her naked.

“So do you,” she answered, her eyes roaming over his wrinkled shirt and chaotic hair. “You look different -- I almost didn’t recognize you at first.”

Edward appeared a bit disconcerted at first, then broke into a grin as he caught her meaning. “Sorry, I don’t usually suit up for breakfast.”

“Of course not. I didn’t expect. . .” she began awkwardly, then started over. “You just took me by surprise for a minute, that’s all. I mean, you look like a guy I might run into on the quad or something.” Only much, much hotter.

“You mean, I look like a regular guy?” His tone was teasing. “There goes my mystique, shot to hell.”

Bella let out a short laugh. “I like the real guy under there, remember?”

He remembered. He remembered all too well. He gave her a faint nod.

“I like you like this. You look good,” she said. And then her cheeks colored and her eyes fell in that unnecessarily bashful way that made him want to kiss her.

She was grateful when the waitress appeared with menus a moment later, so she’d have a brief reprieve from Edward’s beautiful eyes penetrating hers from across the white laminated tabletop. He was irresistible in a whole new, disheveled way that sent her heart thudding harder than his fancy suit ever could. It made her think that maybe, just maybe, this could really happen. That she could have something real, with the Real Edward -- the one who frequented regular coffee shops with normal girls like her, not the fantasy version he pimped out to the highest bidder each night.

When she looked up from the menu that she was barely absorbing, he was still staring at her.

“Aren’t you ordering?” she asked.

He nodded. “I already know what I want.”

His words were laden with heavy innuendo to her desperate ears, when she was sure that the comment was innocuous.

“Do you come here a lot?”

He nodded again. “It’s my favorite diner in the city. Great coffee, great omelets. Nothing fancy, just good food.”

“Usually the simplest things in life are the best,” she said. She looked over the omelet selection, and when the waitress returned, she ordered the one with the works. Edward chuckled at that, and she looked up at him curiously.

“So much for simplicity,” he kidded. But then he smiled up at the waitress and said, “I’ll have the same, Lydia, thank you.”

Bella was startled at Edward’s familiarity with the waitress until she noticed that the woman was wearing a nametag. Lydia’s face darkened a shade, and Bella could see that it was an involuntary reaction to hearing her name spoken in the dulcet tones of Edward Cullen. The waitress was still blushing as she retrieved their menus and backed away, promising to return soon with their meals.

Bella shook her head and laughed a little; Edward turned puzzled eyes to hers.

“What?” he demanded.

“You don’t even know the power you have.”

It was his turn to laugh. “What power is that?”

“Over women. I have the feeling you charm every one of them effortlessly, and you don’t even know you’re doing it.”

Edward’s smirk was dismissive. “I’m pretty sure that’s just a side effect of my occupation. Charm is an acquired skill, like anything else.”

She shook her head emphatically this time. “No. You were born with it. It practically oozes out of your pores. And we,” she said sweepingly of her entire gender, “are powerless to resist.”

His left eyebrow raised, pulling the corner of his lip with it. “I’ll have to work on being more specific in choosing my target, then. I’m not interested in casting my spell over everyone.”

His tone was self-mocking, but his gaze was entirely serious. He didn’t give a damn about charming anyone but her, and he wasn’t even sure why. All he knew was that whenever she looked at him that certain way, or paid him even the slightest of compliments, his pants grew uncomfortably tight. He felt like a teenager again, getting a hard-on over his biology lab partner every time she so much as brushed up against him.

“I’m not sure charm like yours can be contained,” Bella said, playing along. “If you channel it all in one direction, for only one person, I think it might be too much for her to take. It might short-circuit her hormones or something.”

Edward couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “I think you greatly overestimate my powers of seduction, Miss Swan. Besides, I’m pretty sure that the girl I have in mind could handle just about anything I might throw at her.”

The statement was loaded, and they both knew it.

“At least, I’m hoping she can,” he added softly. He dropped his eyes to his coffee cup, and, noticing it was empty, motioned to Lydia across the room for a refill.

“She might be willing to give it the old college try,” Bella answered, just as softly.

Their eyes were locked in another unspoken conversation while Lydia topped off their coffee. Both of them dared to hope now, though hope was a foolish endeavor, fraught with pitfalls. Yet neither one was brave enough to voice that hope, and their silence intensified after the waitress ambled away with her pot of java.

Edward cleared his throat and busied himself with doctoring his coffee in the usual way. “So, did you have a nice week?” he asked in a stilted tone, inwardly cursing his cowardice.

“Yeah, it was okay. I worked a lot, which is a good way to avoid being in the dorm too much. This time of year, I’m afraid I’ll get drafted to help other kids move in if I don’t look busy enough.”

That made Edward smile and the tension eased a bit, Bella noted with relief. “How about you? How was your week?” she inquired.

He stirred his coffee carefully, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. “Fine. Same ol’ same old.”

“Your schedule looked pretty busy,” she noted. “Which reminds me. . .”

She trailed off and began fishing through her backpack on the seat next to her. She pulled out Edward’s day planner and gingerly pushed it toward him across the tabletop. They both stared at the black notebook as if it were made of plutonium.

“I hope you didn’t miss any important appointments,” Bella said, rather disingenuously.

He caught her tone and his eyes bored into hers, looking for clues to whatever she wasn’t saying.

“I told you, I have my schedule on my phone. This is just a back-up.” His voice rang hollowly in his own ears.

“Right.” Bella bit her lip and stared at the little black book, trying not to remember everything she’d read last night when she got home from work. She’d finally given in to temptation and scoured its contents, cover to cover. She wished she’d never done it, because she couldn’t un-read the words. They marched across the pages of her mind now in an ugly, syncopated rhythm that began tumbling from her lips before she could stop it.

“Well, I didn’t know if you had all those Cliff’s Notes about your clients on your phone, too. I mean, you could get into trouble if you forgot which of your customers have kids, and what their names are; which ones prefer golf to tennis, or red wine to white; which ones like to be hand-cuffed or spanked before you fuck them. . . stuff like that.”

Edward’s eyes turned to flint and his mouth to sand. He could feel his nostrils flair with both humiliation that she had pored through his appointment book, and self-disgust that he had practically begged her to do so.

Bella’s face burned with the fire of her own audacity. She knew she had no right to judge him when she herself had hired him for sex, like so many other women before her. But she couldn’t stop herself from challenging him, to see what he would say. To find out if he would defend himself, or fight for her. To discover who would win: the Real Edward, or Fantasy Edward.

“Touche, Miss Swan,” he managed at last. “I deserve that. After all, I’m the idiot who put this in your purse to begin with.” He reached for the planner, slowly pulling it across the table. “But whether you believe me or not, I haven’t slept with all these women. Half the dates I go on aren’t even about sex.”

Bella’s eyes were wide with shock. “Wait, what? Back up a minute. You put your day planner in my purse? On purpose?”

His stomach roiled miserably. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“So you wanted me to read all of that?”

“I wanted to see you again, that’s all. I definitely went about it the wrong way.”

She emitted an incredulous laugh. “That’s an understatement. Do you have any idea how it made me feel to see what you really do, in black and white? It’s one thing to have a vague idea, but quite another to see the details. The names, the places. The positions.” She spat the last word like a snake spewing venom. He couldn’t know how she was recoiling inside again, just like she had last night, imagining how boring he must have found sex with her.

He could hear her self-doubt rearing its ugly head, and he reached out instinctively, closing his hand over hers on the table. They both felt the jolt of electricity generated from their first touch since last weekend. She flinched, but she didn’t pull away.

“Bella, look at me,” he ordered, then waited until she lifted reluctant eyes to his. “None of those women mean anything to me. I have to write those notes to myself just to keep each utterly forgettable date from blurring into the next one.”

Her eyes rolled in disbelief and he squeezed her hand harder until her gaze met his again. He leaned in close, his voice low and urgent. “You were there with me in that hotel room last weekend, weren’t you? You know what we shared. That meant something to me.”

She stared at him in desperation, shaking her head, fighting tears. “I hate how much I want to believe you.”

He closed his other hand around hers, clasping her warm fingers between his. “I hate how much I want you to.”

She closed her eyes before the swell of his relentless sea-colored gaze drowned her resolve. She let out a shaky breath and said, “All I could think of last night after I read your notes was, ‘I wonder what he’ll write about me so he can remember who the hell I am?’”

Her words pierced him, wounding him much more deeply than the cutting remark she’d made during their first dinner together. He shook his head in disbelief, wondering how she could think their time together meant so little to him. But then he glanced down and saw the burden of proof against him, written in his own hand on the pages of that appointment book.

He let go of her hand and opened the book, retrieving the pen tucked in its front cover. He flipped back to the “notes” section until he came to a blank page. He scrawled a few words in large letters at the top and then turned the notebook around, shoving it toward her.

She slowly lowered her eyes the page and took a deep breath.

Saturday, August 20. Bella Swan.
Unforgettable.

Her breath caught; she faltered before she fought back. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. That charm of yours. . .”

“Fuck charm. I’m not being charming. I’m being honest. I don’t need to write anything else down because everything about you is etched permanently in my mind. Would you like me to recite a litany of your likes and dislikes? Your favorite color is yellow because it’s cheerful. You like Indian and Asian food. You don’t like sports, but you pretend to for your step-dad’s sake.

“Your dating history is brief but filled with clueless boys and assholes. You’re embarrassed when you shouldn’t be, and brave when it’s foolish to be. You’re an optimist about everyone else, but a pessimist when it comes to yourself. You’re don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, or how good you smell or taste. You have a beauty mark on left ass cheek, your right breast is slightly larger than your left, and your second toes are longer than your first. And when you come, you make the most amazing sounds in the world.”

He stopped then, a bit stunned at the speech he’d just rattled off. How the hell did she get him to do that? --Gut and serve himself up to her over his favorite table at Mott’s like he was the next course.

Bella’s blood was pounding in her ears as if he’d actually made her come instead of just talking about it. “Charm” was the wrong word for it, but whatever Edward had just unleashed on her had definitely short-circuited her hormones, and it was most certainly more than she could take.

But she had taken it. She sat in stunned silence, trying to let his words sink in. Trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she hadn’t been imagining things; that she hadn’t been wasting her time with wishful thinking this past week.

And yet, something still didn’t quite fit. Some part of the puzzle remained unsolved. As she stared down at Edward’s signature scrawl, she remembered what it was. She looked up into those expressive eyes, still raw and naked from his unexpected outpouring.

“I believe you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But there’s just one more thing I need to know.”

He said nothing, bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Am I as unforgettable as Emily?”