Chapter 13

EPOV

The Super Shuttle is about to drop me off at my condo, and I'm kind of dreading going in there and facing Bella tonight.

She always cooks me a "Welcome Home" dinner when I'm gone more than three days, and I love that about her, but with the revelation at Jane's wedding and us not discussing it, this is sort of the last thing on my mind.

When I finally let myself in the front door, I don't hear anything—no music or sounds of cooking. Dropping my bags in the hall, I wander to the kitchen and find a note taped to the fridge.

Dinner is in the oven, ready to go. I ran into Voldemort.

When you're ready to really talk, you know how to get in touch.

Yours, Bella

I've always been waiting for the right moment, if there ever was one. It's just fallen into my lap, and I'm stuck in my kitchen, terrified of how this conversation could possibly go.

Bella has always wanted the fairytale happy ending. She wants to be swept off her feet by her Prince Charming, and I've never been positive that I fit that role.

I eat and clean up quickly, and after I take the fastest shower known to man, I text her, asking her to meet me at our dive bar.

B: I'll see you there in 15.

When I get there, I find her sitting at the end of the bar and chatting with the elderly bartender, Jake, and laughing.

Taking her in from afar when she doesn't know I'm watching as I've down countless times before is a treasure to me. She's effortlessly beautiful, and you can sense that she's friendly and kind by the way she actively listens as Jake probably talks about his grandkids or the bike he's currently restoring.

I've loved her since … always. I don't remember a time when I didn't. There is no "before Bella"—there's only the after.

She must notice me standing some distance away from her and just staring because she motions me over and pats the stool next to her.

I stumble through a couple of steps, but I can't make it farther without telling her exactly how I feel.

"It's always been you, Bella. I've loved you since seventh grade, and I'll love you way past my seventieth birthday. I've had a lot of first dates over the years that never went anywhere. I just want to know if you'll give me a chance to be your last first date?"

She walks over to me and stares up at me with wide eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to hear it from other people? You're my best friend. We tell each other everything."

"I was afraid of losing you."

"The only way you would have lost me is if you never told me." She reaches out and cups my cheeks in her soft hands. "I've spent the last year trying to figure out what I wanted, and I was coming around to wanting you."

"I'm sorry. I'm just asking for a chance— Wait, what?" I'm gaping at her like a fish out of water.

"I want you, Edward. I don't know if I'm in love with you, but I'm dying to find out." She's on her toes and attacking my lips, and I'm lost to everything.

Jake could be whistling in the background, bar patrons might be clapping, hell, there could be nuclear fallout, but I have no idea. Bella is in my arms, warm and real, and doing at least one thing I've dreamed of for years.

When she draws back, and her face is flushed, she asks me one important question. "So what are the guidelines for dating your best friend?"

"We'll make them up as we go."