Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. I'm just playing dress-up with them.

Chapter 1

The Disillusionment

It was the kind of heat that made my skin prickle when I stepped out of the cool of the air conditioned office. The kind of heat that opened my pores and made me notice the skin on my face right before sweat started pouring down my neck, collecting between my breasts, dripping from my underarms - radiating from the concrete sidewalk through the thin soles of my sandals and burning the tender soles of my feet. It hit me in the face like a blast furnace, filling my eyes with tears as if they joined the rest of my body's pools of sweat. It surrounded me with a level of ferocity that made me wonder if I was in hell rather than high summer in central South Carolina.

But I didn't step outside with my sweet tea, garden salad and book for the questionable therapeutic benefits of the cloying 93 degree heat and 90% humidity. My excuse was to have an hour away from my overly demanding and under-qualified boss. My other excuse was to have an hour away from my coworker who craved the opportunity to emulate said boss. But those were just excuses.

The reason sat at a table 20 yards away.

From my seat at my table, I had a perfect view of his reflection in the black glass of the four-story office building that dominated the landscape. I could peek up from my tea and salad and book and see the bronze hair, the pale skin with a tinge of pink under those sculpted cheekbones. I could see his full yet defined lips, his straight nose, and sharp jaw. With another glance I could see his slim body, his long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles, and the fabric of his khaki pants sticking to his legs in the heat, molding around the lean muscles of his thighs.

And when I was certain he wouldn't notice I could turn for an instant and hope to catch the only thing the black glass couldn't show me – the emerald green of his eyes.

For two weeks now, every day at noon, I saw him through the office window. For two weeks I chose to eat outside, our tables shaded by the same Live Oak, simply to be closer to him. And for two weeks he said not a word to me, or I to him but oh, I wanted to. I wanted to hear his voice; I wanted to know if his mind matched his body.

But today would be no different as I packed up my lunch bag, drank the last of my tea and closed my book that, for two weeks, remained bookmarked to the same passage. Groaning silently in the heat, I rose from the table, loosened the linen pants that sweated themselves to my legs, discreetly pulled them away from my butt, and slowly walked back toward the entrance to the building.

And then I realized this could go on for months, when I didn't want it to. It could go for years unless I decided, for the first time in my life, to step outside my box and do something as simple as introduce myself to this extraordinary-looking man.

Reminding myself that he was simply a co-worker I dropped my eyes, turned, and started to walk in his direction. Gathering all my courage, placing a smile on my face I raised my head, but he was gone.

I looked up into the gnarled boughs of the Live Oak, its canopy radiating at least 50 feet, rising and dipping and defying gravity as it spread its arms offering shade and home to the Spanish moss that dripped down towards the ground. How had he disappeared so quickly? I turned in a slow circle, scanning the lawn around the building, the tree line far away, and once more peered up into the tree, as if I expected to see him perched on a branch like an owl.

And then I remembered I was at work, outside the huge glass box of my office and everything I did could be observed from inside. It was bad enough I was from the "north," it was worse that I was willingly out in the midday heat. I swore I could almost hear some second floor women gossiping about the idiot who didn't know enough to stay inside on a day like this. Those same women who will, no doubt, smile at me lovingly the next time I passed them, only to glance at each other and roll their eyes as soon as I couldn't see.

Lowering my head I shuffled back to the front entrance, lifted the ID badge hanging from my neck as I ran it across the scanner to unlock the door. Publishing required tight security in the middle of nowhere. Right.

"Hey Bobby," I mumbled at the elderly security guard, sitting in his starched uniform, turning my eyes away from his sagging muscles, gray hair and beer belly, feeling confident our premises were secure from equally aged and fit criminals.

"Hi there Bella," and the smile on his tanned, lined face was so large, so inviting, so grateful for a moment of attention I felt my gut clench with guilt for thinking less of him. A sweet man trying to supplement his retirement, he'd once been a brave man who wore a real uniform. I smiled back and headed towards the elevators, disgusted with myself, wondering how much this damned place was changing me, wondering if I even felt the incentive to put a halt to it.

Months ago I came to the conclusion I had made a terrible mistake. The mistake wasn't leaving Forks for the heat of South Carolina, or moving far away from both Charlie and Renee – even though they both enjoyed telling me how sorry I'd be. The mistake wasn't even leaving my few friends.

The mistake was in believing there could be an ounce of creativity left in the corporate environment of a big name publishing house.

I took the elevator to the third floor and walked down the featureless hallways towards a warren of gray cubicles, to my own home among them, to my chair and computer and stack of printouts and list of tasks waiting for me. Shivering in the stream of cold air blowing down on me, wondering if the heat outside might be preferable, I entered my password and got back to work.

It was the opportunity of a lifetime. First the phone interview, then the flight to Columbia, SC to interview for a job as a copy editor at Jarvis, Holmes and Butler – one of the largest publishing houses in the US. I was right out of a small and relatively obscure college, but somehow I landed the interview and then the job. For the first time in my life I felt vindicated as I stood in front of my parents and my peers and announced my accomplishment and my upcoming move.

To say they weren't pleased would be an understatement, but I didn't care. I wouldn't let their backwater attitudes dissuade me from packing my belongings and rushing to a new city in a new State because I was going to take the publishing world by storm.

"Dawdling for a change, Isabella?"

I closed my eyes before looking over at my boss, the tramp in heels. The woman who barely got an undergraduate degree with passing grades, the woman who had the charm of a warthog, the woman in too-expensive clothes for her pay grade and who everyone knew got her job because she was the Chairman's niece. The woman who was useless to the firm with the exception of her dual talents of being able to insult every female employee within a square mile and giving our few straight male employees sexual fantasies about lifting that tight skirt and putting that bitch in her place.

In other words, she was a bleached blond caricature of a woman, and I had the distinct pleasure of working for her. So, I did the one thing I knew would piss her off. I'd be super polite.

"Hi Lauren, hot day today, isn't it?" I batted my eyes at her. "I'm diligently reading this fine manuscript you were so kind to send to me." I returned to my monitor, going over the text about buzzards and crows being the answer to the mysteries of the universe and wondering which moron in acquisitions thought publishing this would be a good idea.

Unfortunately, it didn't piss Lauren off quite enough, because she hadn't left yet.

"Stop whatever idiotic thing you're doing and pull up the Godfrey manuscript," she sneered. "You were told to edit for continuity and leave his fucking punctuation alone. Can't you follow any instructions at all?"

I felt the heat rise to my face. Damn it. Anger and embarrassment both looked the same on me as my blood moved from a simmer to a boil, and the last thing I wanted was for this bitch to think I'd be ashamed of any decision I'd make regarding a manuscript.

"Lauren, there are rules to punctuation that happen to come with the English language. The man is illiterate and his work isn't good enough to allow him the privilege of setting aside standard conventions because he can't figure out how to use them. There is no creativity in not knowing how to use a comma or a period."

"And you, dear Isabella, were told not to touch it. Mike spent the better part of the fucking morning calming him down and if we want his next book we do what he wants, not what you want. Got it?" And with that bit of publishing wisdom she turned on her heel and sauntered her way back to her office, leaving me stewing and disgusted, and once more doing what this idiot told me to do and not what I knew was right.

And I would continue to do what I was told, betray my own standards, because I had been doing just that for the past two years, because underneath it all I was a coward. Instead of protesting, instead of looking for a new job I took the easier route and just did as I was told. If I didn't, I reasoned, someone else surely would.

For the next four hours I flipped my time between removing punctuation corrections and daydreaming about the bronze-haired man. As soon as the clock on my taskbar read 5 pm I locked my computer, grabbed my purse and lunch bag out of my desk drawer and strode down the hall towards the steps, the fastest way to get out of this damned building at the end of the day.

It was impossible to feel enthusiasm any longer. Each day dragged into the next, each day a count down for the upcoming weekend that meant nothing more than not being at work. Weekends meant cleaning and food shopping and if I was lucky, finding something to read that was good enough to allow me to fully enter its world and escape, for a time, from my own.

But two weeks ago something new entered my life, yet it wasn't a part of my life. Walking across the blistering asphalt to my car I thought, once again, about my unbearable attraction to this man. I had seen beautiful men before but this man took my breath away, made me think of cool sheets and tangled limbs, made me think of running my fingers through his silken hair and kissing the hard line of his jaw. I thought of him in ways that both enticed and embarrassed me, almost wanting to put words to paper to describe my growing lust for him – only stopping because seeing it written would be far more humiliating than the day dreams.

Reaching my car I looked over towards the lunch tables, wishing he was there, that I could take this opportunity to run over and speak with him. Scanning the area, lost in thought, I realized I'd been staring at the tree line far beyond the tables, staring at a hint of bronze glinting in the sunlight right under the trees. Was that him? Was this my opportunity? Could I do it?

I opened my car door, threw in my purse and bag and as I was about to close the door and head towards the trees I heard someone behind me clear their throat. I turned my head, and froze.

Ten feet away, strolling away from me was the bronze-haired man. Confused, I spun back to look at the trees, but the hint of bronze was gone.

I dropped my eyes and looked at my car, at my reflection in the tinted window. Stretched and distorted like a fun house mirror, it still couldn't hide the bright sparkle in my eyes - the first sign of life in years. Taking a deep breath, determined that this time I would speak with him, I turned to follow...

And, once again, I was alone.

"Daddy, don't let go don't let go" I whimpered from the seat of my new bike. Charlie laughed and pushed, running along side me.

"You'll be fine Bells. Just hold on and keep turning those pedals."

And with those words he stepped back, and I was flying down the street by myself, the wind blowing through my hair as fear turned to joy because I could fly! And from the corner of my eye I saw a man, a man with funny colored hair watching me from behind a telephone pole. His smile matched mine and I grinned back at the stranger, not at all afraid because I needed him to see me being brave, being a big girl on my big girl bike and oh my I was growing up!

I shook my head, momentarily disoriented by the random memory. I had told Charlie about the man, but when we both looked for him by the telephone pole, he was gone. I remember Charlie looking concerned, but the memory of my own feelings was bright, poignant, and sharper than a twenty year old memory should be.

And the memory of how that seven-year-old felt when she realized the stranger was gone, MY memory, was of…an aching loneliness.

A/N

Yes, it's me again. You'd think this was a compulsion or something ;-)

Welcome to my new tale, and I hope you enjoy it. Unlike PTD this story is not pre-written, is a solo project, and so will be on a more normal update schedule. My goal is a chapter a week. I hope the reality matches that.

And I would like to thank my beta, Booksgalore, for making sure I don't go too insane with this plotline.