Breathless: EPOV of Starstruck, Chapter 60

"You're currently living in a four-star hotel in a city with some of the best restaurants in the world."

I open my mouth to interject but she just barrels forward, her deeply feminine voice growing higher an octave with incredulity.

"And all you can do is sit in your room and eat chips like a grounded seventeen year old boy?"

I wait a beat to make sure that she is finished. "I'm going to go ahead and assume you're going to yell at me now.'

"You'd be assuming correctly. Fat ass."

The grin that erupts on my face is so wide that I know my cheeks are going to be sore later. This woman, slight little Bella, pastry chef with an attitude, keeps drawing me in with every passing moment I spend with her.

As she rants at me, I walk over to the bathroom, staring at my reflection as I wash the chilli cheese powder off my fingers. I don't look any different than I had looked last week. Granted, I look different than normal; I got a cut an color for this role and I finally listened to Mom and got those three teeth fixed.

But aside from all that, I feel different.

And, if I really think about it, I can pinpoint the exact moment my insides began their squish-squish routine.

The moment Bella, Bad Ass Baker, punched me in the arm in the back of William's Fresh Café.

No one has ever treated me like that. Lately, I am Edward Cullen, movie star heartthrob. Girls faint and scream and cry when they see me; their eyes have stars and dollar signs in them. Guys aren't much better: they act all macho and tough, their bravado turning them into douche bags. But even before fame had come knocking, I had always felt strangely disconnected from others. Very few have ever treated me 'normal.'

Until Bella, that is. With her blush and big, brown eyes she made me feel comfortable not only within my surroundings, but within my own skin.

"Do you even know what a home cooked meal tastes like?" I hear her say as I search for any signs of change on my face.

"I take offence to that," I reply, hesitating slightly at the end because I now just realize that I don't even know her whole name. I put it on my mental Bella-related To Do list and mark it as a priority.

"Microwaved Chinese take away in your living room doesn't count as a home cooked meal, Cullen," she growls adorably.

"I'll have you know that my mother microwaves a pretty mean Hungry Man." It's true, though her homemade oven fried chicken is even better. But I won't tell Bella that just yet.

"Ha ha, funny stuff," she deadpans. "That's it. What are you doing tomorrow?

I have a feeling I know where this is going. And I like it.

"We're filming for half the day. Laurent has a thing about keeping us happy and not overworked."

"What time do you finish?"

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "But I can guarantee to not work past five in the afternoon." That may or may not be a lie, I'll find out for sure tomorrow.

"Tell Katty and everyone else to come over. I'm going to show you guys what real food tastes like."

There is a sudden hint of doubt coloring her voice, barely noticeable but I manage to catch it anyway. Just a minute ago she was so sure, her voice heated and backed with conviction. I want to know exactly what's running through her head right now.

"All right, I'll pass on the message."

The rest of our conversation is awkward and stilted, but not for lack of trying on my part. Bella is gone, stuck somewhere in her head and I'm pretty sure there is no getter her back for now.

"Good night, Bella" I finally say to her, but I don't want to let her go just yet.

Then a thought hits me:

I don't think I want to let her go at all.

Ever.