There has been a lot of interest in what happened after Edward asked to call on Bella. So at long last, here is the continuation of FEAR.

(PS: I highly suggest you adjust the story width to 3/4.)

CHAPTER 2:

I made Grandma Swan's stroganoff for dinner. It should have been Charlie's first clue something was up, but we weren't used to each other yet. He didn't see it coming.

"A boy?" His face was tight, his cheeks a bit ruddy.

"Well, yeah," I said, shrugging and handing him another beer. It might as well have been butter. He was the bread, of course.

He bristled at the butter/beer, then frowned. "Thought you didn't really do the whole boy thing."

I raised an eyebrow. Inside I was laughing. I don't do the "boy" thing, Dad. Apparently, I do the vampire thing.

I had to hide my cringe. The thought of vampires still disturbed me. I wondered again about the missing hiker; remembered what Edward had said about those men in Port Angeles. Could I trust Jacob's legends?

"They claimed they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

Charlie popped the tab of his beer, startling me a bit. He drank, swallowed, and looked back up at me. He was waiting for me to answer him, I realized.

I sighed. "It's no big deal. We're lab partners."

A pause. My face flushed. He set his beer down. "So . . . he's coming over to do homework then?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, thinking suddenly of the movie Edward had missed. There was a quiz Mr. Banner said Edward could study for. "Edward missed a couple days of school this week."

"Well, that's not surprising." My father said this with no malice, picking up his fork again.

"It's not?" I asked.

He shook his head and tucked back into his stroganoff. Before he shoved it into his mouth, he said, "Nah. The doctor's always taking them here and there. They go camping almost every other weekend, 'specially when the weather's nice."

"It's been raining," I said without thinking. I could have slapped myself.

Fortunately, Charlie seemed unconcerned, and amused. "It rains all the time here, Bells."

"I know," I said, my hair still wet from the episode with Edward in the driveway. I'd towel dried it and thrown it up into a messy bun after I'd changed out of my sodden clothes. I had been a bit panicked about telling Charlie there was someone coming over, and realized I didn't know when either he, or our impending guest was actually going to show up.

I glanced at the phone again. Would Edward call first? I hoped so, but wasn't sure. He had a habit of surprising me.

"I'm going to go get my notes together if that's okay," I said, taking my glass and salad bowl from the table. I'd already rinsed my plate when I got up to get Charlie another beer. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice I was rushing.

He glanced at me, mouth full. There was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he nodded.

"Thanks, Dad." I smiled and decided I would sit with him longer tomorrow.

Upstairs, I brushed my teeth and then my hair. I fixed my bun so it looked like it was intentionally messy, and made sure there was a piece or two loose was around my face. I debated changing clothes again, but held off. I didn't want my dad to get suspicious. At the same time, I wanted to look nice. This felt important somehow. Like it was the first step toward something significant.

I shivered, forcing myself to dismiss the idea for now, and checked the window for any sign of him. It was dark already and the rain was still pounding so it was hard to tell. I had just begun to wonder if he wasn't coming when the doorbell rang.

I jumped, my heart racing, and shouted, "I'll get it!" as I gave one last glance at the mirror and grabbed for my biology notebook on my desk.

Charlie's chair slid against the floor downstairs. "Don't hurt yourself, kid. I got it."

His plate clattered in the sink just before I raced down the stairs. He looked amused when I appeared at the bottom slightly out of breath.

"I told you I'd get it," he said.

I flushed. "I was already on my way down."

"Uh-huh." He pulled a face, his cop face, and walked past me, heading down the hall.

"Dad."

"Get a grip, Bells." He gave me a dismissive glance.

I huffed and looked around his shoulder to the front door. The porch light was on and I could see a hint of bronze through the glass. I held my breath as Charlie reached for the handle.

He glanced back at me, raising an eyebrow.

"Just open the door," I said, joining him with my notebook in hand.

He chuckled and did as I asked. "Hey there, Edmund!"

Oh. My. God.

"Hello, sir," Edward said, shifting his backpack on his shoulder and smiling politely. "It's nice to officially meet you."

Charlie opened the door wider and stood aside to let him in. "Same to you. Bella's told me so much about you."

I was going to kill him.

Edward's gaze flicked to mine, amused but a bit wary. "All good things, I hope."

I nodded, fighting a blush as Charlie chuckled. "Unless you count the part about you ditching school, then yes."

Edward's smile turned appropriately embarrassed when he looked back at my dad. "Yeah, I had a rough couple days. But I'm feeling better now."

I sucked in a breath. Had he really been half as miserable as I'd been the last few days?

My dad shut the door and clapped Edward on the shoulder. "Well, come on in. You and Bella can set up in the kitchen. I'll keep out of your way."

This was directed at me, but I wasn't sure I believed him. I shot him a warning glance as I turned and gestured down the hall. "It's in here."

I felt self-conscious once we arrived at our destination. It was obvious we'd just eaten. The pot of stroganoff was still on the stove. Charlie's plate and mine were in the sink, his beer can beside it. I rushed to wipe down the table while my dad picked up his beer.

"Can we get you anything to drink, Edmund?"

"It's Edward, Dad," I said, swiping the last of the crumbs away.

"Oh, sorry. Can we get you anything, Edward?" He held up his beer. A joke or a test, I wasn't sure which.

Edward shook his head, nonplussed. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

Charlie nodded. "Good man. How about some water or a Coke?"

I met Edward's gaze briefly, wondering what he'd do. He grinned and looked back at my dad. "I appreciate it, but I'm okay. I had something to drink on the way over."

There was a glint in his eye that made me shiver even as Charlie nodded and said, "All righty, I'll just be in the living room then."

"Sounds good, sir."

I held my breath until my dad was gone. Edward and I waited, a pair of statues, while we listened for him to turn on the television. When his favorite chair creaked, I finally looked back at my guest.

Any words I might have said washed away in a slow, shaky exhale. He was so startlingly beautiful. His eyes, now even lighter than they'd been that afternoon in the driveway, burned into mine.

"Good evening, Isabella," he said.

My heart was pounding. I had to force the words. "Hi."

Okay, it was just one word.

He smiled. "Your father is a nice man. Very hospitable."

I nearly groaned. "Jeez, I'm so sorry about that. Please forgive him."

Edward chuckled and went to the table, placing his backpack on top before removing his jacket and gloves. He had, of course, changed clothes too—into dark-wash jeans and a plaid button-down worn over a light gray T-shirt that hugged his chest.

"There's nothing to forgive," he said as I tried not to ogle him. "He was just being a good father."

"That's debatable."

He grew suddenly serious. "No, he loves you very much."

I swallowed, uncomfortable in more ways than one. "Yeah, Charlie's great."

Edward tilted his head to one side, clearly trying to figure something out. I avoided making eye contact.

"Would you . . . like to sit?" I asked.

"Of course." He startled me by moving around the table and pulling my chair out for me. "Ladies first," he murmured.

"Oh, um, thanks," I said, grabbing my biology notebook off the counter.

He moved back to his side once I was seated and joined me. It felt like the fabric of reality had ripped, seeing him—perfect hair, chiseled jaw, mesmerizing eyes—sitting at Charlie's old table with Renee's faded yellow cabinets behind him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's odd to have you here."

His brow crinkled, and I realized I must have been making a face. "Did you . . . change your mind since this afternoon?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, not at all. It's just surreal, I guess."

He seemed suddenly sad. "I can imagine. This whole thing must seem surreal."

"Sometimes," I said. "It's like a dream."

"More like a nightmare, don't you think?"

"No. Although . . ."

"What?"

"I've had a few of those, too," I said, honestly.

He winced. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "Don't be. Just talk to me, please. I still have so many questions."

His lips quirked. "Of course you do."

I glanced toward the living room. Charlie had turned the volume down on the television.

Edward coughed and slid his backpack toward him. I watched, confused as he took out our biology book, a notebook, and two pencils.

"How did you . . ." I started to ask, but then laughed. "Of course you knew."

His mouth curled into a half smile. "I have my ways."

I couldn't help smiling back. "Will you tell me about them?"

He froze for a moment, then seemed to catch himself and nodded. "Yes."

I propped my elbows on the table expectantly.

"Not now though. Not yet."

"Why not?" I asked, feeling a familiar flare of irritation.

He gazed at me, face unreadable, then lowered his voice. "In part, because your father's listening. And, in part, because I'm not ready for you to send me away."

I was sure all the air had been sucked from the room. "Why would I send you away?" I whispered.

He shook his head. "Later. Open your notebook. We should at least pretend to study."

I let out a frustrated breath. What could be awful enough that I'd send him away now? I knew what he was, yet I'd asked him to stay. I'd made it clear I felt safer when he was near. What could he tell me that would change things between us yet again?

I pondered the possibilities as I flipped through my biology notes. Edward flipped the textbook open, making a loud thud on the linoleum surface.

"So tell me what I missed," he said, his voice uncharacteristically loud. I glanced at him in question and he tilted his head toward the hallway. A moment later the television volume went up.

At my incredulous face, Edward winked. My stomach did a triple flip but I wasn't entirely distracted this time.

"I really need you to explain how you"—I gestured to the book between us—"do that?"

He shrugged again. "Sometimes it's just heightened senses. In this case though, it was Alice."

I blinked. "Alice. What about Alice?"

"She warned me you might opt to tell your father that I was coming over to study."

"And how did she know that?"

"It's . . . a gift she has."

I frowned. "So you're saying she just guessed that's what I would say?"

"More like she predicated it."

"And does she predict things often? With such accuracy?"

"Yes," he said, but then his expression tightened. "Not always."

"Wait . . . which is it?"

"Both."

I stared at him, trying not to grow impatient. "You're being very cryptic, you know."

He sighed. "Yes, I know. It's hard to change old habits."

I wanted to push,but he seemed to be locked in some kind of internal battle. I guessed that his decision would change everything for him. Maybe for both of us.

"You can trust me, Edward," I said, and lowered my folded hands to the table.

He followed the movement with his intense gaze, and I uncurled my fingers, entreating him. Slowly, as if it were causing him great pain, he slid one hand across the table.

"I know. I'm just not sure it's right for me to do so," he murmured. He brushed my fingertips with his, so light, I barely felt it.

"Why not?"

He shook his head and slid his hand back. "How can you ask that? Three days ago you were terrified of me. Today, you were terrified of my sister."

"I was not."

"Yes, you were."

Tears pricked my eyes. "I was only afraid because you weren't there, and because Rosalie clearly hates me."

Edward frowned and shook his head. "What do you mean you were afraid because I wasn't there?"

I blushed, suddenly finding our textbook interesting. "You make me feel"—I shrugged, trying to act like it hadn't been a life altering realization—"safe."

He snorted. "If that's the case, then there is something seriously wrong with you, Bella."

I glanced up, glaring at him. "You've come to my rescue how many times now?"

"Three," he said. "But I've come close to killing you just as often. More, even."

I shook my head. "You're wrong, it's four times. And I don't believe that."

"I'm sorry, but no, it was three. And I wish you would believe it. I was only just able to stop myself."

"No, four." I ticked them off on my fingers. "Tyler's van. Last week after blood typing. Monday in Port Angeles. And then today."

"Today?"

"Yes, today."

"You weren't in any danger today."

"But you came to my rescue all the same."

That stopped him. He became eerily still, staring at me. I wanted to look away but I was trapped in his gaze.

Charlie's recliner creaked, but still I was caught. Even when my father's footsteps sounded in the hall, I had a hard time looking away.

Edward cleared his throat and picked up his pencil. He flipped to a new page in his notebook and I watched entranced as his hand flew over the paper, so quick it was a blur, before he slowed and began murmuring.

"The discovery of . . . the genetic role of DNA began in . . . nineteen-twenty-eigh—"

"How's it going, kids?"

I was still staring at Edward who glanced up and offered my dad a smile before he finished whatever he was writing. "Pretty good."

I looked down at my own notebook, realizing it wasn't even open.

"Bella?"

"Yeah, Dad?" I said, flipping it to a random page.

"You okay?"

"Yep. Doing fine."

He was quiet for a moment. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head.

Edward glanced up again. "She's very patient. I'm a little slow making notes."

I almost laughed. Slow? Yeah, right.

"You have very good penmanship."

"Oh, yeah, um." Edward appeared chagrined. "My parents thought it was important."

Charlie hummed. "They're good people, your folks."

"Yes, they are."

"You and your siblings, too. What I've seen anyway."

I turned to see my father's expression. He had his cop face on, but it was more thoughtful than inquisitive.

From the corner of my eye I saw Edward shift in his seat. "We try. I was speaking of my birth parents, though."

Charlie seemed surprised. So was I. "Oh." He glanced at me briefly and then said, "May I ask what happened?"

"Yes, of course. They died when I was still a boy."

I knew this already—he'd told me the same story when he'd driven me home from school after the blood-typing disaster—but realized now that there must be more to the story. The short version was enough for my father, however.

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

Edward shrugged. "It was a long time ago. And it's not like I'm lacking in family now."

Charlie smiled wryly. "No, you're not." He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "Well, I'm sorry for interrupting. I'll let you guys get back to it."

"It's no trouble, sir."

"Thanks, Dad."

He nodded and made his way back to the living room.

Silence.

"How old were you?" I asked at last. "When your real parents died?"

Edward met my gaze slowly. "Seventeen."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Bella. It was a very long time ago."

"How long?" I asked, regretting it almost immediately.

Edward just smiled though. "1918."

Nineteen-eighteen. Nearly a century ago. I let that sink in.

"Is that better or worse than you were you imagining?" he asked when I stayed silent.

I shrugged and looked at the faded table top. "I don't know. I suppose that, hypothetically, I knew it could have been hundreds of years, maybe even thousands of years, but . . ." I thought back to those first days at Forks High. "You didn't seem ancient. Just out of place."

"So perceptive," he whispered. For a moment, he sounded proud.

I smiled, feeling shy. "I guess it's pretty cool, to be honest. And at least we were born in the same century, right?"

I thought he might agree with this, but instead his gaze turned penetrating and sad.

"What?" I asked, not understanding.

"You're so full of life."

"Why does that make you sad?"

"Because I'm not."

"Not what? Alive?"

He nodded and looked down.

"You are in your own way," I said.

He laughed without humor. "I exist. I don't live."

I reached my hand across the table again. I wanted to comfort him, and as I stared at his hand so close to mine, I thought of something.

"You feel."

He was silent a long moment, then brushed his fingers over mine. "Yes, I do."

Prickles of energy raced up my arm at his icy touch. He seemed to have a direct line to my heart, and it echoed loudly in my ears.

"Is this . . . whatever this is . . . because you're, you know? A va—"

"I can't say. It's new to me." Very carefully, so I could barely feel it, he stroked the back of my hand.

"Is it?" I could barely form words.

"I've never met anyone I wanted this kind of . . . contact with." He moved his fingers to my wrist, and in a single graceful maneuver, turned my arm so he was holding my hand in his. "You're so warm," he said, stroking my palm.

I took an unsteady breath. "You're not."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's repulsive."

"No, it's not," I said, adding my other hand to the mix, trying to hold on.

"Don't, Bella. Please."

"Please what? I like it. Your skin is . . ." I blushed.

"Cold? Hard? Disgusting?"

"No!" Quite the opposite, actually. "It's . . . nice."

His eyes went wide. "Nice?"

I nodded and, very slowly, ran my thumb over the tendons on the back of his hand. "Like marble."

"Hmm."

He held my hands in his until Charlie coughed and the television volume dropped. I felt the emptiness of my palms reverberate in my chest as Edward returned to his notes. After a few seconds, he glanced up at me from under his lashes with a smile.

"Your father is dying for an excuse to interrupt us again."

I raised a surprised eyebrow at his words. "Is he now?" I asked.

Edward nodded, then shifted his gaze to the side. "He's anxious and . . . I think he's trying to remember whether or not your mother ever mentioned a boyfriend."

My heart lurched. I wasn't sure if it was because of the word boyfriend or because he was speaking so openly of his apparent mind-reading skills. "Um . . ."

Edward's expression turned calculating. "I must admit, I'm curious about that myself."

I swallowed. "Um . . ."

"Please tell me?"

I remained mute until the weight of his gaze grew too heady. I could barely breathe as I shook my head and whispered, "No, there's been no one."

"Never?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

"No. Never." I licked my lips and took a deep breath. "W-what about you?"

He put his pencil down and slid one hand across the table, carefully covering my fingers with his. "Never. Until now."

My heart dipped, and flipped, and did several other tricks. A blush rose to my cheeks as a stupid smile stretched across my face.

His thumb traced a feather-light line down my pointer finger. "This pleases you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"I feel the same."

I met his gaze and was surprised by the intensity there. I watched, entranced, as his eyes seemed to liquefy, drawing me closer to him and making it harder to breathe. My face flushed hotter and Edward's fingers twitched against mine.

Slowly, he raised one hand and, very gently, stroked his thumb along my heated skin. Like before, icy fire pulsed through me. His touch both soothed and ignited. I thought I might pass out, or hyperventilate. Yet, I had the strongest urge to grab on to him and press closer still. To my disappointment, however, he removed his hand and sat back.

Clearing his throat, he picked up his pencil and flipped to a new page in his notebook. I stared at him, confused and bewildered, until I heard movement in the hallway behind me.

Charlie.

It took great effort to compose myself. Edward revealed nothing as he began writing again. His face appeared perfectly at ease for once, his shoulders were relaxed, and his hand steady. He didn't seem at all concerned about my dad, but neither did he seem affected by what had just transpired between us.

Frowning, I focused on calming my racing heart as I tried not to overthink things. A pencil rolled my way and I glanced up.

Edward raised his golden eyes to mine and grinned. "Try to look like you're studying, Bella. I'm not ready to leave your side just yet."

My dad's clomping steps sounded moments later. I blinked and felt my mouth lift in a half smile.

He wasn't ready to go home yet.

I tried to look busy as Charlie entered the kitchen and clapped his hands. "Man, what a game."

He stopped right behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. "How's it going in here?"

I blushed, glad I was looking down. "It's good."

Edward put his pencil down and reached for his backpack. "Hi, Chief," he said. Then, looking at me he said, "Did you want to start the study guide next?"

Huh?

Before I could make an idiot of myself, he produced the paper Mr. Banner had given me at school. I squinted at him in astonishment. "Uh . . . sure. Why not?"

He smiled and laid it on the table between us.

Charlie gave me a little squeeze and walked toward the fridge. "Big test?"

"Something like that," I said.

Charlie hummed and opened the refrigerator door. Edward and I pretended to work while he rooted around. Eventually he pulled out a Coke and turned around.

"Well, not that I'm rushing you, but how much longer do you two think you'll be?" he asked.

I looked at the clock over the stove out of habit. "I don't know. An hour or so?"

"Okay, just remember it's a school night," he replied.

"We're aware, Dad," I said dryly.

Edward chuckled and when I looked up he winked before swiveling around in his chair.

"My mom said I can stay until 9:30, sir. Is that too late?"

Charlie gave him an appraising glance. "No, I guess that sounds reasonable."

When he turned back around, Edward looked triumphant. I rolled my eyes. Stupid, smug vampire.

Charlie stuck around a few more minutes, washing the dishes and putting the leftovers away. I briefly thought I should invite boys over more often if it meant seeing his domestic side, but then looked at Edward and blushed. No, there would be no boys for me.

When Charlie had gone, I let out a breath and put down my pencil. "That was fun."

Edward smiled. "It's fine. I'm glad we have a chaperone."

I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I was more interested in something else. "You knew he was going to check on us before he came in here."

Edward nodded.

"How?"

"I could hear him."

"Hear him how?"

Edward's lips quirked. "As I said before, heightened senses."

I narrowed my eyes. "Be more specific. I need straight answers from you."

He tapped his pencil on the table. "And I need answers from you."

We stared at each other. He wanted me to cave first, I was sure of it, but out of the two of us, he had far more secrets than I did. And I had more to lose. At least I thought so.

"How about an exchange?" I suggested. "You answer my questions and I'll answer yours."

"Fair enough. Just keep your voice down, please." He glanced over my shoulder.

I nodded. "Of course."

"Then ask away."

"How exactly did you know my father was coming to check on us?"

He stared at me, looking for something, though I didn't know what. Finally he sighed. "I heard him moving around, getting restless. I also saw your face in his mind, accompanied by suspicion and worry."

So we were finally dropping all pretenses. I smiled. "So when you said you can usually tell what people are thinking, you were being literal."

His eyes danced back and forth, never leaving my face. "Yes."

"But you said you can't hear what I'm thinking, right?" My heart gave a little lurch at the mere idea.

"No," he said, frowning, "I can't. And before you ask, I don't know why that is. It's never happened to me before."

"Really?" I asked, both relieved and bothered.

He tilted his head to the side. "Well, that's not entirely true. Your father's mind is nearly silent to me as well. All I can make out are impressions and feelings. I can divine what he's thinking about, but the actual words are blocked to me."

"So, earlier . . . were you guessing that stuff about my mom and . . . boys?"

He chuckled. "No, those thoughts were pretty strong. And he was thinking about it long enough for me to put it together."

"Oh."

"Is it my turn for an answer now?" he asked.

"Uh, sure, I guess."

He leaned toward me, his eyes boring into mine. "How did you come to the conclusion you did about what I am?"

I felt a sudden surge of remembered fear. A dark and frightening car ride. Dodging explanations that would place other people—one specific person—in danger. I sank into my chair, recalling the heartache and tears that resulted of our mutual decision that the explanations didn't matter. Now he wanted that explanation.

"Is it really so important to you? It's done, and you can trust me. I won't tell anyone."

His expression didn't change, but regret swam in his eyes. "I don't doubt that. But I must know. For my sake, and for yours."

It seemed funny to me then, how the full consequences of some decisions are only revealed after those decisions have already been made. I didn't know that my decision to stay away from Edward—to let my fear overpower the draw I felt to this fascinating, infuriating, and possibly dangerous creature—would actually make me realize how much I cared for him. I didn't know how much it would hurt not to see him again, or that, in the mother of all ironies, he would be the one to make me feel safe again.

What if telling him the truth had a similarly unseen outcome? What if Edward punished Jacob Black for "violating the treaty"? All because Jacob was a silly boy who didn't believe in his ancestral legends?

"Please, Bella." His voice was like velvet and I knew if I looked at him, that dazzling, liquid stare would be waiting for me.

So I fixed my eyes on a spot near his ear and told him the safest version of the story I could. "I did some research on the Internet."

He didn't react except to frown; I could see it in my peripheral vision. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a spectacularly bad liar?"

I huffed. "I'm not lying. Go check my computer if you wish."

He moved his head until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. "If it's all the same to you, I prefer you tell me the whole truth yourself."

I sighed. "I can't. I promised."

"Promised? Promised whom?" he asked, his voice low and entreating. His eyes were once again imploring, like molten lava.

"Stop that," I said, grasping desperately onto the last of my composure.

"Stop what?" he asked.

"Dazzling me. It's not fair."

He blinked. "I dazzle you?"

I nodded. "All the time. I've seen you do it to other people, too."

His expression turned from one of pleased surprise to confusion.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't play dumb. Do you really think Mrs. Cope writes passes for everyone the way she does for you?"

His lips pinched in distaste. "I wasn't trying to dazzle you like that."

"Weren't you?"

He sighed and leaned forward, crossing his arms over the table. "That wasn't my intent, no. I'm sorry."

I leaned forward too. "Forgiven. I still can't tell you who told me, though. Like I said, I promised."

"So someone did tell you?"

Damn. I twisted my fingers together, thinking. "Well, um, someone gave me another theory. I put it to the test, and then"—I took a big breath—"after Port Angeles happened, well . . . you didn't do a very convincing job of denying it. Or disproving it."

His pencil snapped. His jaw tensed and ticked while his eyes blazed. He looked furious, but I thought perhaps, this time, not at me. I could see he was trying to work it out. Trying to pinpoint who and how and when. I was about to apologize and ask if we couldn't just let it go, when comprehension lit his features and he dropped the bits of pencil left in his hand.

"Your visit to First Beach," he said. I bit my lip, trying to keep my breathing steady, as horror washed over him. "Someone in La Push told you?"

I held his gaze for several breaths before nodding slowly.

"How many people did they tell?" The venom in his tone was startling, if not altogether unexpected.

I rushed to soothe him, though, and to protect Jacob. "Nobody. I promise. It was me. Just me."

"Are you sure?" he pushed.

"Yes," I said, 99.99% positive it was the truth.

"Bella. You must be certain. Is it possible anyone else overheard?"

"No." I shook my head and tried to suppress a shudder. I'm sorry, Jacob. "It was just me and one boy. We went on a walk along the beach, but we were alone the whole time."

He watched me for a long moment. "This complicates things. The Quileutes are, or were, sworn to secrecy."

"Yes . . . there was some talk of a treaty," I said, slowly. Then, feeling another spark of fear for my unwitting informant I continued. "But you have to believe that he didn't put any value in the stories. The person who told me, I mean . . . he didn't think they were real."

Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You said it was a boy?"

"Yes . . ." I said, drawing the word out in my anxiety.

"And how did the subject come up? You couldn't have possibly guessed the child would know anything about us."

"Um . . . well, your name came up in conversation, and when one of the local boys overheard it, he said your family wasn't allowed there."

Edward snorted. "Did he now?"

I tried to remember the exact words. "He may have just said, very cryptically, that you didn't ever go to the reservation. Something like, 'the Cullens don't come here.'"

He sighed and shook his head. "Okay. But could you please explain how you got from that remark to full disclosure?"

I bit my lip and concentrated very hard on the sheet of paper between us.

Edward slid it toward his side of the table. "What are you hiding from me now, Bella Swan?"

His voice was tender, making me glance up. But I quickly looked down again.

"I may have flirted with one of them. I'd, um, met him before," I said, praying my father didn't overhear this conversation. "He's younger than me and I just sort of . . . flattered him. A lot."

Edward's uproarious laughter startled me. "Oh, poor, poor boy. He never had a chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, trying to calm my racing heart.

He continued laughing until my dad yelled down the hall, wondering what was so hilarious.

"Nothing, Dad!" I yelled back, glaring at Edward.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just—" He cracked up again, but quieter this time. "You have no idea the appeal you hold to the average male, and that's without trying. I cannot imagine what kind of damage you can do when you're out to get something you want."

I fumed. Damage? That was supposed to be a compliment, I assumed, but it seemed a backhanded one to me.

"Like you're one to talk," I snapped.

He smiled at me, humor still ripe on his features. It made him somehow more beautiful, which made me want to scream. I stood up and went to the refrigerator.

"Are you angry with me?" Edward asked after I'd pulled out a Coke to legitimize my little display.

I took a deep breath and shut the door. "What do you think?"

I moved as far from him as I could in the tiny kitchen. For some reason, I felt like I could cry at the slightest provocation. I opened a cabinet to get a glass, which I normally would have skipped, in order to keep myself busy.

"I'm sorry for laughing," Edward said.

"It's okay."

I went back to the freezer for some ice.

"Bella, I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you." He sounded contrite, even a bit wounded.

I sighed. "I know."

I popped the tab on my Coke and poured the drink into the glass. Edward spoke again while I waited for the fizz to die down.

"You are a beautiful young woman, Bella. You're also smart, and kind, and good. When put together, it's a powerful combination. Believe me, I can hear what they're all thinking."

I shook my head, flustered and embarrassed. "You don't have to flatter me."

"I'm not flattering you."

I didn't know what to say to that. Or what to do. I was too out of sorts to return to the table and pretend that the entire humiliating exchange hadn't taken place—never mind that it had ended on a high note, an enormous compliment from a walking Apollo.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"If we're going to continue spending time together, you will have to get used to hearing how special you are."

I sucked in a breath. I hadn't heard him get up, but his voice was suddenly right behind me.

"Please turn around."

I took a deliberately slow drink and put the glass down before doing as he'd asked. He was inches away. Close enough to feel the strange energy that passed between us whenever we touched.

He lifted a finger to my chin, raising it until our eyes met. "It's a very good thing your father is the Chief of Police. It would cause a sensation if something were to happen to you."

"What?" I asked, swallowing heavily.

"You really don't see, do you? You are temptation incarnate. I can't trust myself around you."

I didn't see, but I thought there was another compliment in there somewhere. "Thank you?"

His chuckled darkly. His face was amused, but somehow still tormented. "Now you say thank you? You should be running down the hall screaming for your father to get his gun. Not that it would make a difference."

"Why?" I asked, caught in his gaze.

"You know why."

"B-break it down for me." I licked my lips. "Please?"

His eyes darkened. "I am the world's greatest predator, Isabella. A lion in sheep's clothing. I could kill you so easily. I could end you, and your father, before either of you knew there was cause for alarm."

My heart stuttered and then beat double time. "Are you going to?" I asked breathily.

He moved the finger beneath my chin and twisted it into a wisp of hair that had come loose from my bun. "No."

I took a deep breath. "Because it would cause a . . . sensation?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because I couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to you."

I felt frozen in place, but my heart was flying. I smiled as he tucked the strand of hair he'd been playing with behind my ear. His gaze held mine for ages. It felt like there were a million and one things I should ask and a million more that Edward should say, but neither of us dared to risk the fragile peace we'd come to.

He was a vampire. An admitted predator and mind reader who had been on this earth at least a century. He'd warned me time and time again to stay away from him, that he was a bad friend for me, and that he was dangerous. He didn't trust himself around me. Yet, he was here.

And I wasn't running. I wasn't screaming or shaking in fear. At least not the kind of fear most people would feel in my situation. I was afraid he would leave again. That he would decide to run for the both of us and succeed. And if he succeeded, I was afraid I'd spend the rest of my life feeling the emptiness I'd felt during the past two days.

"What are you thinking?"

"That I don't want you to leave," I said honestly.

He smiled. "We still have some time before I have to go."

"That's not what I meant."

His smile faded and he groaned low in his throat. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't right." Sadness wrenched his features. "You shouldn't feel this way. Not about me."

I tried not to be hurt by that. "Well, I do. And there's really nothing you can do about it."

"I could try."

"You could. Or you could just accept it."

He stared at me with a fathomless expression, and then inhaled. His eyes fluttered closed as his hands tightened into fists.

He snapped his head to the side suddenly and I swore I felt his chest rumble. "Charlie's coming."

I blinked as he took my hand and grabbed my forgotten glass off the counter behind me.

"Sit," he ordered.

I did, gasping softly as he moved in a blur around the table. He retook his seat a little slower, placing my drink between us and then wiping the shards of broken pencil away before flipping the biology book to a new page. All in less than five seconds.

When he finished, he glanced over my head and then at me. "Relax."

I tried. I really did, but it was almost impossible. My heart was racing. My mind spinning. I couldn't slow it down, not until he reached across the table to brush my fingers with his.

"Breathe, Bella."

Doing as he suggested, I held his gaze until he dropped his head and began writing in his notebook once again. By the time my father returned, Edward Cullen was murmuring biology terms under his breath and simultaneously writing his name on my heart.

*Disclaimer–This is a derivative work of fiction. All rights to the Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.*