A/N: Hi, my friends. I want to thank eeyorefan12 for her beta skills and giving me so much insight into this story, and I also want to thank the lovely gabby1017 for pre-reading.

Now let's see what Edward has to say after that lunch interruption. ;)

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 35

Edward's fangirl grabs her phone from my hands. "Thanks," she says, not looking at me. "Bye, Edward!"

She scurries away, leaving the two of us facing each other in what feels like an awkward stand-off. I barely know where to look, and my thoughts are so jumbled I can hardly make sense of my surroundings for a moment.

I had envisioned Edward as a loner, anonymously standing on a street corner with his guitar in hand as people tossed dollar bills into his open case. I never imagined him like this, being accosted by adoring fans.

I sit down and still don't look at him.

"Bella, I know what you're thinking."

"No, you don't," I mumble as I grab my bag and set it in my lap. "I have some extra chips in here somewhere." Scowling, I dig and dig like I can't find them even though they're sitting on top.

"I'm sorry she interrupted our date," he says softly.

I shrug as I continue rummaging in my bag. "Does this happen to you often?" I hear myself ask.

"This probably happens to every musician who's ever stepped foot on a stage. It's just part of the business. But no, not often. I'm surprised she even recognized me."

I'm agitated, bumbling, and feel out of place. My hands need to fidget so I grab one of the clear baggies in my tote with the chips in them and start crushing the individual pieces between my fingers.

"Bella, please look at me," Edward says as he dips his head, trying to coax my eyes to his.

I make eye contact for just a second before breaking it off again.

"I don't want this to come between us."

I remain silent and continue my chip crumbling.

He drags in a deep breath. "Do you remember me telling you that I was in a band when I first came back to the States?"

Of course I remember. I remember everything about him. But he told me he stopped when he bought the bookstore.

I finally brave a glance at him. He leans toward me, his expression reassuring.

"When Mom died and I went to France, I could only think of one way to support myself. In Paris, I did street corners, bars, pubs, wherever. I continued that the whole time I was in Europe.

"It was good, though, because I could really focus on my art but more than anything, it also gave me the freedom to search for you."

He trails off, and I look down at my bag and can feel that my chips are now crumbs. My fingers find a Bic pen, and I start pushing the button repeatedly and pray he can't hear it clicking.

"When I came back here, I was angry and frustrated. I also needed to make money but paid, solo gigs are hard to get. I called some friends, and we put something together. We got a following." He pauses for a second. "But what just happened with that girl means nothing. Okay?"

I nod. And slow my assault on my Bic pen. But I feel the divide. Our worlds don't touch.

"Musicians want an audience. That's why we do what we do. But because we're up on a stage with lights everywhere, it contorts people's view of us. Fans and even groupies just come with the territory. Hey, at least she didn't throw her underwear at me."

I muffle a laugh, and he grins.

"So, are we good?" he asks. "Because I have a delicious sandwich here to finish."

"There's dessert, too."

"What?" he says with wide eyes. "Dessert?"

I nod shyly.

"Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?" he teases as he leans toward me and tries to take a peek in my bag.

Smiling, I hug it to my chest. He's trying to distract me from my funk over the attention he just received, and he's succeeding.

After we finish our sandwiches, I finally pull out the pie.

"It's a masterpiece," he says reverently as I lift a piece out and put it on a paper plate. He picks up the whole piece with his hand and takes a bite before I can hand him a fork. He chews and swallows it before he moans, "Bella, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you get one piece, and I get the rest."

I can't contain my smile, so pleased that he's enjoying what I prepared for him. When he's finished with his second piece, I mumble, "I'll just pack everything up for you to take home." I rush to cram everything into the bag I brought for him. Photographs, squeals, rock-star worshipping: add those up and it equals flee in my math book. And yet, I'm still here.

"Hey, I need to tell you something," Edward says as he stretches out his long legs.

"Hmm?'

"I may have, uh, misled that girl," he says, looking bashful. "I got in touch with my old band mates, and we're playing a gig next Sunday night. Actually, this'll be the first one since I bought the bookstore. And I wanted to invite you to come."

I know I'm just staring at him but, for the life of me, I can't think of anything to say. This past hour has felt like a week in terms of new revelations.

Edward sees my hesitation and continues talking. "Bella, music is a huge part of my life, and I want to share that with you. It's important you know that side of me.

"But be prepared," he says, giving me a pointed look. "There will be more girls. It's just part of it. And it means absolutely nothing."

My eyes turn away from his and I'm digging in my bag again, trying to distract myself, but I have nothing else left to gather. I also still have nothing to say.

"Look, I know it might be hard for you. The place might be crowded, and there might be some girls . . . fans. It won't mean anything, but I just wanted you to know that. They don't matter. If I see anyone making you uncomfortable, I'm not above knocking some heads."

I can't help a small snicker at the image of Edward jumping off of a stage to come to my rescue.

"I'm not kidding. I'll go all postal caveman."

He starts beating on his chest, grunting, and I try not to, but a laugh spills out of me.

"I love those sounds," he says.

"What sounds?"

"Your bubbly little laughs. I'm going to keep working hard to earn them. I'm kind of addicted."

What am I supposed to say to that? I know...

"I need to get back to work."

I stand and my feet are treading their departure when I feel a tug on my elbow.

"Come over here," Edward whispers close to my ear as he guides me to a spot behind a pillar.

Turning around, my lips part and I suck in a balloon-size gulp of air when I see him getting closer and closer. I retreat until my back hits the wall with a quiet thud.

"Thank you for asking me out and cooking me that delicious food. You sure know how to make a guy feel special."

I giggle. A strange, self-conscious little giggle.

His eyes are on my lips as I try to unsuccessfully wet them with my desert-dry tongue.

"I wouldn't mind if you asked me out again. For a second date."

"Uh, uh..."

"I want to touch you again. I'll wait for you to give me the go ahead, but I need to warn you. Once I feel you, once I can hold you, I won't ever want to let you go."

An inferno ignites as his words light my skin on fire. Flames lick slowly along my curves as if his actual fingertips are burning brands into my flesh.

His arms cage me in. "Is this alright?" he asks in a husky voice. When I don't object, he leans down and breathes against my cheek making a trail to my hair. I can feel the heat against my bare skin.

Groaning, he stays there for a moment or two before he pushes off the wall and backs up.

My breathing is erratic, and I can feel the flush on my skin from my cheeks down to my belly button. I adjust my blouse around my fiery neck and straighten my bangs.

And I don't dare look at Edward.

He clears his throat. "I hope that didn't make you feel uncomfortable, but this insane yearning to be close to you is driving me crazy. I want to hold you so badly that it gets to me sometimes."

My breathing is impaired, and my body begins quivering uncontrollably as I stare down at my feet. I pray that he can't see my weakened condition.

I hear him heave a sigh. "The gig starts at seven on Sunday, but I have to get there several hours early to set up," he says. "Do you think you can make it?"

I'm barely able to stand let alone have any coherent thoughts, but I finally make eye contact. And I know what my answer will be. Clearly, this is so important to him, how can I say anything but "Yes."

His smile is radiant.

"And I won't introduce you suddenly to anyone like I did with Sue. I want you to be comfortable okay?"

"Okay."

"I won't get to see you tomorrow. There's an auction I want to go to. It's a couple of hours from here."

My gaze drops to my shoes as I try to hide my disappointment.

"I'm going to miss your face."

I glance up and he's started walking backward.

"And your feet. You have small feet. I like that."

I bite my lip. "And your hair. It smells good."

"And . . . well, everything about you."

My heart warms.

"Will you miss me too?" he calls out.

"Yes," I call back.

He stumbles and almost falls down. "Will you miss my big feet?" I nod and laugh harder.

"And my kamikaze hair?" he asks as he tugs on his beanie.

"Yes."

"We might be falling, Bella. We might be falling," he chants.

He waves, and I watch him until the revolving doors whisk him away.

I nearly collapse and have to lean against the wall to recover.

As I wobble on shaky legs back to my desk, my boss Lauren approaches me. I quickly check the clock to make sure I'm not late—but I'm late. Even though I've been a model employee, I tense up with apprehension.

"Bella," she says nasally. Lauren is a stickler. She does not tolerate tardiness and she's a "by the book" kind of person.

"As you know," she says, looking down her large nose at me. "We've hired a new employee. She'll be in orientation this week and I'd like you to start training her on Monday."

"Of course," I murmur with a sigh of relief that she didn't mention my tardiness. One of my co-workers is about to go on maternity leave, so I knew a new employee would be joining us soon.

Lauren leaves and I collapse into my chair. Every inch of my skin is still sizzling from Edward's sensuous words. I've never felt so impassioned before, so inflamed and stirred up. I've never felt so desired, had anyone crave me, itch to touch my skin. Jacob and I had a different kind of love. Familiar and warm. A comfortable kind of love that just came to be after years of friendship.

I'm a hot mess of up, down, sideways, backways. It's like I'm crashing into walls and falling off cliffs with all of these crazy emotions channeling through me.

I don't know what Edward and I are to each other. He says we're "falling" but where is "falling" going to lead us? Falling usually doesn't end well. It usually ends with someone face-first on concrete.

Later that evening, I google the bar where Edward's gig will be and an ad pops up with his image on it. My breath catches in my throat. Squinting, I lean forward. His hair is longer and he's standing on a stage in front of a mic with a guitar draped around him. His eyes are screwed shut, head tilted downward, brows pinched.

I shiver because whatever he is singing about, it looks like it's coming directly from his soul.