2,052Long chapter ahead! Sorry!
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seventeen
i bet you think about me
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Sleep doesn't come easy after my date with Edward.
I lie awake for hours replaying everything. And when I do eventually doze, I have nightmares.
In one, our date ends with Edward locking me in his home office, the walls padded with mattresses.
In another, he poisons my dinner and when I fall to the floor choking, he stands above me and laughs cruelly.
I don't need a dream book to decipher that my subconscious is being a drama queen. Even if I had put myself in potential danger by hanging out with him, clearly I was safe because nothing happened.
Still, the nightmares are unsettling and downright annoying. So when I wake up at five a.m., I decide to get up for the day, heavily relying on dry shampoo and coffee to revive me.
I go into the office early, looking haggard from my lack of sleep. Heidi and the other employees are nice enough not to comment on it, but when Chelsea arrives around eight, she doesn't hesitate to call me out.
"Tired?" she gleefully asks, assuming the bags under my eyes are from a sleepless night with Edward.
I don't look up from the watercolor painting I'm working on as she sits at the desk beside me.
"Yes. I'm exhausted but not in the way you think," I insist.
"Well, spill. How'd it go last night?"
My paintbrush pauses and I look over at her. "Decent for a first date. I had a lot of fun getting to know him. He was respectful, funny, and charming, and said and did everything right."
"So, what's the problem?" she asks, quirking a brow.
"Why do you think there's a problem?"
"Because you have that but tone in your voice."
"He's…" I sigh, thinking. "I don't…" I pause.
He disarmed me. That's all. With his genuine demeanor, he took away my metaphorical weapons, and now I'm left feeling vulnerable and too exposed.
I'm not used to this.
From the twinkle in Chelsea's eyes, I know she's in "problem-solving" mode.
"What does he do for a living and how old is he?" she asks.
"He's a surgeon and he's like, thirty-six or thirty-seven."
"Has he ever been married?"
"No."
"You're probably stuck in your head and wondering why he's single, right? Like, what's wrong with him?"
He's a ten but might be a murderer, I think to myself, amused, even though I don't actually believe that anymore.
But Chelsea isn't wrong. Taking his potential involvement in Rosalie's disappearance out of it, his relationship status—or lack thereof— is a little concerning.
"Last night he said he doesn't want kids, so I assume that's why he's single," I tell her.
"He told you that on a first date? Wow, y'all got personal," she muses. "I'd like to remind you that you're a great catch and also single, so that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with him. So don't sabotage yourself just because he seems too good to be true."
I'm about to defend myself and say I don't self-sabotage, but I stay quiet. I'm tired, and what Chelsea is saying isn't necessarily wrong. If Edward were anyone else, I'd probably take her up on her advice and stop looking for things wrong with him. But putting this much thought and effort into something I know is fake just isn't worth it.
"No rebuttal?" she asks, surprised.
"Nope."
"Aw, am I witnessing a self-growth moment?" Chelsea teases and I fight a smile. "Maybe we need to do a vision board for you to manifest your dream life. Or go to the psychic?"
"A lobotomy works just as well," I joke, and she shakes her head in disgust but laughs anyway.
"I'd rather see you do the inner work than scramble your beautiful brain, girlie. That can be a last resort."
I laugh. "Hey, whatever works."
"You're really playing into our friendship trope with comments like that," she muses.
According to Chelsea, we give Black Cat and Golden Retriever vibes. Her energetic, sunny disposition complements my darker, more reserved self. I can't lie that we somehow work, but it's not a newfound phenomenon that opposites attract.
"What are you working on?" she asks, leaning over to see what I've been painting.
"It's…" Oh. Fuck. "It's Edward's living room," I say surprised, even though I've been working on it for the last two hours.
My eyes roam over the drawing—it's hand sketched and then I went back in with watercolors after it was done to help it come to life.
It's Edward's living room but elevated with my tweaks and suggestions. Like switching out his white couch for one that's caramel leather to add masculinity and warmth. I've also switched up the location of his sofa entirely and moved it to the middle of the room to utilize the space of his open-plan area.
To enhance the earthy feel that the couch provides, I added a marble and wood coffee table, a smaller matching side table, and some plants. And then to tie everything in, I gave him a faded, Persian rug in ivory, beige, and gray to keep the space feeling light and bright.
"Aw, Bella," Chelsea says with a soft smile as if this means something.
Okay, so I went all out. I haven't hand sketched in forever, and I definitely haven't added details with watercolors. The design tool I use on the computer for rendering does it all for me.
But I downplay my feelings.
"I was literally just there last night and wanted to get this idea down while his place is fresh in my mind," I say, but it sounds like an excuse.
"You never hand-sketch unless you're inspired. Which has been rare, recently."
"Do not read into this and do not mentally start adding wedding dresses to my vision board. Got it?" I say with a pointed, unimpressed look.
"I'm not mentally adding a wedding dress to that vision board. But I am adding a lace-edged veil that I think would look stunning on you."
I groan but Chelsea just smiles, and I lower my head and get back to work.
The morning goes by slowly until I meet a client at a tile store near Pike Place where we spend at least two hours. Instead of heading back to work right away, I stop by the market and grab a piroshki for lunch. I devour the savory pastry in record time while standing on the sidewalk, then decide to pop over to my favorite second-hand furniture store. It's only a block away and they have a good mix of new and used items and one-of-a-kind pieces.
And instead of going alone, I give in to my sudden urge to invite Edward.
I tell myself it's not out of the ordinary for me to do. I've invited other clients to look at furniture before. Of course, those appointments weren't spur of the moment and I wasn't pretending to date them.
But I text him anyway.
Bella: This might seem random, but I'm gonna go look at some furniture for your place right now. If you're free and would like to tag along, let me know.
I ball up my food wrapper and dispose of it in a trash can on the sidewalk when he texts back. Rain starts to lightly fall and I duck under an awning.
Edward: I'm free. Where are you?
Bella: You mean you don't already know? You're not stalking me? Edward: I am. Look up—I'm waving at you.
I glance up from my phone, but of course, he's not there.
Bella: Punk. I fell for it, lol.
Edward: You said you wanted to take things slow so I decided to back off the stalking for now. Honestly surprised you're texting me this soon after our date. Then again, no rules, right?
Bella: Well, you're not engaging with Date Bella right now. This is Work Bella. It'll strictly be a professional meeting, so don't show up here and try flirting with me or anything.
Edward: To be fair I don't try to flirt. It just happens.
I smile at my phone and send him the address. He says he can be there in fifteen minutes. While I wait, I check out some vendors and stand with a crowd to watch the fishmongers perform for the tourists as they holler out and throw fish over the counter.
When I finally make it over to the store, Edward's already there. He must have been waiting for a few minutes because his hair and flannel button-down are slightly damp from the rain.
Seeing him so casual is rare, but he makes it look good.
"Hey," I say breezily, ignoring the buzz I feel from seeing him.
"Hey." He glances up at the storefront. "I was starting to worry this wasn't the right place. There isn't a sign."
"They don't need marketing. Word of mouth and fifty years of reputation keep this ole place running."
"I guess that's one way to run a business," he says lightly, pulling the door open and nodding for me to walk in first.
"Got anything new for me today, Billy?" I ask the owner who's sitting behind the cluttered counter. He's a sweet, elderly man who I've done business with ever since I started working for Heidi.
"Just a few new things. I'm sure your keen, young eye will be able to pick them out faster than it'd take my old ass to show you," he says with a gruff laugh.
"Hey, be nicer to yourself," I chastise with a soft smile. "You're not old, just vintage."
Billy laughs harder until he coughs.
"Vintage," he echoes, grinning. "That's good. I need to add that to my dating profile on Senior Match."
"You do that," I muse, and his eyes shift to Edward standing beside me. "Billy, this is Edward, one of my clients."
Billy salutes him. "Good to meet ya. Holler if you two need anything."
I nod. "Thanks, we will."
Edward follows behind me as we walk down an aisle, clutter surrounding us.
"You two are pretty cute together," Edward says when we're out of Billy's earshot.
"Oh, shut up," I laugh, turning around to narrow my eyes at him.
"I'm offended. I can't flirt with you, but he can?" he teases.
"You must be out of the dating game longer than I assumed if you thought that was flirting."
"Or maybe I just like giving you a hard time," he offers. "This place is kind of cool, though. Equal parts interesting and terrifying."
"Terrifying? You don't get out much, do you?"
When I turn around again, he grins. "I feel like any item I pick up will send me back in time."
"That's quite an imagination you have. If you could go back to any time in your life, what would you pick?"
He's quiet, thinking. "Maybe when I lived in Forks."
I slow my steps, his words causing me to falter. The last time we talked about where he was from, he left out Forks entirely. So having him mention this now makes me trust him a little more.
"Forks?" I repeat.
"Yeah, it's a few hours away, near the peninsula," he explains like I didn't grow up there. "We moved there the summer before my freshman year of high school."
He's right—he did. It was pretty big having a new family with zero prior connections randomly join the small town.
I stop walking entirely and pretend to be focused on a cluster of glowing lamps.
"Why would you pick that time to go back to?" I ask, messing with a tasseled shade.
"Hey, you didn't tell me I had to expand on why," he says lightly. "But… I don't know. I feel like a lot of people would want to go back to high school. Redo shit. Change the direction of their life."
"Not popular people. You were prom king, weren't you?"
"Well… that was at a different school. We moved from Forks back to Chicago mid-junior year."
My throat is dry, but I look at him. "Why?"
"It wasn't really up to me. My parents wanted to leave, so we did. And honestly, I don't even know why we moved to Forks in the first place. Now that I'm older I get the sense it's because my stepdad wanted to feel important, maybe. Like being a doctor in a small town gave him clout or some shit. Made him feel more esteemed than he is."
He doesn't give me exactly what I want, but he does give me something. I'm watching him too closely not to catch the way his jaw tightens a little.
"You don't like him," I realize.
His demeanor relaxes, and he ignores my accusation. "What about you? If you could go back?"
"I wouldn't put myself through anything twice. So there's no going back for me."
He holds my gaze. "A woman who knows what she wants."
"I guess."
I keep his eye contact for one, two, three beats. And then I start walking again, letting the conversation dissolve because I don't want my prying to stand out too much.
We spend some time looking at various pieces of furniture and random collections of glassware, art, and vintage kitchen items.
"Do you have sensory overload yet?" I ask.
He laughs. "Yeah, there's a lot of stuff in here."
"There are some tips and tricks though that can help. Be open to anything, but have an idea in mind when shopping."
"I have no fucking clue where to start," he admits, seeming a little overwhelmed.
"Ahh, tip number two—come with an experienced shopper like moi," I say, resting my hand against my chest and smiling. "When I was a kid, I used to go thrifting with my aunt on weekends. We'd go to antique shops and check out every garage sale near us. She'd call it treasure hunting. She'd buy the ugliest furniture, and flip it into something amazing that she'd sell for double the price she paid."
"Sounds like she was a savvy woman."
I swallow. "She was the best."
"Is that where you got your love of interior design?" Edward asks, interested.
"Yeah, probably," I say too softly. "It's strange because I never thought to wonder why I got into interior design. But that adds up. She was constantly rearranging the furniture in our house. I'd leave for school with the living room set up one way, and come back with it entirely different," I laugh. "One summer when I returned from camp, my room was switched with—" I nearly fucking say Rosalie but catch myself. "My cousin's."
Edward chuckles. "And you didn't care?"
"No. My aunt had a way of making things better. Like, it always felt right. Yeah, maybe it seems like she was overstepping, but she just wanted everything to be perfect."
And it was. Until it wasn't.
I fall silent, my little walk down memory lane ending.
Edward shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I think he catches on that this is difficult to talk about, and I appreciate that he doesn't push.
"So since you're the pro here," he says, "I can just sit back and relax and watch you be adorable and in charge?"
I playfully narrow my eyes. "Hey, what did I say about flirting?"
He bites back a grin. "Sorry."
"And yes, if you want me to take over I can. But I'm not going to buy anything without your consent. It is your place, after all, so you get the ultimate say."
"Yes, consent is vital," he agrees. "You have my full permission to do whatever you want to me. I mean, my condo."
I give him a look, trying not to laugh, and he just smiles smugly.
It takes almost twenty minutes to find something I'm finally interested in—a marble and wood side table similar to the one I sketched for Edward's living room. It's less like I manifested it and more like I just know the trends right now. But it does make me feel a little like this is meant to be. The redecorating of Edward's place, I mean. Not… us.
"Now this is perfect," I tell him. "And don't worry, not everything in here is second-hand. Some items are new, like this one."
"I'm not worried," he says simply. "You're the expert and if you think it looks good, I trust you."
He trusts me.
Great.
Exactly what I want, and yet…
No.
I'm not going to feel guilty.
My revised plan to find out more information and grow closer to him is working. I've already learned some new things from just our one date, and even from talking to him today. Things I need to further dissect and discuss with Jasper whenever he returns from his trip.
And Edward trusting me on a professional level is entirely different than him trusting me on a personal level. He's right to trust me as his interior designer. I'm not going to purposely fuck up his place. I love what I do. I'm fucking good at it. And it was his suggestion to hire me. So, I'll continue working with him as long as I can, as long as this ruse goes on.
Maybe I'll give him a discount, though, to ease my stupid, guilty conscience.
I check the price tag of the side table.
"It's $500," I tell him. "It's not worth that much, but I can get Billy to lower the price. Just watch me work my magic."
"Happily," Edward remarks, and when I look at him he says, "Not flirting."
I fight a smile and snag the tag from the table before we make our way to the register.
"What caught your eye?" Billy asks.
"A marble and wood side table," I say, sliding him the price tag.
He nods. "Got it yesterday."
"It's marked for $500, but it's not worth more than $250."
Billy laughs. "Half off? It's been on the floor one day, sweetheart."
Pulling out my phone, I open a website with a similar side table and show him the price.
"That says $275," he points out.
"Yes, but with this website, I get an extra 10% off and free shipping if I give them my email address, so clearly this is a better deal than what you're offering."
He grumbles. "You drive a hard bargain."
"I'm playing fair!" I insist. "I want my client to get his money's worth. And that table is marked way too high."
"You believe this woman?" Billy asks him, scoffing. "Ruthless."
"She's something, all right," Edward agrees, watching this exchange in amusement, and maybe a hint of fondness.
I look at my phone again. "If I order it now, it'll arrive in two days. Wow, that's—"
"Fine," Billy sighs. "$250."
I beam. "You're the best. I'll go grab it, while you pay?" I ask, looking at Edward who nods and pulls out his wallet.
I move through the store and grab the small table. When I'm back at the register, Billy looks insanely too happy for a man who just got bartered with.
Before I can comment on it, Edward immediately takes the table from my hands and ushers me toward the door.
"Great doing business with ya!" Billy hollers. "Come back anytime!"
When we're outside, I pause on the sidewalk.
"You just paid full price, didn't you?" I ask Edward, who looks guilty.
"I felt bad for the guy. And I have the money."
"Oh, my God," I laugh. "You sneaky little punk. You just got taken advantage of."
He shrugs. "It's fine. I don't care."
"I care!"
The irony isn't lost on me that I'm kind of taking advantage of him, too. But I'm not scamming him out of money. It feels different.
"You care about me, huh?" he asks, smug, holding the table with one hand.
"As your interior designer, yes. I do." I gently poke him in the chest. "Next time we go there, you need to grow some—"
"My balls are just fine, thank you," he says, fighting a smile and finishing my sentence. I don't realize my finger is still touching his chest until he wraps his hand around mine, his palm warm. "And you talk that way to your clients? With that pretty mouth of yours?"
Pulling my hand out of his, I can feel my cheeks turn pink as my stomach flutters. "Most clients don't interfere with my haggling. But whatever, that's fine. I have to go back to work now."
"Okay."
"So, I'm gonna do that."
"Okay."
I start to walk away then turn back. "Bye."
He smiles, all easy and warm. "Bye."
My brain is fucking scrambled.
I don't move.
"Do you need a ride?" he asks.
"From you?"
"Pete's around the corner."
"Sure," I instantly say. "Wait, no. I drove here."
His amusement is infectious. Even though I'm not smiling like he is, my chest is light and excited.
"I'd be happy to walk you to your car," he offers.
"It's okay, thanks. Enjoy your overpriced side table," I toss out.
"Thank you, I will," he shoots back. "Are you leaving now or—"
"Yes."
"You're kinda cute when you're flustered," he says, and I spin around to leave, not bothering to hide my smile because he can't see it with my back turned anyway.