I can't thank WhatsMyNomdePlume enough for all she does for me. More from me at the bottom:

*0*0*

"You could come with me," Edward says, almost a whisper. He's leaning against the passenger door, his head on the window, his fist rhythmically tapping against the glass. He's been in that position, staring out the window for most of the hour-long drive to the airport in Port Angeles. We've been almost entirely silent.

My breath catches and I want to. I want to be right at his side for everything that comes next for him. But at the same time, I want nothing to do with that world and I know I'm not ready to face New York yet.

Besides, he needs to go do this on his own. He needs to see just what New York would mean for him now, in light of winning the fellowship, without me there as some kind of obligation or promise to be kept. Once he's there and he's dealt with it, then he can decide what he wants. And then… I don't know. Will he come back? In the three days since he got Margaret's call, he's sworn that he will a dozen times. But part of me, a really big part, doesn't want to believe it. He left me once and I had to get used to it. I've spent many years making myself adjust to the idea of never having Edward. It's odd, but now it's the possibility of having him that's hard to fully embrace.

It's not that I don't believe him when he tells me he's coming back. He's telling me what he knows is the truth, his truth. But I'm terrified to let it be my truth, too. Because if I do, if I believe, and he changes his mind…

"I can't go back there," I finally say. "Not yet. I don't know when I can."

He nods, but keeps his eyes focused on the damp greenery on the side of the road. "I know. I figured."

We lapse back into silence for the last little bit of the drive.

I park the truck and trail after him into the almost-empty airport. He doesn't have any luggage to check, just the duffle bag he had with him when he showed up in my front yard. Once he's gotten his boarding pass, there's nothing to do but walk him to the security entrance. There's no line, of course, just one very bored-looking older woman watching us approach. She perks up when she spots us, smelling drama in the air. Edward stops a few feet shy of her podium and turns back towards me, taking a step closer.

"I'll call you as soon as I get in."

"Sure," I say, working hard at keeping this relaxed and easy. No expectations. I want to just let him go to do the things he needs to without his promises to me dragging at him.

"Good luck back there," I finally tell him. "You're so talented, Edward. You're going to be brilliant, no matter what you do."

Edward stares at me for a second, his eyebrows drawn together. Then he abruptly drops his duffle bag and reaches out to touch my face. His palm is warm and smooth on my cheek and I suck in a breath. His thumb rubs across the top of my cheekbone.

"Don't do that," he says, his voice low and rough.

"Do what?" My eyes are already starting to burn with tears.

"You're saying goodbye to me forever, like I'm not coming back. Don't you dare do that."

"Edward…"

His other hand comes up and now he's gripping my face and bringing me in close to him. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he opens them again and looks at me.

"I'm coming right back. As soon as I can, Bella. I promise. I told you that I wasn't leaving unless you told me to and I meant it. I'm coming back."

"Edward, it's okay," I whisper, trying to calm him down. "We'll talk when you come back." My mind is whispering "if", but for his sake, I say "when".

He nods tightly, then presses his lips hard against my forehead, like he's trying to leave an imprint of himself there. I close my eyes. I can feel the warmth of his body, so close to mine. Oh God, I've wanted this. But I promised myself that I'd let him go with no expectations and no hopes. I told myself that I couldn't want this or feel this, not yet. But his words and his desperation and his hands are making me want him. It's making me miss him before he's gone and wish for his return before he's even gotten there.

He's still cradling my face, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath across my lips. Then he turns my face up a little and he's kissing me. It's soft, slow and thorough, like he's memorizing me with his lips and tongue. Just like that, he owns me again. He always has, really, but his kiss won't let me forget it or pretend it's not true. It makes me ache with longing even though he's right in front of me. I want to wrap my arms around him and hang on tight, but if I do that, he'll never go, so I just hold onto his wrists, steadying myself, while our lips explore. He sighs into me then he gently releases me.

Two more soft kisses to my closed lips and another one on my cheek, and then he shifts back.

I'm barely holding back tears and I feel so cold when his body moves away from mine.

"I'll see you soon," he says, looking me straight in the eye as his hands slide free of my hair.

I wrap my arms around myself, just holding it together until he's gone. Just hold it together. I don't say anything in return, just nodding as he backs away and lifts his bag onto his shoulder.

He hands over his boarding pass and I.D. to the security guard and a moment later, she waves him through. He stands there staring at me for another long moment. His face is so full of huge human emotions—longing, sorrow, want and loss. I just can't help it. The tears start falling and I can't hold them back any more. Edward raises the fingers of one hand to his lips, touches them, then makes a fist before he turns away. I watch him go, his shoulders hunched, his spine curled forward, hands stuffed into his pockets. It reminds me so much of the day four years ago in front of my apartment, when he walked away from me just the same way. That time, it was years before I saw him again.

I've been on my own for most of my life. As a child, my overworked father did the best he could, but there was never enough of him to make up for the mother who'd abandoned me. As a teenager, surrounded by nearly everything life had to offer, all I was aware of was everything that was missing. In college, I spent years missing a man I barely knew. And since then, I wandered like I was in a dream, about to marry a stranger, trying to fill the holes in me in all the wrong ways. Through all of it, one thing was always constant— I was always lonely.

But never in all that time did I feel as alone as I do right now.

*0*0*

I need a job. I've been in Forks for almost two months and I don't have one yet. Edward got a job the day after he got here—it makes me feel like a slacker.

The house is paid for outright, thanks to my father's life insurance, and I have a little bit of money coming in from his monthly annuity from the police department. I'm still thinking about going back to school for my Master's, but that will have to wait until next fall, if I can work out some kind of financial aid. I was serious when I told Phil I wasn't touching the trust fund. I'm determined to do this on my own steam, which means getting a job, even if it's just a temporary one. I need to get busy and do something with myself. It also might help distract me from thinking too much about Edward.

I've made myself this promise: I'm allowed to miss him, but I can't wait and wish. I have to keep moving forward, I have to keep living for myself. If and when he comes back to me, that's when I'm allowed to think about the rest, the possibility of a future with him.

While Edward may have found a job right away in Forks, I'm not so lucky. The economy is bad and nothing much is happening. I expand my search to Port Angeles and that's where I hit pay dirt. I get hired at the Pacific Coffee and Tea Exchange, a little coffee shop along the touristy main drag near the waterfront. It's run by this fantastic older woman who seems completely taken with my art history background, even though I've never held a job in my life and I don't know the first thing about making coffee. But she seems to like having me around to talk to, and as for making coffee, I can learn.

After my first couple of shifts, I'm exhausted but exhilarated. I love making lattes all day. There's something soothing about the passage of time there. I can forget everything else and just focus on mastering steaming the perfect pitcher of milk. My whole world shrinks down to the foam on the milk and when I get it right, I feel immensely satisfied. I'm sure at a certain point, the novelty will wear off and I'll come to despise everything having to do with coffee, but right now, I'm flying high on my first job.

I relate every detail with enthusiasm to Edward that night when he calls. He chuckles all the way through my story, amused at my passion for serving over-priced coffee. But he's glad I found the job and that it's making me happy.

He sounds tired and exasperated, like he does every time he calls. He's gotten through the luncheon with the board of the Van Lewen Foundation, and the official awarding of the fellowship. He's got several interviews lined up in the coming weeks, and still the gallery reception to get through. That's still a few weeks off.

In the meantime, he's crashing at his friend's apartment over the bar where he used to work and packing up all of his paintings that aren't in the exhibit later in the month.

"I miss you," he sighs into the phone. I can hear laughter and voices and glasses clinking in the background, so I can tell he's in the bar. He spends most nights there, and when it gets busy, he jumps in to help out, to pay his friend back for the use of his couch.

I close my eyes and press my palm against my cheek, remembering his hand there when he said goodbye at the airport. "I know," I whisper.

I never say it back. He never presses me to. I think he knows. He knows what I'm waiting for, what I need, and why I can't give in and just love him, not yet. He doesn't make any more lofty promises, or pledges of undying devotion. He just talks matter-of-factly about the logistics involved with wrapping up his New York life and getting himself back to Washington.

I listen and remind myself not to hope.

*0*0*

"Bella, you wouldn't believe this guy."

"Which guy? The one from The Times?"

"No, the guy who interviewed me for Art in America two days ago. What a pretentious prick," Edward says, and I feel like I can almost see him rolling his eyes through the phone. "It was so hard to keep a straight face for two hours. The guy was wearing an ascot. Who does that?"

I laugh and nudge the refrigerator door closed with my hip. I'm making myself lunch while I talk to him, my cell phone wedged under my cheek.

"What are you doing?" he asks. He always asks me to tell him what I'm doing, what I'm watching on TV, what I'm wearing.

"Making lunch."

"Oh, yeah? What are you cooking?"

"Um, grilled cheese."

Edward pauses, then laughs, "Seriously?"

"Yes," I huff. "It's the only thing I know how to make besides canned soup."

"Jesus. Thank God I taught you that much or you'd waste away."

"Very funny."

"I'll teach you some other things when I get back," he says casually. I clear my throat and don't respond.

After a minute, he starts talking again. "Hey, so I had a visitor last night."

"A visitor where?"

"Here. At the bar."

"Oh, really? Who?" I say, bracing for what might come next, wondering which ghost of Edward's past, which rich art-lover has tracked him down at his friend's bar.

"Alice."

My head snaps back and I nearly drop the phone and the slice of bread I was buttering. "Alice? My Alice?"

"That's the one."

"What? Why the hell was she there?" I'm replaying my last conversation with Alice from a few days ago in my head. She said Rose was about to get out of rehab and start an outpatient therapy program. She said she was joining the board of the ASPCA. I told her about my job, and Edward's interview with Art in America. No, at no point did she make any mention of going to see Edward.

Edward clears his throat. He sounds a little uncomfortable, but also like he might be smiling. "She wanted to put me on notice."

"Excuse me? On notice for what?" I'm going to kill Alice, if it's possible to kill someone through the phone line.

"I screw up, I die. That was pretty much the gist of it."

"She said that?"

"More or less."

"She's dead."

"Look, it was sweet. She loves you, and she's worried about you. I think she just wanted to make sure I was on the level, you know? Looking at us from the outside, I get why she would be nervous. I don't look so good on paper."

"Still, it was presumptuous. How did she even find you?"

"She called Margaret. The foundation needed my temporary address while I was here."

I close my eyes and groan. Poor Margaret, getting dragged into the soap opera of my personal life. I'll have to call her and apologize. After I call Alice and kill her.

"Okay, so she put you on notice. What did you say?"

Edward pauses for what feels like ten minutes. "I just told her how I feel."

"Oh. And then what?" I don't ask him what he said. If he's going to say that stuff, then I want it to be to my face, not through a phone line and related from a conversation with someone else.

"I bought her a drink."

"That's it? You bought her a drink and everything was fine?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure because they haven't come down yet."

I let my breath out in a huff. "Quit being cryptic, Edward. Who's 'they'?"

"Alice and Jasper."

"Jasper? Your friend Jasper? The Jasper that owns the bar?"

"That's the one."

"You mean Alice and Jasper…?"

"Yup. He came over last night to introduce himself and sort of… diffuse the situation. They started talking and—"

"She stayed there with him?"

"Seems so."

"Wow. Okay… um, this Jasper guy, is he on the level? He's not some creep, is he?"

Edward laughs. "You two are really cute, looking out for each other. And you do realize that you're doing exactly what she did, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm asking you, not cornering Jasper. It's different. Which is why you have to tell me about him."

He chuckles and sighs before continuing. "Fine. Yes, Jasper's totally on the level. He's my best friend. And he seemed really into her."

"Does he know about her money?"

Edward pauses for a while. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he does. But Jasper's not like that. I really don't think it will matter to him."

Now I feel bad, like such a bitch, making awful assumptions about Edward's best friend. "I'm sorry. It's just… sometimes people have more than one reason for wanting to get to know you when—"

Edward cuts me off, "No, I get it. They way you guys live—well, when you were still here—I'm sure it's hard to know what people are really after. But Jasper's not one of those people."

"I believe you. Just tell her to call me."

"Uh, no way. Call her yourself. I'm not getting involved in Jasper's sex life."

"Edward—"

"The only relationship I'm getting in the middle of is mine with you," he says, and I feel my face flush.

"Fine," I murmur, once I recover from that. "I'll call her myself."

*0*0*

My calls to Alice go to voicemail for three days. Alice never, ever ducks my calls. Finally, on the fourth day, she picks up.

"Thank God," I say when she answers. "I thought maybe you died."

"I'm fine," she says, her voice unnaturally bright.

"Well, you never know. Last I heard, you were disappearing up the back stairs in some dive bar in Red Hook with a strange guy."

There's silence on the phone. "Edward told you."

"Yes, he did."

"Jasper's amazing," she says defensively. "So don't give me a hard time."

"I'm sure he is. That's not really what I was getting at, though."

"It's not?"

"Nope. You went to see Edward. What the hell, Alice?"

She sighs. "I was just really worried about you, Iss. After everything you've been through with him, I just wanted to make sure he was serious about you. That he wasn't going to be… careless."

"And?"

"What he said about you… how he said he felt—"

"Don't tell me," I say quickly, scrambling back from the edge of something I'm not sure I'm ready for. I'm certainly not ready to explore it with Alice.

"Okay," she says gently. "But he seems like a good guy. And he's trying so hard."

I can't believe Alice is actually trying to sell me on Edward. Like he needs that kind of help. "I know he is. So," I say after a second, "tell me all about this Jasper guy."

Alice doesn't stop talking for a solid twenty minutes and it makes my heart swell. I think there finally might be someone to take care of Alice the way she's always taken care of everyone else. Part way through her monologue, she pauses for air and texts me a picture. I have to smother my gasp of surprise with my hand when I open it.

It's a little blurry and dimly lit, clearly snapped on her cell phone inside the bar. Fierce, light blue eyes peer out from under shaggy blonde hair nearly to his shoulders. He looks amused and like he's about to roll his eyes at the same time. His arms are crossed on the bar as he leans forward, and his flannel shirt is rolled to the elbows, revealing sleeves of tattoos all the way to his wrists. Another dark scroll of ink covers the left side of his neck disappearing behind his ear and under his hair. There's a ring in his lower lip. Her family will melt down when they find out he runs a bar in Red Hook. And when they see him… there are no words to describe the fury that will rain down on her. Alice had ancestors on the Mayflower and no one in her family has lifted a finger to work in generations.

But Alice doesn't seem to care about any of that. She's crazy about this guy already. She'll figure out the rest. I did; she will, too. I just hope her path is easier than mine has been, and this Jasper guy is up for the challenge.

*0*0*

Edward calls me from the cocktail reception of his gallery exhibit. He's supposed to be talking to the Van Lewen foundation donors, the rich people who endow the fellowship and will probably buy his art. And he does talk to them for a couple of hours, but by ten o'clock, he's hiding in a stairwell, talking to me.

I'm sitting on my couch in the dark, my knees pulled up to my chin, my eyes closed, listening to his voice in my ear.

"This is it," he says. "This is the last big thing they need me for. So I'm heading out the day after tomorrow."

"Are you sure you shouldn't stay a little longer? In case any of the paintings sell and your agent needs you or something?" I could kick myself for saying it, but it's only logical and I want him to be smart about things.

"Fuck it," he says with a tired sigh. "They can sell a painting without me. I'm leaving."

I pause, thinking about what I want to say. "Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't run away."

He snorts in laughter. "Very funny coming from you."

"I didn't run away," I protest. He laughs harder. "I just left… quickly."

"Yeah, try telling that to the guy who was chasing you."

That makes me laugh for a second, too. When I sober up, I go on. "But the difference is I had nothing to hold me there. You do."

"And you think this is all about me running away from it?"

"I don't know. But I do know that I can't save you. It can't be all about me. That's one thing I feel like I've figured out since I left. One person can't ever save you. You have to save yourself first."

I can hear his slow steady breathing on the phone and I hold my breath, waiting for him to respond.

"That's not what this is about. I told you when I first got to Forks that I was re-thinking all this shit. Me, New York… all of it."

"I know. But you've had time to go back. It's different now. You can see that, right?"

He scoffs softly. "Yeah, I guess it's different. I mean, I definitely have a higher profile than I did before. That would make things easier for me. Logistics and everything. But in all the ways that matter, this place, these people, won't ever change. When I'm here, it becomes about so much more than painting. In a bad way. It's… I just can't be here anymore. And it just so happens, I have someplace better to go anyway."

I let my breath out slowly, so relieved that I can hardly stand it. "If you're sure."

"Absolutely sure."

"Okay, then. Hurry back."

He laughs and the tension evaporates. "Hey, I have a surprise," he says.

"What?"

"I bought a truck. I'm driving back."

"You bought a truck?"

"Yeah. This hipster asshole who lives near the bar bought it a while ago. I guess he though it would make him more legit or some shit. Anyway, once he realized what a pain alternate side parking is, he decided it wasn't worth it. It's been parked in front of Jasper's bar for ages. So I made him an offer and it's mine. I needed something to drive once I'm out there anyway. And now I can get all my stuff back in it."

My heart starts to pound. This is real. He's coming back in just days. It's all planned and it's happening. I've weathered his long stay in New York and so has he. Now he's finished and he's coming back to me, just like he said he would. I let out a long, shaky breath and plant my palm against my chest to steady myself.

"Hey, you okay?" Edward asks.

"Yeah, just… you're coming back."

"I told you I would, Bella."

"I know, but—"

"Believe it. I'll be there soon. I miss you."

I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. "I miss you, too."

It's the first time I've let myself say it. I hear his exhale through the phone, and I'm almost certain that I can hear him smiling.

*0*0*

My phone rings next to my bed and I groan, rolling over to find it. I crack one eye to look at the time. Four a.m. I'm sure my shift at the coffee shop doesn't start until one this afternoon, so it's not them. I glance at the screen. Edward. My heart thuds once, in anticipation and dread.

"Hey," I say, my voice still thick with sleep.

"Hey," he says breathlessly. "Oh, fuck. It's really early there. I'm sorry. I was just in a rush and I forgot."

"It's okay."

"I'm getting on the road right now."

I sit up in bed, now fully awake. "Now?"

"Yeah, it's seven o'clock. I want to get in a big day of driving. I don't know if I'll have to stop for the night or not. I want to try not to, but—"

"You need to sleep, Edward."

"I need to see you," he says, and I can't help smiling.

"I don't know if I'll be able to charge my phone or anything. I can't do it in the truck. So I don't know if I can call from the road."

"Save your battery. I'll…" I stop and swallow. "I guess I'll see you when you get here."

"You will. Go back to sleep, Bella. I'll be there soon."

"Okay."

We hang up, but sleep is impossible. I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and counting how many minutes it will be until he's here.

*0*0*

The next two days pass at a crawl. I have to work shifts at the coffee shop both days, which helps a little, but I'm distracted and unhelpful. I think I give people regular when they ask for decaf and the foam on my steamed milk is pathetic. I'm an embarrassment to baristas everywhere. The second day after Edward's call, I push my truck as fast as it will go on the long drive home after my shift, hoping against hope that he'll be there. I've done the math though, and there's no way he could make it here already. I know it, but it doesn't keep me from wishing I could re-write the laws of physics.

He hasn't called since his early morning phone call before he left. I didn't expect him to, but just the same, my insecurities feed on the silence. I can imagine a million reasons why he'll change his mind and turn back. There are so many things to tie him to New York. There are so many reasons why he should stay, and only one reason for him to go. There, he could have anything. Here, there is just me.

I'm hoping. I'm counting on him. I told myself over and over that I wouldn't, but I can't help it. If he doesn't come back, I'll be devastated. It will be worse than that morning in his loft in New York. Every time I think about it, I can barely breathe.

I think about making a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, but my stomach is in knots and eating is impossible. There's nothing on TV that can hold my interest. I wind up just wandering from room to room for hours. He probably stopped to sleep last night. In fact, I hope he did. I hate the thought of him driving for two days straight without a break.

The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he stopped for the night. I'm in the middle of re-figuring the driving time, factoring in a rest stop, when I hear the sound of an engine out on the nearly-deserted state road.

I'm out on the front porch in moments, feeling ridiculous, like a little girl waiting for Christmas to come. It seems that Edward always does this to me, reduces me to a desperate, trembling girl. I've stopped fighting it. There's no help for it. He will always do this to me.

Arcing headlights cut through the dense pines as a vehicle turns onto my street and my heart starts to pound right out of my chest. I want to laugh when I see the truck. I thought mine was old, but Edward's truck is an artifact. He could probably make a fortune selling it to a collector. I can't believe he just drove it across the country without stopping. It's a miracle that he's made it here at all. It's green and covered in patches of rust. The fenders are big bulbous things and the bed is long and shallow. The back of the truck is so loaded up with stuff that it dips lower than the front. I see the corners of canvases poking up through the blue nylon tarp covering the bed. He's brought everything that matters to him all the way across the country, here to me.

The truck stops in the front yard and I'm plunged into darkness as the headlights cut off. I can barely see Edward as the driver's side door screeches open, then slams shut.

Then I see him. He's striding across the grass, eating up the distance in huge long strides. He takes the front steps two at a time and then he's here, right in front of me. His hands are reaching out, sliding into my hair, cupping the back of my neck, pulling me forward into him. My hands find his shoulders, wide and solid under the soft washed flannel of his shirt. I feel the warmth of his chest and stomach pressed against my chest and stomach. I can barely make out his features in the dark of the porch, but it doesn't matter, because in seconds, the distance is closed and he's kissing me. Hard.

His fingers curl in; his hands are so warm. His mouth is just desperate. Before I know it, my arms are wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him down and closer. He shifts his weight and his knee slides between mine. I take a sharp breath through my nose as I feel his tongue swipe across mine. He tastes like bitter coffee and Edward.

Edward moans and takes a clumsy step into me. I fall back against the front door. His hands are everywhere; fingertips stroking down my cheeks, my neck; hands curling around my shoulders; palms sliding down my arms, fingers digging into my hips. His mouth leaves mine and it's on my neck, his tongue, his teeth…

Then his arms are sliding around me, pulling me in tight against him, just holding me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding him, too. He's warm and hard and all his edges fit so perfectly against me. Jesus, I missed him. I bury my face in the hollow under his jaw and just inhale him. His head drops down, almost to my shoulder and I hear him breathing, deep and uneven. I run my hand up the back of his neck into his hair and he sighs.

"I love you," he says into my neck, kissing my skin as soon as he says it.

I gasp and try to turn my head to look at him, but he's kissing his way back to my mouth, tiny presses of his lips, and whispering in between, "I love you, I love you." I give up trying to look at him and just kiss him back, showing him instead of telling him. I love you, too.

"Inside," he mutters.

With effort, I pull my head away from his. He's still got his face turned down to me as we take deep breaths to steady ourselves. His hair is brushing my cheek. I reach up and cup his face with my hand, feeling the prickle of two days of beard growth. His hand darts up to cover mine, holding it to his cheek. He turns his face and presses a kiss to my palm. Everything in me melts. I want him so much. I don't know how I can stand it anymore, or how I've stood it this long.

I fumble with the door and lead him inside, blinking at the relatively bright living room after the cold dark front porch. At the foot of the stairs, he turns me back towards him with a hand on my shoulder. I catch just a glimpse of his tired, haggard face and his tousled hair before he's on me again, setting fire to every part of me he touches. The stairs stretch out endlessly behind me, so far to go.

"We don't have to yet," Edward whispers, kissing down my neck, tugging the edge of my shirt aside, kissing my collar bone once he can reach it. "Not if you're not ready."

I put a hand on either side of his face and pull it back up to mine. "Yes, we do," I say, before I kiss him again. Any semblance of restraint he's shown is gone after that. One arm wraps tight around my waist and the other hand splays against the staircase wall to steady us as we stagger up the stairs, him advancing, me retreating.

We back into my little bedroom, where he's never been, and he walks me all the way to the edge of my bed. It feels so right that he's here with me at last. It's like we've always belonged together, but could only really be together in the right time and place, and that's right here and right now.

Edward's hands are at the hem of my shirt, pulling up, stripping it off me. I let him, but as I lower my bare arms, I hold his face again, making him stop and look at me. As much as I want this, I want him to know what it means to me, too. Since he came after me, he's been so honest and brave, and all I've been is afraid.

There's just enough pale moonlight coming through the window to pick out his features and wash them in blue. I rub my thumb over his high cheekbone. He smiles, a soft little curling at the corner of his mouth. I trace the edge of his bottom lip with my fingertip. He's so familiar now, and cherished. Not the exotic, beautiful god I first met. Now he's real. Lovely, flawed, whole and mine. His face, still as beautiful as it's always been to me, is so much more now. I love every plane and crease, I love every freckle and line. And I love him. So much that it hurts.

"I love you," I say, still tracing his mouth. His lips fall open as he looks at me. I can't make out his exact expression in the dark, but I imagine it mirrors how I'm feeling— this expanding, aching warm glow, filling me up from the inside out, to every corner and out to the edges of me and then beyond. This feeling makes me bigger and better than I am. It makes us more than the sum of the two of us.

He exhales, his warm breath blowing across my fingertips. "I love you, too," he whispers, but I already know that. He loves me. When he leans in to kiss me again, it's slower, gentler, and so deep, like he wants to take his time to feel every second of this and remember it.

After a while, he pushes me back on the bed, and I pull him down to cover me. Slowly, one piece at a time, we lose the rest of our clothes. Each time something else goes, we take our time to explore what's underneath. By the time he's over me, between my legs, ready to push in, he's spent ages touching me with his hands and his mouth. I'm boneless and so ready for him. He's dragging in deep breaths, his face buried in my neck like he wants to inhale me whole.

The rest is as slow as what's come before. I don't want to rush through it. I want to feel this, feel him, until I've memorized it all, inside and out. It's sweet and gentle this time. There's no desperation, no panic, no tears. Because this isn't the only time or the first time. And definitely not the last time. This is the beginning of us, a beginning that took four long years to find us.

As we drift together afterwards, he rolls to his side and pulls me flush against him. Together we watch the shadows that the trees make move and shift across the ceiling. Edward sighs and it's a sound of contentment that I feel in my bones.

I don't know what will come next, not for me and not for him. I can't be his only answer, and he can't fix everything that's gone wrong in my life. But it doesn't matter. We're not here to be perfect, only to be together. We're just two small people in a small house at the edge of the big dark woods, with nothing but the rest of our lives stretching out in front of us. But I'm not afraid of the vast unknown because for the first time in my life, I am not alone. We'll live in the moment and let each of those moments knit together to fill up the blank canvas of our life. There's no telling what our picture will look like, I just know that it will be us.

*0*0*

A/N:

There's a tiny little epilogue coming up. I'll try and post soon, but it might not happen till the weekend.

I can't thank you enough for all your lovely, thoughtful reviews, PMs and tweets about this story. I started writing this on a whim to keep myself busy while I sorted out what to write next. I never expected this kind of response to it. Your enthusiasm, support and encouragement have meant the world to me. Thank you.