“Sorry.” She mumbled, determinedly not looking at him as she closed her closet. He knew she was mortified straight to her bones; the red flush on her face was painful evidence.
He struggled not to smile. That would defeat the whole purpose.
“No big deal.” He shrugged, casual-like. “It’s not like I’ve never seen any.”
“Oh?” She turned her head away, but he saw it, saw the sarcastic twist of her expression and something like…jealousy.
“I do have two sisters.” His heart lightened its load when her brown eyes sneaked a glance at him, an embarrassed, guilty look in them before she mumbled something like, “I know that.”
Satisfied with her reaction, he mm-d his way into the bathroom, leaving her standing in the middle of the living room.
The place was spacious and uncontained, no walls to separate one room from another, airy, with warm colors – shades of greens, browns and sky blue. She could do a lot worse, he thought, but narrowed his eyes when the faucet flopped dangerous in his hands, but she definitely could do better.
He’d seen all there was to the place, eyeing it covertly while he walked around, and discovered that it was a bit run down, especially her own rooms. His mind pondered over the doors that parted the working area to her rooms and he started to devise a plan to get her to get a more secure lock.
He grinned at his reflection in the sink mirror as he remembered her bone-deep embarrassment when she realized her bras were hanging all over the place and chuckled deeply, then, as if he remembered that he was mad at her, he sighed.
While he was here, he might as well wash his face to clear his thoughts. The cold water was fresh against his skin. He shook his hands and winced inwardly as if he could hear his mother’s voice nagging him to wipe his hands…and not on his pants. He fingered a towel hanging from the shower pole, but he just knew, knew that if he used it, her scent would cling to him for the whole night through, well into his dreams.
Not that he could avoid dreaming about her.
He remembered how she felt in his arms, the shape of her body seared into his skin like a brand. There was no explaining the emotions that rioted in his heart at the feel of her rapid heartbeat against his chest, and he had to admit that his anger had softened somewhat at the feel of her.
She was here. Alive. Living her life. Happy.
It was all that he’d ever wanted for her.
She didn’t have to be with him—his heart twisted painfully at the thought—she only had to live. And she was living.
The smile that was reflected on the mirror was whole, wide and embarrassingly grateful. If Jacob saw it, he might be tempted to go into the nearest bar and pick a fight just to retrieve his man card, but Jacob was too busy looking at his damp hands.
After a second of weighing the pros and cons, he wiped them on his jeans.
The first thing he saw when he came out of the bathroom was Bella, trying to blow the hair that had managed to escape her hairclip away from her face. When that didn’t work, she tried swiping it away with her upper arms, her hands busy preparing some kind of food.
“Here.” Jacob felt her jerk when he touched the side of her face with his hand, her back bumped against his front.
He towered over her, she was just so little, his hands gentle. She flinched when a drop of water dripped from his arm to land on her shoulder, he wiped it away with a mumbled apology, the tip of his fingers grazing the curve of her neck, and she shivered as if she was cold.
She wasn’t.
He indulged himself in her scent before stepping back.
“Thanks.” She muttered, without looking at him. “I’m fixing something for Charlie, can you wait a little?”
“Sure.” Just to see if he could, Jacob crossed the kitchen and leaned against opposite counter, his eyes watching her back as she moved along the kitchen counter. His eyes sighted a full coffee pot, and he poured himself a cup.
The coffee went cold in his hands as he found himself staring at her, just staring without thinking of anything in particular, watching the intriguing sway of her waist-length hair, the wave of her hands as she filled Tupperware after Tupperware, the slow lift of her body as she stood on tiptoe to reach for something, the flash of pale skin as her sweater pulled up when she stretched and he felt his body pulse with awareness.
It was ridiculous, ridiculous the way his body—and his heart—responded to her after all these years. The inevitable pull he felt every time she was near. He couldn’t kid himself, things were strained and parts of it were his doing, but even though he was angry with her, the sense of comfort, of connection, the simple knowing between them was still there, just as it had been years ago.
The silence between them was tense, and it didn’t help that they hadn’t talked things out. They used to have no secrets between them, nothing was too hurtful or taboo. One would ask a question and the other—no matter how personal, how intrusive—the other would answer. It was their way, and he missed it. He missed having her beside him, missed the feeling that it was natural for her to be with him.
He admitted—he might as well, since there was no denying it now—he still loved her, and by the way she reacted to him on the narrow stairs, and the way she peeked over her shoulder every few minutes as if to make sure he was still there, she felt the same…or at the very least, felt something. What they had was just too strong for it to disappear completely.
But…one thing at a time.
Jacob caught her eyes when she peeked over her shoulder to where he was standing, quite at home.
“The faucet in the bathroom sink is about to fall off.”
She winced. “I know. I forgot to tell you to use the shower. Did it?”
He made a sound in his throat, his attention was caught by the spice rack above her head. “No. And that shelf is about to drop.”
“What?” She blinked, distress scattering across her face as she looked up, down, sideways. “Which one?”
He crossed the space between them, sat the coffee mug on the kitchenette counter beside her and touched the spice shelf over the oven.
“That doesn’t look so bad.”
He could tell she was trying not to pout when he threw her a disbelieving glance.
“What? I’m putting all of my money into the downstairs area. So what if my apartment is a little…uncomfortable?”
Jacob smiled, his hands testing the strength and the stability of the rack. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Believe me, Bells.” He chuckled low in his throat, his eyes still focused on the shelf. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”
She frowned, trying to figure out what he meant, but got sidetracked when she saw what he was doing.
He straightened the rack and jiggled it in place. It was steady enough. “There, that should hold it up for now.”
She gawked at him. “Did you just push a nail through my wall with your thumb?”
He patted his hands, keeping his eyes on the colorful spices that she put in small bottles. He picked one up and sniffed through the opening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She narrowed her eyes at his face. “Does that actually work? Shrugging away other people’s suspicion by claiming you have no idea what they’re talking about?”
He cocked his head to the right, his hair brushing against his face as he bumped a hip against the counter she was working on. The closeness of their hands on the counter wasn’t done intentionally. Really. “People see what they want to see, you of all people should know that.”
“I guess.” She mumbled, her eyes dropping to her cheese-smeared hands before she sidled to the kitchen sink to wash her hands.
“Your hair is so long now.” He commented, his hands reached from where he stood to play with the edges of her hair.
Testing the waters.
She laughed, a hint of nerves in the sound. “No time to get it cut. As you’ve noticed, I’ve gotten pretty busy.”
“Too busy to give me a call?”
He felt her body stiffen, and he let go of his hold on her hair when she lifted her eyes to meet his. The expression on her face; pain, regret, nerves that twined with something that he couldn’t understand, soothed his heart, his pride, the anger, the bitterness and stirred the protector inside him.
Love, made him angry and bitter, but it was also love that made him understand.
She opened her lips to say something, but sighed when he touched her cheek and couldn’t help but turn her face to the heat of his palm. His fingertips grazed her cheekbone, the curve of her cheek, it glided along her jaw line to cruise softly but deliberately on to the curve of her bottom lip. The air simply trembled when her warm breath touched his fingers. Her eyes, which were earlier closed, opened. Her eyelashes fluttered when Jacob pressed a thumb on her chin. He saw tears gathered at the corners of her brown eyes and felt his heart clutch.
“Jacob, I…”
Slowly and softly, he pressed his lips to hers; the touch as chaste, as loving as the touch of his fingers. “It’s okay, Bells.” He whispered against her lips. “The important thing is that you’re here.” Jacob kissed her eyelids, tasted the single tear that spilled over. “I’m so happy that you’re here.”
Their eyes met and a history of conversation and words passed from one to another.
A sob tore out her throat as she threw her arms around him, wrapping herself around him, and he lifted her up in his arms, carried her to a sofa and sat her in his lap, all without dislodging her from his arms. Jacob felt her tears pour out of her in great wrenching sobs into the curve of his neck, so powerful that it shook her little body. She shuddered against him, and he held her and waited, after he realized that the tears were tears of tension and…relief.
Forgiveness is a funny thing, he thought while he rubbed comforting circles on Bella’s back. The minute he thought about forgiving her, he realized that he already had. But forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, and he knew that this was far from over. She still had some explaining to do. It was the principle of the thing, he thought and propped his chin on the top of her head.
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