The door to the Volvo shut with a solid, final sound as Bella stepped down onto the damp sidewalk, still holding Edward's impossibly cool hand. The air outside smelled like wet concrete and sea salt, tinged with the faint aroma of garlic and marinara sauce drifting from the restaurant. The soft glow from La Bella Italia's windows painted warm rectangles of golden light across the slick pavement, making the whole street look like a movie set.
Edward didn't let go of her hand right away. He stood there with her, his bronze hair catching the faint light from the neon sign above them—all sharp angles and ethereal beauty—and watched her with that unblinking intensity that made her feel both protected and utterly exposed at the same time.
"You need dinner," he said finally, like it was some kind of divine commandment rather than a suggestion.
Bella huffed a laugh and raised an eyebrow, pulling her brown jacket tighter against the chill. "Oh, do I?"
"Yes," Edward replied without missing a beat, his lips quirking faintly at her sarcasm. "It's not up for debate. You didn't eat all day, did you?"
Bella sputtered, caught off guard. "I—how do you—? I had a Pop-Tart this morning!"
"A strawberry Pop-Tart at 6:47 AM doesn't count as eating," he said matter-of-factly.
Her mouth fell open. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I pay attention," he said smoothly, his voice dropping to that low, velvet tone that made her knees feel slightly unsteady.
She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Stalker," under her breath.
That earned her a glint of genuine amusement in his dark gold eyes, though his smile stayed faint and crooked.
"I prefer… vigilant," he said, tilting his head with that old-fashioned courtesy that should have been charming but somehow felt dangerous.
"Tomato, tomahto," she shot back, but her stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly, betraying her completely.
Edward arched one elegant eyebrow, saying nothing, just letting the smugness radiate off him in waves.
"Fine," Bella muttered, her cheeks burning. "Dinner. Whatever. But don't expect me to say thank you."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Edward murmured dryly, moving to hold the restaurant door open for her like some kind of brooding 1940s movie star who'd stepped out of a film noir.
But before she could step inside, movement caught her eye.
A little ways down the sidewalk, near the corner where a streetlight cast a pale circle of light, Jessica and Angela stood scanning the street like a pair of worried sentries. Jessica's arms were crossed tight over her bright pink Juicy tracksuit—the velour kind that was everywhere in 2005—her silver Motorola flip phone clutched like a weapon. Angela was frowning at something on her own phone screen, her long dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders as she looked genuinely worried.
Bella froze.
"Oh, crap," she groaned.
Edward followed her gaze, his own brow furrowing faintly. "Complications?"
"Yeah," Bella sighed. "That's Jessica and Angela. We were supposed to have dinner together, remember? Then everything… happened. And I guess they've been looking for me."
She tugged her hand free of his and started toward them, but Edward caught her wrist gently, his fingers cool against her pulse point.
"Bella," he said, his voice soft but firm.
She looked up at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his expression.
"Tell them your plans have changed," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tell them you're having dinner with me. And… make sure they don't go wandering around looking for trouble. Not tonight."
Bella narrowed her eyes at him. "You're bossy, you know that?"
Edward only tilted his head, completely unbothered. "You've mentioned."
She tugged her wrist free the rest of the way, shaking her head as she walked toward her friends. "And cryptic. Don't forget cryptic."
"I'll make a note," he replied dryly.
Jessica spotted her first and let out a shriek that turned half the street's heads and made a couple walking by jump.
"BELLA! There you are! Where have you been? We've been calling you for, like, forever! I thought you were, I don't know, dead or abducted or something!" Jessica practically launched herself at Bella, her voice pitched high with anxiety and relief.
Bella winced as Jessica grabbed her shoulders. "Jess, relax, I'm fine."
"Fine? Fine?!" Jessica's voice cracked. "You were supposed to meet us at, like, 6:15! It's almost 7! Do you know how many horrible scenarios I've imagined? I was about to call the police!"
Angela, who was following at a much calmer pace, just gave Bella a gentle, knowing smile. "We were worried," she said softly, her voice carrying that steady warmth that made her the perfect counterbalance to Jessica's dramatics.
"I know," Bella said quickly, glancing over her shoulder at Edward, who still stood by the restaurant door watching them with that unnerving calm, like he was analyzing every word and gesture.
Jessica noticed him too, and her rant cut off mid-word as her eyes went wide.
"…oh," she said faintly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Uh. Hi."
Edward inclined his head slightly in that old-fashioned way of his, but didn't speak. Just stood there looking like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting, all sharp cheekbones and perfect posture.
Jessica's mouth opened and closed like a fish, clearly trying to process the sight of Edward Cullen standing there in all his ethereal glory.
Bella cleared her throat. "Look. I… ran into him. He offered to buy me dinner. So, uh… plans changed. Sorry."
Jessica blinked rapidly, like she was trying to reboot her brain. "Wait. You're ditching us? For him?"
"It's not ditching," Bella said defensively. "It's just—"
"It's totally ditching," Jessica interrupted, her voice rising again. "We had plans! Girl time! You can't just abandon us for some guy, even if he is ridiculously hot and mysterious and—"
"Jessica," Angela said quietly, touching her friend's arm.
"What? I'm just saying! Look at him! He's like... he's like a Calvin Klein model or something! With that whole brooding thing going on!"
Bella's cheeks burned. "Jess, please—"
"And those cheekbones! How is anyone supposed to compete with those cheekbones?"
"Jessica," Angela said more firmly, though she was smiling.
Edward, to his credit, seemed completely unbothered by being discussed like he wasn't standing ten feet away. If anything, he looked faintly amused.
Bella grimaced. "Look. Please. Just go home. Don't go wandering around. It's… not safe tonight."
That earned her a sharp look from Jessica. "Not safe? What are you even talking about? This is Port Angeles, not downtown Seattle. What could possibly—"
"There was some trouble earlier," Bella said quickly. "Near the bookstore. Some guys were... bothering people. Just trust me, okay? Go straight home."
Angela's expression grew concerned. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"I'm fine," Bella said, shooting another glance at Edward. "Really. I'm fine."
Jessica followed her gaze and her eyes narrowed. "Wait. Did he—? Is this like a rescue thing? Did Edward Cullen actually rescue you from something?"
"Jessica," Angela said warningly.
"No, I'm serious! This is like something out of a movie! The mysterious hot guy saves the girl from danger and then sweeps her off for a romantic dinner!"
Bella wanted to disappear into the pavement. "It's not like that."
"It's totally like that," Jessica said, practically bouncing on her toes. "Oh my God, wait until Lauren hears about this. She's going to die. Actually die."
"Please don't tell Lauren," Bella said desperately.
"Are you kidding? This is the best gossip we've had all year!"
Angela stepped forward and took Jessica's arm more firmly. "Come on, Jess. Let's go. Bella's safe, and that's what matters."
Jessica pouted but allowed herself to be steered away. "Fine. But you owe us details! All the details! And I mean all of them!"
"There are no details," Bella called after them.
"There are always details!" Jessica called back, her voice fading as Angela led her around the corner.
Bella waited until they'd completely disappeared before she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Edward was still by the door when she turned back to him, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes glinting with what might have been amusement.
"Handled," she muttered as she reached him.
"You're welcome," he replied dryly, holding the door open for her again.
Bella shot him a look as she brushed past, close enough to catch a hint of whatever cologne he wore—something expensive and woodsy. "You didn't even do anything."
That earned her the faintest hint of that crooked smile again.
"Didn't I?"
She huffed but didn't answer, stepping into the warm, garlic-scented air of La Bella Italia. The restaurant was cozy and dimly lit, with checkered tablecloths and wine bottles used as candle holders. Dean Martin was playing softly from hidden speakers, and the whole place felt like a warm hug after the tension of the street.
"Besides," Edward added quietly as they waited for the hostess, "your friend Jessica is right about one thing."
Bella looked up at him suspiciously. "What?"
His smile widened just a fraction, and for a moment he looked almost boyish.
"This is definitely like something out of a movie."
And despite everything—the danger, the mystery, the complete impossibility of Edward Cullen—Bella found herself smiling back.
Maybe dinner wouldn't be so bad after all.
—
The warm, garlicky air of La Bella Italia hit Bella like a hug as she stepped inside, the scent of basil and oregano mixing with something that smelled suspiciously like her grandmother's kitchen. The low murmur of conversation and the clinking of plates filled the cozy space, lit by golden sconces that made the whole place glow like one of those sepia-toned postcards her mom collected.
Edward, of course, was right behind her, his hand briefly brushing her lower back to guide her through the door — a completely unnecessary gesture that still managed to make her knees feel like they'd been replaced with overcooked spaghetti.
"You know I can walk through a door by myself," she muttered, glancing back at him. "I've been doing it for seventeen years."
"Have you?" Edward asked mildly, his bronze hair catching the warm light as he tilted his head. "Because I distinctly remember you walking into that glass door at Newton's last week."
Bella's cheeks flamed. "That was *one time*. And it was really clean glass."
"Mmm," Edward hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching in that infuriating way that made her want to both slap him and stare at him for the next hour. "Of course."
At the hostess stand, a young woman in a cranberry blouse looked up as the door chimed. Bella didn't miss the way her smile faltered for a split second when she spotted Edward, like she'd just been struck by lightning and was still processing the electrical damage.
Her cheeks turned a soft pink, and she straightened her posture like she was about to meet Orlando Bloom fresh off the Pirates set.
"Good evening," she said, a little too brightly, smoothing her hair behind her ear with fingers that trembled slightly. "Welcome to La Bella Italia! Just the two of you tonight?"
Edward inclined his head, the corners of his lips tugging into the faintest of polite smiles — the kind that probably made girls write terrible poetry in their LiveJournals.
"Yes, thank you," he murmured, his voice just low enough that even Bella felt it somewhere in her stomach, like warm honey sliding down her throat.
The hostess blinked at him, like she'd momentarily forgotten not just what words were, but what language she was supposed to be speaking. Then she scrambled to grab two menus, nearly knocking over a small potted plant in the process.
"Right this way," she said, breathless and flustered.
Bella trailed behind Edward, glaring at the back of his immaculate charcoal wool coat. She could already see where this was going: yet another girl momentarily hypnotized by Mr. Bronze Hair and Cheekbones, probably already planning their wedding in her head.
"Does this happen everywhere you go?" she whispered harshly.
"Does what happen?" Edward asked without turning around, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.
"You know exactly what."
"I'm afraid I don't."
"The whole... swooning thing. Do girls just spontaneously combust around you on a regular basis?"
Edward's shoulders shook slightly. "You're exaggerating."
"Am I? Because I'm pretty sure that hostess just forgot how to breathe."
"Perhaps she has asthma."
Bella snorted. "Right. Asthma. That's definitely what that was."
The hostess led them toward a small table dead-center in the dining room, wedged between a family of four whose youngest child was currently finger-painting with marinara sauce, and a couple whispering intensely over a flickering candle — the kind of whispers that suggested someone had definitely been texting their ex.
Bella was halfway to pulling out her chair when Edward's low voice cut through the ambient noise.
"Excuse me."
The hostess spun around so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, smiling like she'd just won tickets to see Green Day.
"Yes?" she breathed, clutching the menus to her chest.
Edward tilted his head toward her, his golden eyes catching the warm light, and Bella actually heard the woman's sharp intake of breath.
"Is there something," he began smoothly, his voice like silk over steel, "a little more private? Somewhere... quieter?"
"Oh, um..." the hostess stammered, her cheeks deepening from pink to red. "We're pretty full tonight, but I could... I mean, there might be..."
Edward's hand disappeared into his coat pocket and reappeared holding a folded bill. He slipped it into the hostess's palm in one impossibly fluid, practiced motion — the kind of move Bella thought only existed in those old Cary Grant movies her dad loved.
The woman glanced at the money, then back at him, her eyes wide as dinner plates.
"I... I think we can definitely find something," she breathed, staring at him like he'd just offered her the Hope Diamond.
Bella stared, incredulous. "Did you just— did you seriously just bribe her? What is this, the Sopranos?"
Edward didn't look at her, but one corner of his mouth twitched in the faintest, most maddening smirk.
"You're impossible," she muttered under her breath.
"And yet," he murmured back without missing a beat, "you're still here."
"I'm starting to question that life choice," Bella shot back.
"Are you?" Edward asked, finally turning to look at her fully. The intensity in his golden eyes made her breath catch. "Because you could leave. Right now. Walk out that door and never look back."
Bella opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. Because he was right, wasn't he? She could leave. She should leave. Any sane person would have left already.
"I..." she started, then stopped, because what was she supposed to say? That she couldn't leave? That something about him made her feel like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, terrified and exhilarated at the same time?
"Exactly," Edward said softly, and there was something almost sad in his smile.
The hostess cleared her throat delicately. "Um, if you'd like to follow me?"
She led them past the main dining room, around a corner to a little alcove partially shielded by a frosted glass screen etched with grapevines. The booth was cozy and intimate, with soft lighting that made everything look like a scene from a romantic movie — the kind where the leads always ended up kissing in the rain.
"This should do nicely," the hostess murmured, setting the menus on the table with another one of those dazzled smiles before practically floating away.
Edward slid into the booth with liquid grace, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands. He gestured for Bella to sit across from him.
She dropped into the seat with significantly less grace, her bag catching on the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the small votive candle.
"Smooth," she muttered, finally settling herself.
"I thought so," Edward said mildly.
Bella leveled him with a look. "Do you always do that?"
"Do what?" Edward asked, picking up his napkin and unfolding it with a precision that was almost choreographed.
"Flash cash around like you're some kind of... I don't know, mob boss? Make that face and suddenly everyone's tripping over themselves to give you whatever you want?"
He finally looked up at her, his dark gold eyes glinting in the dim, romantic lighting.
"Not everyone," he said simply.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Edward said, leaning forward slightly, "that some people are significantly more... resistant to my charms than others."
Bella felt her cheeks heat. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "You've been glaring at me for the past five minutes."
"I don't glare."
"You absolutely glare. You're glaring right now."
"I'm not— this isn't glaring. This is just my face."
Edward's smile widened, becoming something genuinely amused rather than just politely pleasant. "Your face is lovely when you're angry."
"I'm not angry!"
"No?" He tilted his head, studying her with those unsettling golden eyes. "Then what are you?"
Before Bella could formulate an answer that wouldn't make her sound like a complete idiot, a tall brunette waitress appeared at their table, notepad in hand and smile so bright it could have powered Times Square.
"Hi there!" she chirped, her voice pitched about three octaves higher than normal. "I'm Sara, and I'll be taking care of you two tonight. Can I get you started with something to drink?"
Bella waited for Sara to acknowledge her existence, but the waitress's eyes never once flicked in her direction. She was looking at Edward like he was about to invite her to be his date to the MTV Movie Awards.
Edward, of course, didn't even glance at her.
"She'll have a Coke," he said calmly, his gaze fixed entirely — unsettlingly — on Bella.
Bella blinked. "What— how do you know what I—"
"Classic Coke," Edward continued, still not looking at Sara. "Not Diet. She doesn't drink Diet Coke."
Sara faltered, clearly thrown by being ignored so completely. "Right... and for you, sir?"
"Nothing for me," he said, his voice polite but distant.
"Nothing?" Sara pressed, her smile becoming slightly strained. "Not even water? We have San Pellegrino, or—"
"Nothing," Edward repeated, finally glancing at her with a smile that was perfectly polite and completely dismissive. "Thank you."
Sara scribbled it down with a little more force than necessary, her pen leaving dark gouges in the paper. "I'll... be right back with that Coke."
As soon as she was gone, Bella crossed her arms and stared at him. "You're unbelievable."
"Because I ordered you something to drink?" Edward asked, his tone infuriatingly calm.
"Because you didn't even look at her and she still almost fainted. And how did you know I wanted Coke? Regular Coke, not Diet?"
"You always drink Coke," Edward said matter-of-factly. "At lunch. You get a Coke and usually don't finish it because you get distracted talking to Angela about whatever drama is happening in student council."
Bella stared at him. "You... notice what I drink at lunch?"
"I notice everything about you," Edward said quietly, and something in his voice made her stomach flip. "The way you bite your lip when you're thinking. How you always sit in the back left corner of every classroom. The fact that you wear those ridiculous mittens your grandmother made you even though they're falling apart."
"They're not ridiculous," Bella said weakly.
"They have reindeer on them, Bella. It's March."
"Reindeer are timeless."
That earned her the smallest, faintest smile — soft and crooked and absolutely devastating.
"You should eat something," he said, changing the subject so smoothly she almost got whiplash.
"I'm not really that hungry."
"You need to eat," Edward said again, his voice dropping lower now, velvety and firm at once. He leaned forward, and his gaze locked on hers and didn't let go. "Please. For me."
She sputtered. "That's... that's not fair. You can't just— say it like that."
"Like what?" Edward asked innocently, though his eyes were dancing with amusement.
"Like... like you actually care whether I eat or not."
"I do care," Edward said, and suddenly all the teasing was gone from his voice. "More than you know."
Bella felt her breath catch. "Why?"
"Because," Edward said softly, "you're important to me. More important than you should be."
Before Bella could even begin to process that statement, Sara returned with the Coke — setting it down a little harder than necessary, causing a small splash to land on the white tablecloth.
"Oops," Sara said, not sounding sorry at all. "Are you ready to order?"
Bella quickly grabbed the menu, desperate for something to do with her hands. "I'll have the... um..." She scanned the page frantically. "The mushroom ravioli."
"Excellent choice," Sara said, scribbling it down. "And for you, sir?"
"Nothing," Edward said again.
Sara's smile became almost aggressive. "Nothing? Are you sure? The osso buco is really popular tonight, or if you're in the mood for something lighter, the—"
"I'm not eating," Edward said firmly, and something in his tone made Sara take a step back.
"Oh. Okay. Well... I'll get that ravioli started for you," she said to Bella, then flounced away with obvious frustration.
Edward's smirk deepened just a fraction as he watched Sara leave.
Bella wrapped her hands around the cold glass of Coke like it was a lifeline and took a long sip, just to avoid looking at him. The carbonation burned her throat, but it was better than trying to figure out what "more important than you should be" was supposed to mean.
When she finally set the glass down, she muttered, "You're really annoying when you're smug."
"Am I?" Edward asked softly, leaning forward and resting his chin lightly on his folded hands, his golden eyes still fixed on her with that unsettling intensity.
"Yes," Bella said firmly, though it came out more like a whisper. "And you're not eating. Again. Do you ever actually eat food?"
"I eat," Edward said evasively.
"When? I've never seen you eat anything. Ever. Are you on some kind of weird Hollywood diet? Because you know this is Forks, not Beverly Hills, right?"
Edward's laugh was low and genuine. "You think I'm on a Hollywood diet?"
"I think you're on some kind of diet. Nobody looks like you do without serious nutritional discipline."
"How do I look?" Edward asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her stomach flip.
Bella felt her cheeks flame. "You know how you look."
"Do I?"
"Don't fish for compliments. It's beneath you."
"I'm not fishing for anything," Edward said, his smile becoming softer, more genuine. "I'm just curious about your... perspective."
"My perspective is that you're probably going to waste away to nothing if you don't eat actual food occasionally."
"I'm touched by your concern," Edward said, and he actually sounded like he meant it.
"Don't be. I just don't want to be responsible for your death by starvation."
"And yet," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, "you're still here."
Bella stared at him, completely out of words. Because what was she supposed to say? That she was here because she couldn't seem to stay away? That every time she looked at him, she felt like she was drowning and being saved at the same time?
So she picked up her Coke and took another sip.
And told herself she wasn't going to look at him again.
But of course, she did anyway.
And he was still watching her with that soft, sad, crooked smile that made her want to reach across the table and touch his face, just to see if he was real.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Like... like you're trying to memorize me."
Edward's smile faded slightly. "Maybe I am."
"Why?"
"Because," he said quietly, "moments like this don't last forever."
And Bella didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything at all.
—
The booth was quiet now, except for the faint croon of Sinatra over the restaurant speakers and the clink of glasses and forks from the other tables.
Sara the waitress had vanished, no doubt off somewhere writing Edward's name in Sharpie hearts on her order pad.
Edward, of course, hadn't touched a single thing on the table — not the water, not even a breadstick. He just sat there, perfect posture, fingers laced loosely on the tabletop, those disarmingly gold eyes fixed on Bella like she was some kind of Rubik's Cube he was determined to solve.
Bella took another sip of her Coke, trying to pretend the weight of his gaze didn't make her hand shake slightly as she set the glass back down.
He tilted his head, his bronze hair catching in the warm light, and spoke — soft, serious:
"You're pale."
Bella snorted, tearing her napkin into shreds. "Thanks. That's what every girl loves to hear on a Friday night."
One corner of his mouth tugged up — the smallest ghost of a smile. "I mean paler than usual."
"Oh good. You've noticed my baseline vampire complexion and deemed it insufficient."
His smile actually widened a fraction then — almost fond — but his eyes didn't lose that furrowed, searching look. "I'm serious. Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," she said immediately.
"You're fine," he repeated flatly, like it was the most obvious lie in the history of lies.
"Yes," she insisted, trying to inject some steel into her voice. "I'm fine. Really. Stop looking at me like I'm about to faint in my ravioli."
Edward's jaw ticked — something sharp flashed through his expression — but then he smoothed it over, exhaling through his nose. His voice dropped half an octave, almost a growl:
"You were almost—" he stopped himself, his hands curling slightly into fists, then forced his tone back into that maddening calm. "You were in danger. That… shakes people."
Bella pressed her lips together, and even though just thinking about those men in the alley sent an unwelcome chill crawling down her spine, she raised her chin stubbornly. "Well… I'm fine now. So. No need for the hero stare."
"You keep saying that," he murmured, leaning back slightly in his seat.
"Because it's true."
He raised one dark brow, unconvinced.
Rolling her eyes, Bella reached for the breadbasket, grabbing a breadstick partly just to make a point — even if her stomach wasn't exactly doing backflips.
But halfway through tearing it in half, she shivered — a sharp, involuntary tremor that left goosebumps rising on her arms.
Before she could even pretend she hadn't done it, Edward was already sliding out of his coat with that unhurried, practiced grace, holding it out to her over the table.
Bella hesitated. "I'm fine," she mumbled again, even though the words sounded weaker this time.
His expression didn't change — still calm, still unreadable — but his voice dropped into that smooth, dangerous register that made her stomach twist.
"Humor me."
With a sigh, she took it.
It was heavier than she expected — soft and lined with some kind of expensive fabric she couldn't name — and warm. And it smelled… amazing. Not like cheap cologne or even regular guy soap, but something faint and wild, sharp but clean.
She tugged it tighter around herself, ducking her head and trying not to let him see how much she liked it.
When she glanced back up, he was watching her, his expression softening slightly — though he quickly masked it when he caught her looking.
Then he slid the basket of bread closer to her with one finger.
Bella narrowed her eyes. "I already had one."
"Have another," he said evenly.
"I'm not—"
"Have another," he repeated, his tone carrying just enough quiet authority to make her reach for another just to shut him up.
"You're relentless," she grumbled.
"I've been called worse."
"And bossy."
"That too."
Bella tore a piece of bread apart and shot him a look. "You don't have to… worry so much, you know. I feel… safe. With you."
For a second, she thought she'd said the wrong thing. His jaw tightened, his golden eyes flashing with something sharp and almost angry.
"Don't say that," he muttered, so low she almost didn't catch it.
She blinked at him. "What?"
His gaze sharpened suddenly, bright and far away all at once. "Don't say you feel safe with me."
Bella frowned. "But I do."
"You shouldn't," he said, his voice flat now, but his hands tightened where they rested on the table.
"Why not?"
For a long moment he just stared at her, his expression unreadable — then, so soft she could barely hear it over the quiet restaurant noise, he said:
"Because it makes me want to prove you wrong."
Bella gawked at him, completely thrown. "That's… extremely messed up."
One corner of his mouth curved, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're not the first to tell me that."
Before she could reply, Sara the waitress reappeared, dropping the plate of ravioli in front of her with all the warmth of a Blockbuster employee at closing time.
"Enjoy," she said, flashing Edward one last hopeful look before stalking off.
Bella picked up her fork and stabbed into the pasta just to give her hands something to do.
Edward, naturally, sat there like a marble statue, watching her eat.
"You really don't eat anything, do you?" she said finally, around a bite.
"No."
"That's… objectively creepy."
He tilted his head, unbothered. "So you've said."
She chewed another bite, narrowing her eyes at him. "You know," she said, pointing her fork at him, "you are actually the worst dinner date I've ever had. Hands down."
Edward let out a quiet laugh — low, warm, but fleeting. "Am I?"
"Mm-hmm," she said, spearing another ravioli. "You don't eat. You don't drink. You don't even pretend to make small talk. You just… stare."
"Maybe I like watching you eat," he said casually.
Bella nearly choked. "You— what— you can't just—"
His lips quirked into something faintly smug.
"You're impossible," she sputtered, clutching her napkin like a lifeline.
"And yet," he murmured, leaning forward now, his golden gaze locked on hers like a secret, "you're still here."
Bella's cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, shoving another bite of ravioli into her mouth just to avoid answering.
When she dared glance back up, Edward was still watching her, his expression softer now — like her staying had been some kind of quiet victory.
Like she'd said exactly what he wanted to hear.
---
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