She nodded in assent,

    I got absolutely soaked as I sped across the slick highway toward the Cullens’ house. The wind felt like it
was freezing the rain against my skin, and my teeth were chattering before I was halfway there.
    Motorcycles were too impractical for Washington. I would sell the stupid thing first chance I got.
    I walked the bike into the Cullens’ cavernous garage and was unsurprised to find Alice waiting for me,
perched lightly on the hood of her Porsche. Alice stroked the glossy yellow paint.
    “I haven’t even had a chance to drive it.” She sighed.
    “Sorry,” I spit through my rattling teeth.
    “You look like you could use a hot shower,” she said, offhand, as she sprang lightly to her feet.
    “Yep.”
    She pursed her lips, taking in my expression carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “Nope.”
    She nodded in assent, but her eyes were raging with curiosity.
    “Do you want to go to Olympia tonight?”
    “Not really. Can’t I go home?”
    She grimaced.
    “Never mind, Alice,” I said. “I’ll stay if it makes things easier for you.”
    “Thanks,” she sighed in relief.
    I went to bed early that night, curling up on his sofa again.
    It was still dark when I woke. I was groggy, but I knew it wasn’t near morning yet. My eyes closed, and I
stretched, rolling over. It took me a second before I realized that the movement should have dumped me onto
the floor. And that I was much too comfortable.
    I rolled back over, trying to see. It was darker than last night — the clouds were too thick for the moon to
shine through.
    “Sorry,” he murmured so softly that his voice was part of the darkness. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    I tensed, waiting for the fury — both his and mine — but it was only quiet and calm in the darkness of his
room. I could almost taste the sweetness of reunion in the air, a separate fragrance from the perfume of his
breath; the emptiness when we were apart left its own bitter aftertaste, something I didn’t consciously notice

until it was removed.
    There was no friction in the space between us. The stillness was peaceful — not like the calm before the
tempest, but like a clear night untouched by even the dream of a storm.
    And I didn’t care that I was supposed to be angry with him. I didn’t care that I was supposed to be angry
with everyone. I reached out for him, found his hands in the darkness, and pulled myself closer to him. His
arms encircled me, cradling me to his chest. My lips searched, hunting along his throat, to his chin, till I finally
found his lips.