I stayed in bed after Edward left for a while, not wanting to move from the place I had spent the night in his arms. After a while I did as Edward had mentioned and got up, meandering to his bathroom so I could shower and get back into my clothes. They weren't that dirty, I had only worn them for a little while.

I went into his kitchen and started picking at the food in his refrigerator. I didn't know what to do with myself. It had taken until this morning, watching him go to realize I was in love with him, and as soon as I realized that, I was both ecstatic and terrified. I had never really fallen in love with anyone. How could I tell him I loved him? What if he didn't love me back? What if he did?

I did the only thing I could think of.

I called Alice.

She picked up on the third ring, in her cheery soprano.

"Alice," I began. She didn't even let me get through a sentence.

"You had sex!" she exclaimed.

"What? How did you know that?"

"Please, how long have I known you? Tell me everything! Is he good looking naked? Is he good in bed? How long―"

"Alice! Some things are meant to be a secret," I interrupted. She laughed on the other side of the line.

"Fine, private Bella, I'll leave you alone. But if you aren't calling to talk details, what do you need?"

I took a deep breath.

"I'm in love with him. This morning, I woke up with him, I kissed him goodbye when he went to work and all I could think of was how much I wanted to that same thing every day. I don't know how it happened, but it happened. I'm in love with him. What am I going to do?"

"Bella," Alice said, and I could hear the knowing smile in her voice. "You are going to tell him, Bella."

"How can I do that? How do I tell him? 'Hi, Edward, how was work? Did you have a nice shift? I'm in love with you. What would you like for dinner?'"

She laughed her wise Alice laugh, the one she did when I was asking a question that she found it ridiculous to not know the answer to.

"Bella, darling, dearest best friend, it isn't about how you say it, just that you say it. He won't care if you say it right when he walks in the door, or while you're making dinner, or before you go to sleep. He won't care if you whisper it, sing it or scream it. Just tell him."

"But Alice―"

"This isn't coming from Cosmo, or any relationship column I read, or the advice of my late therapist, rest her soul. This is coming from me, Alice, a woman who loves a man. Tell him."

I sighed. I trusted Alice with my life, and she had never been wrong about anything before. If I asked her advice, whatever she told me was always the right answer, even if it didn't appear to be right away. The worst that could happen, I reasoned, was that he would tell me he didn't feel the same, and that would effectively destroy our relationship as I would be too humiliated to ever face him again.

I sighed again. No need to be over dramatic.

"Do you think that he―"

"Yes."

"How can you know?" I asked, not even sure myself, and I spent quite a bit of time with him.

"Bella, you've been dating the man for five months and hadn't slept together last night, so he clearly respects you. He trusts you enough to leave you in his apartment when he isn't there for a long span of time. He brings you flowers, takes you out, and spends as much of his free time with you as he possibly can. If he didn't love you, I'd be sure he was a serial killer planning to murder you."

"Don't say that," I replied. "With my luck, he is a serial killer planning to murder me."

"Hush. I'm going to get off the phone now, because all you are going to do is talk this to death. I'll say it again. You love him, he loves you, and he probably is just as worried about how to say it as you are. Tell him. Tell him as soon as you can."

I muttered acquiescence and she hung up on me with an expression of good luck.

I put down my cell phone on the kitchen counter, biting my lip.

I should tell him. I would tell him. I would tell him tonight.

I spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon inspecting Edward's apartment. I didn't go so far as to snoop through his things as I was sure Alice would have told me to do, but I did look at all of his movies, which ranged from action movies and westerns to chick flicks and silent films. I looked at the books on his shelves, which spanned from classics to books on Oprah's book club list.

But I was most impressed with his music collection. He had records and the corresponding turn table to play them on, original recordings of various albums, which he then had in duplicate in the section of CD's. They were organized by genre, and within the genre they were organized alphabetically. I glanced at the titles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Aretha Franklin, Led Zeppelin, The Shins, Damien Rice, The Three Tenors, Debussy—it just kept going. I found where he put in discs in the sound system and opened it, inspecting the CD's within. Bob Marley's epic album Legend, a few mixes without titles and last but not least a Joni Mitchell album. I made a note to ask about it later.

When I was done inspecting, I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I tidied the kitchen and the living room, which we had managed to dishevel, though I didn't remember doing it. I smiled when I thought about it—I had been busy at that time and unable to notice anything other than Edward. I was still grinning ear to ear when Edward returned.

I heard him come in as I was flipping through the channels on his television, trying to give myself something to do while waiting for him to get back. When I heard the key in the door I didn't let myself get too excited, thinking perhaps it was someone from the next apartment coming home. But when the door opened and I felt my whole frame vibrate.

"Bella?" Edward called out with uncertainty. I hadn't told him for sure that I was going to stay. But it was my day off, I had nothing else to do and the idea of being somewhere Edward was, somewhere he would return to had made my stomach do strange back flips. I got up so fast from the couch that I fell with the lack of grace I possessed. I hit the ground and immediately heard his laughter coming from the front hall and then into the living room.

"Bella, lovely, I'm happy to see you too, but please don't injure yourself," he said, rounding the couch. I picked myself off and dusted off my jeans and smiled at him. I didn't get a chance to say a word before he had his arms around my waist and his mouth on mine. He kissed me thoroughly and then pulled me in against his chest, his face nuzzled into my neck.

"I'm so glad you stayed," he admitted. I smiled wider. He leaned back and looked at my face with a smile that matched mine, accenting his gorgeous features, the unfairly perfect curve of his mouth, the way his eyes lit up beautifully when he was happy, the little smile crinkles around his mouth. Just seeing his smile made me feel at peace.

"Did you eat lunch?" I asked him. I myself had picked continuously at the leftovers in his refrigerator—and then thrown out the things that were clearly no longer any good. When he shook his head at me I sent him a disapproving look.

"What is that look for?" he asked. I rolled my eyes and extricated myself from his hold and heading toward the kitchen. There weren't many things I could claim to be very good at, but cooking was certainly one of them.

"You know what that look is for. You never eat lunch when you're at work. You've told me a thousand times that you skip meals on your shifts at the hospital, so I'm making you something to eat."

"Bella, you absolutely do not have to make me lunch. I'm a grown man; I am more than capable of making something for myself."

"I am well aware of your gender and stage of maturity, Edward. I want to make you lunch. So please let me."

He looked at me for a moment, and then nodded with a slight smile. I shuffled into the kitchen as he told me about his shift, deciding to make admittedly a more than extravagant meal. He had everything I would need to make an Alfredo sauce from scratch and a good box of fettuccini pasta. He sat down a half an hour later to fettuccini Alfredo, garlic bread and a glass of wine.

"This is rather decadent for barely four in the afternoon, you know. Not to mention that I think it's been years since I had a drink before dinner time."

"Do you have anywhere to be tonight?" I inquired. He shook his head. "Then drink your wine and don't worry so much."

I ate a little with him, drank a glass of wine and continued our conversation that had begun while I was cooking. We had a conversation that lasted far longer than originally planned, and our wine glasses were refilled several times throughout it. When he was done talking about the hospital and asking me about cooking, I asked him about his music.

"When I was little, my father used to play piano and my mother used to sing to me. I learned to love music at a very young age. I learned to play piano, guitar, percussion and even compose music through my childhood and high school years. Music is a beautiful connecting force in the world. It makes me happy."

"Even Joni Mitchell?" I asked with a laugh. He chuckled and took another sip of his wine.

"My mother's favorite singer was Joni Mitchell. She would play her records when she was teaching me how to cook, when she drove her car, or when she was cleaning the house. When I went to college, she kept telling me that she didn't want me to forget about home, so when I arrived there and started unpacking, I found a brand new Joni Mitchell album in with my things. My roommate gave me hell about it of course, but I would love to play it. It made me think of home. Now she is just one of my many favorites."

"Mystery solved," I announced.

"Have any mysteries of your own you want to solve for me?" he inquired, finishing his wine.

Tell him.

"Well actually, I wanted to―"

Before my sentence was finished there was a knock at the door, loud enough to startle me. He held his hand up with an apologetic look, and then went to the door. As soon as the door opened, I heard a voice I recognized.

"Edward, are you ready for this game? It is going to be sick my friend, completely disgusting."

"Emmett?"

I went into the hallway in complete disbelief. But there he was, the whole hulking mass of him, a six pack of Sam Adams under his arm standing in the doorway. I swore he almost dropped his beer when he saw me.

"You are kidding me," he blurted out. He turned to Edward in shock, then back at me, then back to Edward. He looked like a child who was torn between two things it couldn't decide between. It was almost comical.

"Dude, this is your Isabella? My Bella, the girl I've told you about for years is your Isabella?"

"Your Bella?" Edward asked skeptically.

"You've been telling him about me for years?" I inquired with raised eyebrows.

"First of all, yeah, Edward, she was my Bella a long time ago, like six years ago when she started working at the paper. I knew her back when she was just a poor little college graduate trying to pay her student loans and still eat. And I have been telling idiot boy about you for years, not like I was trying to sell him on you, just mentioned you to him. If there was a story about you, you know, about your endless clumsiness or drinking escapades, sure I've told him about you. Tried to set you two up on a date once, but neither of you were interested, if I remember correctly," he said, with the kind of defensiveness and attitude only Emmett could pull off without annoying me or seeming over dramatic. And when I thought about what he had said, I did actually remember what he was talking about. Three years before, after a ridiculously messy break up with Jake which I tried not to think about too often, he had told me I should get over it by going on a date with his friend Edward. I had declined emphatically, telling I could not even think of dating someone new.

Edward seemed to remember something similar, because we turned to each other with an identical look of embarrassment.

"Look, if I am interrupting I can go home. Rose will watch the game with me," he offered. Edward's eyes met mine. I smiled at him and shrugged.

"Not at all, Emmett," Edward said, "as long as you don't mind Bella being here, you are welcome to bring that beer inside and watch your team lose horribly."

Edward, as it turned out, when put in front of a television with a beer in him and Emmett egging him on turned into a shameless sports fan. Edward was a diehard New York Yankees fan, and Emmett, of course, was part of what he referred to as the Red Sox Nation. The television of course was showing a Red Sox vs. Yankees game. The two of them, between shouting at the players on the field and making fun of each other when the opposing team made a stupid mistake, resembled college boys at a sports bar. It was yet another facet of Edward I hadn't seen before.

I had to hand it to him; he never did stop surprising me.

And Emmett, for his part, did not disappoint in the least. Between belligerent and profanity filled interjections and arguments about bad calls the umpire made, I found myself paying more attention to him than the game. And when Edward's team lost, Emmett's gloating was almost as amusing as Edward's sullen pouting.

"So," Emmett said with a grin, finishing off his last beer, "how does it feel to be defeated in what looks like one of the greatest come back games in history?"

"Save it," Edward said. I laughed. If I had known his baseball team losing would make him so grumpy I would have baked him something to take the edge off. They talked over the game, rehashed moments, argued over calls that were made as they finished their beer and Edward gathered the bottles up for recycling.

"So, you up for game one of the World Series at Rose and my place?" Emmett asked when their post game play-by-play was done.

"It's tradition, Emmett, of course I'll come," Edward answered from the kitchen. The beer bottles clinked together as he tossed them into the recycling bag.

"So Bella," Emmett said quietly while Edward was still in the kitchen, "have you and Edward, you know, done the deed?"

I must have blanched because even though I whispered emphatically that it was none of his business, he just laughed and winked at me. I wanted to be angry with him that he was so crass, but it was impossible. Emmett was one of the most loveable people I'd ever met. Even when he infuriated me, he was still such a good man my anger only ever lasted a few minutes.

When Edward returned to the room he saw Emmett's amused look and my flustered expression and his eyes piqued with curiosity.

"What?" he asked with annoyance. He knew something had transpired in the few moments he had been absent.

"Ask Emmett!" I exclaimed. Edward looked at Emmett who busted into fresh peals of laughter. Edward with his measure of decorum did not bother to ask.

After a few more minutes Emmett and Edward said their goodbyes. I told Emmett I would see him the next day at work. When he stepped out the door Edward looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"So, you know Emmett," he commented with interest. I nodded.

"We've known each other since I started working at the paper, right after I got out of college."

"He has told me some interesting stories about you."

"I shudder to think what he has told you," I admitted. Emmett had been privy to some of the most embarrassing moments in my life, the tequila table dancing incident being one of the least of them.

"My personal favorite was the story about you and the starting line of the Celtics," he informed me with a grin.

I had been given an assignment to interview the starters for the Boston Celtics after one of their big wins the year before, and was admittedly a little nervous. Thanks to my nerves and eternal gracelessness, I managed to trip over something as I walked into the room with them, sprain my ankle, break my tape recorder and spill my coffee all over Kevin Garnett. Because I had told Emmett he could sit in on the interview and meet the players he had been there to witness the entirety of the incident.

"I'm going to flay him," I muttered. Edward laughed.

"That's a little extreme don't you think?"

"Not in the least—if he told you about the Celtics I can only imagine the other stories you know about. Now you have all these embarrassing stories about me, and I have nothing about you."

"Once, when I was a medical student I fell asleep studying for an exam. I woke up the next day, ran to my classroom and ended up in the wrong building, in the wrong classroom standing in front of a first year seminar class of about four hundred students without any pants on."

"You can't be serious," I choked out.

"I am completely serious. The worst of it was that I had that professor later that day for a class. He of course shared the story with the entire class. It wasn't my finest moment," he said. When I had finished laughing I told him we were even for the moment.

"Listen, Bella, I know you have work tomorrow morning, but I would really like it if you stayed over again tonight," he murmured. He was charmingly modest about intimacy even though in the moment I knew modesty had no place with us.

"Of course I'd like to stay," I told him. He leaned toward me and touched his mouth to mine. I pressed into him with a smile and when he pulled away he stayed close to me, his eyes shining with a smile.

Tell him.

"Edward," I started. "Edward…I…"

My voice froze in my throat.

"I know," he told me quietly.

"You know?" I asked, trying not to pull away in surprise. He nodded slowly, smiling slightly.

"Do you know that I…that I…"

"I do now."

He kissed me instead of saying anything.

"We are both very bad at this," I announced. He chuckled a little.

"I told you, I haven't done very much dating, this is all…very new territory for me."

"Me too," I confessed.

"I'm not very good at saying the words. I don't know how to tell you how much I care about you, how much I…even though I feel it, I don't know if I'm ready to say it. So let me show you."

"Okay."

He smiled, cupped my face in his hands and brought my mouth to his again.

I stayed at his apartment again that night, feeling sufficiently adored. Edward had a six o'clock shift at the hospital and I had to be in to work by eight, so it happened again that as he was leaving, I was getting up. He didn't say anything, just kissed me goodbye with a smile and left to go to work.

I got out of bed and collected my things so I could go back to my apartment briefly to get ready for work and then head out. When I was walking out, looking for my shoes I saw them sitting by the front door with a note on top of them. I sat on the floor and put them on as I read the note.

Have a good day at work. I will call you tonight.

I love you.