Daddy had given me some money to treat myself, something he only did on occasion. He was never greedy with his money towards me, but he had more of a 'save it for a rainy day' attitude. I asked him why he was being so uncharacteristically generous, jokingly, of course, and he simply said that it was because I was being such a good girl, lately. I knew what he really meant, though. Daddy is the head officer, here in Chicago. Recently, he's been working overtime, so we haven't been spending much time together. That was why he had given me the money. It was his way of saying, "Sorry that I've been away so much, Bells." I didn't mind, though – It was nice to have a bit of space.

I made my way out the apartment door, eager to find an adequate item to invest in. We lived in downtown, conveniently close to the main shopping district, as well as the police station. I greatly enjoyed Chicago, or at least the neighborhood I lived in. The people were, for the most part, decent. I didn't have many friends, as most girls I knew were very … girly. I was different from them, in the sense that I didn't enjoy having pretend tea parties with little dolls, or that I found dresses and ribbons rather fussy and impractical. I suppose that I am more of the studious type who prefers reading or a nice walk in the park. That's what was excellent about Chicago. From what daddy said, Chicago had the best parks and library in the entire state.

Continuing down the street, in a nonchalant attitude towards the numerous dress shops, my attention caught sight of one that I had never seen, or perhaps noticed, before. On the other side of the road, two doors down from the ice-cream parlour, was a beautiful shop with a rather ornate-looking front. I squinted to see the name written in fine cursive above the door. "Charmant," it said. 'Charming,' I thought, smiling at the fact that my time with a French tutor was not useless, after all. My interest peaked, I hastily crossed the street, nearly tripping over my own feet, to the 'charming' shop.

The inside was like nothing I had ever seen before. It had an old-world-like charm, enhanced by the décor and the fine trinkets scattered throughout. The shop, I assumed, sold items from all over the world. There was exotic-looking art, paintings and figurines, all strategically placed on the walls and on shelves. I knew, just by looking at the various items, that the store was much too high-end for me and that I wouldn't be able to afford anything … but I couldn't help but to continue my exploration. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shelf full of books. I couldn't contain my smile.

The titles were rather intimidating. Some were written in French, words that were far too complex for me to understand, even with my tutoring. I wondered if the owner of the shop was French.

Looking along the line of literature for something that I might enjoy, I found the perfect one: Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. My tutor had mentioned something about the author, suggesting her to me, saying that her books would suit me. I looked around to see if there was anyone watching me, before I carefully took a seat on one of the chairs lined against the wall. Hopefully the shopkeeper wouldn't mind. I just wanted to read a page or two … or three.

Some time later, I assumed, a voice broke my concentration.

"Hello, there. Can I help you with anything?"

I was so engulfed in the works of Ms. Austen that the voice startled me, causing me to nearly drop the book in my haste to stand up. I blushed at my clumsiness, steadying myself before answering the polite voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to treat your shop like a library. It's just that nobody was around and I thought that I could sneak a peak into the book before buying it." I finally looked up to see who I was talking to.

It was a boy, probably the same age as I was. I blushed even deeper as I noticed how rather … 'cute' he looked. He was about a head taller than I, with unique-coloured bronze hair from what I saw coming out of the newsboy cap he wore. He smiled at me.

I balked at my stupidity. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that you were the owner. Please excuse the rather embarrassing rant that I just went on a moment ago."

He smiled, again. I didn't fail to notice that it was a slightly crooked grin. "That's okay. I'm not the owner … but my father is. He likes to leave me in charge for a bit while he takes a break upstairs."

"Oh," was all I said.

He walked towards me to see what I was reading. "Hmmm … Jane Austen? Not my favourite, but that's probably because I'm a boy. Did you enjoy what you read?" He didn't seem angry at me for acting as if his shop was a library.

"It's okay. I didn't get very far, though." I wanted to downplay how much I really did enjoy Ms. Austen's writing … he had said that he didn't like it very much, himself.

"Well, feel free to sit back down and continue reading. I don't mind, and I'm pretty sure my father won't, either. I'll be at the back of the shop if you need me." He offered me another smile, before leaving me to myself.

I looked around and there was no one else in the shop. Surely, it wouldn't bother anyone if I stayed just to finish the chapter … and the boy said that it was okay. I made my way back to the chair I had just vacated, but stopped as I heard a melodic noise. Actually, it wasn't a noise at all … it was a song. I listened carefully to the soft crescendos of the music, the careful characterization of the piece. It was absolutely lovely.

The music was coming from the back of the shop, where the boy had disappeared to. Was he playing a record? I carefully left the book on the chair, making sure to come back and purchase it, later … after I found out what the song was.

Allowing the music to guide me, I made my way to the back. I gaped at what I saw.

The boy was sitting at the white, pristine piano. His back was facing towards me, but I could still see how his fingers were gracefully gliding over the keys.

I unconsciously let the word out. "Wow."

He slowed his playing to turn around and see who had interrupted him. I chastised myself.

"Oh, hello, again," he greeted politely, before turning around and returning to his previous tempo.

I stared at him like an idiot. I enjoyed music very much and had a small collection of classical music at home, mixed amongst the rather un-tasteful records that belonged to daddy. I was never one that was good at making music myself, however. But the boy in front of me was absolutely spectacular, just as good as any of the musicians in my records … yet, he couldn't be older than thirteen. All the kids my age, who I knew played the piano, weren't anywhere near his talent.

He interrupted my reverie with a soft laugh. "You can come closer and watch, you know. I won't bite."

I blushed deeply. It was a good thing that he couldn't see. I shyly accepted his invitation and moved myself to stand beside him, a foot away from the bench, so as to give him room. He continued his musical ballad, undisturbed by my un-polite gawking, and ended with a tuneful chord.

"That was beautiful," I complemented. I would have clapped, instead, had it been appropriate to do so.

He turned to grin at me, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. "Thank you."

"How long have you been playing?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"A while, now." He was modest, I could tell. "I have a lot of spare time, so I play when I'm bored," he shrugged. "Do you play, too?"

I let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "No. I used to take lessons," I frowned, remembering my experience, "but my teacher said that I was, for sure, the worst student she ever had. My fingers just don't like being so precise. I gave up, well, more like she quit, after a month of lessons."

He laughed, harder this time. I must have sounded like a complete idiot, just now. "I'm sure you weren't that bad. Besides, the piano isn't for everybody … just as long as you're able to appreciate the music."

I smiled in response, grateful that he wasn't making fun of me.

"So … how'd you like the book?" he asked, as he stood from his seat, slowly making his way around the shop.

"I think I'm going to get," I replied, following him.

He turned around, looking rather happy. "That's good. It'll show my father that I'm not an absolutely useless salesman," he yelled up the stairs, teasingly. All I could hear in response was laughter. "Close the deal, silly boy … before the customer runs away!"

We both laughed.

We were standing in the middle of the shop, now, surrounded by all the worldly items. I was reminded of my earlier wonderment. Turning to the boy, who was now toying with a weird-looking toy, I asked, "Did you just move into the neighborhood? I've never seen you around, before, and I don't remember seeing this shop, either."

He continued to play with the toy as he spoke. "Yes, we're new, here, but we've lived in Chicago all our lives. We have another shop, just like this one, in Central Illinois. This is our second shop, and we opened about a week ago."

"Really?" I asked, in confusion. "I thought that you may have been French, judging from the name of your store and some of the titles on the book shelf."

"Oh, no, that's just my mother. She absolutely loves France. She's traveled there a couple of times, since she was a kid, and she just can't seem to get enough of the place." His tone suggested amusement.

"Do you travel a lot, then?"

He put down the toy, to look at me, then. "Nope … at least, I don't. My mother and father travel around to purchase items for the shop. That's why we have more … variety in our items. This, for example," he pointed to the toy he was just playing with, "is from England, as is that painting by the bookshelf. The piano in the back is a Steinway and Sons original from Germany – much better than the ones you can get from their factory, here in New York." He dropped his voice so that only I could hear. "I'm not supposed to be playing on it, but it's much nicer than the one I have at home."

I looked at him, questioningly. "Can't your father hear you from upstairs?"

He grinned, cheekily. "Not when I play softly. That's why I was playing a romantic piece – quiet, yet, still melodic. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's blasting his own records upstairs."

I laughed quietly. Suddenly remembering that I had to get home before Daddy would go back to work, I glanced down at my thin, red watch. "Whoops."

"Is something wrong?" He looked concerned.

"I was supposed to be home fifteen minutes ago. My dad has to leave for work," I explained. "I'll just pay for the book, first, then I'll go." I made my way to grab the novel off the chair, but he had beaten me to it, taking it to the front counter. I could have sworn he was laughing, quietly, to himself.

The book was, surprisingly, not over-priced, and I handed him my money, getting change in return. I gave him my thanks, once again complementing him on his musical skills, before making my way towards the exit. I was about to leave when he called, "My name's Edward, by the way."

I turned back, still holding the door half open. I smiled, "And I'm Bella."

"I'll see you around, Bella?" He asked, grinning crookedly. This boy, Edward, sure did smile a lot.

I thought about my answer. "Maybe … hopefully … probably … if you're lucky."

I exited the store, with the sound of his laughter still ringing in my ears.

A/N: Reviews would be nice ;)