Pen Pals by covermeinfeathers COMPLETE.pdf

Pen Pals

by covermeinfeathers

Bella and Edward met 12 years ago and were faithful pen pals for 4 years, when they met again.

After the second meeting, Edward abruptly stopped writing. Now Bella's come to work for

Edward's company. Will she recognize him and forgive him?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their

respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author

is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No

Chapter 1

BPOP

I was surrounded by boxes stacked to the ceiling. It amazed me just how little space I could afford

here, in San Diego, compared to the space I had back home.

Home.

This is home now. I was sitting in my new living room overlooking the marina from the 30th floor

of my condo building.

As I opened the window and inhaled the salty smell of the ocean, a seagull swooped to the ground

below me and dove into the bay. Closing my eyes, I drew in the sounds and smells of my new

home.

Never one to make such a big decision spontaneously, I couldn’t believe that I actually did it - I

decided that, at 28, my life was likely a third of the way gone but I wasn’t yet where I wanted to

be. At 28 I learned a lesson that should have been so simple. You can’t recapture time – you can’t

get a ‘do-over .’ So I decided to quit my job, pack up what belongings I didn’t want to give or throw

away, and move half-way across the country. Luckily, with the money from my inheritance from

Renee, I was able to put a decent down-payment down on my new condo – enough to get my

monthly payments down to a point where plasma donations could be trimmed down to once a

week. The other good news was that I was able to quickly land a new job at an up-and-coming

company. A dream job, really, with a sweet office overlooking the bay, just a few blocks away

from my condo. General Counsel, that’s me!

Looking up again at the stacks of boxes awaiting unpacking, I channeled my inner Scarlett O’Hara

and resolved to deal with them tomorrow. Instead, I changed into my flip-flops, grabbed a book

and headed out the door and down to the parking garage.

Plugging my iPod into the dock in my truck, I scrolled through my playlists and selected Jeff

Buckley’s “Grace”. As the opening guitar solo pulled me into the music, I pulled out of the garage

and headed out toward the beach. The song came to a close as I pulled into a parking space by a

meter. As I slugged the meter, I was hit with a chilly wind coming off the water and instantly

wished I had worn long sleeves under my sweater. No such luck. I sighed and yanked up the collar

on my sweater so that at least my neck was insulated. No matter – it was a small price to pay for

the ability to sit in the warm sand and feel it scrunch under my toes.

I headed down toward where the tide ebbed and flowed, nearly falling multiple times. The

uneven slopes of the sand leading down to the water were proving to be a challenge for my

horrible sense of balance. Luckily, it was a slow day on the beach, so the number of witnesses who

saw me walk like a drunken idiot, holding my arms out sporadically to balance myself, was limited.

Eventually, I made my way to where the water had leveled the sand and packed it down to where

it was smooth and solid. I bent down and rolled up the hems of my jeans to mid-calf and kept

walking down to the water.

This was always as far as I got. I’m not fond of the ocean, beyond the sound and smell of it. Truth

be told, I’m scared witless of fish. Not necessarily sharks, sting rays and jelly fish kind of fish – but

anything that swims. And seaweed, that stuff gives me the willies. Rarely did I get into the water

above the middle of my calves.

I stood there, feeling the water come up over the tops of my feet and recede, pulling the sand out

from around and under my toes, for several minutes. When I could no longer feel my toes from

the cool water, I headed back to the loose uneven sand and sat down; digging my feet into the

warm sand and leaning back on my elbows allowing my hair whip around and tickle my face. I

closed my eyes and let my head fall back. This was why I made my decision- I could sit here all

day, every day, and never tire of this feeling.

I was jolted back to reality when I heard something hit the ground a few feet away. My eyes

opened to see a Frisbee sticking up in the sand. Looking around to see who threw it, I spotted a

yellow lab running toward me.

And there’s my other crazy fear - large dogs. It took me years to warm up to the idea of a dog in

the house after Renee bought her Lhasa Apso. But that was a small dog. The big ones still scare

me, and I am convinced that like horses (another fear of mine, by the way), dogs smell fear. So I

half-heartedly laughed and attempted to act like this dog was the most natural friend I could ever

make.

Apparently the dog bought it, because he came up and licked my wrist. I reached down and

grabbed the Frisbee and held it out for him. He happily took it between his jaws and jotted off to

his owner.

His owner.

My Sweet Lord.

Fear of big dogs? Not Anymore!

I am going to adopt one. This one. Just to get near his owner.

Scruffy, bronze hair and a day-old shave framed a beautiful smile. He reached down to the dog

with tanned, sculpted arms. Obviously a native – he didn’t see the need for long sleeves or a

sweater. He was in a white wife beater and khaki shorts. No shoes. Fantastic calves.

He patted the dog on the head and the dog gave him the Frisbee. He mouthed something and

laughed at the dog. I thought I saw him glance at me briefly as he did this, but then he turned

around and jogged back down the beach with the dog by his side.

Hmmm…. Nice rear view as well. I made a mental note to come back to that spot soon.

After putting off my return to the condo decorated with U-Haul boxes for a sufficient length of

time, grudgingly I walked back to my car and headed home. As I crossed the bridge I noticed the

mountains in the distance and I was instantly reminded of him .

**8 years ago**

I stood at the gate, house-shaped box in hand, second-guessing my idea. He’ll think it’s silly – that

I’m silly . But when he walked through the tunnel into the airport, he saw me and lit up. He came

to me and gave me a bear hug, planting a polite kiss on my cheek.

“You look fantastic,” he offered. “I’ve got 45 minutes till I have to catch my next flight. Let’s walk

– I need to stretch my legs. Uh, what’s in the box?” He rushed, all this was said in the span of

maybe 7 seconds. Is he nervous?

“Um. It’s for you. It’s silly, but I thought you might like it,” I responded, reluctantly handing over

the Build-a-Bear box to him. He furrowed his brow in confusion and opened the box. Inside sat a

stuffed bunny with a cute little t-shirt on it that had the Arch on it and read “St. Louis.” He

instantly grinned, ear-to-ear.

“I love it!” He exclaimed and hugged me again, this time kissing the top of my head. I heard him

inhale deeply.

We walked down the airport hallway and grabbed a bite to eat at the Cinnabon. “So much better

than peanuts,” he said as he took a bite of the huge roll we were sharing. As I put my bite in my

mouth, I watched his pupils dilate a bit. We made small talk and the electricity between us

threatened to ignite into flames. Or at least I thought so. But maybe he was disappointed after

not seeing me for 4 years. And even then, we had only spent a few hours together when we met.

Hardly enough time to burn a great impression into his mind, right? And I was nothing out of the

ordinary.

When we had finished the roll – or he finished it, rather –we reluctantly got up and headed to his

next gate. I folded up the awkward box and tossed it in a trash can so he wouldn’t have to take it

on the plane. When we got to the waiting area he sighed and said, “Well, it was so good to see

you. Can you believe it’s been almost 4 years since we met?”

“I know. Craziness,” I said, laughing. Uncomfortable much?

“Let’s not wait so long next time, k?” I nodded in response to the question. He leaned down and

lightly pressed his lips on mine. Ah. I was transported back to four years prior, when I left him,

standing there in from of a Hawaiian hotel, my father glaring at him.

The smell of cinnamon rolls caressed my face as he exhaled. When I opened my eyes, he was

staring down at me through thick lashes. He leaned back in to my face and kissed me again – this

time with vigor, his tongue confidently sweeping my mouth. Heat rose from my toes to the top of

my head, and I was certain he could see my traitor blush.

“Bye Bella,” he said, and turned around to head down the tunnel into the plane. He was

unashamedly holding the bunny in the crook of his elbow when he glanced backward and flashed

me his crooked smile.

All ability to speak – or breathe, for that matter – escaped me.

Bye Masen.

Chapter 2

EPOV

As I ran my hands through my hair, I was a nervous wreck. What the hell were the odds that of all

the cities in the world, she’d come to mine? To live? To work?

Very slim.

And the odds that she’d want to work at my company?

Nonexistent, right?

When my father told me a month prior that we should look at hiring a General Counsel to serve as

Cullen Inc’s in-house attorney, I had agreed wholeheartedly. We were spending too much money

on outside firm lawyers and it would be nice to have someone just down the hall for quick

questions.

“Take a look at that stack of resumes there , Edward,” he directed. “Let me know if any of them

jump out at you.” My father gestured to a short stack of linen paper on the corner of his desk. I

took the stack as he shuffled more papers on his desk, coming to an off-white envelope. “Oh yeah

– here’s another one. I haven’t opened it yet. You can do the honors.” He tossed me an envelope

that was addressed to ‘Mr. Carlisle Cullen, Hiring Partner’.

The return address was a St. Louis address, but there was no name. Great. An elusive one. I

rolled my eyes, reached for my father’s brass letter opener and opened the envelope in one swift

movement of my wrist. I pulled the tri-folded cover letter and resume out of the envelope and

opened it up.

Gasping, I felt the blood drain out of my face as I read the name at the top of the piece of paper -

Isabella M. Swan .

Like I said, the odds were nonexistent.

Right.

** 12 years ago **

We pulled up to the familiar hotel along the black sandy Hawaiian beach in my parents’ car.

I couldn’t help but groan mentally. Here we go again. Another family vacation in Hawaii. How

did my brother and sister get out of this? Oh yeah, college.

We pulled into the circle drive in front of the hotel and I walked to the trunk to help the bellhop

get the bags. I flung my duffel over my shoulder, adjusted my baseball hat, and huffed as I walked

into the hotel lobby behind Mom. As they checked us into our suite I glanced around the lobby,

taking in any new changes. None. Figures. This place is always the same boring place it has been

since I was four.

Then I saw her, standing there with her parents. She looked as miserable as I felt. Aha, someone

else doesn’t do family vacations either . As she fidgeted with a car key and pressed her forehead to

the glass door, I followed her gaze to see a red Mustang convertible rental car. I looked back at

her as a devious smile slowly came to her face. The car - she got to drive the car. I chuckled to

myself. Convertibles were no big deal to me – everyone back home drove them.

I wondered where she was from. Somewhere where there’s no sun, that’s for certain . Her

sunburned shoulders told me that she didn’t get much sun back ‘home’ in March. The red tone

was emphasized by her white tank top. When her father called her name, she swung around so

quickly that her hair clip came loose, beautiful, long chestnut hair cascaded down her slender

back. Her clip fell down to the floor, and I instinctively moved toward her to pick it up. But before

I could take two steps, she bent down and picked it up herself, winding it haphazardly back in her

hair.

“Coming, Daddy,” she said in response to his call.

Daddy! ?

No way. Spoiled little daddy’s girl.

I crinkled my nose and turned away, glad that I hadn’t made it any closer to her to retrieve her hair

clip, confident that she probably wouldn’t have even thanked me.

Taking off my hat, I laughed quietly to myself. At least, I thought I had been quiet, but when she

turned to look in the direction of the noise, I realized I had been louder than I thought. She smiled

at me shyly and her face blushed a shade that made her sunburn pale in comparison.

I was screwed.

For the next two days I hung out at the pool, the beach, the lobby – anywhere just trying to get a

glimpse of her again. Stalker much?

On the third day of our visit I went to the hotel gift shop to pick up a magazine before heading

back down to the pool. As I glanced over the top of the magazine rack, I locked eyes with a pair of

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