I had been writing for about twenty minutes when I heard the door open. Edward was home. A warmth spread through my chest as I tossed my journal aside and exited my bedroom.
He was standing in the kitchen when I walked into the main room. His back was towards me as I watched him survey what was cooking. I wanted to go to him, but I was stuck. Rooted in my spot just outside of my bedroom door.
Edward turned around seconds later. A sly smile covered his lips like somehow he’d known I’d been there the whole time. I gave him a shy smile in return.
Talk, I told myself. He said he wanted me to talk. I could do that. At least I was going to try.
“Hi,” I said still a little unsure.
Edward did come towards me like I had hoped. Instead, he leaned back casually against the kitchen counter watching me.
“Um. Dinner should be ready soon,” I managed to squeak out.
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Had I done something wrong? I mean he had said he wanted me to talk to him. Had he changed his mind? My eyes lowered to the floor and my hands began to tremble. Did I mess up?
“Look at me.”
He was no longer across the room, but standing in front of me. My eyes rose to meet his. They didn’t look angry at all. I started to calm down.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispered, the back of his right hand caressing my face.
“I thought…I thought maybe I’d done something…wrong,” I whispered.
“Why did you think you had done something wrong?”
“You didn’t…I just…” I paused, took a breath, and looked down shyly. “You stayed in the kitchen. And you didn’t say…” I shrugged. “I wanted…”
“What did you want?” he encouraged.