The house felt too quiet, too dark, too heavy—like even the walls were sighing in boredom. Forks wasn't exactly a city brimming with life, but Charlie's house carried a gloom all its own. With Bella still weeks away, it felt more like a bachelor's hideout than a home.
So, Amara decided to do something about it. She had already conquered the horror of Charlie's bachelor fridge beer, eggs, ketchup, and a sad slice of leftover pizza. Tonight, she was going to make dinner.
She wasn't a chef, but living alone in her past life had taught her survival cooking. Nothing fancy, nothing Pinterest-worthy, but decent. As she stood at the stove humming quietly to herself, the sizzle of food in the pan almost made the house feel… alive.
The front door creaked open. Boots thudded against the floor.
"Uh....Amara?" Charlie's gruff voice carried down the hall.
"Welcome back, Charlie!" she called, stirring the pan like she belonged there.
Charlie froze for a second, thrown off by the warmth in her voice. "I, uh… I thought maybe we'd go out for dinner, but....you… you're cooking?"
Amara smirked, tossing a glance over her shoulder. "Surprise. Turns out I know how to work a stove. I bet that was a shocker, huh?"
Charlie rubbed the back of his neck, mumbling, "Well, yeah. Not used to… you know. Coming home to this." He shifted awkwardly, then added, "Need any help?"
"Nope," she said with confidence. "Almost done. You can park yourself in front of the TV."
Charlie nodded, retreating toward the living room, but there was a strange look on his face like something tight inside him had loosened. For the first time in a long while, this old house felt less like a lonely cabin and more like… a home.
A few minutes later, Amara plated up something simple but actually edible grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and some salad that didn't look like it had been salvaged from a gas station.
"Let me set the table," Charlie said quickly, almost eager, like he had to contribute something.
Amara let him, watching as he shuffled plates and silverware into place with an awkward sort of care. When they sat down to eat, the silence wasn't suffocating it was almost… companionable.
Between bites, Amara mentioned casually, "I was thinking of buying a few things for my room. And since Bella's coming, maybe I'll get her a couple things too. You know, make it welcoming."
Charlie immediately straightened, almost stiff in his chair. "That's… that's real nice of you. But let me pay for both of you. You don't need to worry about things like that."
Amara swirled her fork lazily through her food, keeping her tone light. "Don't worry about it, really. It's not a big deal." She glanced up at him with a teasing smile. "Besides, you wouldn't want me embarrassing you in front of Bella, would you? Imagine her finding out her dad can't even beat a goldfish."
Charlie frowned, confused. "Goldfish?"
She leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, her grin widening. "You know, from your fishing stories. You never mentioned anything bigger than that. Kind of suspicious, don't you think?"
"What? That's not...." Charlie shook his head, suddenly defensive. "I've caught plenty of trout. You ask Billy Black, he'll tell you. Good-sized ones, too."
"Mm-hm." Amara raised her brows in mock seriousness, as if she were evaluating his honesty. "Sure. And I'm the Queen of England." She popped a bite into her mouth and waved her fork dismissively. "Face it, Uncle Charlie, you need a crash course in fishing. Don't worry I'll write you a manual: Fishing for Dummies, Swan Edition."
That got him. His frown cracked, and a low chuckle slipped out small but genuine laugh that surprised them both before he could stop it. It was awkward, rough around the edges, but genuine. "Alright, alright," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "You win this one."
Amara smiled, satisfied. He didn't even notice how smoothly the whole "I'll pay" subject had vanished from the table, replaced with harmless banter about fishing. By the time Charlie reached for his glass of water, it was as if his original protest had never existed at all.
As they ate, he added, "Some of my friends usually come over to watch the game. I'll introduce you to Jacob Black Billy's boy."
"Perfect," Amara grinned. "I can't wait to meet your mysterious fishing squad. Maybe I'll even challenge Jacob to a contest. Whoever catches the biggest fish gets bragging rights."
Charlie laughed again, shaking his head. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this feeling light, easy, normal.
When dinner was done, he insisted, "I'll handle the dishes."
"Be my guest," Amara said, leaning back with exaggerated relief. "I cooked, you clean. Fair trade."
She wandered into the living room while he worked, eyeing the space critically. Movie memory or not, this place screamed "single dad cave." It needed warmth, life, a touch of comfort or else she was going to spiral into depression just staring at it every day.
After a while, fatigue hit her. She stretched, announced, "I'm beat. Heading to bed."
"Goodnight," Charlie said, still rinsing plates. Then, almost as an afterthought, he called out, "Amara...how's your health? You sure you're okay? If you're not feeling right, we can go see Dr. Cullen. He's good."
Her entire body stiffened. "No!" The word shot out sharp and loud.
Charlie blinked.
She forced a nervous laugh, softening her tone quickly. "I mean no, no, it's fine. Really. The medicine's working. I feel better than ever." (Thanks, shady ROB and your overpowered healing perk.)
Charlie studied her, frowning, but finally nodded. "Alright. But if you feel anything off, you tell me, okay?"
"I will," she promised. Then she hurried upstairs before he could press further.
In her room, she swapped her day clothes for a pair of luxury pajamas that felt like clouds against her skin. She padded over to the window and peered out.
The forest loomed dark and endless, an ocean of shadows swallowing the horizon. Moonlight spilled silver across the treetops, catching on wisps of mist that curled like fingers through the undergrowth. It was beautiful in the way old myths were beautiful haunting, ethereal, and just a little too alive.
Then it came.
A long, low howl split the night, rolling through the trees like thunder. It wasn't the distant bark of a dog, or the playful yip of some stray animal. No, this sound was guttural, primal so deep it vibrated in her chest. Something wild. Something powerful. Something that absolutely did not belong on her doorstep.
Her blood turned to ice.
She froze at the window, eyes wide, straining to see if anything moved between the dark lines of the trees. For a heartbeat, she imagined glowing eyes staring back, waiting for her to blink. The silence that followed was almost worse than the howl itself, thick and suffocating, pressing against her ears.
"Oh, right," she muttered finally, snapping the window shut with a sharp clack before yanking the curtains closed in one swift motion. Her pulse was still hammering in her throat. "Forgot about the giant werewolves. Fantastic. Just peachy. Love that for me."
She lingered by the curtains for a moment, listening hard, but the night gave her nothing but the rustle of leaves. Still, the memory of that sound clung to her, curling tight in her stomach. Forks wasn't just gloomy it was alive in ways she wished it wasn't.
Fairy lights twinkled gently across her room as she climbed into her massive bed, pulling the covers over her.
"All this supernatural drama…" she whispered to herself, eyes half-closing. "I'm no heroine. What if I just… die early? Then what?"
A beat.
"Fine. I'll haunt that shady ROB. Drive him insane."
With that comforting thought, she drifted into sleep, mumbling nonsense into her pillow.
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