A new day in Forks, though yesterday still clung to me like leftover perfume. My legs ached faintly from hours of walking around Port Angeles, and my wallet was lighter, but the memory of glowing lamps, patterned pillows, and tiny potted plants still felt like victory. Yesterday had been about distraction, about filling up the silence in that house with warmth. Today… well, today was another story.
This was all healing magic. No matter how bone-deep the exhaustion, every sunrise reset me my body restored to its peak state, stronger and healthier than the night before. It was like having an invisible reset button other people didn't even know existed.
What I didn't realize yet was that this gift wasn't limited to me. The same energy that healed me could be shared, flowing through my touch like a pulse of quiet magic. One day, I'd discover that I could pass it on to someone else. But for now, I remained blissfully unaware of the power humming under my skin.
Yesterday had been about distraction, about filling up the silence in that gloomy house with warmth. Today… well, today was another story.
I'd gotten back home just as the sun dipped behind the ever-present clouds. The driveway was already occupied Charlie's cruiser sitting there, neat and precise, the only constant in a town that seemed to breathe secrets.
He was leaning against the porch railing forwning when I pulled up, sipping from a can of soda. The moment he saw me juggling a takeout bag and keys, he straightened, the corners of his mouth twitching into what, for him, passed as a grin.
"Need a hand?" he asked, already moving to help before I could reply.
"Yes, please. Unless you want me to collapse dramatically on the porch," I said, handing him one of the heavier shopping bags.
Charlie didn't even flinch at the weight. He carried it inside like it was full of marshmallows instead of bathroom organizers and a suspiciously heavy ceramic lamp.
We set everything down in the hallway bags stacked like a miniature fortress before I unpacked the takeout. I'd picked up food from a decent little restaurant in Port Angeles, something beyond the standard Forks diner fare. Charlie raised an eyebrow when he saw the containers.
"This isn't pizza," he noted, half curious, half suspicious.
"Nope. Actual food groups.You should try it sometimes.Vegetables included," I teased.
He gave me a look that probably scared suspects into confessing but only made me laugh. Still, he sat down with me at the table, mumbling who knows what under his breath after sitting down we both start to dug in.
Dinner was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Charlie wasn't much of a talker, but the easy rhythm of sitting together felt… comforting. He seemed genuinely happy to be at home, a rare lightness in his usually quiet demeanor.
"So," I said between bites, "tomorrow, I could use a hand decorating Bella's room. Think you can handle that?"
Charlie's face lit up ever so slightly. "Of course. I… I hope she likes it."
I smirked to myself. Even if that moody, sparkle-obsessed girl doesn't like it… who cares?
We chatted while finishing our food, him sharing random little stories from around town things I would have found boring in another life, but here, they felt grounding. He mentioned his friend Billy was planning to drop by later in the week to watch a game with him. Ah yes, the baseball game they always watch in the movie, I thought with a small, amused smile. And apparently, Jacob would be coming along too.
"That's good," I said lightly, more to myself than to him, watching the small joy flicker across Charlie's face. He seemed genuinely pleased at the thought of company, of small, normal things. And for a moment, I let myself forget that vampires and werewolves lurked beyond the forest, that nothing here was truly ordinary.
By the time we finished, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My legs protested every step up the stairs, and I made the executive decision not to even peek into the shopping bags. Whatever future decorating spree awaited, it could wait another day.
I stumbled into the bathroom, turned the shower as hot as I could stand, and stood there until steam fogged up the mirror. The water washed away the city grit, the faint worry clinging to my skin, and some of the weight pressing against my chest.
By the time I slipped into bed, I was barely conscious. Bags untouched. Plans postponed. Body demanding rest.
The last thought that flickered through my head before darkness claimed me was simple: At least here, in this borrowed life, sleep came easy.
And when I woke the next morning, it was as if I'd been rebooted. No soreness, no fatigue. Just that strange, quiet healing the system had gifted me. Another reminder that no matter how normal my routine seemed, nothing about my existence here was ordinary.
The morning was gray and rainy, the kind of steady drizzle that made Forks feel even more… Forks-y. I shuffled to the bathroom, still half-asleep, and went through my usual routine brushing my teeth, washing my face, and taking a moment to stretch. Even in simple hoodie and trousers, my hair and no makeup face seemed… flawless, courtesy of whatever Rob had done to me. I caught my reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. Great, now even my lazy-day look is runway ready. Perfect.
Peering out the window, the rain streaked down like silver threads across the glass. It was calming in its own way, a quiet backdrop for what I had planned today.
Downstairs, the comforting smell of coffee hit me as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. Charlie was already there, a mug in each hand, and for some reason, he looked almost… giddy.
"Morning," he said, setting a cup in front of me. "I made coffee for both of us."
I raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, ready to take on the role of domestic superhero, huh?"
He just shrugged, smiling faintly. "Can't have Bella's room looking shabby, right?"
I chuckled softly and took a sip of the coffee. Strong, hot, perfect. While it warmed me, I got started on breakfas toast, eggs, and bacon. The kitchen filled with the smell of cooking, a small, simple ritual that made the house feel more like home. Charlie helped where he could, flipping the eggs with exaggerated care, mumbling something about how breakfast had been disastrous before, and I laughed at him.
After we ate, he leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. "So… what do you want to tackle first?"
"Bella's room," I said, pointing toward a couple of the shopping bags that were still stacked neatly in the corner. From across the kitchen, I could feel his quiet excitement radiating, and it made me smile.
Charlie nodded, setting his empty plate aside. "Alright. Let's do this."
We carried the bags upstairs together, him holding most of them and me trailing behind with the smaller, delicate items. Once inside Bella's room, we spread everything out on the floor. My eyes swept over the space, already imagining what it could become.
We started with the big pieces the bed, the sheets, and the covers. I adjusted the bedspread so the patterns aligned perfectly, while Charlie positioned the throw pillows, each one chosen carefully for color and texture. Next came the lamps, placed on the nightstands, their soft light capable of cutting through even Forks' perpetual gloom.
Curtains were hung, the fabric falling just right to match the bedspread. A rug went under the bed, soft and warm, while I arranged little decorative touches: a couple of plants for the windowsill, a small stack of neatly folded towels, and framed pictures that brought life to the walls. Even Charlie got involved with the last bit, holding up a cute picture frame as I decided the perfect spot.
After what felt like a fun whirlwind of color, texture, and carefully curated coziness, the room finally came together. The curtains swayed gently in the morning breeze that sneaked through the slightly open window. The bed looked inviting, the sheets soft and stylish, the throw pillows and cover coordinating perfectly. A warm lamp glowed faintly, and even the small rug underfoot made the room feel alive. The little decorative touches the plants, the pictures added personality, a promise of life waiting for Bella's return.
We stepped back, both of us silently taking it in. Charlie's lips curved in a rare, satisfied smile, and I allowed myself a small, sarcastic thought. Even the moody, sparkle-obsessed Bella can't complain about this. But if she does, well… she can deal with it.
Charlie stepped back from Bella's newly decorated room, hands on his hips, and let out a small, satisfied sigh. "It… looks nice. Really nice," he said, a proud smile tugging at his lips. "I think she's going to like it."
I smirked. "Glad you approve. Think you're ready to tackle another room next?"
He chuckled, shaking his head."let's do it ".
Back downstairs, we spread out the bags I had set aside for the main space. Throw pillows for the couch, soft rugs for the floor, small touches for the kitchen countereverything meant to add color, texture, and warmth. I held up a vibrant cushion. "Charlie, if you don't like it, speak now."
He glanced at it, then quickly shook his head. "It's… perfect."
We moved on to lights, adjusting a few to give the living room a softer, cozier glow. Even Charlie got a kick out of fluffing the couch cushions, trying to arrange them just right. I couldn't resist teasing him every now and then, nudging him to move a pillow "an inch to the left, trust me."
Once the living room was complete, we made our way upstairs to my attic bedroom. I had a few small decorations and touches I wanted to add vanity mirror, framed pictures, little plants for the windowsill, and a soft rug underfoot. Charlie even helped me hang a decorative piece on the door, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
Finally, we returned to the living room and paused at the doorway. Everything felt… alive. Warm. Lived-in. The colors balanced perfectly, textures inviting, lights glowing softly, and the little detail the plants, cushions, rugs made the house feel less like a lifeless shell and more like a home.
I glanced at Charlie, who looked quietly pleased, his hands tucked into his pockets as he surveyed our work. I smirked, teasing, "So… do you like it? If not, we can totally change it back."
He didn't even hesitate, mumbling quickly, almost defensively, "It's… perfect."
I laughed softly. "Good. That's what I like to hear."
For a moment, we just stood there, taking it all in the warmth, the comfort, the subtle sense that maybe, just maybe, this house could finally feel like a home.
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