The kitchen smelled like butter and garlic, my favorite kind of therapy. I was at the stove, stirring a pan of sizzling vegetables while chicken was crisping golden in the oven. The sound of it popping and hissing was almost comforting a reminder that at least food would never betray me.
Bella hovered beside me, shoulders hunched like I'd handed her a live grenade instead of a cutting board. She stared down at the tomatoes like they had personally insulted her mother.
"Here," I said, plopping the pile of red orbs in front of her. "Dice these. Don't overthink it, they're not plotting against you."
She picked up the knife with the dramatic resignation of someone being drafted into war. Slowly, she pressed blade to tomato and hacked, hacking again, hacking once more with zero rhythm. The poor tomato looked like it had been in a street fight.
I leaned over, eyebrows raised. "Wow. That's… impressive. Not culinary impressive, more like… interpretive art. Picasso would be proud."
Bella gave me a look, cheeks pink. "Shut up. Cooking isn't exactly my thing."
"No kidding," I deadpanned, sweeping her tomato carnage into a bowl. "This is less 'cooking' and more 'aggravated assault.' But hey, you're trying. That's already more than Charlie ever does in the kitchen."
From the living room came his voice, gruff but defensive: "I heard that!"
I grinned wickedly. "Good! You should! The man thinks seasoning is just salt. If it weren't for me, we'd be living on frozen dinners and a prayer."
Bella laughed, shoulders relaxing, and added with a mock whisper, "And ketchup. Don't forget the ketchup."
I gasped. "Oh my God, you're right. The Swan household culinary pyramid: frozen lasagna and ketchup."
Bella giggled so hard she nearly dropped the knife, clutching her stomach. "Stop, you're going to make me cut my finger."
"Relax," I teased. "You'd probably just scare the tomato more than yourself."
I smirked, and Bella actually laughed, the sound bubbling out awkward but genuine. For a second, it was like the kitchen had stretched into some alternate universe where she wasn't perpetually stressed, I wasn't constantly covering for my secret transmigrated life, and the only battles we fought were with blunt knives and uneven tomato slices. The oven heat and garlic butter made the air soft, cozy even Charlie's occasional cough from the living room blended in like background music.
Then Bella have to ruined it.
"I'm going to ask Edward tomorrow," she blurted, her voice low but firm, like she was announcing a military operation.
My spoon froze mid-stir. Internally, alarms started screaming at full volume. Red alert. Red alert. Girl, you're about to walk straight into the Sparkly Brooding Olympics, and Edward Cullen has been training for centuries. He was absolutely going to avoid Bella for a week minimum. To "think about it," of course. Because if there's one thing Edward Cullen excelled at besides brooding, it was running away.
I slowly turned toward her. "Oh?"
She nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. "Yeah. About what happened in biology today. He looked like he wanted to… I don't know, kill me? Throw up? Both?"
"Mmhm," I said, hiding a grimace behind my spoon. No, sweetheart. He just wanted to snack on you like you're the last box of Thin Mints in existence.
Out loud, though, I plastered on a supportive smile. "Of course you should. March right up to him and ask why he acted like someone shoved a cactus up his butt."
Bella choked on a laugh so loud she nearly dropped the knife. "Amara!"
"What?" I said innocently, hands raised. "I'm just saying. That's exactly the face he made. Like...'Ow, pointy, but let me glare at Bella like it's her fault.'"
She was shaking now, laughing harder. "You're terrible."
"Terribly accurate," I corrected with a flourish of my spoon. "Honestly, he glared at you like you'd eaten the last slice of pizza he specifically labeled in the fridge. Pure rage, family-feud level stuff."
Bella pressed her lips together, failing miserably to smother her grin. "Still… I think I need to know what that was about."
"Go for it," I encouraged sweetly, patting her shoulder with mock solemnity. "Be brave. Be bold. Ask the boy why he acted like you were dipped in poison. And don't worry I'll be here with popcorn when he inevitably ignores you for, oh, about a week. Maybe two if he's feeling extra broody."
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might stay stuck. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously right," I countered, then leaned toward her cutting board. "By the way, these tomatoes? They look like crime scene evidence. Just… thought you should know."
She laughed again, cheeks red as she swatted at me with the back of her hand. "You're impossible."
"And yet," I said, sweeping her massacred tomatoes into the sizzling pan with exaggerated elegance, "this impossible person is the only thing standing between you and food poisoning tonight."
Bella sighed, smiling despite herself, and went back to mauling the poor vegetables with renewed energy.
And me? I just stirred the pan, my grin hiding the uneasy thought swirling in my head. Oh, Bella. You sweet, oblivious human. You have no idea what you're in for.
The table creaked as Charlie sat down, fork in hand like it was a weapon against the roasted chicken. Bella settled across from him, and I slid into my seat with my usual grace—aka trying not to knock over the water pitcher and start dinner with a flood.
Dinner began the way it always did: awkward silence thick enough to spread on toast. The only soundtrack was the clink of forks, the faint hum of the fridge, and Bella's ongoing battle with her chicken breast. She sawed at it like she was trying to cut down a tree.
Finally, Charlie cleared his throat, like he was forcing himself through the first level of Small Talk Boss Fight.
"So… uh. How was school?"
Bella shrugged, stabbing a piece of broccoli hard enough to make it squeak on her plate. "It was fine."
"Good," Charlie said, already ducking back into his chicken like he wished the conversation would self-destruct.
I snorted into my water, nearly choking. These two—both so antisocial it was painful. It was like watching two cats in a room, both refusing to make eye contact but circling like maybe one of them should.
"It was good," I piped in, swooping in like the social savior this family desperately needed. "I didn't trip in the hallway, no food fights, and no one tried to stuff me into a locker. I'd call that a win."
Charlie's mustache twitched like he was holding back a smile, and then—miracle of miracles—he gave me the tiniest grin before going back to slicing his chicken with military precision.
Bella, maybe trying to fill the silence before it buried us alive, set down her fork and asked, "So… what do you know about the Cullens?"
Charlie's fork stopped midair, chicken dangling like he'd forgotten how utensils worked. He blinked once, twice, then cleared his throat. "The doctor?" His voice was steady, but you could tell he was picking his words carefully. "Good man. Real good man. Came here years back with his wife. Does a lot for the town. Works double shifts sometimes, covers when other docs can't. Doesn't complain either."
He finally set the fork down, leaning back slightly as if to underline his point. "Folks weren't sure about him at first coming into a small place like this, looking like he stepped out of a magazine ad but he proved himself. Never turned anyone away, never asks questions he doesn't have to."
I raised my brows. Wow. The way Charlie talked about Dr. Cullen, you'd think he'd been nominated for sainthood. Forks' Most Wanted: Best Doctor Edition.
Charlie took a sip of water and went on, "And his wife Esme, I think? Sweet lady. Quiet. Always polite." He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "They take in kids. Foster, adopt, whatever you call it. And those kids… well, people talk. But I've never seen them cause trouble. Not once. They keep to themselves, stay out of fights, don't get tickets, nothing. In a town this size, that's unusual."
I could practically hear the unspoken and suspicious as hell, but Charlie wasn't the type to say it out loud.
Bella looked curious, leaning forward a little. "So… people like them?"
Charlie shrugged. "Depends who you ask. Some folks don't trust them, say they're too different. But I figure… different doesn't mean bad. Long as they're not causing trouble, they're alright in my book."
I stabbed a piece of potato, fighting a smile. Different doesn't mean bad. Unless 'different' means immortal glitter enthusiast who drinks blood for breakfast, but sure, Charlie. You keep telling yourself that.
I twirled my fork, debating. Should I bring up Alice's invitation? Or keep it quiet and avoid getting cornered into vampire tea parties? But no… if I was in Forks for the long haul, I couldn't dodge the sparkly squad forever. Better to rip off the Band-Aid now.
"So, uh… Alice invited me over to their place," I said casually, like she hadn't ambushed me earlier with enough hyper energy to fuel a small city.
Charlie blinked, then shrugged. "That's fine. Just be back before curfew."
Bella nearly dropped her fork. "When did Alice talk to you?"
"After biology," I said sweetly. "You were… busy sprinting down the hall like the entire track team was after you."
Her face turned pink. "I wasn't sprinting."
"Uh-huh," I said, taking a bite of chicken. "Sure. Olympic tryouts, then?"
She shot me a glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched.
I turned back to Charlie, tilting my head. "By the way, what do you know about Dr. Cullen's brother?"
Charlie leaned back, fork tapping his plate as he thought. "Seen him around a few times. Nice gentleman. Polite. Friendly enough."
Polite. Friendly. Uh-huh. Translation: sparkly vampire with good table manners.
I chewed on my chicken thoughtfully, side-eyeing Bella who still looked confused like we were talking about a lost uncle. Meanwhile, in my head: Huh. So he does exist here. Great. Mystery vampire unlocked. Collect 'em all.
Charlie went back to eating in silence, Bella went back to stabbing vegetables like they owed her money, and I sat there wondering if family dinners in Forks would always feel like a sitcom laugh track was missing in the background.
Afterward, we cleared the table in a kind of unspoken choreography me juggling the dishes to the sink, Bella drying half-heartedly, and Charlie pretending to be very interested in the evening news. It was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just… different. Domestic, in a way I wasn't used to. Almost nice, if you ignored Bella's vendetta against broccoli.
By the time the kitchen was clean and Charlie had retreated to his recliner kingdom, I escaped upstairs.
Steam still clung faintly to my skin from the hot shower, the kind that melted away the chill of Forks and left me feeling almost human again. My hair was brushed out, glossy and soft, tumbling over the silk collar of my pajamas ...luxury ones courtesy of Rob's "perks." The fabric was smooth against my skin, the kind of indulgence that made me feel out of place in this small-town house, but hey, if I was going to transmigrate into a vampire soap opera, I was at least going to do it in style.
I padded over to the window, tugging the frame open just enough to feel the cool night air slip across my face. Outside, the world looked deceptively peaceful. Trees whispered in the dark, their shadows stretching long and still. The quiet was thick, almost too thick, like Forks itself was holding its breath.
And then...I saw it.
A flicker of movement. Low in the treeline. Too quick, too deliberate to be the wind.
My curiosity reared up immediately. Okay… fox? Deer? Bigfoot on vacation? My eyes narrowed, trying to catch it again, but the woods had already gone still, like nothing had happened at all.
My heart gave a jump, but I scoffed at myself. "Nope. Absolutely not. I've seen this movie. I'm not the idiot who stares out of the window until something jumps at me."
With that, I slammed the window shut, pulled the curtains across in one swift motion, and marched straight for my bed like the brave, sensible coward I was.
Curling under the covers, I muttered into my pillow, "It's nothing. Just animals. Or a raccoon. Or maybe a squirrel with a gym membership."
And with that reassuring thought, I forced my eyes shut.
Still, the back of my mind whispered: You saw something.
But nope. Not tonight. Not my problem.
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