“Sam’s at the corner table again, window at his back and to his left side, warm morning light humming in, sinking into his shoulders. It’s the fourth day of this feeling and of sinking his teeth into rich danishes and sipping all day at divine, creamy coffees. He scrolls the front page of Buzzfeed again and then Al Jazeera because it’s not like Dean’s gonna check when he comes over with a cookie for Sam to try.
And he does. It’s peanut butter. And it’s fucking melt-in-your-mouth good. And it’s 10 in the morning. And he doesn’t give a fuck. Is donepretending to give a fuck.
Because this is delicious. So there’s no hunt here and he can keep pretending to look for another hunt for a while because. Um. Well. Because.
And Cas looks so content, too, whenever Sam wanders in the back to lean against a counter and watch Cas’s wiry fingers work through doughs and scoop dollops of heavy cream on top of luxuriant coffees. He doesn’t go back into the kitchen much, though, because he burns himself just leaning against the oven and some dark muttering about him minding the register has started in increase in volume.”
He is in the kitchen with flour on his hands and an apron and there is flour on his forehead and Cas leans across the counter and wipes it off with his thumb and Dean says, “Thank you,” and Cas says, “You’re welcome,” very seriously and later Dean makes apple turnovers and he only ruins them a little and Sam realizes it’s not a real hunt like four days into it and he lets Dean stay undercover for like a week and a half or longer, maybe way longer, because he is such a good everything.
I don’t even realize that the air has gotten hazy. Or that it smells like skunk, or that amidst the clouds of smoke, leaning against the wall is Edward Cullen.
Innocence spins him harder than moonshine. Patience makes her glow from the inside. Summertime on the lake, and a fall she fears more than anyone ever should. Wild sweet pea and Jeremiah Weed. Morning rain and pink sunshine. One love. Two mouths. One love. One house. Palm to palm, this is how we always start.a
She loves him. He loves her crazy. She’s a hopeless romantic. He’s just hopeless. She’s afraid to let go. He won’t let her. A story about a silly girl in love with a foolish boy. Here, forever is a lie.
"I stare at his mouth and try to swallow and instead nod, sip my Coke, then set it on the nightstand next to his. I hear the spark of the lighter and I’m watching his Adam’s apple as he inhales. He sets the pipe down in the box and then grabs my shoulders, pulling me close. He presses on my chest, just above my breasts and I exhale and then he’s there, his mouth so close that our lips are almost touching. He presses his thumb against my bottom lip, and I open and he tilts his head, like a kiss. The smoke leaks out, languid and it’s drifting up over his face but all I can see are his lips bright red, and then I remember and I puff out my mouth to suck it all in and our lips brush and his hand is still on my face and then it’s in my hair and the world quiets into nothing but his hot breath against my lips and my heart pounding, pounding, pounding."
Bella’s sixteenth birthday is made perfect by a kiss from a beautiful boy, but then she doesn’t see him again for three years. Does he even remember her?