Saturday, September 18, 2010

Friday, September 10, 2010

Pic Tease, Chapter 20

Ghirardelli Chocolate Shop

Kara's Cupcakes


Crown and Crumpet




Thursday, September 9, 2010

Chapter 20 Teaser

On entering the suite, I kick the door shut behind me and clumsily drop my shopping on the kitchen table. Prior to my dream, I probably would have joked around and called out ‘Honey, I’m home.’ I can’t really do that now, of course.

I’m playing house with Edward Cullen. Playing being the key word. I better be careful, or before I know it, I’ll be telling him off for leaving the toilet seat up, or demanding that he take out the trash.

This whole suite/mini-apartment thing must be messing with my head.

Edward bounds over from the living room, either really excited that I bought candy or really glad that I’ve returned. Perhaps it’s both.

“You’re back,” he says, grinning.

“I am indeed.”

Returning to Edward makes me smile to myself. He’s put a pair of pajama pants on, but he’s wearing the same t-shirt. I bite my lip as I check out his arms. He chuckles as he steps forward to greet me, touching me gently on the forearm. I smile in return, but the moment is a little awkward. I think he wants to hug me, but he steps back, probably knowing it’s too much too soon. Not thinking quickly enough, I shuffle on the spot for a few seconds before scrambling to say something to mask our awkwardness.

“They had chocolate swans,” I say excitedly, showing him the box. “No chocolate Cullens, though, which was disappointing. I would’ve liked the opportunity to bite your mother’s head off.”

When all else fails, make fun of a Democrat.

It’s my family’s default position.

Edward smirks, taking the box from me.

“And what would you have done with a chocolate Edward?” he teases.

“I'd probably take a bite out of him as well, and in order to do that I’d have to put his head in my mouth…” I trail off, waggling my eyebrows.

“Oh, come on now,” he says, challenging me. “You can do better than that.”

“What? Like put him in the spare room in Barbie’s funhouse?” I suggest dryly.

“Funhouse, did you say?” He winks. “I don’t think I’ll enjoy it there. Barbie isn’t my type. I prefer brunettes. Well, ever since I met you.”

“We met when we were like five,” I point out. “We weren’t strangers on that train.”