“Bella,” Edward said. “I told you that I was going to be reasonable and trust your judgment. I meant that. If you trust the werewolves, then I’m not going to worry about them.”
“Wow,” I said, as I had last night.
“And Jacob’s right — about one thing, anyway — a pack of werewolves ought to be enough to protect even you for one evening.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Only . . .”
I braced myself.
“I hope you won’t mind taking a few precautions? Allowing me to drive you to the boundary line, for one. And then taking a cell phone, so that I’ll know when to pick you up?”
“That sounds . . . very reasonable.”
“Excellent.”
He smiled at me, and I could see no trace of apprehension in his jewel-like eyes.
To no one’s surprise, Charlie had no problem at all with me going to La Push for a bonfire. Jacob crowed with undisguised exultation when I called to give him the news, and he seemed eager enough to embrace Edward’s safety measures. He promised to meet us at the line between territories at six.
I had decided, after a short internal debate, that I would not sell my motorcycle. I would take it back to La Push where it belonged and, when I no longer needed it anymore . . . well, then, I would insist that Jacob profit from his work somehow. He could sell it or give it to a friend. It didn’t matter to me.
Tonight seemed like a good opportunity to return the bike to Jacob’s garage. As gloomy as I was feeling about things lately, every day seemed like a possible last chance. I didn’t have time to procrastinate any task, no matter how minor.
Edward only nodded when I explained what I wanted, but I thought I saw a flicker of consternation in his eyes, and I knew he was no happier about the idea of me on a motorcycle than Charlie was.
I followed him back to his house, to the garage where I’d left the bike. It wasn’t until I pulled the truck in and got out that I realized the consternation might not be entirely about my safety this time.
Next to my little antique motorcycle, overshadowing it, was another vehicle. To call this other vehicle a motorcycle hardly seemed fair, since it didn’t seem to belong to the same family as my suddenly shabby-looking bike.
It was big and sleek and silver and — even totally motionless — it looked fast.
“What is that?”
“Nothing,” Edward murmured.
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
Edward’s expression was casual; he seemed determined to blow it off. “Well, I didn’t know if you were going to forgive your friend, or he you, and I wondered if you would still want to ride your bike anyway. It sounded like it was something that you enjoyed. I thought I could go with you, if you wished.” He shrugged.
I stared at the beautiful machine. Beside it, my bike looked like a broken tricycle. I felt a sudden wave of sadness when I realized that this was not a bad analogy for the way I probably looked next to Edward.
“I wouldn’t be able to keep up with you,” I whispered.
Edward put his hand under my chin and pulled my face around so that he could see it straight on. With one finger, he tried to push the corner of my mouth up.
“I’d keep pace with you, Bella.”
“That wouldn’t be much fun for you.”
“Of course it would, if we were together.”
I bit my lip and imagined it for a moment. “Edward, if you thought I was going too fast or losing control of the bike or something, what would you do?”
He hesitated, obviously trying to find the right answer. I knew the truth: he’d find some way to save me before I crashed.
Then he smiled. It looked effortless, except for the tiny defensive tightening of his eyes.
“This is something you do with Jacob. I see that now.”
“It’s just that, well, I don’t slow him down so much, you know. I could try, I guess. . . .”
I eyed the silver motorcycle doubtfully.
“Don’t worry about it,” Edward said, and then he laughed lightly. “I saw Jasper admiring it. Perhaps it’s time he discovered a new way to travel. After all, Alice has her Porsche now.”
“Edward, I —”
He interrupted me with a quick kiss. “I said not to worry. But would you do something for me?”
“Whatever you need,” I promised quickly.
He dropped my face and leaned over the far side of the big motorcycle, retrieving something he had stashed there.
He came back with one object that was black and shapeless, and another that was red and easily identifiable.
“Please?” he asked, flashing the crooked smile that always destroyed my resistance.
I took the red helmet, weighing it in my hands. “I’ll look stupid.”