Falling To The Sun | B. Swan + E. Cullen

The biting chill of Forks' winter clung to Roman as she pedaled her bike, her fingerless mittens doing little to ward off the cold. Her breath plumed in the air, a fleeting ghost against the dreary sky. The familiar route to the Swan residence was ingrained in her, a pilgrimage she'd made countless times since they left. Today, however, was different.

She was determined. No more waiting in the truck, no more fleeting glimpses. Today, she would knock. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she dismounted, the old bicycle clattering softly against the pavement. Each step up the path felt monumental, her hand hovering over the painted wood of the front door. Anticipation gnawed at her, a nervous flutter in her stomach.

She was gazing at the worn welcome mat, lip caught between her teeth, when the door suddenly burst open. Before she could react, someone collided with her, sending them both tumbling. Her back hit the cold concrete with a jarring thud, the air wooshing from her lungs. She lay there, stunned, with a warm weight on top of her.