New Love

The biting London rain was relentless, a cold, miserable downpour that mirrored the turmoil in Edward Cullen’s dead heart. He pulled his trench coat tighter, the familiar chill of un-life a constant companion. Forks, Washington, and the crushing weight of Bella’s betrayal felt a million miles away, yet the ache was as fresh as if it had happened moments ago.

He had been walking aimlessly for hours, the unfamiliar streets a blur through his haze of grief. The city, normally a symphony of scents and sounds to his heightened senses, was a dull drone. He longed for quiet, for nothingness, for anything to distract him from the searing image of Bella with Jacob.

A grimy pub sign, "The Leaky Cauldron," caught his eye. A pub. A place to sit, to pretend. Anything but the endless, soaking wander. He reached for the door, just as it swung inward, and he collided with a slight figure, sending them stumbling. Instinct, honed by decades of reflexive action, made him reach out, his hands finding a small waist, pulling her flush against his unyielding body.