Chapter 2The kitchen's small and hasn't been remodeled like ours, but it gets the job done. The space is cluttered, filled with junk mail and stacks of old newspapers Charlie says he'll get to but never does. They're all pushed to the side, though, because Bella's at the counter doing her thing. She's in her baking stance: one leg is perched up, foot against knee. She's wearing light pink knee socks with a hot pink stripe, giving her a sort of flamingo look.
I get a spoon and peer over her shoulder to see if the cookie dough is ready. I dip in and snag a scoop, enjoying the gritty feel of the sugar against my tongue.
"That's good. Gran's cowboy cookies?"
She nods from where she is. She hasn't even looked at me. This is annoying. At the very least I figured she'd scold me for leaning my nasty hat over her bowl.
"About last night . . ." I start, having no clue what I'm about to say, just knowing I need to say something.
She sighs loudly and stops stirring, pressing her hands against the countertop. She shakes her head. "Just forget it, Edward. I get it. It's fine. We don't have to talk about it. You have Tanya, anyway."
"I don't have to have Tanya," I say quietly.
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