makeup—you won't need armor where we're going.
— Whitlock
P.S. First test: no chickening out. I'll know if you do.
She laughs out loud, the sound bright and startled in the quiet morning.
Her pulse races with anticipation and terror in equal measure.
And for the first time in her life, saying yes feels like coming alive.
Chapter 2: The Swing
Forks may not have a lot of things, but it has trees. Ancient, towering sentinels that have watched over secrets for longer than the town has had a name. And Bella Swan is currently staring up at one that looks like it crawled straight out of a summer camp horror story—the kind where counselors disappear and nobody asks the right questions.
The oak is massive, its branches twisted into gnarled arms that stretch possessively over a clear, glittering bend of river. At the very top, looped around the thickest limb like a noose made of hope, is a weathered rope swing. It dangles thirty feet above the water, swaying slightly in the morning breeze.
An invitation. A dare. A death trap disguised as fun.
Behind her, Jasper Whitlock leans against the hood of Rosalie's borrowed Jeep, arms crossed, boots dusty from the hike down, aviator sunglasses reflecting her pale, terrified face back at her. He looks like he belongs on a vintage postcard titled Trouble You'll Regret and Want Anyway.
"That rope's older than me," Bella mutters, craning her neck to follow its frayed length.
sitting close enough that she can feel the impossible heat radiating from his marble skin. Bella wraps her towel around her shoulders like armor. Jasper doesn't need one—he never shivers, never shows any sign that the temperature affects him at all.
A dragonfly, iridescent blue-green, lands delicately on her bare knee. It stays for a moment, wings trembling in the breeze, then flits away toward the deeper shadows.
"You know," she says after a comfortable silence, watching the insect disappear, "I thought saying yes would be scarier."
He glances over, one golden eyebrow arched in question. "And today wasn't terrifying?"
"Oh, it was." She laughs, the sound bright and surprised. "I just thought... I don't know. I thought saying yes to everything would make me lose control. But I feel more like I'm finally getting it back."
Jasper nods slowly, understanding flickering across his features. "Most people spend their entire lives just surviving. Very few ever really live."
She nudges his marble-hard knee with hers, marveling at the contrast between his stone-like skin and the warmth that seems to emanate from within. "And you? Do you live?"
His smile shifts—not his usual devastating smirk, but something softer around the edges. Sadder, like an old wound that never quite healed.
"Sometimes," he says quietly. "When someone reminds me how."
The words hang between them, heavy with meaning she's not sure she's ready to unpack.
They stop at Millie's Diner on the way back into town—a hole-in-the-wall place with checkered linoleum and vinyl booths that have seen better decades. Jasper claims it has the best pancakes north of Portland, though Bella wonders when he became such a connoisseur of small-town breakfast joints.
She orders a stack that could feed a small army, drowning them in strawberries and enough whipped cream to qualify as a natural disaster. Jasper orders black coffee and a side of bacon, watching with obvious amusement as their waitress—a blonde with too much makeup and not enough subtlety—flirts shamelessly with him while refilling his cup.
He's polite but distant, offering nothing more than that devastating smile that could make angels weep.
Bella is still damp around the edges, bare legs stretched out in the booth, hair an absolute disaster, and she can't stop grinning. She feels wild, reckless, alive in a way she's never experienced before.
When the check comes, Jasper snatches it before she can even reach for her purse.
"You didn't have to—"
"Let me, Bella."
The way he says her name—like it's something precious, something worth savoring—makes her stomach flutter in ways that have nothing to do with rope swings and everything to do with the way he's looking at her.
Outside, as he walks her to her ancient Chevy truck, he pauses beside the driver's door.
"You did good today."
"I screamed like a banshee and probably scared every fish in the river."
"You flew." His voice is soft, proud. "You trusted the fall."
Something warm and dangerous unfurls in her chest. Without thinking, she rises onto her toes and presses her lips to his cheek—quick, soft, sun-warmed and sweet.
His jaw goes rigid beneath her mouth. Not from discomfort, but from restraint so fierce she can feel it in the tension of his muscles, the way his hands clench at his sides.
"Thank you, Jasper."
His voice comes out rough, strained. "Tomorrow's going to be worse."
She laughs, wild and bright and utterly fearless. "I'll still say yes."
He watches her climb into the cab of her truck, that wicked glint back in his golden eyes, dangerous and full of dark promises.
"I'm counting on it, darlin'."
As she drives away, Bella catches sight of him in her rear view mirror—still standing beside the road, hands in his pockets, watching her disappear around the bend like he's memorizing the moment.
Her cheek still tingles where her lips touched his skin.
Tomorrow can't come fast enough.