He was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"
I felt irrevocably flattered and went down the hall to the kitchen. Fredward was standing there before me, needing no guide. He sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture him in, his beauty lighting up the kitchen like never before. It was a moment before I could look away.
I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's bacon lasagna from the fridge, placing a square piece on a round plate, carrying the plate to the microwave, selecting the correct microwave, and pushing Start. It revolved, filling the kitchen with the smells of tomatoes, oreganos, and bacons. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke. I wondered if that was why Fredward was always looking at me.
"How often?" I asked casually.
"Hmmm?" He sounded as if I had pulled him from some other train of thought, as if I had derailed him from his own piece of lasagna.
I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"
"I come almost every night. At least once, maybe twice."
I whirled, stunned. "Why?"
"You're interesting when you sleep." He spoke matter-of-factly. "That's why I come."
"You're interesting?"
"No, you are interesting. When you sleep, anyway. You talk."
"No!" I gasped, refusing the idea, heat flooding my face up to my hairline. I gripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, in Forks, Idaho, though!
His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?"
I thought about it. "You mean, am I really angry with you?"
He frowned. "Are you correcting my use of the word very?" He asked hesitantly.
I thought about it. "No," I said, immediately. I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me. Was it really my fault that I had better grammar than him even though he was over one hundred years old?

294

Chapter 14

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