Maybe I'm Falling For You by ...

Maybe I'm Falling For You by coldplaywhore, M-Åš

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Maybe I'm Falling For You by coldplaywhore
Edward and Bella meet one cloudy May morning at their neighborhood coffee bar. Little do they
know that they have actually been conversing for several months under assumed names.
Collaboration between CPW and FLB11. M for language and lemony goodness.
Good Day Sunshine
EPOV
Shoelaces untied
You can dry your eyes
Perfect shadows alive
Behind us
This is the day I make you mine
The way your hair lies
sometimes unrecognized
All the way from these today
on a train
Nothing to say if there's still time
But you are the one
I've been waiting for today
And here comes the sun
That's been baiting on today
I've only lived in this neighborhood for a month, but already I have seen the weirdest people
imaginable. There was the one guy who carried around an empty guitar case completely open and I
couldn't help but wonder if he lost his guitar. There's also this guy who mumbles incoherent babble
down on Houston who seemed to revel in the fact that the world was coming to an end soon. Then
there was the one girl who had a fake parrot on her shoulder and liked to talk like a pirate, she had
hit on me and I quickly pretended I was unable to speak English and ran like the wind. Today's
seemed to take the cake though.
I was waiting patiently at 'Common Grounds' the coffee shop located mere steps from my apartment
listening to the girl in front of me sing Joshua Radin at the top of her lungs. That wasn't the
interesting thing though. Her odd choice of clothing had completely caught me off guard. She had
long dark brown hair buried underneath a yellow rain hat and her small frame was hidden behind an
oversized bright yellow rain slicker. From the back, she looked like a female version of the Gorton's
Fisherman; I kid you not. The strange girl also had red and white striped socks pulled up to her knees
as well as a pair of blue rain boots covered in tiny white skulls and roses.
She was in the middle of singing and not paying attention when the person in front of her finished
ordering their coffee and the girl at the counter was trying to get her attention, to no avail. I looked
back and forth between the girl in front of me and the girl at the counter for a moment, before
coming to the conclusion that it was up to me to get her attention. I tapped her twice on the
shoulder. "You're up," I said as she turned to look at me, taking an ear bud out of her ear.
It was like the wind was knocked out of me as I looked at her, right in the eyes. She was beautiful and
I immediately forgot what the hell I was doing. Her long brown hair hung down her shoulders and she
wore what I could only guess was a very long homemade scarf in multi colors around her small and
graceful neck. The piece de resistance though was the fact under her oversized rain slicker she wore
a very tight white t-shirt that said 'Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute' and a pair of indecently short shorts. I
could even see her black lace bra beneath the shirt and I grew hard instantly.
Jesus Christ, she was
my fucking wet dream come to life.
She looked at me for a moment, obviously trying to figure out what the hell I meant, her eyebrows
knitting together in the cutest fucking way. "Sorry," she said, turning around and walking towards the
counter.
Lrgecfélttewithextrfompleseshennouncedtothegirlbehindthecounterwhose
nametag read 'Margaret'. We had become somewhat friendly in the three straight weeks I had come
here and she was sweet enough to me, even though she simply took my order and passed me along
to the next person to assist me. I probably stood out like a geeky sore thumb in the crowd of crazies
that came in here. I was dressed in a simple pair of khaki shorts with a short sleeved dark green
button down shirt and a pair of Birkenstock sandals. I looked like I should be going to a clambake, not
a coffee shop in the middle of Greenwich Village.
I clutched my newspaper under my arm and had planned to sit on one of the small tables outside to
simply enjoy the May morning, but apparently the weather was not planning to agree with me
because just as I moved up to place my order, it began to rain outside. My newspaper would now be
used to shelter my head as I ran back into the obscene quiet of my apartment. Perhaps I would just
findsetinsidethesmllcféndrelxhereinsted
"Regular Espresso Machiatto," I announced to Margaret as the girl in front of me turned to pick up
her own coffee from the counter. She grasped her drink and turned to walk outside, bitching about
the weather even though she was completely dressed for it. "Do you know that girl?" I asked
Margaret as she nodded her head slowly.
"Yeah, she's in every morning around the same time. I think she lives around here. Dresses like a hot
mess all the time," she said with a gentle laugh as I shook my head and quickly pulled a five dollar bill
from my wallet to pay for my drink and muffin. I moved to the side to wait for my purchase as I
looked out the window and watched her walk down the busy street, not really giving a shit that it
was pouring rain outside, a smile wide on her face as she looked like she began singing again.
I was
smitten.
After I picked up my order, the rain had subsided enough for me to consider making a mad dash back
to the confines of my apartment. As I moved to leave, I saw the parrot girl walking into the shop and
quickly made a bee line to the magazine rack to ignore her as best as I could. As she got into line, I
ran out the front door and across the street into my building, eagerly bouncing up the stairs.
When I walked in, I peeled off my slightly dampened shirt and settled in front of my desk, turning on
my laptop as I took a sip of my coffee. As I waited impatiently for it to load up, the Windows logo
annoying me beyond belief, I took a quick bite of my muffin and flipped open my newspaper to the
life and times section to see if any of my upcoming clients were featured in the 'engagements'
section.
People in New York City were obsessive about their weddings and it truly worked to my benefit.
When I wasn't writing crappy greeting cards from the comfort of my home for a major corporation, I
work as a wedding photographer. Brides were willing to pay almost anything for my services and my
wallet appreciated it more than they realized it. I had often gone home with a few of the female
guests at the weddings, but lately it had been getting more than tiresome. I realized not too long ago
thtIwntedsomethingmoresomethinglikethethirtyyersofmrrigemyprentswere
celebrating later in the summer. I wanted 'the one.'
PennyLane84: Morning Stranger.
Ah, one of my favorite times of the day, when I found my constant companion online or in today's
case she found me.
Paperback_Writer:
Morning yourself.
PennyLane84: I didn't see you around last night, started to worry you got attacked by the parrot lady
again.
Paperback_Writer: Thankfully no, although I did see her this morning at my local coffee shop. I hid
likacowardandpraydshfoundhrownprsonalpiratorwalkdoffthplank, either option
seemed good to me.
PennyLane84 and I had met online several months ago on a music based chat room where we got
into a heated discussion with some punk teenager with the handle 'Paul_iz_Ded', who insisted to us
that the Beatles were overrated. Of course, PennyLane and I being huge Beatles fans, as evidenced
by our own handles, spent the next few hours trying to bend him to our ways and lead him from the
dark side, to no avail. On a positive note though, I struck an unlikely friendship with another fellow
New Yorker and we chatted about virtually everything, including my favorite parrot lady.
PnnyLan84Thatsashamshsounddlikalovlywomanarrghh(attmptingpirat
impression. Is it working?)
Paperback_Writer: Yeah, I tend to prefer my ladies with pets that don't molt. (No, not really. LOL)
PennyLane84: No molting pets. Got it. Can you handle two crazy roommates? Thanks for crushing my
ego btw.
Paperback_Writer: Well if it helps at all, I am sure hidden behind your computer monitor I am certain
you are a pretty woman. (Stroking the ego as best as I can) I don't do crazy roommates either. If I did,
I'd still be living with my two best friends.
PennyLane84: Apology accepted. Do you live alone?
Paperback_Writer: No. I have 87 cats actually. I'm the cat man of New York City.
PennyLane84: See, we could never work in real life. I love dogs.
Paperback_Writer: Whatever PL84. You don't have a pet, you just told me so. What makes you think
you wouldn't like one of my cats?
PennyLane84: Allergies.
Paprback_WritrLookatthatthcatsargonIhavanallrgytoraisinsoratlastItll
people I do because I hate the texture.
PennyLane84: And you think the parrot lady is weird?
Paperback_Writer: Make fun all you want. Didn't you previously mention an aversion to cereal?
PnnyLan84NotallcraljustthshitthatstayscrunchyinmilkImanhowdothydothat?
Isn't it supposed to go soft? I'm certain they smother the cereal in all sorts of additives and
preservatives that will probably cause me to sprout a third limb. Although I suppose an extra arm
would help me walk the dogs.
Paperback_Writer: It always comes back to those damned dogs.
PennyLane94: So what's on your agenda for the day?
Paperback_Writer: Oh you know, the regular shit. Knitting an afghan for my hard of hearing
grandmother with belly button lint, taking my underwater basket weaving class down at the Y and
after that I think I have to skip to my loo. What about you PL?
PennyLane84: I have to get to work and walk some dogs around a park, scooping up their feces for
way too little money. Then I think I might force my roommates to eat some of my atrociously bad
cooking.
Paperback_Writer: Sounds thrilling. Too bad you can't cook for me, I'm absolutely horrible. Perhaps I
should sign up for cooking classes at the Y after I'm done learning about underwater basket weaving.
PennyLane84: Dog walking is not thrilling in the least, but it certainly beats working for the man,
don't you think? As for the cooking, my roommates say it's good, but I tend to be a bit experimental. I
think they are just being nice because I haven't killed them yet.
Paperback_Writer: Ah death by casserole, what a way to go.
PennyLane84: Speaking of going, if I don't sign off soon the Pug might walk himself. Have a great
morning PBW. C U Soon.
With that final sign off, she was gone. Her name was no longer highlighted on my little messenger
system and my heart stopped soaring for a moment. I tried to ignore the thoughts and feelings my
online friend made come to life within me and grabbed my coffee and paper, opting to get
comfortable on my couch to finish up the morning.
I flipped through the paper again and found the wedding notice for Jill Turner and Mike Smithson,
who were one of the couples I would be photographing in a few weeks. I read their small article
about their upcoming wedding, which was being held at the Central Park Boathouse and then
finished up my drink. Grabbing my laptop from my desk, I logged into my work email and
immediately started sorting through everything that was sent my way from the head office in
Philadelphia.
This week's assignment was to work on funny yet sympathetic get well cards, which sounds just as
moronic to me as it does to you. My boss, Eric Yorkie, was a bit of a hard ass about deadlines and
today was Tuesday. Surely I could figure something out by Friday that would be deemed suitable for
the masses. Every time I seemed to submit something to them, they came back gushing and it was
generally something that had taken me a total of five minutes or a trip to the bathroom. I did my best
thinking in the bathroom, but didn't most men? Sure working part-time from home on greeting cards
was a great way to subsidize my income during the downtime the wedding season inevitably had, but
it was boring as fuck. As I tapped my finger against the edge of my keyboard, my thoughts went to
PennyLane84, not my job. Today was going to be a complete fucking waste of time.
BPOV
I woke up early. A little too early, for my liking anyway. After a failed attempt at going back to sleep, I
decided to simply get up and brave the outside world.
I hopped out of bed and ran to the window. Great, it was cloudy and no doubt rain would be falling
any moment now. What was this, Seattle? I let out a huff and dressed in the first things that I found
on my floor, grabbing my raincoat as a precaution on the way out of the door of the four-bedroom
brownstone that I shared with my two best friends, Rosalie and Alice.
We each had our own rooms in our unconventionally decorated place in Greenwich Village, with me
using the fourth bedroom as an art studio. I used that room for pretty much anything, painting,
sketching, whatever my creative flow commanded in one particular moment, really. Walking into
that room, you would think you've stepped into a war zone, but that was exactly how I liked it and I
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