AN: Hello beautiful people! It's been too long, and I've missed you more than you can imagine.

As of now, I plan to update weekly. Maybe more, depending on my schedule. As some of you know, I'm working on my first novel, so that's keeping me super busy, but I've missed you guys and wanted to write you a little something.

It won't be super angsty, although it starts out a little dramatic. If you know me at all, you know how it'll end. If you haven't read my stories, I'm a happy-ever-after kind of girl, so trust me. :)

Disclaimer: All mistakes are mine, and the characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Chapter 1

"Can I get you more coffee, Mr. O'Malley?"

The old man shook his head and placed a twenty on the counter.

"I'm headed home. Keep the change, Bella."

I smiled and thanked him for the tip. My regulars knew I was working my way through college by waiting tables at this greasy diner. I was thankful for the job, and I was grateful to my sweet customers who tipped me outrageously for something as simple as a cup of decaf.

I glanced at my watch and sighed with relief. It was nearly closing time, and my tired body was ready for a bubble bath and a glass of cheap wine. With renewed energy that only comes at the end of my shift, I grabbed a rag and began to wipe the counter. The place was blissfully empty, which would make closing that much easier.

Ten minutes. If only the customers will stay away for ten more minutes.

But no, the universe was cruel.

At five minutes until closing time, he walked in. Without a glance toward the tired waitress desperate to lock the doors, he found a stool at the end of the counter.

Sighing, I grabbed the coffee pot and a mug before making my way over to him.

"I'm afraid the grill is closed," I said in apology. "It's nearly closing time, and all we have is coffee and pie."

The man said nothing. He simply stared ahead with glazed eyes as I poured a cup of decaf. His rude silence gave me the chance to really check him out. He had a wild head of bronze hair and the kind of sculpted cheekbones you'd expect to see on the face of a runway model. His eyes, as lifeless as they were, were a beautiful shade of green.

Despite all of that perfection, he looked like absolute shit.

His clothes looked as if he'd slept in them—for about a week. The wrinkled dress shirt had been white once upon a time, and a dingy tie hung haphazardly around his neck. His slacks were torn at the knees, and his leather shoes looked as if he'd stepped into the nearest muddy puddle.

On his wrist, was a Rolex.

Weird.

I cleared my throat. "Can I get you a slice of pie? We have apple and, I think, one slice of cherry."

He finally looked my way, and the intensity of those eyes pierced through me.

Beautiful green and painfully cold.

"Your name is Bella?"

The question surprised me, and quite frankly, scared me a little. But then I remembered I'm a waitress, and wearing a name tag is part of the gig.

"Yes, I'm Bella."

He nodded once, and that was the end of our conversation.

I finished closing up and tried not to stare at the beautiful disaster sitting at the end of the counter. He must have money, if the watch on his wrist was any indication. Why would he be dressed as if he spent his nights sleeping in a cardboard box in an alley?

After gathering dishes, I headed back to the kitchen. Billy, the manager, was finishing up dishes.

"I can do that," I offered, feeling a little guilty that the boss was washing silverware. Rose, the other waitress, had called in sick, leaving us short-handed on a Friday night.

"I don't mind doing dishes," Billy said with a grin. "It's a nice break from mindless paperwork."

Billy Black was a great man and pretty laid back as far as bosses go. He was nice enough to schedule my shifts around my classes and never gave me grief for doing homework if business was slow. Most managers would expect you to be doing something productive, but Billy understood. He didn't expect me to make a career out of working at the diner. It was a paycheck—a means to an end. The pay wasn't great, but the tips were decent, and so far, I was juggling my course load and working without completely losing my mind.

Most importantly, I was paying for my senior year of college, and I was doing it without student loans.

Because he was so cool—and because I had a killer work ethic—I worked my ass off for Billy. I knew he appreciated me, especially on nights like these.

"Headed home?"

"Not yet. I still have a customer at the counter."

Billy nodded and finished draining the sink. "I have to finish some paperwork, but it shouldn't take too long. Want me to give you a ride?"

"Nah, I'll be fine."

He said goodnight before heading toward his tiny office. I made my way back out front, expecting to see the handsome homeless man sitting at the counter.

To my surprise, he was gone.

I walked to the end of counter, and that's when I saw two things that made me stop in my tracks.

A full cup of coffee.

And his Rolex.

The Seattle air nipped at my bare fingers, and I muttered a curse. Leaving my gloves at home in the middle of November wasn't exactly the dumbest thing I'd done lately, but it was pretty close.

No, my shining moment had been last Saturday.

Regardless of my friends' warnings and despite my conscience screaming at me that this was monumentally stupid, I'd finally agreed to go out with Tyler Crowley.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a simple girl, and we're both poor college students, so eating fast food wasn't an unusual dinner for me. But when he told that it would be best if I didn't supersize my McDonald's fries, I knew it was going to be a very long evening. At the end of the night, I told him to delete my number from his cell.

At least I could laugh about it now.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me and quickened my pace toward my apartment. It wasn't a long walk between the diner and my place, but the cold temperature made it seem like miles. I was just making my way across the Washington Street Bridge when something caught my eye.

A man was standing along the barrier of the bridge, looking down into the frigid water below.

Without a backwards glance, he placed one leg over the edge, and that's when I recognized him.

I screamed.

His head jerked up, and there, under the lights of the city, my eyes locked with the beautiful man who'd left his watch on my counter.

And he was going to jump.

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