I.

If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

He meets her at a weekend beach party. Her Forks friends drag her along, even though she’d rather stay home reading; she’s that kind of girl, a bookworm, quiet, but not unpopular. She’s got this brilliant smile, and when she laughs it’s hard not to like her.

He walks over to her and introduces himself. “Jacob Black.”

She shakes his hand. Her grip is firm, her hand soft. She’s tall, maybe even taller than him. “Angela Weber,” she says, smiling. “Have you met Ben?”

The Asian boy next to her grins at Jacob, but his eyes narrow a little. Jacob gets it. Angela’s spoken for, whether she knows it or not. He’d better stay away.

He nods. “Nice to meet you.”

Later, he sits by the fire and chats with Lauren Mallory, the intense, snappy blonde that he’s heard others label Forks High’s resident ice queen. She does come on a little strong, but somehow he fails to care that much. He half-listens to her conversation, staring into the fire and unconsciously rubbing his left thumb along his right palm. He can’t help but feel that something big happened today, and he, like an idiot, has missed it.

At another beach party not long after, he meets Bella Swan, and forgets all about Angela. The rest, as they say, is history. With a few mythical creatures thrown in.

Even when he’s hurting and cast out from her life, the thought of dating (or, God forbid, loving) other girls barely cross his mind. Bella was the one and only. Even though she really never did belong to him, he hates that he’s lost her.

II.

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.

She doesn’t really know him all that well, just that he’s Bella’s best friend and therefore must be nice. She sees him around, talks to him if he’s part of the conversation, but doesn’t pay that much attention. She vaguely notices him grow up and turn from an easygoing, smiling boy to a tall, serious, attractive…what? Man? She isn’t sure; he’s only sixteen, for goodness’ sake, and she’s eighteen. Even though he looks twenty-something.

Ben Cheney is her boyfriend; as a rule, she doesn’t ogle other guys. It feels disloyal. And Ben is great—he’s sweet, the romantic chocolate-and-roses kind of guy, and he does the dishes when she cooks dinner for him. Sometimes, she even thinks he might be The One.

But something is missing.

It’s small. But the little things matter the most, in the long run, and she can’t help but notice it. Kissing Ben is nice, and exciting, but something in her wants more than that. Wants to feel wild, raw passion—wants the spark of danger amid all the sweetness and niceness.

In the end, it’s why she breaks up with him.

He is sad, but resigned; he’s too much of a gentleman to show her how much his heart is really breaking. She cries, and says she’s sorry, but she knows it’s unfair to him for her to lead him on.

Bella asks her to be a bridesmaid at her wedding to Edward Cullen. Angela gets the feeling that it wasn’t actually Bella’s idea, but Alice’s; Edward’s petite, enthusiastic sister is way more excited about the wedding than Bella herself is. But Angela graciously agrees. Trying on her dress with Alice and Bella helps take her mind off her recent single state.

At the wedding, her hands shake. She’s not the one getting married, but somehow she’s as nervous as Bella. There’s this sense that something is going to happen today, something really important.

She lets Alice smear her with more makeup than she usually uses in a year, and then sits still while the other bridesmaid’s cold fingers wind her hair into an updo; she catches Bella when the bride trips on her hem and almost takes a headlong fall down the stairs. And she stands there in front of everybody while Bella marries Edward. Even though no one’s looking at her, her palms feel slick with sweat.

Well, that’s a lie. One person is watching.

He’s standing at the back, under a tree, his face in shadow. She watches him suspiciously, afraid he might make a scene or something; dark, shadowed men standing at the back during weddings are never a good sign. But he stays rooted to the spot, looking—looking back at her.

She recognizes him. It’s Jacob, of course. She heard that he wasn’t really thrilled about the wedding—Bella had said he wasn’t invited. Evidently he hadn’t gotten that memo.

She bites her lower lip, before remembering Alice’s warning to stop doing that or she’d get lipstick on her teeth. She shifts a little and fingers the sash of her bridesmaid’s dress. Edward is saying his vows now, his voice fervent, his white fingers wrapped tightly around Bella’s. And suddenly, Angela just wants to get out of here. She fights the urge to bolt, trying not to look at the rapt crowd. Something isn’t right. Something….

More shadowed guys are emerging from the trees. Jacob’s friends. She tenses. They look resolute…angry even.

Edward sees them, and stiffens, appearing not to breathe. Bella sees them too, and starts to babble through her vows. The guys advance. She stumbles over the word “cherish” and mutters, “Oh, screw it. Just do the man-and-wife thing!”

And then the guys in cloaks appear.

Jacob’s friends aren’t there to stop the wedding after all, Angela realizes. They’re there to stop the creepy cloaked people. They tighten their circle around the wedding guests, glaring at the cloaked guys, daring them to try and get through.

Bella finally gasps out, “I do!” and then Edward grabs her kisses her, quickly but with feeling. Angela’s heart twists.

Then the cloaked guys close in.

Jacob’s friends break their circle and start herding the wedding guests up the aisle and away. Angela stands rooted to the ground, unsure whether she should leave Bella to the mercy of the creepy guys.

Jacob himself strides toward her and reaches for her hand. “C’mon,” he says. “You don’t wanna stick around here. Those guys are trouble.”

“O-okay.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice. She lets him lead her away, wondering, in a detached sort of way, why his fingers feel so hot.

Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

The Volturi screwed everything up, as usual. Jacob had planned to ruin Bella’s wedding the traditional way—with a dramatic “I object” at just the right moment—but, as it turned out, those freaky Italian vamps made a much bigger mess of the big day than he could have hoped to. The wedding guests milled around the Cullens’ kitchen—so spotless, they commented, it was like they never even used it!—eating little pastel mints out of ornamental glass bowls and gossiping. Who were those guys? Were the Cullens involved in a cult? And what was with the cloaks—did they think they were vampires or something?

The pack mingles with the guests, making sure nobody leaves. Jacob wanders aimlessly through the crowd, feeling uncomfortable in his best suit.

Then he sees her again. She’s leaning on the counter and idly picking through a bowl of mixed nuts, eating the cashews and peanuts but not touching the almonds. She looks worried and tense.

He’d seen she was uncomfortable standing up there with Bella. She’s not a crowd person. At first he had had eyes only for Bella, but all it had taken was a second’s glance to the left and there she had been. Angela Weber. Bella’s quiet friend from school, the one with the shy, beautiful smile…and the boyfriend. Average, brown-haired, unobtrusively pretty.

And in an instant, his entire world had begun to revolve around her.

He’s finally imprinted—at about the least convenient moment ever. Doesn’t it just figure?

Walking toward her is the scariest thing he’s ever done. It’s like all his muscles have seized up in terror. He can NOT screw this up.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. I can do this.

*

“Hey.”

Angela jumps and looks up to see Jacob leaning against the counter nearby. “Oh! Um, hi.”

“I don’t like almonds either,” he says, gesturing to the candy dish of assorted nuts. She’s eating them mainly because she’s bored, and because those sugary mints make her teeth hurt.

She looks at him in astonishment. How had he noticed?

“I was, um, watching you from over there.” He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. That came out sounding more stalkerish than I’d hoped.”

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “They have those gross brownish skin things on them, you know? I’ve never liked them.”

“What? Oh, almonds.” He laughs nervously. “I really suck at this, don’t I? Damn. Let’s change the subject.”

“Okay. What were those cloaked people? Do you know? Your friends seemed to be expecting them.”

“Different subject,” he says quickly. “I’d tell you, but somebody might overhear, and anyway I don’t know if you’d believe me.”

“I don’t know. How weird could it be?”

“You really don’t want to know,” he says. “How’s your boyfriend? Ben, wasn’t it?”

She narrows her eyes, letting him know that she’s not going to forget about the cloaked people, but allows him to change the subject for now. “He’s fine.”

“He’s not here?”

“No.” She looks down at her newly manicured nails, resting on the immaculate countertop. “I…he…we’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Oh. Oh, geez.” He sighs and slumps against the table. “Open mouth, insert foot. I didn’t mean to….”

“It’s all right.” She bites her lip again.

“Are you? All right, I mean?”

She doesn’t answer because she honestly doesn’t know.

“Right. New subject.” He reaches for a handful of nuts, picking out the almonds and tossing them back in the bowl. “You graduated with Bella, right? So what are you doing next?”

“Well, I got accepted to University of Washington,” she says slowly. “So I’m going there in the fall. I kind of want to be a teacher, like preschool or something. But who knows? I don’t really have a lot of big plans or anything. And you?”

“Well, first I want to finish high school.”

“Oh, right! I keep forgetting you aren’t out of school. You look a lot older than you are,” she says.

He laughs. “You have no idea. Anyway, I kinda want to open an auto repair shop after I get out of school. I’m handy with cars and stuff, and you don’t need a college degree for it.”

“No college for you?”

“Nah. My dad doesn’t really have the money, and anyway I’m not big on school. I keep getting in trouble for skipping two out of five days a week.” He grins, not ashamed at all.

Angela can’t help laughing. She dips her fingers in the bowl of nuts at the same time he reaches out to do the same. Their knuckles brush.

The tingle of awareness that thrills all the way up her arm shocks her, and she jerks her hand away too quickly, spilling the nuts all over the table.

“Oh! Whoops. I’m such a klutz today.” She busies herself scooping the scattered nuts back into the bowl so she won’t have to look at him. Did he feel it too—that jolt of attraction?

Or maybe he was just shuffling his feet on the carpet. It could’ve been static electricity. Probably was, as a matter of fact. Why should she be attracted to him? The breakup with Ben was hardly a month ago. Besides, she and Jacob don’t exactly have a lot in common.

But he’s easy to talk to, and the way he messes up and gets nervous when talking to her is kind of sweet. It makes her feel better about her own conversation skills (or lack thereof). And there’s no denying that he is attractive.

She looks up and smiles at him, and he gets this funny look on his face. He felt it too—he must have—oh God, this is so awkward—

But then he says, “Um, you…you have lipstick on your teeth,” and ruins the moment.

IV.

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

A week later, Jacob calls and asks her out.

She fully means to say no—the breakup with Ben still smarts, and she’s been telling herself she should keep her heart to herself for awhile—but somehow a “yes” slips out. And so he shows up at her house in an old VW Rabbit, shakes her dad’s hand and calls him “sir,” promises to have her back by eleven sharp, and takes her to dinner in Port Angeles.

*

Over dinner, he tells her the truth.

She takes it surprisingly well—doesn’t get mad at him for lying, or faint, or any of the other reactions he’d been fearing—just stares at him with those bright brown eyes, her expression solemn.

“So let me get this straight,” she says when he’s through. “The Cullens are all vampires, and now Bella is too, since she married Edward. And those cloaky guys at the wedding were evil vampires that were mad because Bella wasn’t changed fast enough. And you and your friends are werewolves, and you’re supposed to keep vampires away. And your inner wolf picked me to be your soul mate, or whatever. Is that it?”

He nods. “In a nutshell…yeah.”

She looks him straight in the eye…and bursts out laughing.

“S-sorry,” she says, trying to smother her laughter with her napkin. “It’s just…I mean, Forks is like the smallest, most boring town in the world. It just figures that there would be a ton of mythical creatures hanging out here.” She giggles. “You’d expect to find vampires living in, like, L.A. or, or New York, somewhere glamorous. Not this little blink-and-you-miss-it town.”

“So…you believe me?” he asks, surprised.

“Sure. You’re not the type to make this stuff up. Besides, I always did think the Cullens were weird.”

“Did you think I was weird too?” he asks curiously.

She smiles at him, and he could swear the dimly lit restaurant is suddenly filled with blazing sunlight. “Not weird so much as cute,” she says. “And it makes sense. Wolves used to be my favorite animal.”

“Hey! Used to be?”

“Well, I kind of have a thing for platypuses now,” she says, deadpan. “Do you have any friends who are were-platypuses?”

He laughs at that, which sets her off again. As their laughter subsides, he impulsively reaches over and grabs her hand.

She freezes, and her smile fades. She looks down at their hands—his large brown fingers wrapped around hers—and then into his eyes. He sees vulnerability and a tinge of fear, tempered with a sudden smoldering attraction.

“Soul mate?” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “Can you explain what that means, exactly?”

He wants nothing more than to kiss her at that moment, but knows she’s not quite ready for that yet. So he settles for lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “It means I’m here for you whenever you need me,” he says. “Remember that, okay?”

She nods, biting her lip again (an endearing bad habit of hers). Suddenly shy, she pulls her hand away and picks up her drink. Jacob, understanding, launches into an anecdote about Embry, cliff diving, and a few too many beers, and before long he has her laughing again.

But that moment hangs between them, and even as she’s laughing, Angela still looks at him with her heart in her eyes.

V.

Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.

It’s supposed to be one date, nothing else. The guy in her English class at UW is nice enough, if a little more suave than she usually goes for; but he seems to genuinely like her, and so she’s agreed to let him take her out.

As she gets ready in her dorm room, dressing in a flower-print cotton skirt and flip-flops, she thinks about Jacob. She goes to see him sometimes on weekends, and although he’s always friendly, he has this way of looking at her that makes her shiver and think about all the possible definitions of “soul mate.”

Sometimes, she catches herself thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.

The date goes all right. There are even some moments, few and far between, that she doesn’t think about Jacob. She forgets the guy’s name; he reminds her that it’s Richard. She forgets again and calls him Robert.

He takes her hand (his fingers are icy, not warm like Jake’s) and invites her back to his place. She turns him down without even thinking about it. He insists. She asks him to take her back to her room, please.

He tries to kiss her; she turns her face away and he gets her cheek and a mouthful of hair. He gets angry. She gets scared.

When he shoves her against his car and bends to kiss her neck, she stops being afraid and starts being mad. She elbows him in the face, kicks him in the groin, and runs, finding shelter in a 7-11 down the street.

She fishes in her purse for spare change, finds the pay phone, and dials a number she now knows by heart. “I need you,” she whispers into the receiver, her voice breaking.

He says, “I’m coming.”

*

He steps off the Edmonds-Kingston ferry at two in the morning. She’s there waiting, having gotten a taxi back to the campus, found her car, and driven straight here.

He doesn’t say anything—just wraps his arms around her while she sniffles into his shoulder. And when she murmurs, “Oh, Jake, I love you,” he doesn’t return the sentiment in words—just kisses her, gentle but possessive.

He politely doesn’t mention that she reeks pretty badly of vampire; but he memorizes the scent so he can hunt down the offending leech the next day.

They sit together in the backseat of her car until the sun comes up, her head on his shoulder, their fingers laced tightly together between them. They don’t speak—don’t need to. All that needs to be said is spoken by their fingertips.