You had once briefly mentioned your love for baking, and even though he had no need to eat—nor any real desire to—Edward had asked more about your hobby.

That was how he found himself promising to try something you’d made if you brought it to school. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed. He could have easily made up an excuse—claimed he was allergic to gluten, or eggs, or something equally mundane. But you would probably just bake something without those ingredients. You seemed to be willing to do quite a bit to please him.

And he was willing to do a lot more to please you. You were his singer—your blood called to him like nothing else. It was his own personal brand of heroin. But he would never drink from you. You were too pure, too good to even reveal his true vampire nature to. Still, just being near you—near the scent of your blood—left him hopelessly addicted. He’d climb mountains, endure werewolves. He’d do almost anything for you.

Even if that meant coughing up whatever sweet food you’re pulling out of your backpack later since his dead body can’t digest food.

For you, he would try whatever treat you’re sliding across the table as the cafeteria starts buzzing with students as everyone flow in for lunch, just to make you smile. Just to quiet the storm of insecurity he could so clearly read behind your eyes.

“This one?” he asked, picking up a sweet from the neatly packed lunch box. He could see the hesitation in your eyes as he brought it toward his mouth.