Author Archives: windwoman

Letters on the Porch

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The first time I saw you, you were arguing with your hair in the rear view mirror. I thought: there’s someone who fights back.
I stared at the letter in my hands, reading Jasper’s careful handwriting through tears I couldn’t stop. Edward had left me feeling broken and unworthy, but these words… these words suggested someone had been watching, seeing strength where I’d only felt failure.
You never needed protecting. You needed someone to believe you could protect yourself.
For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe. Someone had been listening all along.

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Firelight Confessions

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The storm had stolen their power, but not their light. Gathered in a circle of flickering candles, the Cullen family found themselves playing a simple game—one secret, one dare—that would change everything. Years of careful politeness dissolved as truths emerged from the shadows: Edward’s frustrations, Jasper’s hidden fears, Bella’s growing feelings. What began as a way to pass the stormy evening became something deeper—a night when walls crumbled and hearts opened. Between confessions and laughter, between honesty and acceptance, old bonds were tested and new love was born. Some nights, when the power goes out, you discover what truly lights up your world.

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Fireworks

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The first firework screamed into the sky, but I didn’t watch the burst of color overhead. I watched Bella—yellow sundress bright as sunlight, face lit with wonder and defiance, finally alive and unafraid. Edward’s possessive shadow lingered, but she didn’t flinch; she chose to meet my gaze instead, something real and electric sparking between us. When I reached her side, the world narrowed to her heartbeat and the fierce hope in her eyes. “It ain’t the sky I’m here for,” I murmured. She smiled, breathless, as the fireworks exploded. This was the moment we stopped pretending and started living.

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Garden By the Water

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Bella curled into the porch swing, lemonade sweating in her hand, the hum of cicadas and scent of jasmine wrapping around her like a lullaby. Rosalie leaned on the railing, golden hair caught in the breeze, while Jasper watched from the shadows, still and steady. For the first time in months, Bella wasn’t bracing for the next demand, the next correction. Here, under the soft Southern sun, she wasn’t broken or fragile—she was becoming. She didn’t have to speak for them to understand. The quiet between them said everything: You’re safe. You’re seen. You’re free. And maybe, finally, she believed it.

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Summer of Yes

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The note smelled like pine and leather:
Midnight. Swimsuit. Quiet. —J
Forks was hushed at night, mist coiling between the trees. Jasper waited by the Jeep, barefoot, moonlight touching his pale skin. He looked at her like she was the beginning of something.
They swam in a hidden lake no map could find, floating in silver water and silence. “I feel everything,” he confessed. “Too much.”
Bella drifted closer. “Do you feel what I’m feeling now?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Then she kissed him—weightless, barefoot, brave. And everything changed.

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Casino Caper

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Jasper Whitlock stood beside Bella on the sunlit deck, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. To the world, they were a wealthy American couple disembarking for leisure in Monaco. In truth, they were spies, their Louis Vuitton luggage concealing weapons, comms gear, and secrets. Bella smiled with effortless grace, accepting a tourist map from a weathered man by the kiosk—a courier, code embedded in the ink. “Merci,” she said sweetly. Jasper scanned the harbor, already cataloging threats. Behind the charm of luxury, Monaco bristled with predators. And one of them, he was sure, was watching Bella.

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What Happens in Vegas…

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Bella Swan wakes up naked, glitter-covered, and definitely not alone. Her thighs are bare, her dignity is missing, and Jasper Whitlock—smirking, naked, and far too pleased with himself—is sprawled beside her like a Calvin Klein ad gone rogue. Oh, and there’s a wedding ring on her finger. Her left hand. A very real, very silver wedding ring. “Mornin’, Mrs. Whitlock,” he drawls with that honey-thick accent that does terrible things to her pulse. Cue the chaos: a highlight reel, a bite mark, and a tattoo she doesn’t remember getting. Outside the bedroom, their friends are prepping brunch, mimosas, and a slideshow of the night’s… festivities. Jasper’s completely unbothered. Bella? Not so much. But here’s the problem—she doesn’t regret it. Not the ring. Not the bite. Not the cowboy in her bed. And that’s what terrifies her most of all.

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Cats Don’t Care About Vampires

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Bella turned wide eyes on him. “The cat just… talked.” She said it with the same tone someone might use to announce they’d just seen Elvis riding a unicorn through the Walmart parking lot.

Jasper’s hand froze halfway to his mug. “What now?” For once, the empath looked genuinely surprised.

“About time your aura opened up,” the cat said. “Took me three visits and a moon cycle just to get through that human static. You’re broadcasting on all frequencies but receiving on none. Typical.”

“Okay,” Bella whispered. “I’m officially losing it.”

“Not necessarily,” Jasper muttered, golden eyes narrowing. “I felt something. Not words. Not thoughts. But… something pushed.”

The cat stretched and leapt onto the bench between them like it was a throne. “Technically, I’m a familiar. The name’s Mabs. Short for Mabigail. Don’t laugh. My witch had a sense of humor that died with the Black Plague.”

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Last Letter

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Jasper Whitlock stood on the edge of the Montana wilderness, dusk casting bruised purples across the sky, a match trembling between his fingers. The fire he’d prepared was meant to end it all—gasoline, dry timber, the cleansing agony of flame. But as he struck the match, the wind shifted. A cold breeze, unnatural in its silence, swept through the clearing and extinguished the flame before it could burn. Then he saw it. A single cream-colored envelope resting on the stone beside his belongings—one he hadn’t placed there. It bore no insignia, only a wax seal and his name written in deep blue ink: Major Jasper Whitlock. He reached for it with hands that hadn’t trembled since his human days. Its scent—wildflower honey and rain-soaked earth—was impossible, intoxicating. Inside: “Find me. Help me. When all is darkness, I will be your light.” Signed, Bella Swan. And everything changed.

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Circle Back

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The night air in Forks was thick with firelight and mischief. Bella sat near the bonfire, whiskey burning her throat, laughter ringing around her like sparks on the wind. Across the flames, Jasper Whitlock leaned back—shirtless under a leather jacket, golden eyes watching her like a dare. “Truth or dare?” Emmett asked, grinning. Bella blinked, heart racing. “Dare.” Jasper’s slow, dangerous smirk was a promise. “Then come here, darlin’, and whisper the dirtiest thing you’ve ever thought about me.” She did. And when she pulled back, Jasper just smiled and said, “We’ll circle back to that, sweetheart.”

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