perfect times → EMMETT CULLEN ✓

f o u r

CHAPTER FOUR
❝ art of writing ❞

THE NEXT DAY came a little too quickly for Hayden Marris. After spending well over an hour at La Push with Paul, she came home to an empty home. The girl had ordered out that night, not bothering with cooking over a hot stove. Instead, she took to a book she had yet to finish, before going to sleep.

Hayden's alarm clock awakes her, rattling the nightstand below. The brunette runs her hands down her face, embracing the upcoming sun through her open curtains. She turns off the alarm, steadies herself on her feet, and makes her way over to the closet at the corner of her room.

When Hayden had arrived, her room hadn't had any furniture in it. Of course there was a fair amount of dust, building up from all the years of the Marris family's departure. It had taken almost a full day to move everything to the way Hayden liked it; her bed shoved up against the wall opposite of the window, and a nightstand beside it, along with a vanity and lots of wall decorations.

By her second day, photos and white Christmas lights were assorted on the walls, and all traces of dust had vanished. The wooden floors had been polished, and Hayden had gotten around to fixing the white canopy over her bed. She had went with a black and white color scheme, seeing how she liked things plain and simple. And back in Georgia, things had been the exact same.

She had set up her makeup and perfume collection in the bathroom attached to her bedroom, then sorted out her clothing and shoes in the closet. Hayden had found a piece of wood in the old garage and spray painted it black, before nailing it to the wall and putting her favorite books on it. And, with a little more decorating, her new room was finished.

Hayden sighs as she gets to the sink, her eyes finding the mirror at once. She had slipped on a pair of ripped jeans, plain white socks, and one of her old softball shirts, and was finally facing the dark circles under her eyes. With a groan, she pulls her hair into a messy bun and fixes the dark circles with a bit of concealer. With a little mascara, she was finished. Hayden grabbed her car keys, shoes, and bag, before making her way down the stairs.

Her mother was already awake by the time she reached the kitchen, a mug of coffee in her hands. She blows away the steam, taking a seat on a bar stool.

"Did you sleep well?" Amberley asks her daughter, unfolding a newspaper as she places her coffee down.

Hayden nods, tying her shoes as she takes the seat across from her mother. "It was okay. I'd prefer to stay home and sleep for another few hours, but I'll survive."

"Your father and I should be home a little earlier tonight," she comments, glancing up from the newspaper. "We should be able to do something together . . . maybe go out to eat or catch a movie. Would you be okay with that?"