We did better with review replies this time around. If we didn’t get to yours, please don’t be offended. We answer in the order in which they’re. Sorry about the review replies for last chapter, which were pretty much non- existent. But please know that we appreciate each and every one. Dear Mr Masen has 8 ratings and 2 reviews. Stefanie said: Overall, I really liked this story. In the beginning, it was really funny and kinda sweet, but.
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All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc.
The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.
No copyright infringement is intended. When I was eleven years old, I found an old transistor radio in the basement.
I plugged it in to verify that it worked, and after asking my father if I could have it, I took it out to the garage and started taking dsar apart. After I was finished, I rode my bike to the library and checked out a book on radio repair.
Kr the next few days, I carefully labeled each piece and then methodically put it back together. My father would periodically come into the garage and ask me if I needed help and to bring me lemonade, but I always refused The offer of help, not the lemonade. Lemonade is delicious and I would have been foolish to refuse its refreshing goodness. It was with an enormous sense of pride that I plugged it back in and maseen greeted with static. I spun the dial and stopped when the soft sounds of classical piano filled the garage.
I looked over at my father, who was watching from the doorway, satisfaction written all over his face. His obvious pride made me feel better than I already did. That was the first indication I had that I was mechanically inclined, and it was something my father and mother fostered in me every chance they had.
I took apart and successfully repaired our VCR when the tapes were being eaten and unraveling, I replaced the motor in our electric can opener to get it working again, but I was unfortunately unsuccessful at repairing my DiscMan Mom and Dad bought me a new cear that Christmas.
I fixed our family computer for the first time when I was thirteen, even though my mother stood above me, worried that I would make it worse, thereby increasing the ultimate repair cost.
Maybe we should take it to mwsen repair shop in town,” I heard her whisper to my father. I knew it wasn’t a lack of faith on my mother’s part that made her doubt me, she was just a worrier by nature, especially about money. She wasn’t making much money as an Adjunct Professor and Dad was on disability, so money was usually tight. So when the money my parents left me was dwindling and I was literally two months from being homeless for lack of a job, I fell back on my mechanical aptitude and applied ,r a job at Cullen, Inc.
That person turned out desr be Jacob Black, who hired me on the spot after a ten minute interview. Jake maasen nice at first, if a little clingy and slightly creepy. He stared at me a lot and asked me out constantly, which I knew was inappropriate since he was my supervisor, but I didn’t want to rock the boat too much and he seemed harmless enough. I claimed to have a boyfriend, to be a dfar, and to have a virulent form of syphilis not necessarily in that orderbut still he refused to give up.
The thing was, Jake didn’t seem like a bad guy. Yes, his breath smelled like something crawled in his mouth and died, and sure, he needed to use more deodorant and less cologne, and yeah, he had no concept of masdn space, but that didn’t make him evil. He was edar annoying than anything else, like a relentless fly at a picnic. I’m not exactly sure when things in our relationship took a turn for the worse, but it might have had something to do with the day I called him “mouth-breather” ddar his face by accident.
Or it could have been the day I left the breath mints on his desk. But most likely, it was a result of the infamous Tuna Sandwich Incident. I was eating lunch at my desk, as was my habit, when he decided to “join” me. And by that I mean he rolled his chair over, plopped his dearr tuna fish sandwich and can of Coke on my desk, and started babbling to me about the project Carlisle Cullen himself had given him to do.
I barely heard what he said, distracted as I maswn by the powerful odor of tuna and the sight of him eating it. It was on white bread, and the mayo was leaking through the bread, making it so mushy that it came off on his fingers, which he licked off with his big fat tongue.
Not only that, but he didn’t stop talking the whole time he was eating, which meant I had to see the already disgusting tuna chewed up in his mouth. I abandoned my peanut butter and jelly sandwich after only two bites and just sat there, nodding occasionally and “mm-hm”ing in what I thought were the right places. Then, as he was gesticulating wildly with his arms, complaining about Mr.
The mere thought of the possibility that I might have somehow missed this and eaten my sandwich unaware of what lay on it made my stomach roll. I put my hand over my mouth and willed the vomit back down. Mxsen then he opened his mouth, and the stink of tuna wafting over to me coupled with the sight of more chewed up sandwich in his mouth sent me over the edge. I took my hand away and vomited all over the desk, his lap, and his tuna with mayo on white bread. Which was really only fair since he’d ruined my lunch.
I was simply returning the favor. His face became red and blotchy as he sat there looking at me, then at his lap, then at his ruined lunch.
He silently rose from his chair and left the room, I assumed heading to mssen men’s room. I changed my clothes silently thanking God for my terror at the possibility of peeing in front of the powerful and good-looking, Carlisle Cullen to be specific, or I wouldn’t have had the change of clothes and called maintenance to come clean up dezr office.
I apologized to Jake when he came back a few minutes later, but he just nodded his head and resumed his work without speaking to me. It took me a few minutes to realize that he hadn’t changed. He spent the rest of the day in the clothes I’d vomited on. By the end of the day, I was longing for the less pungent odor of his tuna sandwich.
I guess I was the only one who kept a spare outfit in her desk. Still, I would have forsaken my pay for the afternoon rather than sit in vomit tainted clothing. Though maybe I’m just too particular. From then on, he basically treated me like I was a second class citizen.
There were other employees in IT, mssen they seemed to follow his lead, or they were scared of him, so while not necessarily shunning me, they weren’t overly friendly either. I tried to not let it get to me — I was used to spending time on my own and I told myself the lack of companionship at work actually helped me avoid saying anything too embarrassing. So my job was lonely and miserable until that fateful day when I emailed the CFO about his Internet usage.
For once, one of my silly mistakes was actually turning into something positive. Edward and I were becoming fast friends, exchanging emails almost daily and spending some time together out of the office. We met early, at around eight, because Edward usually spent a good deal of the day on Sunday working, but it was a nice relaxing couple of hours. I got there first so I ordered our coffees and bought a copy of the Timesperusing the Food kr once our coffees came.
Edward in an Armani suit was something to look at, but Edward in worn blue jeans and a white linen button down with the sleeves rolled up was a revelation.
His stunning good-looks never ceased to amaze me, and as silly and girlish as it was, my nr did this weird flip-floppy thing every time I saw him. But he had charmed his way into my life before I knew what he looked like, so I suspected that I would have been excited to see him regardless.
Dear Mr Masen Chapter 8, a twilight fanfic | FanFiction
Though him being easy on the eyes certainly didn’t hurt. Guinea pig would taste gross and I would probably make children cry if I cooked it,” I replied, putting my paper aside. It’s healthier and better for the earth to eat locally and from organic farms. But the cost can be prohibitive, especially since there aren’t many farms here in the city and everything has to be shipped in.
There were quite a few farms where I grew up and a huge farmer’s market from spring to fall. He eyed me for a minute before he grabbed more cream and poured it in his coffee. Then when I was twelve, my mom was dfar as an Assistant Professor of English Lit at the University of Washington, so we packed up and moved to Seattle.
But I didn’t, and he asked the next logical question. After I took a deep breath I gave him the information he was looking for. I didn’t look at him because I didn’t want to see the expression of pity I always received when people found out my parents were dead. I hated that look. I lifted my head when soft fingers lightly touched the back of my hand, bracing for the look of sympathy and the hollow words that were sure to follow. But shockingly, I didn’t see pity when I gazed at him.
His expression was soft with something I couldn’t really identify, but that I wanted to see more of. Siblings or aunts and uncles? Sometimes being with him was so easy, and sometimes, like now, it seemed like there was something simmering right under the surface. Something that neither one of us acknowledged. We never dar wind up watching a movie; Edward opened another bottle of wine and we’d started talking and the next time I looked up, it was past one o’clock in the morning.
When I announced that I was going to take the subway, Edward was absolutely horrified, especially when he learned I carried the picnic basket on the subway to his apartment earlier in the day. He wouldn’t let me leave until his driver arrived, and he’d even walked me downstairs and made sure I got into the car, perhaps fearing that I would run screaming into the night toward the subway station, knocking over old ladies and kicking puppies on my way.
I cleared my throat and tried to sound upbeat. Deat on borrowed time as it is for taking a piece of my birthday cake. It’ll go right to your hips,” I joked. I’d woken up with that body wrapped around mine and there wasn’t a flabby thing about it, but I enjoyed the self-conscious look he gave me nonetheless. I laughed and maasen my head, amazed that someone like him would even care what I thought about how he looked.
He threw a balled up napkin at me and laughed a little, smiling at me and making me feel really, really happy. Happier than I had felt in a long time.
Dear Mr Masen
Edward was coming over for the Fourth, along with Rose and Emmett. We made plans to watch the Macy’s fireworks maxen the roof of my building, and I was cooking, of course. There was nothing I liked more than seeing people enjoy my food and I was really excited about the menu. I blushed and handed him the Week in Review before picking up the Food section again, but it took me a while to be able to concentrate on the words.
We sat in companionable silence for a while longer, reading the paper and drinking our coffee, until a little after ten o’clock when Edward announced that he had fear head home and get to work. I have goals that I’ve been working toward for a long time and they’re about to come to fruition. Don’t you have an expensive hobby like flying or mountain climbing?