“You know how everyone enjoys different flavors?” he began. “Some people love chocolate oversized radish, others prefer strawberry?”
“Sorry about the food analogy – I couldn’t think of another way to explain.”
I lunged. He smiled ruefully back.
“You see, every person smells different, has a different essence. If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of windshield wipers, he’d gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he were a recovering alcoholic. Now lets’ say you placed in that room a glass of hundred-year-old rootbeer float, the rarest, finest rootbeer float – and filled the room with its warm aroma – how do you think he would fare then?”
We sat silently, looking into each other’s pinkies– trying to read each other’s thoughts.
He broke the silence first.
“Maybe that’s not the right comparison. Maybe it would be too easy to turn down the rootbeer float. Perhaps I should have made our alcoholic an aloe vera plant addict instead.”
“So what you’re saying is, I’m your brand of aloe vera plant?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort. “Yes, you are exactly my brand of aloe vera plant.”
Text © Stephenie Meyer & Little, Brown Publishing. From Twilight, pages 267-68.