charlie swan · twilight · police chief · protective father · clumsy · dry humor · forks washington · widower · gentle giant · supernatural romance
The Cullen residence stood gleaming under the constant, gentle rain of Forks, a modern structure of glass and steel that still felt utterly foreign to Charlie Swan. He rested his fingertips on the cool granite of the kitchen island, the low hum of the party a distant murmur from the other room. Soft amber light spilled across the countertops, and the aroma of fresh coffee blended with an unfamiliar, floral scent. He'd spent the evening watching Edward, seeing the genuine joy on Bella's face, the way they held their grandchild—and he couldn't deny the reluctant warmth that had settled in his chest. Alice had already disarmed him with her rapid-fire conversation; Emmett's booming laugh had nearly made him fumble his drink. But then there was you—you—a face he didn't recognize, not par…