Admittedly, she shouldn't have been running. The sidewalks are clear, but the snow piled up to the sides is at least a foot deep, and there's always going to be something reducing friction on the cement. Even though she's wearing her most sensible boots, and even though she landed on something soft—she thinks as she stares up at the pale gray sky—she definitely shouldn't have been running.

"Shit," she says, a delayed reaction, and the very nice and soft mass underneath her shifts and says, "No kidding."

"Oh, shit," she says again, and reaches down to try to push herself off the ground, but her hand lands on what feels distinctly like a person's leg. She panics, pushing off and skittering forward, saying, "I'm sorry!" and then turning and saying, "Did I hurt you?" as she finally sees the person she must have felled like a tree.

The very, very, like, absurdly attractive person she knocked over like a goddamn axed tree. Sara finds herself gaping as she takes in the sight of the other woman seated on the sidewalk, her long wool skirt spread out around her like she just sat down for a picnic on the frozen concrete.

Her blonde hair is tied back in a neat ponytail, and her glasses are only slightly askew. Smiling brightly, she presses her mittened hands on the ground and draws her feet underneath her, standing up and brushing off her skirt without a care.

"I'm okay, how about you?" She reaches her hand down for Sara, who is a little busy staring at the woman's boots and their two-inch spiked heels.

"How," she says, clambering to her feet and realizing a moment too late that she's ignored the hand kindly held out in assistance. "How are you steadier on your feet while wearing those?"

"Well, you were running," the woman says sensibly, retracting her hand and brushing her mitten against her jacket.

"Right," Sara says, looking up—they must be about the same height, but she's got those heels making her all tall and elegant—into the woman's eyes. She's still smiling, her face all lit up, and Sara belatedly (she's one second behind everything today) finds a tiny smile turning up her own lips. Tugging off her glove, she holds out her hand and says, "Sorry again. I'm Sara."

After a slight pause, the other woman does the same, shaking her hand and saying, "Felicity. You were in a hurry?"

Not really. I mean, not anymore. I mean, I don't have anywhere to be, do you? Twisting her wrist, Sara pushes the sleeve of her coat out of the way and checks her watch. "Well, I was trying to make it to the book store before it closed, but I'll survive." She looks up, putting on a real smile this time, and says, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I think you might have prevented a concussion, or at the very least a sore butt."

Felicity purses her lips and narrows her eyes and Sara looks away, like, What? No. Totally casual. Caj. It's cool. Hmm might snow later. She tips her head down, rubs the back of her neck, then looks up again, and Felicity's nodding.

"Definitely."

Definitely? Okay. Definitely. Sure. This is—yeah, that works. "There's a coffee shop—"

"—up the block, yeah," Felicity says, smiling and shifting forward, and Sara falls into step beside her, hitching her bag up her shoulder and shoving her other hand in the pocket of her coat.

She glances over at Felicity in her tailored coat, long skirt, and heeled boots, and says, "You don't dress like a student."

Keeping her eyes forward, Felicity squints a bit. "You'll have to tell me how to take that."

"You kind of—and I swear this is meant as a compliment—you look more like a grown-up than a kid who wandered off the playground and onto a university campus."

"I'm assuming by 'as a compliment' you meant 'I'm not calling you old or anything.'"

"Well—yeah, pretty much."

"I'll take it," she says, pulling open the door to the coffee shop and holding it for Sara.

They grab a table and shuck their winter gear, and then Sara takes Felicity's order—"My treat, remember?"—and heads to the counter.

When they're settled, and Felicity is warming her hands on her mug, she says as if their conversation was never interrupted, "I guess I'm in grown-up limbo, sort of. I have to demand respect when I T.A., or whatever, but I'm still a student." She shrugs. "It's a bit surreal."

"I guess I'm in grown-up purgatory," Sara mutters, half to herself, and then adds off Felicity's curious look, "I worked a few years after high school, so now I'm a 'mature student.' Still working. Kind of a grown-up. Still a student." She shrugs, too, and Felicity smiles, bringing her mug up to her lips and taking a sip without taking her eyes off of Sara, who has to look away as butterflies swarm in her stomach.

It's official: Sara has been spending too much time around the boys in her classes, barely out of high school and not nearly out of their teenage years. When they hit on her, she rolls her eyes and walks away. At night, tending bar, she flirts with everything that moves but still she's in control, she has the power. Now, here, having a cup of coffee with a girl—just a girl, really, or at least nothing more than a girl—she's off-balance, unsteady on her feet, like the rush when you slip on the ice or drop down the first big hill of a roller coaster.

Not a bad feeling, not at all (when you don't hit the ground), but not one she's used to, one she might never be used to.

Still, she looks back up, meets Felicity's eyes, and smiles.

xxx

An hour later, after they trade numbers and Felicity pushes back out into the cold, Sara sits down with a fresh cup of coffee and checks her messages.

Laurel: Did you get it?

Sara: Sorry, something came up

Laurel: ...boy or girl

Sara: ...girl

Laurel: Typical. Did you at least get her number?

Sara can't help a grin, switching apps to double-check Felicity's contact card. She took a selfie to go with it, her tongue sticking out, and Sara shakes her head and clicks the message icon.

Sara: Number and coffee. She's kind of dreamy.

Felicity: Thanks ;)

Sara: Oh my god

Felicity: Haha

Sara: I'm mortified

Felicity: Don't be! It's flattering

Sara: I'm going to sink through the crust of the earth

Her phone doesn't buzz for 30—40—50 seconds, and she feels sick.

Felicity: Still at the cafe?

Sara: Yeah?

Felicity: Stay there

Oh my god, Sara thinks again, setting her phone down and leaning back in her chair and then folding over and pressing her forehead to the table. When a hand lands on her shoulder a few minutes later, she hasn't moved, and she looks up to see Felicity, face bright and open. She tips her head toward the door, and Sara reluctantly rises, bundling herself back up and following Felicity outside. They continue past the windows at the front of the building to a slightly sheltered corner.

As soon as there's brick behind them and they're out of direct sight, Felicity turns a sharp one-eighty, stepping in and gripping the front of Sara's coat and kissing her. It's not exactly a shock; Sara's hands come up to rest lightly at the outsides of Felicity's shoulders, and she closes her eyes. When Felicity's tongue slips past her lips, it feels like the only warm thing in the world, and Sara shifts one foot forward, the fronts of their coats brushing. They can't get any closer than that, so for the moment they are only lips meeting, the cold tips of their noses feeling like tiny ice cubes.

When Felicity pulls away, she brings her hands up to Sara's neck and slides them just past the back of her neckline.

"Hey!" Sara yelps, the temperature shock jolting her out of the moment, and she pouts until Felicity brushes a thumb over her bottom lip instead.

Felicity just smiles. "Don't be embarrassed."

"Oh." Sara had kind of forgotten that they had been in the middle of a conversation. "Sure. Yeah."

"And..." She takes a step back, pulling her gloves out of her pocket and putting them on, then points. "Text me on purpose next time."

Nodding, Sara watches her walk away, then throws up her hands and turns to go her own way. She manages to keep her city-studied blank face for about three steps before an uncontrollable smile turns up her lips. What a completely idiotic circumstance.