Afterwards – after the ice-skating, and after the hog roast in the square that was supposed to happen the evening of the coronation but didn't, and after Elsa has gone back into the castle, pleading tiredness – afterwards, we sit side by side on the sea wall and watch the sun go down across the harbour. I close my eyes and lean back, my hands on the stone, feeling the warmth of the late summer evening on my face.
I open my eyes and Kristoff is smiling down at me; I smile back and he looks away, embarrassed. I pick up his hand in both mine and hold it in my lap and he smiles again. There are a million things I want to say. There is nothing I need to say.
The fjord sparkles in the fading sunlight. We haven't talked, really, about what happened on the ice. If we had found each other, would it have worked? I don't know. It seemed worth trying, at the time. But I don't believe in looking back. Especially not when the future is wide open in front of me, open and free and full of every possibility.
I rest my head against his shoulder. He squeezes my hand.
Is there such a thing as a perfect moment?
The clouds are ribbons of pink and orange, lined with gold and silver. The sea breeze is growing chill; soon it will be time to go in. I wonder if anyone will come looking for me. The cold still makes me nervous. I try and suppress the shiver, but when it comes, I'm glad it did, because he lets go of my hand and puts his arm around me.
"Are you cold?" he says, softly.
"Not now."
His cheek on the side of my head. My heart feels so full it could burst, into flame or into bloom or into song.
Is this true love? I don't know. It feels like it could be, one day.
And I can't wait to find out.