The first thing to arrive on their table, delivered by the smiling waiter they had instructed to 'bring them whatever is appropriate', is a basket of paper-thin pita shaped like a crumpled handkerchief. Beca nods approvingly. The waiter returns a few seconds later with a plate of red, tomato-sauce lookalike appetizer that smells of tangy spices and onions (Turkish salad), and a whole fish buried in pickled garlic (fried orata). He suggests dipping the pita into the Turkish salad and gives them a wink before leaving.

"I've never had a red salad before," Chloe says, looking very thrilled about the prospect.

"Or a salad that you can dip bread into," Beca adds. They dig in and happily concede that the waiter certainly knows his stuff. The pita is light and crispy but surprisingly filling – plain on its own but absolutely phenomenal when paired with the spicy, tangy Turkish salad. Just as they're about to finish their food, the waiter is back with dessert.

"Our signature dessert," The waiter explains proudly. "The Osh Al-Saraia." He says it with such a flourish that even Beca can't help but be impressed. And for good reason too, because the dessert is unlike anything either of them have ever tasted; light floral notes balancing out the richer, heavier taste of custard and cream.

For a moment Beca almost forgets that this is just an ordinary weekday Sunday afternoon out in town with a friend. It's as though they've somehow been magically transported into a parallel world, like in the picture books she used to love as a kid but now will never admit to reading – except that she never wants this to end; she wants to whisk Chloe Beale away forever into an enchanted castle and live happily ever after. Except that only happens in fairytales, and Beca Mitchell has stopped believing in fairytales.

But maybe, just maybe, being with Chloe has made her want to believe in them again.

"What're you thinking of?" Chloe asks, snapping Beca back to reality.

"Um, y- you," Beca stammers, the word escaping from her mouth before she realizes what she's doing. When she does, she blushes a bright pink all the way up to the tip of her ears.

Chloe blinks, surprised and shy and a little intrigued. "Me?"

Beca sticks out her tongue at Chloe, composure recovered, and says, "Yeah, and about how you're paying for my lunch."

Chloe groans and shakes her head. "You clearly have no idea how to wine and dine a lady."

Beca cocks an eyebrow. "You're not a la-" She catches a glimpse of Chloe's widening eyes and stops mid-sentence, grinning from ear to ear.

"Excuse me," Chloe says, glaring at Beca with just a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Just what were you about to say?"

Beca tries to keep a straight face. "That I know you're not a lady to be so cheaply bought over by wining and dining."

Chloe laughs. "Good save, Mitchell." They exchange smirks and call for the bill. Chloe passes the waiter the money and leaves a generous tip. Beca hands her a couple of bills to pay for her half of the meal, but Chloe rolls her eyes and tells her not to worry about it. They get into a mini scuffle outside the restaurant, with Beca trying and failing to stuff the bills into Chloe's back pocket. The redhead dances about and swats away the smaller woman's advances, yelling, "For goodness sake, Beca! Just let me pay!"

They're both laughing hard, snorting, almost, and the waiter opens the door to check out what the commotion is all about. "If y'all are so eager to get rid of your extra cash, you could always pass it to me," He says flashing them a toothy smile.

"Dream on," Beca says, rolling her eyes at him. She has paused in her efforts and is trying to catch her breath. Chloe stops too and turns to face the waiter. She's about to say something when Beca stuffs the bills into her pants pocket and sprints away, cackling.

"Sorry," She tells the waiter. "I've got to deal with my friend. She's six-years-old and immature for her age." Narrowing her eyes, she plucks the money out of her pocket and chases Beca down the street.

The shorter woman tosses her an over-the-shoulder wink. She ducks abruptly to the right and down a narrow alley. Chloe turns left too and crashes straight into Beca. They both bend over double and start wheezing with laughter. "We're not supposed to do strenuous activity after a meal," Chloe says, in between gasps. "If I get appendicitis, you're paying my hospital bills. Speaking of which-" She presses the bills into Beca's sweaty palm and shoots her a death glare that probably meant something along the lines of take it or I'll shove it down your throat.

Beca laughs and shakes her head. "You're the most goddamn persistent person I've ever met in my life," She says, putting the money back in her pocket. They straighten up. Beca cocks an eyebrow at Chloe. Chloe blinks at her and doesn't say anything – the street is silent and the only sound ricocheting off the narrow walls is the steady, insistent rhythm of their heartbeats blending into one. Chloe notices when Beca's eyes flick briefly downwards to her lips, eyes hooded and dark with desire.

Suddenly the air around them grows hot and suffocating, and Chloe has to force herself to breathe. "So um, any uh – plans for before the Broadway show?" Chloe asks, stumbling slightly over the words. She's looking away, fixing her gaze on a potted plant on someone's second-floor window ledge so that she doesn't have to look at Beca.

Beca hesitates a little, but when she speaks, her voice is even. "No, not really. What would you like to do?"

Chloe shrugs, still feeling slightly dizzy and lightheaded. "Metropolitan art museum?" She suggests, running a hand through her hair. Beca agrees readily enough – although not before making a snide remark about pretentious artist sorts – and they set off for the museum together.

The walk is long but pleasant, filled with lighthearted banter, companionable silences and an occasional line or two that sends the both of them spiraling into helpless laughter. Beca is notoriously bad at small talk or making conversation, and sometimes she even finds herself getting bored of the same old repetitive conversations she has with other friends if they've been talking too much or too often. But it's never been the same with Chloe – conversations with her are easy, and familiar and comfortable but also refreshing and different each time. Beca knows she's in deep, deep trouble when she starts thinking about how she will probably never get sick of Chloe. Because she gets sick of everyone once in a while and the amount of exceptions she's making for this particular redhead is starting to worry her quite a bit.

...

Beca is not sure if she should be surprised that Chloe knows so much about art. "My mom's an art dealer," Chloe says, by way of explanation. Only it doesn't quite explain how she has an opinion about everything ranging from Ming dynasty vases to Renaissance paintings to Contemporary swirls and dots that look like it came straight out of a Kindergarten art class. After all, Beca's dad was an investor of some sort – and a pretty good one too, judging from the amount of money he was earning – and she knew nothing about stocks or bonds or even how the economy worked.

Chloe's going on about the energy and dynamism of a painting and Beca can't hem in her curiosity anymore. "Dude, how come you never told me you were so into art?" She blurts.

Chloe shrugs. "Well, I'm not actually good at art or anything. My mom thought it was the kind of thing that'd never put food on the table. I mean, she loved art and everything, but she didn't want her children to struggle like she had to. Anyway, so I never took art lessons or anything." They exchange wry smiles – Beca knows exactly what it's like to have a parent worry about the financial viability of an unconventional profession. "But I'm doing fashion design now, so it's like, almost the same thing."

"Your mom's worried about the practicality of art but let you major in Russian lit?" Beca shakes her head, perplexed.

Chloe grins. "She's just scared that I'll actually be good at art and want to make it my career. I think she knew that I sucked too much at Russian lit to ever consider a job in that field."

Beca looks horrified. "What the hell? She approved of a major because she knew you'd suck at it? That's screwed up, man. I bet if you took art you'd probably have graduated in two years or something."

The corners of Chloe's lips curl upwards into a crooked half-smirk. "And your life would've sucked without me, Beca Mitchell."

Beca shrugs nonchalantly, refusing to concede the point so easily. "I wouldn't have been forced to join some noob-ass singing club."

Chloe's eyes widen in horror. "N-noob ass singing club?" She splutters. She shakes her head and rummages around her bag for her phone. "I'm calling Aubrey."

Beca guffaws and grabs Chloe's hand. "No way. I'll be dead in three seconds."

Chloe blinks and pauses, looking down at Beca's hand in surprise. Beca clears her throat awkwardly and abruptly releases her grip. "I – sorry. I shouldn't have...never mind." Beca's biting her lip and blushing, and Chloe feels really bad.

"No! I mean –it's fine. I was just surprised, that's all." Chloe takes a deep breath and gives Beca a shaky smile. She's being hypersensitive, and she knows it. It's just - she can't help it. The tension between them is getting almost unbearable now, and Chloe knows that soon, she's going to be forced to make a decision she might or might not regret for the rest of her life. But she doesn't want to tell Beca to back off either, because first of all, she thinks Beca is actually trying her best to give her space and second of all, there's no way she can deny that this isn't what she wants.

She just doesn't know if what she wants will rip her life apart at the seams.