"Do I know you from somewhere?" the girl asks breathlessly.

Elsa's mouth opens to shout, "Yes! You're the girl from Oak's Lounge, the one who always came with her laptop and sipped her coffee and ran into me walking my cat, which was possibly the most embarrassing encounter of my life, made all the worse because I may have been inopportunely attracted on you at the time!"

But of course, that would be bordering on creepy to say out loud, so Elsa catches her tongue and squeaks out a startled "No!" She's always been bad with words.

The girl's face falls, but only for a moment. Then the smile bounces back, radiant as ever, bombarding Elsa's wall of reserve with sunshine, rainbows, and white teeth. "Oh, well, sorry then. I'm Anna. It's nice to meet you." She stretches an enthusiastic hand towards her.

Elsa stares at the proffered appendage like it might be a ticking bomb before she kicks herself into polite-mode. "Same to you. I'm Elsa." The squeeze of Anna's fingers makes the blood rush to Elsa's face. They hold on to each other for an inappropriately long time.

"So are you around here often?"

Elsa nearly collapses, because it's almost like the girl might be interested in her, and just when she manages to steady her legs from that shock, she nearly sinks to the concrete, realizing that she doesn't come to this part of town that often and that she's only here to walk Belle to her first day at her new job.

"Uh, yeah," she says brightly. "Well, sometimes…I'm here. You know, to get a coffee. And uh, hang out with Belle…my friend." She points weakly up at the building behind them as though that explains everything.

Anna's grin only broadens. "Well, I guess I'll see you sometime then. When you're around. We could get a coffee together."

"Yeah," Elsa replies, stunned. "Yeah, I mean—that sounds nice."

Somehow, Anna ups the wattage in her smile. It's so bright it has to hurt. "I can't wait."

They stand around like idiots for a few more seconds before Elsa remembers that she has to get to work and stutters out some sort of apology. Luckily Anna appears a little self-conscious herself, and they manage to excuse themselves without further humiliation.

The rest of Elsa's day goes on to be wonderful.

Elsa holds out for two days before she visits the Dunkin' Donuts on East Street again. She didn't want to seem too eager, she hated the idea of being so eager, Elsa is freaking eager, and she has to see the girl again. When she walks into the shop half an hour earlier than last time so she won't miss out on work, a wave of self-reproach crashes into her. What is she doing, coming here to wait for some girl who she sort of knew and talked to maybe twice her entire life? Was Anna's "see you" an invitation or small talk?

Elsa doesn't even like coffee.

By the time she clambers into an uncomfortable plastic chair by the window with some hot chocolate and a donut, Elsa knows this is a terrible idea. Her mind is already considering when the next bus to the industrial district on the outskirts of town leaves and wondering whether sulfuric acid was a good idea for a catalyst after all.

"Hey!" Suddenly, the sunshine seems way, way too bright, or maybe it's Anna beaming at her like she just discovered a suitable replacement for Warfarin. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, um, hello." Elsa fumbles over the words, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her blouse. "It's good to see you again."

Her donut and drink all but finished, Elsa twiddles her fingers. Anna makes a joke about the fast food chains which is surprisingly astute and actually funny. The laugh that bursts from her lips is unexpected, but Elsa manages to keep from snorting like a farm animal. Anna's irises are intensely blue, not the wan robin eggs that she's accustomed to seeing in the mirror, and she has a hard time deciding whether or not to look away.

"Maybe you want to go on date some time?" Anna's smile shrinks shyly as she asks. Only a few of her teeth peek out.

Elsa blinks, repressing the urge to blush and titter. Is it presumptuous for this girl to assume she's gay? Whatever, she's too bubbly inside to analyze.

"That sounds nice," she intones carefully.

Not at all put off by Elsa's restraint, the girl unleashes a torrent of speculation on dates, times, and the best Italian restaurants in the city and by the time they have to leave for their respective lives, Elsa's phone is heavier by one ten-digit number.

There's a package waiting for her in the lobby when Elsa returns to her apartment that evening. It's a late birthday present from her parents.

Dear Elsa,

Happy Birthday! For our little poet.

Signed,

Mama and Papa

All in her mother's handwriting, of course.

The last time Elsa wrote a poem outside of class she was eight and it was about dolphins. Her parents always did like to live in the past. Sighing, she tears the wrapping paper off an anthology of Billy Collins poems. She rolls her eyes. Isn't there some sort of rule against a serious poet being a bestseller?

"Rrreow?"

She glances down at smiles at Marshmallow who's perched on his haunches, curiosity aroused by the sound of an opening package. Nimbly, he hops onto the counter and curls up in the plastic-lined box. Elsa doesn't feel like yelling at him for going out of bounds or calling her parents to thank them. Both tasks can wait until tomorrow.

Instead she lies on the couch, flipping mindlessly through her new book, wondering whether it would be too forward to send Anna a text so soon. Her dreams are filled with toothy, immortal-looking smiles.

The date proceeds excellently. Honestly, Elsa can't remember the last time a date went so well. Actually, she can, but that last relationship ended rather sourly, and she doesn't want to associate Anna with Meg.

Anna, it turns out, is a grad student at the local university, studying Hellenic Cultures and Influences, which at first makes Elsa worry that she's one of those flighty humanities students who compensate for their lack of ambition with the occasional use of sociology terms and the moral superiority of having followed their dreams. But Anna is sweet and down-to-earth and doesn't dismiss Elsa's biochemical career with an insecure and disinterested oh-I-was-never-really-good-at-that. She's the only girl Elsa's ever dated seems remotely intrigued by her experimentation with blood-thinners. In return, she listens with fascination as the girl recounts her time abroad. Anna seems to have a knack for people-watching and people-commenting. She compares European and American traditions, pokes fun at liberal and conservative politicians, and talks about her future with a measured but cheerful countenance.

Playful and self-assured.

Elsa finds it attractive.

And strangely enough, for all her lightheartedness, Anna seems...mature. There's something about the way she looks at Elsa that puts her at ease. Even as they play get-to-know-you, Anna talks to her they've known each other for months. Elsa doesn't have to worry about being a good first date, about gushing over Anna's life story, about doing all the squishy stuff you're supposed to do when you fall in love. In the little moments when Elsa forgets her reserve and dignity, Anna's lips twitch, but she isn't surprised or triumphant. Just pleased.

When they part for the night, Elsa wants a kiss, but she can't bring herself to ask for it. They linger at the entrance of the restaurant, saying goodbyes, reassuring themselves and each other that there will be a second date. There's a brief moment where Elsa thinks Anna might kiss her, but she's afraid to lean in and be rejected—or worse, lean in and be accepted out of pity—so she restrains herself, and the moment comes to nothing. Anna asks after her cat. Elsa lets it slide.

It's her only regret of the night.

"Elsa!"

She jerks her head up at the sound of her name from her window seat. She's only just started sipping her hot chocolate. Usually it takes Anna until she's about halfway through to show up.

"Oh, Belle." She winces at the lack of warmth in her own voice. "It's good to see you."

"You too. What are you doing here? Was I supposed to meet you here? Did I miss your call?"

"Oh, no," Elsa assures hurriedly. Belle arches an eyebrow. "I just-uh-wanted some hot chocolate today is all." She holds up her cup as though she's offering a juicy piece of evidence to the jury.

"Out here? This is nowhere near your apartment or your lab."

"I just wanted a change of pace." Her fingers tighten around the Styrofoam cup. Defensively, she meets Belle's skeptical eyes and then happens to glance past her friend, to the line of Dunkin' customers.

Anna beams, teeth shining.

Frozen, Elsa shifts her gaze back to Belle. She hasn't told her friends that she is seeing anybody, partly because she wants to be sure that the relationship will last and partly because they get so humiliatingly gleeful at the prospect of Elsa having a romantic life. Normally they have to cajole, prod, and wheedle her into a movie with their cousin's coworker's younger sister. They'll have a field day when they discover Anna.

Nervous fingers nearly crinkle the Styrofoam cup. She's always hated talking about herself. As a kid, she'd never understood how adults could have recreational encounters based entirely on the conversational skills of the parties involved.

Then she notices Anna again, frowning and confused, obviously uncertain what to make of Elsa's detachment, and realizes that she's an idiot. Steeling herself, she lifts a few fingers off the warm cup and waves shyly. Immediately the smile erupts back onto Anna's face and almost as quickly, Belle pivots, following the direction of Elsa's hand to Anna's returning gesture.

Heat floods Elsa's face as Belle swivels back.

"Who's that?"

"Um, that's Anna."

Belle is out for blood.

"Who's Anna?"

"…a friend."

"From?"

"Connecticut."

"Are you going to introduce us?"

Elsa pleads to a god she doesn't believe in that Belle will just go away. "I suppose."

Belle doesn't sit down in the only other chair at the table, but she shows little sign of leaving either. Elsa keeps pleading, right up until the moment when Anna walks over to them, caffeinated drink in hand.

"Hey," she nods at both of them.

Cringing internally, Elsa does the honors. "Belle, Anna. Anna, Belle."

"Nice to meet you," Anna says brightly.

"Same." Belle's searching gaze encounters a wall of agreeable candor. To Elsa's relief, this seems satisfactory to her meddling friend, who announces, "Well, I'll be out of your way. Hope to see you again, Anna."

"Of course, I'd love to." Anna shoots Elsa a quizzical look before sliding into the seat across from her, as though asking whether it's okay to be friendly with Belle. Their knuckles brush. Elsa can practically feel Belle's eyes honing in on the contact, but she smiles encouragingly to Anna anyways.

"I'd tell you to be less mopey, Elsa, but I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I'm not mopey."

"Bye, Elsa."

"Bye."

Finally, finally she walks out the door.

Anna exhales deeply and smiles sheepishly at Elsa. Her outgoing demeanor immediately seems a little less polite and little more comfortable. "Did I pass?" she asks coyly.

Somewhere, there's a flirtatious remark Elsa could make about Anna passing her test, but she doesn't feel daring enough to try it out.

"Definitely."

Anna falls in love with everything she meets, Elsa realizes as she watches her gaze fondly at a bird in the maple tree. For an irrational moment, she's wildly jealous of the dead mice and pebbles on the lakeshore and the lonely fire hydrant at the corner of Parker and Main, because all these little things seem to have stolen Anna's heart before Even's even had a chance.

Then Anna leans into her a little, and the storm in Elsa's chest settles.

She works up the courage. "Can I kiss you?"

Anna twists against her, a delighted grin spreading across her face. Both of them fumble, awkward in their own happiness and even after they break apart, Anna gazes at her so adoringly, like Elsa is some creature with a pretty face who has no purpose but to exist perfectly on park benches.

Sometimes, when Elsa gets bored of sifting through medical journals and reports of clinical trials, she curls up with Marshmallow in her bed and goes through a few Billy Collins poems. Mostly she thinks they're just stupid. Some guy writes a few sentences about his life, puts line breaks in weird places, and tacks on a sappy, yet-vague-enough-to-be-taken-as-profound ending. (Though it's probably more than Elsa can articulate.)

Anyone who goes by the name Billy must be a hopeless romantic. Absolutely beyond salvation.

Elsa reads Billy Collins poems disdainfully all evening and then tries not to think about Anna all night.

One Saturday night, she finds herself sitting on Anna's couch while her girlfriend—is she allowed to use that title?—bustles about in the kitchen. She stares at all Anna's…stuff. Books litter the coffee table. A desk in the corner houses a black laptop and an avalanche of papers. There are little trinkets everywhere, miniature statues, leaves pressed and framed, postcards from various nations.

"Here." Anna holds out a mug of something steaming. Elsa takes it. Coffee. Delicious-smelling, but Elsa knows she'd rather eat beetles than drink it. She takes a sip anyways and puts the mug down.

"Do you need any cream or…"

"No, I, um, don't really drink coffee."

"Really? Wait. But at Dunkin' Donuts you—don't you?"

Cheeks burning, Elsa mumbles, "It's hot chocolate."

Anna laughs and rises to her feet. "Well, geez, you could've said something. I'll go and—"

"No!" Elsa tugs her back onto the couch. "Stay." Her heart thuds frantically as Anna collapses back in the couch. They sit in silence. Elsa notices the picture above the wall, a sentimental painting of rustic life: a bonneted woman talking to someone through a half-open door, two cowboys at the card table, a boy playing his accordion, a man with a broad hat twirling around the room with a red-frocked girl.

"That was from my parents. Birthday present for the new apartment, you know?"

"Oh. It's nice. My parents got me a book of poems."

"How are they?"

"Kind of silly."

"Who are th—"

And then Elsa is kissing Anna on her couch, flushed and out-of-breath like she's been dancing at a dusty saloon all night, and yelping as hot coffee spills over both of them.

It's humiliating, and Elsa is apologizing, backing away, putting space between herself and her disastrous attempt at seduction. Anna giggles as though the sky isn't falling down on them, but then sobers up at the mortification of Elsa's face.

"Well, this is awkward. I mean—this—not you—you're not awkward."

Elsa chooses not to argue that blatantly untrue statement. "Your couch."

"Don't worry, I think most of it is on our clothes," Anna points out optimistically.

Still blanched from embarrassment, Elsa can only nod weakly.

"Next time, give me a little warning." Anna scoots closer. "Like this."

"What?"

"Hey, Elsa. I'm going to kiss you now."

"Okay."

Belle and Jasmine practically pounce on her at the café.

"H—"

"So?" Jasmine interrupts.

"What?"

"How are things with Anna?" Belle demands.

Clenching her jaw, Elsa mutters, "They're nice."

Jasmine snorts. "Nice? So you think she's boring?"

"What? No! She's not boring."

"Nobody says that it's going 'nice' unless they're bored out of their mind, and they don't have a reason to end it."

"That's ridiculous! Why would I—that's not even—it's…" Elsa splutters to a stop.

"You forget that Elsa the master of understatement. Anna could be Brazilian supermodel, and Elsa would still say, 'Oh, she's nice.'"

"What—what does Brazil have to do with any of this? That's completely stereo—"

But Jasmine and Belle are already laughing at her.

There are so many things Elsa wants to say about Anna, so much another woman could probably gush about, for hours. But Elsa doesn't really know how. Maybe she'll just have them meet Anna.

"So, do you like her?" Jasmine demands.

"Clearly," Elsa mutters. Then, noticing their still-ravenous eyes, she snaps, "My life is not your Hallmark movie."

"I beg to differ," Belle says primly.

Questing fingers brush Elsa's bare waist, and she takes that as permission to sneak her hands under Anna's shirt. Beneath her, Anna groans. Pretty soon, they're both shirtless in Elsa's living room, no dangerous beverages this time, and she paints kisses over Anna's neck. Anna pants helplessly, makes noises that send Elsa's head spinning.

Neck, chest, nipples, stomach, hips.

"Jesus, Elsa. Keep—"

All the way down, Anna's fingers wrap themselves in blond locks. At the edge of her jeans, the fingers tug, towing Elsa into another dizzying kiss. Elsa's hands unbutton, unzip, and undress below, and Anna kicks off her pants rather violently. Her fingers settle at the waistband of Elsa's pants and through the haze of desire, Elsa captures those eager digits in her own, pulling them up above Anna's head. She swallows a feeble protest with another kiss.

"Hush, and be good for me."

Anna whines and bucks against her thigh, palm, fingers. It's extremely gratifying to watch her find pleasure. As she calms, Elsa rests her head against a heaving chest.

"I love you," Anna says.

It's not even a question anymore. "I love you too," Elsa murmurs as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

Anna shifts her leg between Elsa's. A gasp. A mischievous grin. Suddenly, Elsa is on her back, trying not to push herself against Anna's leg too wantonly.

Anna's hands return to the clasp of her pants, and the last thing that Elsa wants to do is wait, but the words are tumbling out of her before she can stop them. "Wait. Wait."

"Yeah?" Anna regards her with hooded eyes, leaning back to give her space. The chill of the air on her torso only makes Elsa feel more exposed and she resists the urge to just drag Anna back into the rabbit hole.

"Can-can you turn the light off?" Because topless is one thing—Elsa can sort of pretend she's in a pool wearing a bathing suit—but she's always hated taking her pants off in front of other people, and she doesn't really shave her legs, and she's not sure whether she can handle doing this with the ceiling light, glaring down at her.

"Of course." Anna gets up and flicks the light switch, and Elsa suppresses the instinct to put her shirt back on. She settles for huddling into her couch. Anna comes back and pulls her out again with a warm kiss.

"Should we go to the bedroom?" Anna asks between laying trails of saliva down the side of Elsa's neck.

"Probably," she whimpers as Anna's teeth sink in. God, those teeth.

"We probably should have done that earlier," Anna comments around a mouthful of Elsa's flesh.

"Yes," Elsa gasps, only dimly aware of what she's agreeing to.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, defiling a maiden on your couch like a barbarian."

"What?" Some still-alert portion of her brain has the decency to be alarmed.

"Kidding." Anna smiles, harmless delight dancing in her eyes. Elsa is too dazed to be amused, irritated, or even surprised. "You okay?"

Elsa cranes herself forward for more contact. Anna meets her halfway but breaks off their kiss again.

"Bed." Another wicked grin. "Some of us have standards, you know."

Miraculously, Elsa musters up enough intelligence to formulate a response. "I didn't see any of them earlier."

Grin widening, teeth whiter than ever in the darkness of Elsa's apartment, Anna teases, "Well, like I said, I was dealing with a barbarian." Then she rolls off the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Picking up my clothes. I don't want to have to look for them tomorrow morning."

"Oh." Elsa can't even contemplate the existence of a tomorrow. She might have planned something elaborate. Hopefully not for the morning.

"I'll grab your shirt too. Bed?"

"Right."

Elsa feels horribly, wonderfully bare with Anna following behind her, even though she's still wearing her pants. By the time they get there, she's ready to crawl under her covers, but Anna drops their clothes to the floor and hooks her fingers through Elsa's belt loops, trapping her against her chest.

"You have a nice room," she whispers into Elsa's ear.

Elsa doesn't care. She squirms, fingers scrabbling over Anna's hips as lips trace her jawline.

"Anna…"

"Hush and be good, right?"

Anna is lucky that Elsa is reeling and throbbing, because otherwise she probably wouldn't have a tongue anymore. The teeth are enough.

"The bed…"

Elsa can feel the grin against her skin.

"Oh, now you want the bed."

At this point, Elsa would settle for curling up in Anna's lurid voice. She imagines the neurotransmitters that must be flooding her chemoreceptors right now, thinks about hormones blinding her judgment—

And then they're finally, finally on the bed, and Elsa is completely embarrassed again as Anna pulls her pants down, but Anna doesn't stare, just presses another to her lips and runs a hand over a now bare thigh.

"I used to love it when you blushed," Anna murmurs, and Elsa's reddening ears are lost to the shadows. "It's adorable."

Elsa can't decide whether she's offended. "Anna, please…"

Anna's hands open first her bra, then her legs, then everything.

"I'm Merida."

The girl looks like she could eat Elsa for breakfast and spit her out at lunch.

Elsa holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

A grin cracks open the otherwise sullen face. "At last. Anna's been hiding you away for far too long."

"Have not," Anna grumbles.

"Can't blame her for that. I'd want to hide her in a cabin up in the mountains if she were mine," an unkempt kid says.

Merida rolls her eyes. "Thank you for your input, Hubert."

Anna mutters something about objectification and misogynistic attitudes.

Elsa accepts it as a compliment and basks in Anna's presence. Even if she's mildly disturbed by the bearskin rug.

At ten, they'll probably head home, maybe to Anna's, maybe to Elsa's. It doesn't really matter. Marshmallow has enough food to last him until tomorrow night. In the morning, Elsa will take the stains out of Anna's clothes with vinegar and baking soda—which her girlfriend is certain is witchcraft, not primitive science—or Anna will attempt to turn the contents of Elsa's nearly empty refrigerator into "real food before you evaporate for god's sake"—which she thinks is unnecessary, but sweet. Sometime in between, Anna might talk about her favorite Greek myths and perhaps Elsa will have found a Billy Collins poem worth sharing.

Imagining her future with Anna makes Elsa feel warmer than she'll ever admit to being.

The familiar voice from her phone injects cold directly into Elsa's veins.

"Hey, Elsa. This is Kristoff. How are you doing?" An uncomfortable silence. "Anyways, I'm calling because Papa's in the hospital. He had a heart attack, and they did CPR. He's alive, but not…doing good. We're at Mercy Hospital. You should come… Bye."

A headache starts pounding at the edges of Elsa's vision.

One more chapter of drama and drama-solving should wrap this one up.