I don't own Frozen.
Jane lifted the lid of her laptop, silent as a jungle cat. She looked over both shoulders in the expansive living area of A's beach house, and narrowed her eyes at her dim surroundings. She checked for sounds, made sure A hadn't followed her from the bedroom.
She couldn't be discovered.
Not this far into the job.
She needed for this to go perfectly, or A would know. She would find out.
And I can't have that.
She listened for her bedmate's snores, deciding to switch over to her touch tablet. Can't be too careful when keeping a secret. And without her tech gloves and console back in her skyscraping apartment, she couldn't very well pull up her holographic screen. To be doubly sure, she nimbly scaled the shelved built-ins at the house in the Hamptons, squashing her body into the top, spare nook too tall for A to reach with her DVD collection. There was one dusty item, a storybook about a dragon, hidden away at the far end of the shelf. It gave Jane pause, but her current mission was too important.
So much hinges on this.
Jane breathed in. Exhaled, then typed those paramount letters into the search engine:
"How… to… go… on… a… date."
Google gods, please be kind.
The Google gods were not kind.
The first hit was a depressing, eighteen-step slide show from Instructables of a rather off-putting young gentleman standing in forced poses preparing for a faux 'date'. Directions: Find a girl who is available, not married, or otherwise engaged.
Check?
Shower. Groom. Brush one's teeth. Cologne.
This is common sense… right?
"I already have a date, how does one go about it…" Jane murmured to herself.
WikiHow wasn't any help. She scrolled through the introductory drivel, finally arriving at a heading titled, How to Have a Successful First Date. The brilliant advice from the article included such insights as:
-Make a good first impression
-Choose a date with some excitement in it
-Be interested and interesting
-Don't let the first date take too long
First impression?
I've already botched that one rather thoroughly.
Date with excitement?
This could be a benefit, let's see.
She read through the explanation for point number two: "Thrills and excitement tickle the grey matter of the human brain. These thrills release hormones called dopamine and norepinephrine, chemical cocktails associated with pleasure, trust, and affection. If you can induce a little bit of dopamine and norepinephrine in your date, your chances at success become better."
The science of dating. That was more Jane's style. Exploiting the body's free-flowing chemical balances to her advantage, all the while entertaining or, well, being "interested and interesting" for A. Then again, how does one compete with jet-setting jobs and daily routines comprised of purloined diamonds and sneaky art thievery?
Hmm… moving on.
Don't let the last date take too long? How does it end if you live with the person you're taking on a first date? She quickly erased the words in the search engine and retyped, "How to date your roommate." The majority of articles contained the same advice, advice Jane was not pleased to find. Mainly, that dating one's roommate was a bad idea. She tried again: "How to date your best friend girl."
At least I'm not the only one with this problem.
The articles were varied and many, and did little to boost Jane's wavering confidence for her forthcoming date with A. Most articles suggested something 'irregular' for dates, like hitting up all of the psychics in the nearest metropolitan area and then comparing notes at the end of the adventure to find the most entertaining and ridiculous speculations. Many suggested dates involved alcohol, which set Jane at a disadvantage. She could forsee the suggested gelato 'pub crawl' turning ugly rapidly, what with their mutual affinity for chocolate and A's inability to control herself around ice cream. The shorter girl would be nursing a stomachache instead of enjoying their time together, which is what Jane hoped for more than anything. They were already at the beach, so that was out. And sitting in a darkened cinema just didn't hold the same appeal to Jane as it did for A. Especially if Jane could simply fall asleep in A's lap on their own couch at the beach house, while the other girl finished the film.
She opened another window and checked the forecast for the upcoming week, double-taking at one of the advertisements scrolling the sidebar of the AccuWeather site. She was so engrossed at her find that she didn't hear the footsteps padding sluggishly into the living area.
"Jane?" A said, rubbing her eyes. She flicked the overhead light on, and squinted against the sudden brightness.
Jane didn't breathe.
"Whaa… whatareu doin' in the bookshel'?" A asked dazedly.
"I'm not in the bookshelf," Jane said, hand darting out. She zapped the light overhead and pitched the area back into darkness. "You're only dreaming."
"No, 'm not."
"It's too dark for you to be awake."
Jane thought she heard A repeatedly flick the plastic light switch, no doubt tiredly befuddled by its reluctance to brighten the overhead bulb.
"Humph."
"Go back to bed, you're sleepwalking," Jane instructed.
"Humph," A mumbled, and Jane heard her trudge back to their bed.
Jane's attention returned to the screen, and, before she could talk herself out of it, she booked the tickets.
"But what am I supposed to dooooooo?" A asked over the phone, her bubbly little voice both admonishing and cheerful.
"I'm picking you up, that's how it's supposed to go," Jane returned.
"How do you know that?"
"Look, if you want me to stop acting like a 'normal' person and go back to whatever I was before, you've got to stop showing me all of those movies in which societal courting norms are harped upon."
"Those are romcoms."
"Exactly," Jane said, pulling off of the interstate.
"But Jane, you're not telling me anything. Where are we going? Is this like, causal, or do I need to bring anything? Are we going to run a job? Are we going into the city?"
"I'm picking you up in ten—"
"Ten?! Jane, you haven't given me any time to get ready!"
"It's very casual. In fact… it might be the perfect day for those cut-off overalls."
"You and your meticulous preferences," A said.
"I don't see why planning is such a bad thing. It's never steered me wrong before."
"But there's room for some spontaneity, I should hope."
"To an extent," Jane said. "Let's not get ourselves killed or anything."
"Oh, come on Jane. I've got to be doing something right!"
"What makes you say that?"
"I got you, didn't I?"
Jane laughed into the phone. "I don't know what kind of prize I am, but I'm grateful you've dubbed me something worth procuring in the first place."
"Love you, too."
"I'll see you shortly. And wear sunscreen!"
Jane's nerves were jiving as she approached the front stoop of A's beach house. Which was odd, considering she'd been staying there for over a week. But she really wanted today to go well, to show A that there could be contentment, even excitement in normalcy. Being special elevates you to a platform beyond the mundane, but it likewise ignites an appreciation for the regular. So many are eager to shed the trappings of the commonplace in lieu of the exotic. But, if absence makes the heart grow fonder, Jane's lack of an unremarkable existence only made her yearn for something more routine, humdrum even. She would love nothing more than the certainty of sleeping in A's arms night after easy night.
She knocked on the door and waited.
"You could've just come— oh," A said, overall clad and wayfarer sunglasses perched atop the crown of her head.
"I got this for you," Jane said.
"A sunflower. Jane, it's beautiful," A said, taking the long-stemmed flower from the blonde. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to. We'll find some water for it."
The overlarge flower dangled precariously out of a tall drinking glass, round and bright on the kitchen island.
"Like Van Gogh's," A smiled.
"Shall we be off?" Jane asked.
"We shall," A said, hitching her arm through Jane's. She rose up on her tip toes and kissed Jane on the cheek. "Really, it's beautiful."
"Thanks. It… well, I guess you're like a sunflower. It was one of the first things I thought about you. Big and bright. And loud, occasionally."
"Really?" A asked, brow playfully arched. "Guess that makes you a moon vine then."
"What are the characteristics of the moon vine?"
"It's nocturnal, I suppose, in that it blooms at night. It's actually a type of morning glory, but the petals unfurl sort of in a star shape, white as an iceberg, with this teeny little strip of yellow at the center."
"Must be the sunflower rubbing off on the moon vine," Jane said, eyes darting toward A.
"I'd like to think so," A returned.
"How do you know so much about flora?"
"I'm going to have my own garden one day. European window boxes make American yards seem so dull. I want to show myself that I can do it!"
Jane smiled, still excited to learn new things about A after all this time. "Here we go."
"We're… I didn't see this in the hanger," A said, drooling over the blood red Lamborghini convertible parked in the drive. The top was down, and Jane went to hold the passenger's side door open for A to hop in.
"A rental, for the day," Jane explained. "You said you like to go fast."
"I did say that," A replied, slapping Jane's bottom as she hurled herself into the passenger's seat.
The Lamborghini revved of its own accord, lights and dash surging while Jane blushed red as the cherry paint job on the vehicle.
"Heeh… hunrgh, uhm, I'm gonna drive now, okay?"
A gave Jane a curt nod, and gestured toward the driver's side. Jane fell in, losing whatever poise she once thought she had at A's flirtatious nature. Jane popped in an auxiliary cord to her iPod, having transferred all of A's gifted mixed CDs into her music library. She hit shuffle and the rest was history, the pair flying down the highways of the Hamptons as they made their way to Orient Point on the north end of Long Island.
"What's this?" A asked, making a move to exit the vehicle.
"No, wait. Stay in," Jane said.
Moments later, Jane crept the car onto the Mediterranean, the speedier addition to the fleet of the Cross Sound ferry company. According to the brochure, it cut the voyage time to fifty minutes, even with the autos aboard. Other cars filed in front of and behind them, Jane eyeing the nearby drivers, threatening them to so much as look at her Lamborghini with envy.
"They're not going to steal it, Jane," A said, climbing out of the car and onto the deck of the boat. "They're not us."
"This car is flawless," Jane said. "I might not take it back."
"Are you going to share?"
"Only if you ask really nicely."
"Oh, in that case," A drug Jane out toward the railing of the Med, wind already whipping her braided pigtails about as the ferry picked up speed. She popped her sunglasses down over her eyes, and Jane was almost sad for it. A's teal eyes were two of many attractive physical features, and Jane, relishing an act as simple as looking, didn't feel so uncomfortable now with her overlong glances. She had taken to studying A's features more, as the girl slept beside her. Jane came to realize they possessed many similarities: the button nose; the face shape with chubbier cheeks; her own light dusting of freckles compared to the globs on A's face; the slight lips; large, round eye sockets. Their differences were fewer but prominent: complexion; eye color; body type; hair color (though the texture was the same).
She figured that last one by running uncovered fingers through A's bangs as the girl snored, grinning each time A scrunched up her nose at the tickling sensation.
A's kiss brought her back to the deck of the ferry, seawind and sunshine bearing down on the casually dressed pair. A leaned dangerously over the railing, propping her feet on the bottommost rung, ignoring the sign that very clearly stated to not climb on the barriers. They were reprimanded with a whistle, and thus set about exploring the large boat hand in hand.
"You want?" A asked, gesturing toward a vending machine, candies and chips held hostage behind ringed metal loops.
"Not right now. And you don't have to wait if you're hungry, but I thought we'd grab something when we arrive at our destination."
"Yeah, I can wait! I just didn't know if—"
"I was going for surprise. I should've let you know—"
"No! I like the surprise, I just didn't—"
"—maybe not the best—"
"No. Stop," A said. "God, we're acting like preteens," A giggled. "Why is that?"
"I… uhm, don't know," Jane didn't meet the shorter girl's questioning eyes. "I just want you to have a good time."
"I am. Really."
"Here, then, to tied us over." Jane placed a palm over the exterior of a drink machine, and two bottled waters fell into the dispensing tray at her zapping touch. "Here you go."
"You spoil me."
"I treat you."
"That's what you call the Lamborghini?"
"It's a treat if it's a rental. A spoil if we keep it."
"Which you intend to do."
"Only if my passenger takes it with me. I'm not going down for grand theft alone."
"What if I drive?"
"I might let you, since this one is an automatic."
"I know how to drive a stick," A said.
"Really?"
"Many secret talents," A pointed toward her chest.
"Fishing, accents, now you can operate manual sports cars. I didn't think it possible to be more attracted to you," Jane grinned bashfully.
"And just think…" A murmured, nuzzling Jane's ear in the bowels of the ferry. "I haven't even felt you up yet."
"We should go back on deck!" Jane screeched suddenly, staring intently at her feet as she bonked into the staircase leading to the open air above. Jane was breathing deeply and had regained a bit of composure when A approached her five minutes later.
"Did I overstep?" A asked.
"No. I just… I forget that all this banter is going to lead to something."
"Oh," A said. "And that's a bad thing?"
"Yes… and no. Yes, because, I'm still a little afraid of what might come of it when it happens. No because I'm— I… I'm finding it more difficult than I imagined to resist you."
"I'm fairly practiced at talking people into things."
"Damn persuasive.
"But you know it's at your pace. As far or as, uhm, not far as you're willing. I love you, you know."
"Yes, I…" Jane bobbed her head and made a meal of her lower lip. "You."
A's face lit up and she leaned into Jane's shoulder. Jane rested her head against the shorter girl, one of those copper braids falling over the swell of her breast and tickling the edges of her short-sleeved v-neck.
"I know," A said.
"We'll be there, soon. Back to the ride?"
"Lead on."
They docked in the Connecticut harbor at New London, and drove the scenic thirty-two up the waterway to Norwich. Jane parked and put the top up to the car, and tried to mimic A's 'ta-da' gesture with an asymmetrical arm flourish. A started laughing until she took in the surroundings of the parking lot.
"We're going to a baseball game?!" A asked.
"Is that alright?"
"Alright? Jane, I've always loved baseball games! How did you—"
"I studied your movie collection at the beach house. The Sandlot, Field of Dreams, The Natural, Angels in the Outfield, that one where the kid breaks his arm and pitches better due to the injury, though that plot point seems highly unlikely—"
"I love it. Best date ever."
Jane popped the trunk of the car and withdrew a blanket and a bag of goodies, deftly concealing the bag under the blanket as the girls made their way to the turnstiles of the Senator Thomas J. Dodd Memorial Stadium. The navy-and-orange Connecticut Tigers minor league team had C.T. the Tiger strolling about beyond the ticketing entrance, posing with kids and families and signing baseballs per request.
"Jane!"
"I knew this was coming."
And so a selfie was taken with Mr. C.T., just with A, and then A finagled with a nearby father to take a picture of herself and Jane with C.T. the Tiger. More pictures were taken on A's gifted iPhone, as well as a video of Jane attempting to neatly spread the blanket out on the grassy left field knoll, which Jane had selected over stadium seating.
"Thought it would be nice to be on the blanket together," Jane justified, digging into her bag. "And before I pull these out, I am forbidding any jokes about giving one the finger, fingering, or any promiscuous implications of that nature."
She bestowed upon A a tangerine 'We're #1' foam finger, and, a fielder's mitt.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" A asked.
"It's for catching a home run ball should it come your way. Though with you, I'd say avoiding head injury."
They watched the rollicking mascot and the warmups, stood for the national anthem, and participated in the slow-clap when the time came. Kids were skipping around the outfield, and park patrons lay back paying the pair little heed, sipping from chilled beer bottles and enjoying the pleasant spring afternoon sun.
After a two-inning streak of three-up three-down on both sides, the visitor's team socked a line drive to right center, advancing their man at second to even closer scoring position on third base. There were no outs, and things looked bleak for the Tigers. The batter at the plate squared around and showed a bunt.
"What's that?" Jane asked.
"A bad idea," A returned. "He's going to go third baseline, but he has to do it perfectly for it to work."
"What do you—"
At that, the wooden bat connected with the fastball for a bunt; but the batter dropped his frame and popped it up.
"Rookie mistake," A commentated.
The pitcher and catcher went scrambling for it, and the catcher was rewarded for his diving hustle by catching the ball mid-air. Out one. His momentum shot him down the third base line, where the runner had taken a substantial lead off, hoping to score should the catcher have dropped the ball and opted for the fielder's choice. But the catcher had his wits about him, and tossed the ball to the third baseman, outing the third base runner who hadn't gone back to tag up. Out two. This left the runner on first time to tag back and try for second, but the third basemen's arm was too quick. He threw off to the second baseman, who made a sweeping tag at the legs of the sliding base runner, an effective triple play successfully employed by the Connecticut Tiger defense.
The crowd roared and A bounded up, whooping like an Indian raiding party.
"Did you know that was going to happen?" Jane asked, astounded.
"Saw it coming from a mile away," A bragged.
"Ha! You'll have to explain it to me when I get back."
"And just where do you think you're going?"
"Snack time. What kind of date would I be if I didn't treat my girl?" Jane screwed her face up, and her fingers crawled over her abdomen like restless centipedes. She had quit the ritual under A's watch, but reversion to the action occurred in times of uncertainty. And this was insecure uncertainty in every regard. The words, the possessive, 'my girl' had involuntarily floated off of her tongue. And so came the verbal back-track.
"I mean, not like you're mine, like I own you, or anything. Not that I stole you either, because, I technically don't own anything—"
"Jane," A smiled, rising to take her hand. "It's fine." A squeezed her hand, and the world righted itself. "But, you should know… the amount of food I'm going to put away? We'll need two sets of arms."
And off they went again to the stadium during the downtime between innings, standing in line at the cement block concessions booth.
"Two orders of Jalapeño nachos, two packaged pickles, two Coca Cola Icees, in the team souvenir cups, if you have them! Boiled peanuts, a package of sunflower seeds— Jane, you want anything?"
"Uh…"
"And a hot dog! Sound good?"
"Yes. And likely corrosive to your gastrointestinal system."
Jane handed over the cash to the attendant, and maneuvered with an armload of food out from the covered concessions pavilion in the stadium.
"No! You're getting pink in the face!" A said.
"What?"
"You remind me to wear sunscreen but you don't put any on?"
"I guess I… had my mind on other things."
"Wait here a sec," A instructed.
Not like I can go anywhere with this quantity of food. That could feed a sparsely populated third world country…
"Here we go!" A said, shoving a flat billed Diamond Era cap on Jane's head. It was Navy, but the bill and classic Connecticut 'C' were stitched in a bright, burnt orange. It shaded the majority of Jane's face, especially the glowing pinkness of her cheeks.
"You look fly," A said.
"Is fly a synonym for ridiculous?"
"Hardly," A replied.
"We should consult a thesaurus, to be sure," Jane said.
"I've always thought that word sounded like a dinosaur species."
Jane just stared at A, and even if she didn't say it, there was love in the look.
"C'mon. We've already missed the top of the third," A said.
They went back to their blanket in left field, and gorged themselves on ballpark food and adoring glances. A joined in with the organ, yelling "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," at the top of her lungs, along with every five-year-old in the outfield. They were up and down as the wave circled the stadium, and Jane found herself flapping about spasmodically to some absurd torture played over the loudspeakers. A said it was called "The Chicken Dance." A likewise made an elaborate show of standing and bending over during the seventh inning stretch, wiggling her tush in Jane's face and blowing an upside-down raspberry from between her legs as she attempted to touch her toes. Jane, not to be outdone in stretching, performed a few advanced yoga moves while the organ played, drawing the attention of some nearby children. They approached Jane tentatively, inquiring with the more approachable redhead if the blonde lady was a circus contortionist.
"No, she's just really bendy. Like a human balloon animal."
Jane twisted as best she could into the shapes the children called out, giggling and collapsing right onto A after one strained pretzel-like body inversion. The kids clapped and abandoned the now prostrate entertainment, ninth inning coming along with the Tigers leading 5-3. The sun had set early and the stadium lights turned up, bugs fluttering around the white-hot industrial bulbs. Jane saw the grounds crew working behind the warning track of the outfield, prepping in the twilight for the show to come. After the final out was thrown, A stood from their blanket and stretched, looking down at Jane.
"Where do you think you're going?" Jane asked.
"The game's over. You don't know much about baseball, but I hoped you could see that we won, silly."
"Come back, we're not done yet."
They lay down side by side, holding hands, their leftover Icees melting into brownish slosh. The field attendants shut off the stadium lighting, and A's expression grew wondrous when the fireworks started. Jane stared at the reflection of the bursting lights in A's eyes, and, before she could stop herself, felt a tear sliding out of the crease of her eye.
"Hey," A said, and turned toward her. "What's—"
"Nothing. I don't know when this started happening, I've never cried so much," Jane said, laughing at the spectrumed night. "Then again, I've never been this happy."
"Best date ever," A reiterated, snuggling into Jane's side, pyrotechnics booming into streaky bursts of light and heat, then raining into nothing over the baseball diamond. A kissed the tendon at Jane's neck and every nerve in the blonde's body zinged with anticipation, hairs and goosebumps and swooping gut sensations softening her toned figure into a useless puddle of womanly goop. She squirmed near A, and the rest of the night was spent between sighs on cloud nine and conversations that turned overly sentimental. When they stepped out of the Lamborghini outside of the Hampton house, Jane's nerves returned with severity.
"So… this is the part of the movie where I usually fall asleep," Jane said, rolling her fingers over themselves.
"Good thing I've seen a lot of them, then," A said, and took a step closer to Jane.
"You kiss on the first date?"
"I guess I do, considering this is my first real date," A said seriously.
Jane came down to meet her lips, which tasted like the mint Jane had given her after an afternoon of ballpark flavors. And in this kiss was passion unexplored, the most forceful they had been while handling the other; an inclusion of teeth which was previously absent, a released moan they had once kept in check.
Jane fisted the heavy denim of those damn overalls, her hands finding the exposed cropped shirt at the sides of A's slight body. Everything felt lightning hot in her mind. Like standing at the edge of that water the other night, releasing the blinding volts against sizzling skin. And suddenly it was there, under her touch receptors, as heated as her own: A's skin. The barest sliver of the redhead's obliques brushed by the tip of Jane's middle finger, and Jane worked desperately to keep her knees from wobbling underneath her crumbling form.
They had started with A's back against the door, her arms thrown above Jane's neck, but the redhead had somehow maneuvered them so that Jane's back was flush against one side of the door jamb, the shorter's hands trailing up under the taller's cotton shirt. And those precocious little hands… Bolder than they should be, skimming stomach, then back to the hip. Rib, and then down once more. A's fingers climbed Jane's ribcage with such slow, deliberate precision, Jane did not fully register the finger tracing the underside of her breast until it snagged itself on her bra.
Jane didn't acknowledge the pressure until another finger swiped the swelling curvature, and her eyes popped open faster than a child waking on Christmas morning. Jane whimpered and her legs gave out, which forced her to collapse slightly against the doorjamb.
Which is the worst thing that could have happened.
For A didn't have her hands for support (as they were feeling me up under my shirt) and had thus propped her knee against the wooden frame to support her own body. The positioning and Jane's slight collapse resulted in Jane straddling one of A's legs, riding it down while she gaped at the tingling sensation in her crotch. She flung her arms out and scrabbled for balance, panting faster than a Retriever.
A's mouth was open and her head tilted up, the one hand fully palming Jane's right breast above her thin bra. Jane could see the resistance in her pained expression, the girl struggling not to rock forward with that invasive leg, resisting a succulent friction because Jane said 'slow'.
Though why I said that, I can hardly recall.
A focused her support on Jane's back with her free hand, inadvertently squeezing with the other as she did so.
The arousing feel of A cupping her breast caused the porch light to flicker. Jane thought of the mayhem in the kitchen, appliances switching on and off with every stroke of sinful, pleasurable compression. Because she had resisted physicality for so long, so afraid of touch and touching and receiving touch, that, even over clothing, a bit of foreign and wanted (yes, very much desired) pressure was short-circuiting her brain.
A removed her leg and was about to withdraw her hand from under Jane's shirt, until Jane felt herself stopping A's movement by grabbing her wrist through the shirt material. Her hand… above A's hand… above her breast… a distorted, intimate experience of 'continue' and 'not yet', like sand granules stilled in an hourglass. And both girls relished the feeling while they could, because, as novel and gratifying as the sensations were, Jane knew there was more 'not yet' than 'continue' in her hold. She guided A's hand out from under her shirt, but reassured her with another deep, lingering kiss. A's tongue was slippery, lips insistent.
Those lips.
"I don't want to have sex with you," Jane said.
"Wha— uhm, oh. Why… uhm, okay, I—"
"Tonight!" Jane exhaled, finally connecting her words to a meaning with her foggy brain. "I don't want to have sex with you, tonight."
A nodded, more relief than agreement.
"If that's the case… and I can't believe I'm saying this…" A started, fiddling with her hands in front of her body. Jane could tell A wanted to touch her, but didn't know whether she should. Jane relieved the girl of her doubts, and took her fidgety hands in her own.
"I think we should sleep in separate beds for now," A said.
Jane cataloged the manic pace of her own pulse, her clammy hands, the chasm imploding at the bottom of her stomach.
"Just… just for tonight?" Jane asked. "I… can see how that would be beneficial to our situation."
"It's just… hard— you're, I-I want to touch-"
"I know. It's hard for me, too. I, that is... I like it when you touch me."
"That was… nice?" A asked.
"More than nice," Jane mumbled.
"Fuckin' amazing."
"Perhaps… a little more than I expected. But not… entirely unwelcome."
"Like the overalls?"
"Overalls can't quite compare to that," Jane replied honestly.
"I had a wonderful time on our date," A said. "We'll have to look into getting season tickets or something."
"Or something," Jane agreed, and they stayed like that, stewing hormones, holding hands, for longer than was comfortable.
"Now what?" Jane ventured.
"Guess it's time to go back inside," A said.
And so they did. Their blissful state didn't accompany them to bed. Instead, it was an emotion more akin to mayhem, which quickly solidified into violation. Tables were overturned. Drawers upended. Couch cushions shredded. Cabinets in shambles. DVDs broken and cases strewn. And every scrap of information they had collected on Hans, paper or computer, map or table or drive or notebook, had vanished.
Thinking of changing the title from 'Stolen Ice' to 'Cliffhangers Galore'. Another bit of filler, which feels rushed and unpolished, but hey, plot is insistent. Love to hear from you, and thanks for everything!