Chapter 3

Anna's POV

The next afternoon, I buzzed about my apartment. No matter what I did, I couldn't get the butterflies in my stomach to settle down. My pulse raced with the first date anticipation that was a combination of delight, nerves, fear and arousal.

My look needed to be just right. I washed and dried my hair. I checked the clock. I got dressed. I put my hair up. I put my make up on. I let my hair down. I checked the clock again.

I paced around my apartment. I changed my earrings. I put on a different blouse. I put my hair up again. Ten years ago, I had my first date with a Hans and that wasn't half as nerve-wracking as this day.

Finally, I settled on a button-down white blouse over a maroon tank top with a short—but not too short—skirt. She said we were going some place casual, but I hoped I wasn't too casual.

As I stared at the mirror for the millionth time, I heard a knock at the door. The clock read 4:58. That was Elsa always on time if not a little early.

I spritzed myself with perfume then went to the door. I took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to will the tension and nervousness away. It didn't work.

My heart racing, I opened the door.

Elsa stood there. Her hair was pulled back, highlighting her delicate features. She smelled of sweet vanilla lotion.

A long moment passed.

"Ready to go?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," I managed to smile.

"I know a little Italian place just up the road," she said as we walked towards her car.

"That sounds great." I didn't know what to say or do. It was like I was fourteen again and she was the captain of the football team while I was the nerdy girl from the back row in geometry class. She was way out of my league and I was in over my head.

We got in her car, a sporty little BMW convertible. Red, of course. The top was down and the drive to the restaurant was quick.

The hostess seated us at a table tucked away in the back. The lights were low. Elsa's eyes glimmered in the candlelight.

I nervously looked over the menu, but I didn't have much of an appetite. I can't remember what I ordered; I just know I didn't eat much of it.

Another uncomfortable silence fell over us.

"Why did you ask me out?" Elsa said, not beating around the bush.

I looked around nervously, as if afraid that someone might overhear. On a Sunday night, the place was slow and there was no one around.

"I don't know," I replied. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

That drew an amused chuckle from both of us.

"I'm a heartbreaker, you know," Elsa said suddenly. The usual playfulness was gone from her voice. "Commitment is something I'm not good at. I don't do relationships."

It took me a second to absorb her words. Was she trying to defend herself from me? Or was she warning me?

"And I don't do girls," I said, trying my best to imitate her dry smile. "But you'd better know this: I'm not going to be just another notch on your bedpost."

We both managed a forced laugh. That seemed to break the tension between us. At least for the time being. Really, all it did was put it on the back burner.

The entrees came and we started to talk. Even though we had known each other for several months, being out with her alone was like meeting someone for the very first time. We started with the easy questions.

"How did your parents come up with a name like Anna?" she asked me at one point.

Easy question. I had fielded this one many times over the years. "My parents were dorks. They named me, my sister and my brother after characters in some books they liked."

"I didn't know you had any siblings."

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I'm the oldest."

"What are their names?" Elsa asked.

"Olaf and Ander."

"Interesting . . ."

"What about you?" I asked.

"My father wanted to name me Michael if I was a boy, and Mom wouldn't let him name me Michelle. Something about some psycho ex-girlfriend she didn't like," Elsa smiled and took a sip of her wine. "So they were going to name me Michelle, but Mom convinced Dad that I needed a special name, so they call me Elsa 'unique'."

"Didn't you hate that when you were a kid?" I asked, flashing her a knowing smile. "You know, you can never find pencils—"

"Or keychains—"

"Or bicycle license plates—"

"Or shirts—"

"And don't you hate having to spell your name foreveryone?"

We laughed together at our shared childhood experience.

"Speaking of spelling," Elsa said. "There's only one 'a' at the end of your name, right?"

"Yup," I replied. "

"I used to hate my name, too, though after a while I thought it was cool. It makes me special. And not in the short bus kind of way. It sure beats being just another Tiffany, Catherine or Sally, doesn't it?"

"Exactly," I replied warmly. My mind drifted off for a second. I started to say something else, but stopped.

"What is it?" Elsa asked, looking suddenly concerned.

"Nothing." I said, looking away.

It dawned on her just then. Her eyes got real wide. "You said, 'were'. Are your parents? . . . Oh, my god . . . I'm so sorry."

I smiled reflexively and shrugged. This had become an automatic response for me. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"How?" she started. "No, wait, that's none of my business."

The uncomfortable silence came back.

"Mom was killed in a car accident when I was twelve," I said softly. My eyes were fixed on my glass of wine, but my gaze was distant. "Dad died when I was 17. He was out jogging and had a heart attack."

She took my hands in hers. I looked up and smiled meekly.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said apologetically.

"I like my name because my parents liked it." As Elsa had opened up to me the night before, I did the same for her. I shared something private with her, something not even my best friends knew. "It makes me feel like they're still with me, and they always will be, because no one can ever take my name away from me."

My hands withdrew from hers so I could wipe the tears from my eyes.

Elsa paused for a minute, then took my hands again. Her voice was soft. "If it's any consolation, I kind of know how you feel. My real dad was killed in a hunting accident when I was two. I don't remember much about him . . . but I know that he will always love me, just as your parents will always love you."

"Thank you," I managed to whisper. My feelings about my parents were things I had buried years ago. We went to live with my aunt and uncle, but a little part of me felt like I had to grow up quickly for my sister and brother. Elsa didn't know what that felt like, but I did appreciate her reaching out to me.

She raised her wine glass. "To dorky parents and the names they saddled us with."

I tried to smile and our drinks klinked together.

The maudlin moment passed as she changed the subject on me. We spent the rest of the meal making small talk and getting to know each other better. It was so much different without Rapunzel and Ariel there. Her attention was fixed solely on me. We talked about growing up. About our jobs.

Elsa was an only child. Her mom and stepdad lived a couple of hours away. She liked living at the beach and did very well for herself as a financial planner.

After the meal, we ended up back downtown at the boardwalk. Instead of going into the clubs, we walked together up and down the strip, sometimes stopping in at one of the chincy tourist trap souvenir shops or looking for something to get for dessert.

We ended up at Coldstone Creamery. I had a "love it"-sized Oreo Overload and Elsa had them make up some concoction of M&Ms, Oreos, Snickers and chocolate chips (in chocolate ice cream, no less).

How she could eat all that and look so . . . so hawt was beyond me. I'd be as big as a house if I ate half as much as she could put away.

The two of us wandered up the boardwalk and came back along the beach, each of us holding our shoes as the warm ocean water washed in over our feet.

Our conversation continued and we got to know each other even better. I lost track of time walking up and down the beach. The lights along the shore are deceptive that way.

I noticed that the shops along the boardwalk were closed and that the traffic in the bars had slowed down.

"Holy crap!" Elsa checked her watch. She flashed me an embarrassed smile. "It's 10:30. I didn't mean to keep you out so late."

"That's okay. I don't mind." A part of me was sad that our night was ending. "But I do have to get up early for work tomorrow."

"Me, too," Elsa grinned sheepishly.

We stared at each other awkwardly for a moment. It was then that I truly noticed how beautiful she was.

I had always thought she was pretty. There was no denying that. Her body was firm all over, round in just the right places and her angular features gave her an exotic look that made me envious. It dawned on me that she wasn't simply attractive. She was drop-dead gorgeous.

Standing there on the beach, right then in that moment, I was completely blown away by the woman at my side. She was the kind of woman men would fight duels over. I'd have fought for her. And if I was reading her signals right, she was mine for the taking.

I just didn't know what to do next. It really was like being fourteen again.

"Come on," she reached out and took my hand. "Let's get you home."

I looked around nervously to see if anyone might be watching us. The fact that I had never held hands with a woman before made me wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew, but that thought passed out of my head in an instant.

Her touch was electric. All I knew was that I wanted to be close to her. I needed to be close to her. We walked quickly back to her car and rode in silence to my apartment.

She parked right outside my apartment and I led her to my doorstep, still holding hands.

I fumbled for the keys in my purse, finally opening the door.

"Would you, um . . . like to come in?" I asked.

There was a longing look in her eyes. I could tell she almost said, "Yes."

"It's late," she said with a regretful sigh. "We have to be up early tomorrow."

I didn't know what I would have done had she taken me up on the offer, but I looked away, trying to hide my disappointment.

my hands and my eyes went back to hers.

"I had a really good time tonight," she said quietly, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"Me, too."

"Am I going to get a second date?" The hopeful look in her eyes must have matched the one in mine.

"Yes," I replied. "But next time, I'm paying."

She smiled awkwardly.

It was moment of truth time. At least it was for me.

My hands were still in hers. I felt her tug slightly and I tilted my head back.

I closed my eyes. Elsa's lips were soft and warm. A shiver ran from the top of my head all the way down to my toes.

She nibbled softly on my lips. I wanted to throw my arms around her but I couldn't. My body was paralyzed, frozen by her kiss.

Finally, she pulled back. It took me a second to open my eyes. I drew in a deep breath.

"Wow," I breathed softly, unaware that I had spoken out loud.

gently.

"Thank you," she whispered. She let go of my hands and took a step back. "I'll call you tomorrow. We could go out after work or something."

"Sure thing," I replied robotically. Inside, I was torn. A part of me wanted to pull her inside with me and never let her go. But another, possibly more rational, part wanted to put the breaks on whatever it was that I felt and take things a little slower.

"I'll . . . ah . . . see you later." Elsa gave me a look that promised great things for our next outing, then turned and walked back to her car. I watched her, hypnotised by her bouncing pony tail and magnificent backside.

She got in her car and backed out. I went inside and closed the door. My hands still smelled of her lotion. I could taste her on my lips.

It only took a few seconds to throw my purse down and rush to the back of my apartment. Falling onto the bed, I imagined Elsa laying on top of me, her weight pressing down. I was Fantasizing about being with a woman for the very first time.