thank you to that one guest reviewer :) your reviews honestly make my day, and i love how in-depth you think about things :) i hope you like this chapter

to everyone else, im hoping to get back into my weekly publishing schedule, though unfortunately due to school, i can't promise anything. thursday is still the day – i just love y'all so much ;)

Elsa has fantastic taste in breakfast foods. You kind of expected her not to because when do CEOs have time for breakfast? But no, she manages to find a nice cafe that actually has amazing coffee. The waitress begins speaking in Norwegian, but switches at your lost look.

She ends up changing back because Elsa takes the lead with ordering, and she does so in what appears to be (well, to your untrained ears) fluent Norwegian. You kind of just stare at her, mouth wide, and a pretty blush coats her cheeks when she realises you're staring.

"You... speak Norwegian?"

Elsa makes a vague gesture. She doesn't say anything, but a light blush pretties her features.

"I mentioned my parents moving back home. Well... this is home."

Wow. Huh. Maybe you should have guessed that (well, if not that, then something), because now that you know, there are definite clues.

She does have a subtle accent. Very subtle. The pale hair and striking complexion scream 'European model!' and you find yourself tracing her high cheekbones with your eyes.

You only notice when you catch her eye, as well, and clearing your throat, you look away.

"So, you grew up here? What was that like?" you ask, just as the waitress brings out a pot of coffee and some glasses. Elsa doesn't answer straight away. When she does, she doesn't say as much as you thought she would (or expected her to, either).

"It was... strained," she said. "My parents and I don't get along, and I left as soon as I could." She takes a sip of her coffee. "Anyway, there are much better career opportunities in America."

You don't say anything for a moment either. Earlier, it sounded like Elsa missed her parents; now, it kinda sounds like she doesn't like them. You're just a little confused.

"My dad wasn't American either," you say instead. "That whole side of my family is Welsh, actually. He even spoke the language. I used to love listening to him on the phone to his family. It would sound like he was singing." You let out a little laugh. "And when I read Lord of the Rings for the first time I always imagined the Elvish sounded like Welsh. He always said he was going to teach me, but... after the accident, I didn't have the heart to learn it anymore."

Elsa doesn't say anything – in fact, her gaze is trained on her cup – and your heart drops a little because talking about your dead parents is a pretty strong moodkiller. But... it's nice to talk about it. Them. You don't have much of a chance to with anyone else.

Clearing your throat, you follow Elsa's actions and take a sip of your own coffee. The waitress returns just as you put your cup back on the table, laden with plates of sandwiches (apparently) and fruit. You give the bread a suspicious look.

"Are you sure this is a sandwich?" you ask. "Where's the other side?"

Elsa's head jerks up, and she seems relieved you've changed the topic. Which. Is a little disappointing but you can see how she'd not want to know. She gives a little smile.

"It's an open sandwich. It's not supposed to have another side."

You don't really care because sandwiches, and it actually tastes really, really nice. Maybe better than real sandwiches because now you're getting all the flavour, undiluted by too many carbs.

When you finish, Elsa calls for a car to be brought around. Frederikstad is another hour's drive away – there used to be an airport, apparently, but it's closed now – and it's already mid-morning.

You're waiting on the footpath when her hand lands on your shoulder.

"I am... sorry about your parents, Anna..." she says. She's looking at you, blue eyes revealing that she does seem genuinely sorry; there's nothing empty about her words. You feel like tearing up all over again.

So you look away, though you bring a hand up to pat the back of Elsa's.

"Thank you," you say softly. You want to say something else, but you don't know what.

So, you just sit there in silence until the car comes.

Elsa's hand doesn't move the whole time.