The First Five of "Freckled Lemonade"
Since I was a dummy and only gave the synopsis of Freckled Lemonade to @loonysama's ask about that fic, here's the first 5 paragraphs. Now you see Anna's reaction to Kristoff's whistle...
He first became aware of her when he was sitting in his car on a self-imposed break. It was more of a last-ditch grab at his sanity, because it was one of those days: the kind that made him wonder why the hell he had worked so long and so hard to claw his way to sous chef. He was sitting in his Volkswagen Squareback, blasting the Kinks with the windows down, and opened his eyes in time to see an absolutely gorgeous red 1969 Volvo 164 slot itself into the spot next to his. A whistle of appreciation escaped his lips right as the driver stepped out, and Kristoff Bjorgman, second in command of the kitchen at Fenalår, a high-end Scandinavian restaurant in Denver, Colorado, accidentally whistled at the newest waitress. Her head whipped around, flashing new penny copper in the late afternoon sun, and she locked eyes with him through his windshield. He could clearly see her mouth the word “Creep!” before marching into the back entrance of the restaurant.
“Wait, hold on!” He burst through the door after her, finding the blushing redhead throwing her personal items into her locker before starting her shift. “It was a total misunderstanding, please, I’m sorry,” he panted, coming to rest on the bank of lockers next to her, his face probably a lovely shade of fresh boiled lobster red. “I was whistling at your car.” A shocked laugh shot out of her mouth and she darted a look at him while tying her apron around her waist.
“And how often does that work for you?” she asked, tacking a bronze nametag to her chest. Anna, he repeated to himself.
“Um, it doesn’t? I don’t whistle at people, especially women, but your car is beautiful, where the hell did you even find a 164 in that condition? Please tell me it’s manual.” Her eyes, reminding him of the sea glass his mother kept when he was small, scanned his face carefully and he willed his heart to slow down, and for the blush that sprang up on his cheeks constantly to go away already.
“It was my mom’s,” she said quietly, and shut her locker before moving to the full-length mirror bolted to the wall to give herself a once over before meeting the public. She smoothed down the braids pinned to her head and tried to compose herself, glancing at his reflection hovering behind hers. “Something else to say, Squareback?” He shook his head and she hustled through a door, rushing off to take the orders that he and his team would prep. Well that went terribly.
Here's a Squareback like Kristoff's:
...and here's Anna's Volvo:
What else do they have in common, besides working at the same restaurant and driving late-60s foreign classics? Guess you'll have to wait until I finish this and start posting it to find out!
