“Are you a princess?”

A little girl with a chocolate waffle in her hands blinked up at Lo, or should I say, Lo’s dress. I’d selected the most horrendous vintage wedding dress I could find for Lo to wear for the occasion—exceptionally sparkly with poofy sleeves and a long lace train. The girl wasn’t the first child to mistake her for a princess at the Efteling, the Netherlands’ oldest amusement park, but she was the first child to reach out and tug at the silk with chocolate-covered hands.

My heart dropped when I saw brown smeared across the fabric. “Hold still!” I shouted while digging through my purse, cursing the fact that my Tide To-Go collection from the US had run out. The little girl’s face scrunched up like she was about to cry.

This was Lo’s bachelorette party. I needed to make it perfect—especially after I’d ruined her birthday last year. But it was only noon and, so far, nothing had gone to plan. A Valentine’s Day theme park bachelorette party sounded romantic when I pitched it, but I forgot to account for the Netherlands’ freezing February temperatures. It wasn’t raining, per se, but the sky was dark and dense fog beaded into dew on our skin. To add insult to injury, the only Valentine’s decorations were pink and white streamers twisted around the flagpoles, some of which came loose in the wind.

And now, Lo’s dress was ruined.

“She is a princess,” said Floor, Lo’s yoga-teacher-turned-friend, as she walked over with napkins. She helped the girl wipe her hands while whispering something to her in Dutch. The sight was absurd: Floor looked like a 1970s John Lennon wearing a tan skinny suit and rose-colored glasses thanks to the party’s “grooms through the eras” dress theme. Behind them loomed a moss-green, yellow-eyed dragon with steam drifting out of its nostrils. We were in the famous sprookjesbos, which Floor translated as “the haunted forest.”

Cursed was more like it.

Lo dabbed at her dress with one of Floor’s napkins. “Hazel, you can never tell the woman you bought this gown from what happened to her wedding dress,” she said, laughing. I exhaled in a rush. Lo laughing meant the day was still salvageable. She looked beautiful despite the stain, her long blonde hair curly from the fog. Like Cinderella if she slipped in the mud on her way home.

“Honestly, the dress might look better now,” Floor said, walking to my side. “The chocolate distracts from the sequins.”

I only came up to Floor’s shoulders, her height impressive even for the notoriously-tall Dutch, whereas my Ohioan family was short enough to have descended from gnomes. She was muscular from teaching yoga and rowing on the Amstel River, with hair the shade of honey and eyes as blue-green as the Mediterranean. In the US, she would be a supermodel. In the Netherlands, she didn’t necessarily stand out—except to me.

I wasn’t ever as elegant as Floor, but the contrast was even starker today. As the 1990s groom, I wore an oversized suit that could’ve belonged to Chandler on Friends. I’d chopped my brown hair into a pixie cut the week before, which made my costume more convincing but meant I didn’t fully recognize myself in the funhouse mirrors we’d passed earlier.

“What’s our next ride?” asked Anna, Lo’s younger sister. The shoulder pads in her 1980s purple paisley suit bounced as she rubbed her hands together.

I pulled out the park map, squinting at the illustration. I’d made a detailed itinerary, but that didn’t help when the map was in Dutch.

“Let’s go on a roller coaster,” Lo demanded with a smile.

I nodded even as my heart stuttered. “Your wish is my command.”

It didn’t matter that I loathed roller coasters—the sensation of dropping, free fall, completely out of control. I couldn’t disappoint Lo again. Besides, I hadn’t braved a roller coaster since high school. Maybe I’d grown out of the fear?

Lo and I both moved to Amsterdam from the US a year ago, met during orientation for our user research master’s program, and had been inseparable ever since. Floor and I were friends, too, until Lo’s birthday party six months ago, when I misread her friendliness for something more and wrecked it all. I hadn’t seen her again until today. But I couldn’t tell Lo one of her best friends wasn’t invited to her bachelorette party. Not after I’d already made a mess of her birthday with my failed flirtation.

Even if the last person I wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with was the woman who’d rejected me.

Floor peered over my shoulder at the map. “Roller coaster is achtbaan in Dutch,” she said.

Annoyance jolted through me. She was just trying to help, but it felt like a reminder of how poorly I’d planned this day. I couldn’t even read the map without help.

But I wasn’t just annoyed. Her breath warmed my neck and sent shivers down my spine.

Floor. I should’ve known I was in trouble when she introduced herself after Lo dragged me to her yoga class in Vondelpark. Her name was common in the Netherlands but sounded weird in English.

“Floor? Like the ground?” I’d asked.

“Like a flower,” she’d responded. “Like the French name Fleur.”

Like a flower, I repeated to remember. But I shouldn’t have worried about forgetting. No, I couldn’t get that image out of my head: Floor like a flower, leading the class from her mat, stretching towards the sun when she demonstrated mountain pose, blooming for us all.

Floor navigated us towards the roller coaster, but when we reached the entrance, she held back.

“I might sit this one out,” she said, staring up at the rickety wooden beams. “I don’t like roller coasters.”

“Come on,” Lo pushed. “It’s easy, no upside down—”

At the words upside down, I swore Floor turned green.

“Trust me,” Lo added, blinking her puppy-dog eyes. “Think of how funny the photo will be!”

“The bride wants us to,” I murmured. Didn’t Floor understand? It was Lo’s day. If Lo wanted to do a roller coaster, we all would.

Floor met my eyes, her gaze sharp. A beat later, she groaned and agreed. After waiting in the short line, she and I squished ourselves into the roller coaster’s seemingly miniature seat, our thighs pressing together. As we pulled away from the platform, Floor clutched her bar so tight that her knuckles turned white.

“Are you okay?” I asked, knocking my shoulder against hers.

“I don’t like heights,” she said as the coaster clicked its slow ascent.

“I hate roller coasters,” I whispered.

Floor’s mouth fell open. “You planned this bachelorette and you don’t even like roller coasters?”

“Lo loves them. It’s her perfect day, not mine.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She turned to me, her aquamarine eyes manic. “We could be on the ground right now instead of climbing to our death.”

“Today’s not about me,” I said, forcing a cheery note as my adrenaline began to rush. “Besides, only four people a year die on roller coasters. Statistically, we should be fine.”

“Of course you did research,” she said. “You know, most people don’t find statistics about death reassuring.” When I glanced at her, her lips held the hint of a smile.

As we climbed to the top, her smile faded. Her leg shook and she blinked rapidly at the park around us. When the car froze at the peak for a dramatic pause, she leaned against me, and the right side of my body tingled where she pressed close. She smelled like the incense she burned at her yoga studio.

“Just breathe,” I murmured, repeating what she’d told me when I was nervous before my first yoga class.

Then, without warning, we dropped.

I shrieked, then screams turned to laughter, my fear transforming to pure hysteria. Floor, however, stayed silent. The ride twisted and slid me further into her, flush from shoulder to toe, but still she made no sound.

In the gaps between falls, I glanced at her. Her skin paled and sweat beaded along her hairline. She kept her eyes closed and her lips pursed, pushing air out through her mouth then gasping it back in. As the ride turned and I started sliding away, she snatched my hand with hers, squeezing so tightly my fingers turned white.

It was the first time I’d ever seen her stressed.

I stroked my thumb along the back of her hand, letting her know I was there, that we would be okay. My face stung from the cold air, but I didn’t let go. By the last drop, I wasn’t afraid anymore.

Not of the fall, at least. I was terrified of the new reason my heart raced as we pulled back to the platform and stumbled out of our seats.

“Are you okay?” I asked Floor as she rushed to solid ground.

“Does that breathing stuff even help?” she asked, her voice high-pitched. “I suddenly feel like I’ve been selling people a scam.”

“Not everyone can meditate during the middle of a roller coaster ride,” I teased her, trying to lighten the mood. Resisting the urge to comment on how she’d grabbed my hand like I was her lifeline, like I could anchor her to the ground.

Anna and Lo came out giggling, a photo of us screaming clutched in their hands. Between my bright red face and terrible suit, I looked like the Anger character from Inside Out.

“Let’s go again!” Anna said, pointing at the neighboring roller coaster, which plummeted below ground into a tunnel. My stomach sank even deeper as Lo squealed at Anna’s suggestion.

Floor crossed her arms. “I’ll have to do yoga for a year to work back to the level of zen I had before the last ride. How about I get poffertjes while you go?” she said, pointing to a stand selling mini Dutch pancakes. “Hazel, want to join me?”

Which was worse: Another roller coaster or a one-on-one conversation with a woman I’d once tried to kiss? I was leaning towards the latter when Lo responded for me.

“Perfect,” Lo said, already grabbing Anna’s gloved hand. “Extra powdered sugar on mine, please!”

“Can you really eat now?” I asked, following Floor to the stand and lining up behind a family with three children simultaneously having a meltdown. “My stomach is still churning.”

“Lo has a weakness for sweets, so I knew it would get us out of the ride without offending your overactive people-pleasing sensibilities.”

“I’m not a people-pleaser.” I crossed my arms, then immediately uncrossed them, realizing my body language matched the toddlers in front of us. Sure, my parents drilled Midwestern-niceness into me since my birth, but only the famously-direct Dutch considered that a flaw.

“No? You hated that roller coaster. You don’t have to do things you don’t want to, you know.”

She said it like it was easy saying no to people you loved. Maybe it was for her. She certainly had no problem rejecting me.

“Then why’d you go on the ride?” I asked.

“Because it was obviously important to you. But Hazel, I don’t think Lo would’ve cared if we both sat it out.” She shook her head as the family of exploding children shuffled away from the stand, then she ordered in rapid Dutch. The smell of butter wafted over us as pancake batter sizzled on the griddle.

My mind raced. Nothing she said made sense. Why would she get on a roller coaster for me?

“I don’t understand,” I said once the man handed us the plates of poffertjes, heaped with butter and powdered sugar. “You haven’t spoken to me in months.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” Floor said. She shrank as she turned to face me. She used to gently pull my shoulders back in her yoga classes, reminding me to stand tall. But now, her shoulders hunched forward, wilted. “You didn’t respond to me when I messaged,” she added. “And you bailed whenever Lo made plans with both of us.”

She texted me a while back—once. A short “Gefeliciteerd, Hazel,” the Dutch way of wishing happy birthday, three weeks after Lo’s party. I was still too embarrassed to respond. And then, nothing for five months.

Silly, useless hope coursed through me. She sounded sad, like she actually missed me. I quickly squashed it: She just hated losing a friend. She didn’t know I’d cut her out for self-preservation.

“I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on people who aren’t interested,” I said. “You know, one of my people-pleasing traits?” My tone came out bitter, my words clipped, all the frustration from the last months spilling over.

“Why do you think I wasn’t interested in seeing you?” Floor asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

“You pushed me away, Floor. When we were dancing, you stepped back.”

“In that moment, yeah, but not since then. That night, you just seemed…conflicted,” she said, picking her words carefully. “I wasn’t interested in being an experiment.”

An experiment. My face flushed as I remembered Lo’s birthday party. How I’d gotten goosebumps when Floor’s chest pressed against mine on that dance floor; when her hand reached for my waist, so soft against my bare skin; how I reached back, feeling soft curves and smooth lines that excited me in an entirely different way than the men I’d dated before.

How I pulled Floor close.

How I pulled her too far.

I ran a hand through my hair, which brought a renewed surprise at my pixie cut. Another experiment, I supposed, to find out who I could be in the Netherlands. “I was more confused than conflicted,” I said. “You have to realize, I moved to Amsterdam from Cincinnati. I’d never even stepped foot in a gay bar before. I was satisfied with the men I’d dated; I’d never wondered what it meant that I was drawn to women, too.”

The Netherlands had been different: the first country to legalize gay marriage, with a pride parade on the canals and sex shops lining the streets. But even more than that, Floor was different. And, well, maybe I was different now, too. We sat down at a picnic table where we watched the roller coaster carrying Lo and Anna plummet into the ground, delighted screams echoing through the park.

“Since that night—” I paused, trying to find the right words. “I realized I’d been missing something.” I explained how I’d opened up my Bumble to women, and that led to an initiation of fire: from the woman who talked about her favorite strap-on before we finished our first drink, to the woman who revealed details about her open relationship, to the woman I’d actually liked and dated for nearly two months before she moved away for work.

“I’m sorry that didn’t work out,” Floor said.

“I’m not,” I shrugged, scooping a poffertje to my mouth. Powdered sugar blew onto my coat, but the buttery pancake tasted so good I didn’t care. “She helped me discover a lot about myself, but she didn’t light my blood on fire.” I stopped myself before saying the next sentence: The way you did.

“I assumed that night was a joke to you,” Floor said, her expression dazed

“I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re my friend.” I put my hand over hers on the bench. Neither of us gripped, the touch so light we could pretend it was an accident. 

“Right,” she said weakly. “You’re my friend.”

Before I could say anything else, Lo and Anna bounded over. Floor pulled her hand away to pass out the food, and I tried not to mourn the absence of her touch as Lo raved about the ride.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of fantasy kingdoms and bad luck. The train of Lo’s dress tore off in the spinning tea cups. We found a frites stand, but Anna refused to eat fries with mayo. An optical illusion room gave me vertigo, and Floor coached me through my breathing, gently massaging the back of my neck. She’s a yoga teacher, I reminded myself between breaths. She does this for all her students.

As the winter sun sank toward the horizon, we got in line for the lazy river ride. I’d picked it as a relaxing end to our tour around the park.

 “Um, Hazel?” Anna asked as the attendant directed us to board our bumper-car boat. “Why does everyone have ponchos?”

I glanced at the people in line behind us. Sure enough, they all wore bright yellow ponchos—and not the kind meant to fend off a light drizzle.

“I don’t know,” I said, my sense of dread building as the attendant pushed us off.

The ride began calmly enough, but soon we passed into the “jungle” and white-water rapids—where lizard fountains lining the river spat water at us. Lots of water.

“Do lizards even spit?” Lo screamed as we laughed and shrieked at the reptilian attack. Then our boat took a particularly choppy rapid head-first, scooping water into our laps. Once we bounced into a waterfall, I was soaked from my socks to my tie.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as we clambered out of the boat after the ride ended. My voice wavered as I took in the drenched women around me. Lo shivered in her wet dress, looking more like a drowned-rat than a fairy-tale princess, but before I could apologize again, she started to laugh. She didn’t stop, hit with a wave of giggles so intense she bent over, even as a disgruntled Anna moaned about the cold.

“We’re not made of sugar,” Floor told Anna, pulling her shirt away from her body and wringing it out. ​​It was a common Dutch saying used to chastise people who complained about rain, but I couldn’t focus on her words. With her shirt pulled from her skin, a sliver of her stomach was visible, and her muscles flexed as she laughed, too. Water dripped down her abs as she let her shirt fall back into place, and I realized her bare skin wasn’t my only danger. The water made her shirt see-through, the fabric clinging to her black, lacy bra.

Floor’s eyes met mine for a moment, once I tore my gaze from her chest. She raised an eyebrow and my cheeks turned to fire as I spun to face Lo.

“I think my dress weighs about twenty pounds,” Lo gasped between peals of laughter.

I couldn’t look back at Floor and Anna was shooting me a death stare, so I took the escape. “Let me help you get dry,” I told Lo, pulling her toward the bathroom.

Inside, Lo squeezed her hair over the sink as I grabbed paper towels to blot her dress. A violent shiver shook Lo’s spine and my eyes stung with tears. So much for the fairy tale day I’d planned.

I caught Lo’s face in the mirror, and her eyebrows creased together. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I wanted today to be perfect, but I ruined everything, just like I ruined your birthday.” I’d abandoned her that night after Floor rejected me. I didn’t want her to see me cry, so I’d claimed food poisoning and bailed on the planned sleepover. She ended her first birthday abroad alone.

She twisted to face me. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’ll never forget the day I was a princess at the amusement park.”

“But you’re freezing, and your dress is torn and wet and covered in chocolate. Nothing went how I planned.”

“Hazel, we’re researchers, but life isn’t some experiment you can control. I loved today, chaos and all.” She squeezed my shoulders and water ran down my arms. “And speaking of my birthday, will you and Floor just make out already?”

I blushed. “She told you?”

“I have eyes. I saw you two dancing that night. When you disappeared and started avoiding her, I put two and two together. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” I cast my eyes to the ground, the water from my suit puddling beneath me. “She’s not interested.”

Lo grabbed the towels and gently wiped my face. “Or she’s just afraid. Same as you.”

I swallowed and loosened my tie. Moderately dried off, we ventured back outside. The sun had set, the layers of clouds turning a deep shade of slate.

Within minutes, Lo found an excuse to pull Anna away, loudly insisting she take photos of her kissing a statue of a frog wearing a crown. She looked at me pointedly as she walked away. I loved Lo, but subtlety was not her strong suit.

“You planned a great party,” Floor said once we were alone.

I snorted, grateful the darkness hid my blush.

“Seriously,” she added. “Let go of the things that went wrong.”

“That sounds like a mantra from your yoga classes.” I smiled at the ground, not ready to face her. Not ready to admit I was worried about something else now.

“Is it working?” Floor asked, putting her finger under my chin to drag my eyes to meet hers. “You don’t look relaxed yet.”

Her touch put my whole body on alert, and my breath turned ragged. “I guess I have something else on my mind.” I searched her eyes for a hint, any sign that this small touch meant as much to her as it did to me.

“And that is?” Her smile turned wicked. She stroked my cheek once before lowering her hand, leaving the next step to me.

It was time for me to be the brave one.

I moved closer, my shoes squelching as my weight shifted. I took a deep breath, the same way Floor taught me to calm my nerves, and I lowered my hand to graze hers. Just as gently, she intertwined her fingers with mine.

“You said you weren’t interested in being my experiment,” I said.

Floor nodded seriously, her eyes locked on mine.

I swallowed. “But would you be interested in being my date?”

She smiled then, a beam burst across her face like the rising sun. Under my wet clothes and my shivering skin, my heart lit with the glow, heat loosening my tense shoulders, snaking down my spine, and settling somewhere deeper.

It hadn’t been a perfect bachelorette party. We were drenched, Anna was grumpy, and the rain that had been threatening all day was starting to fall, soaking us all over again. But none of it mattered. As I pulled Floor even closer, music started for a water show in the pond near us. Water shot thirty feet into the air, perfectly timed with symphony music swelling from the speakers, and lights illuminated everything red and pink for Valentine’s Day.

I stood on my tiptoes, stretching my arms around her neck, weaving my hands through her hair. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“There happens to be a wedding coming up that I need a plus one for,” Floor said, her lips so close I could feel her warm breath like a feather across my skin.

And then she kissed me. It was a gentle touch, a promise of more to come. Behind my closed eyes, I could see a kaleidoscope of colors, like a thousand flowers blooming at once. It took my breath away faster than any roller coaster ever could.

“It’s a date,” I said.