London, England 1951

Somewhere not too far out of the center of London city a woman was sat in a Jazz bar after she was done with her shift at work. She was wearing her favourite purple dress and some comfy not to high heels.
It was a Friday afternoon, four-ish. The bar was filled with people who came here to relax after their long work week.
The saxophone player was playing his part and the pianist was tapping along on the keys of the piano.
The woman was enjoying her coffee and a book that she had brought with her. It was late autumn and rainy outside. She sipped from her coffee and turned another page. She was reading about this beautiful love story. An ordinary girl had found her true love with a violist in an underground station. So cheesy but yet so heartwarming. Even though she wasn't sure she would ever find true love herself, she was happy for the characters in the book.
She took another sip from her coffee and looked up to the saxophonist. She absolutely adored his playing. He played with so much ease, passion and love for his instrument. It sometimes felt like he was in a completely different world, a world he had created for himself. Not caring for the people that were watching him, although she knew he cared, just playing and enjoying it the best he could. Making up his song and story on the way. So special.
She wished she could do that on a daily base but her singing never got her anywhere. Ever since she was a small girl she had loved to sing and when she was sixteen she had fallen in love with Jazz music. That was what she wanted to study after she graduated from high school but her mother wouldn't let her. It was not the time. War was just over and everything was slowly starting to go back to normal. It wasn't common for woman to express their selves in any form of art so her mother would have nothing of it. She had regretted it ever since but listened to her mom and studied fashion. The plan was to work in a dress department for musicians but instead she got to work in a clothing factory. She did climb up from just a mere factory girl to the head of the department but all she now got to do was paper work.
She looked back at the saxophonist and realised he had stopped playing. Everyone was applauding and because she was the last one to join in he looked over to her. A heat started to creep from her neck upwards, blossoming her cheeks. Embarrassed she hid her face behind her book and pretended to continue reading. She had never had the chance before to see the eyes of the saxophonist but my goodness they were beautiful! Amazingly light blue/grey-ish.
She packed her book away, put on her black coat that was hanging over the back of her chair and left some money on the table for the coffee. She was out of the bar even before the saxophonist was able to get to her table.

Every Friday after work she would come back to the bar in the hope he would be there again and every week he was. She stayed until the last note and would leave before the applause would fade away. With every week that passed her crush for him would grow and with every time she left his curiosity for her would develop.

It wasn't until a month later that she had found the courage to stay and he had made up a plan to keep her in.
He had talked to the barkeeper and the barkeeper had talked to the doorman. They knew who she was by looks but had never been able to catch her name. So the doorman would have a small talk with her when she would want to leave to give the saxophonist enough time to come over and talk to her. But this time she didn't leave. She stayed and was still sitting at the table she always sat when he decided to go over to her.
'Good afternoon,' He said, 'Is this seat taken, miss?'
'Good afternoon, and no sir the seat is not taken. Please sit down.' He sat down and ordered himself a coffee and her a cup of tea. They sat there awkwardly for a few minutes until the barkeeper came back with their drinks. She was wearing a dark blue dress and he was wearing a simple, yet not so ordinary trousers and shirt.
'What brings you here every Friday, miss?' He asked her polite whilst pouring some milk into his coffee.
'The way you play the saxophone, sir.' She said and smiled at him. Her smile was like sunshine and her eyes so bright blue like a beautiful wintry sky.
'Well, thank you miss.' He was truly warmed by her kind words. They sat in silent again for a bit. Both enjoying the company and their drinks.
'Could I..' He asked.
'Would you..' She started.
They both laughed and he gestured for her to start.
'Would you mind joining me for a walk? It's beautiful outside and even though I love this bar dearly the damp is getting a bit too much for me.' She stated and drank the last sip of her tea.
'Of course I will join you.' He said to her and together they got up and out of the bar. They decided on a walk down the riverside of the Thames.
After a few moments of walking he dared to ask her for her name, 'Willemijn Verkaik.' She answered with this beautiful voice of hers.
'And yours?' She asked softly whilst looking out over the Thames. 'Van Hoof. Bart van Hoof.' He answered and she giggled. They continued walking and she realised that he may not be British, his name didn't sound British. He may as well be an outsider. 'Sir?'
'Yes? And call me Bart, please?' He answered and smirked.
Her cheeks flushed the slightest bit of red. 'Pardon me, but where are you from?'He looked at her questioningly but answered her, 'The Netherlands why?'
She let out a sigh in relief. 'I had that feeling already. Ik kom ook uit Nederland.' She then said and almost made him jump in surprise.
Her name indeed didn't sound very British but after and during the war so many people had fled to Great Britain that no one would be surprised if they heard a not so familiar name. He had fled the Netherlands as well.
'What brought you here, if I may ask?' They sat down on a bench looking out over the river.
'My mom is from here so when war struck me, my mom and dad came here to try and stay safe. And you?' She said in all casualty.
'I fled Holland during the war cause being an artist wasn't safe anymore.' He replied. He stood up and threw a peddle in the river.
She came to stand next to him and they looked out over the river again.
'What do you do in your daily life?' He asked her not long after. For some reason she seemed like a Jazz singer to him but he hadn't yet even heard or seen her sing.
'I work at a clothing factory.' She said but didn't seem too fond about it.
'You do?' He asked surprised. All the girls he knew from the factory seemed like dull ordinary women but she, she looked so extravagant. So elegant and stylish with her black coat and dark blue dress that matched her eyes, skin tone and ginger red hair perfectly. Like she really cared about what she looked for.
'You seem surprised?' Her curiosity was slowly taking over.
'You look more like a Jazz singer to me so yeah I was kind of surprised.' He said to her and turned to her but she turned her head away.
'I always wanted to be one but my mom wouldn't let me, she thought that it is not the time for women to be on stage.' She looked to the river to avoid his glance.
'Hey,' He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. 'Hey it is okay. If you want to be a Jazz singer why don't you come and sing with me? I'll play the saxophone and you can sing. Wouldn't that be great?' He took her hand in into his and brought it to his lips.
She was flattered by the romantic gesture but did manage to say, 'You would do that for me? But you haven't even heard me sing yet.' She stated incredulous.
'With such a beautiful speaking voice your singing voice will most likely sound like a nightingale.' They looked into each other's eyes. Bright blue eyes staring into light blue/grey eyes and you could see a spark light between them. They lend in at the same time and when their lips connected it was like everything fell into place.