A/N: Well, I'm attempting to stumble into another fandom. This is my first Pushing Daisies fic, so I would really appreciate some reviews. Please? :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything... Literally. Nothing. Can I have Cheno though? If I pout and ask nicely?

The shop was quiet. After the manic hustle-bustle of rush hour, the lack of noise- babies wailing, children tripping each other in the aisle, pots banging in the kitchen, a tuneless 'Happy Birthday' sung by gravelly male tones (shouldn't they be too old for that tradition?), orders yelled across the room- was almost unsettling. Olive shivered in her dress, almost too revealing for work- her mother would faint- and wiped the last table with a wistful swipe. She fell into a bar stool adjoining the table and sighed.

"Oh, Digby. I think my silver-lining might finally have rusted."

The dog whined sympathetically, his droopy head on her slim knee. They sat, girl and dog, in a silence bonded by a feeling of equal loss.

"At least you had him all to yourself for a while," she accused, leaning down and glaring into his brown eyes, "I've been waiting for that all my life."

He whined again and nudged her hand with his nose.

"Oh, all right then, you unsympathetic mutt. Not all my life. But a long enough time to be upset, don't you think?"

He straightened, bored of human interaction that didn't involve him being fed, and trotted over to the window. Olive threw down her cloth and laughed to herself.

"Can't even keep a male dog interested, never mind a man."

Out on the street, neon lights were being extinguished as shop owners packed up their lot and stumbled through the city snow to whatever home they had. Olive joined Digby at the window, and watched the city ready itself for sleep. In the shop across the street and to the right, the silhouette of a thin woman fussed with her curtains, the light from the inside of her store throwing her shadow against the material. She was alone, Olive knew, and would stay that way. This wasn't the first time she'd watched the woman close up her store as Olive did the same- she sometimes felt as though she knew this stranger, as though they were somehow connected in this huge mass of confusing universe- connected in their respective loneliness. Digby pawed at the window, his nail clicking at the glass. He glanced up at Olive with a look that was almost too human, and had Olive not known better, she would have sworn he nodded at the shop across the street. Well go on.

She was decided. Throwing on her coat- pink and fluffy, ever the princess-idolising little girl- and walking to the kitchen, she set about looking for her gloves. The white workplace was impeccably clean; one could never fault Ned's thoroughness, and still smelt sweetly of crust and fruit. Locating her mittens (perhaps the kitten design was too too?) on the baking rack where she had thrown them at the beginning of the workday, she saw an apricot pie, still warm and forgotten, lying alongside the gloves. It was topped with a note-

Don't stay too late tonight.

Ned

She smiled, bit back the lump in her throat, and lifted the pie to her nose. It smelled like heaven. Or maybe that was the smell of love?

"Come on, Digby. Let's go be friendly with our neighbours."

She opened the shop door with a feeble tinkle and slipped the keys into the lock, thick and old-fashioned. Ned refused to update the Pie Hole's security, so firmly did he believe in the inherent goodness of mankind.

"Being afraid of theft invites it into your life." He had muttered with almost ministerial firmness, when prodded by Emerson about his lack of safety guard.

She sighed and pushed the door closed slightly harder than she had planned. Trudging through the snow, Digby at her side, pie in gloved-encased hands, she felt truly small. The sky was bereft of stars, the city's air-pollution finally having wrecked havoc with nature, but she liked to stare up and pretend she was seeing the milky-way in all its shining glory. A car tooted rudely, reminding Olive that the middle of a main road was not the most ideal place for idle star-gazing. She hurried across the street, muttering 'really, some people'.

She reached the shop. It was a bookstore, of the second-hand, dusty-novel type. The thick curtains were still closed, but she saw the shape of a lamp and a woman behind the veil. Breathing in and fitting her face with that most perfect of smiles, she raised her knuckles to the wooden door.

Moments later several clicks shuttered from within (at least some people have regard for safety, she thought) and the door opened a few inches. Warmth that could only come from a fireplace hit Olive full in the face, and she wanted nothing more than to jump into this stranger's shop and never leave. Digby whined in apparent concurrence.

"Can I help you?" a voice spoke, laced with an accent Olive couldn't place.

"Hi there," Olive began cheerily, "I'm Olive Snook, I work at the Pie Hole, across the street." she gestured behind her at the be-ceilinged building. "I don't know if you've seen us...?"

The woman raised an eyebrow, opening the door fully and ushering Olive and Digby inside with grace. "Bit hard to miss, aren't you?"

The blonde nodded in agreement and stared around. The shop looked more like someone's living room than anything else. Huge bookcases lined the walls, with spindly tables crowded with hardcover novels and lamps. The patterns were fantastic; rich, swirling colours- browns and reds and oranges, the colour of autumn, Olive's favourite season, were splashed across the wallpaper in some kind of dance. Olive, used to the clear walls of the Pie Hole, was fascinated.

"So, um, what brings you here?" the woman asked, and Olive jumped around as though frightened.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I brought you pie." She offered the foodstuff forward as though it were an explanation of her presence. The woman smiled in gratitude and placed the pie aside. She was young, not yet thirty it seemed, with shoulder-length hair of a shocking copper. It fell in curls, shining against her skin- pale as thin parchment and freckled. She wore the humblest of outfits, a baggy jersey and full-length stockings in black and grey stripe. When she turned to space for the pie on one of the numerous little tables Olive read the back of her top- Girls Aloud, Tournament '97.

She turned back to find Olive staring quizzically at her clothes.

"Sorry, I... Wasn't expecting company." She tugged awkwardly at the jumper.

"What's Girls Aloud?" Olive asked, settling into an armchair.

"Hockey Tournament." She said shortly. "Listen, I don't really have any refreshments, and I'm not sure what you want, so..."

Olive abandoned her smile for just a moment, but that was enough for the woman to change her mind. "I just... Needed someone to talk to tonight. And I thought you might too."

Digby was sniffing the shelves, backing away from the scent of some particularly misused books.

"I see you every night; you look like you would benefit from a friendly smile and some home-made pie. So I came over to introduce myself."

Olive shrugged and leaned forward. The woman pressed back in her chair and cocked her head to the side, as though deciding something. Finally she smiled with an authenticity that Olive couldn't look away from, and moved her hair behind her ear.

"You're sweet. And honest. How do you know I'm not a serial murderer, luring you into my terrifying lair?" the redhead leaned forward, grinning. Olive wiggled in her chair, not completely sure whether the woman was joking or not- she seemed dangerous, in a way she couldn't describe.

"Calm down, Olive." The waitress smiled at the use of her name, in relief. "You're too pretty to go to waste. I'm Virginia."

"Olive." Olive replied, shocked at the easy way in which Virginia had complemented her.

"Yes," Virginia grinned, "you already established that."

Olive blushed, and they both laughed. Suddenly Virginia stood. "Tea?" she offered.

"Anything a bit stronger?" Olive almost pleaded.

Virginia nodded sympathetically. "Difficult day." She stated it, and then left the room.

Olive leaned over and whispered to Digby, "Stupid idea of yours. This is not going well."

But Olive was intrigued by this woman, with her strange stockings and her copper curls, her dusty books and captivating grin. Comfortable in the warmth of this shop-lounge, curtains closed around the windows, it was almost possible to forget that it was snowing, forget that she was thirty, single and alone in a city, forget that since Chuck had arrived, Ned had forgotten her.

Virginia returned with two glasses of something- basis indeterminable- that smelt strongly of cleaning liquid.

"Enjoy." She joked, clinking her glass with Olive's. "A second-hand bookstore doesn't bring in much money. People are too caught up with technology nowadays. I'll die in here, surrounded by my babies."

Olive was bewildered by her frankness, but sipped her drink politely.

"So. I take it he's put a ring on her finger?"

The waitress burst into sudden tears, shocked to hear the truth, that awful truth, spoken so plainly on the lips of this stranger.

"Y-yes," she sobbed into her glass.

Virginia nodded, seemingly without sympathy. Digby had run off, but returned at the sound of Olive's cries.

"And they've been together how long?"

"A wh-whole y-year!" Olive cried, stuttering and blubbering, her petite frame shaking.

Virginia 'hmmm-ed'. "And you care... Why?"

At this Olive and Digby looked up in perfect symmetry, identical looks of flabbergast on their faces.

"Wh-why do I care? I love him! I've always loved him! And now she swept in and stole him from me, just when he was going to be mine! Why do I care?"

Virginia blinked, unperturbed by Olive's outburst. She leaned forward and grabbed Olive's hands in her own.

"Listen, this is how I see it. You've been running after this guy for over five years." Olive began to protest, but Virginia shushed her. "No, I'm right. I know you better than you think, Olive. I've watched this little drama unfold ever since I arrived- and that wasn't long after you." She paused and wiped a tear from Olive's face, with a surprising softness.

"He's a great guy, Olive, but he's never been interested." Olive wailed at this, but Virginia ploughed on. "No, you have to realise it. Chuck didn't steal him away- he was never yours."

Olive had stopped crying, and concentrated her gaze on her hands, still nestled within Virginia's.

"Contact." She muttered, almost to herself. "I've missed that."

The red-head tilted her head and pushed a stray piece of hair which had fallen forward behind Olive's ear.

"There've been so many guys, Olive. Great guys, who were very interested. And you've just ignored them, because of Ned."

Olive looked confused. Virginia sighed and began counting names off on her slim fingers.

"There was Dave, that vet from a couple of years ago-"

"He was just a friend!"

"That's not what he wanted. Then Sebastian, the undertaker- I always thought he was a bit weird-"

"Seb was a great guy, the sweetest kind-"

"Yeah, men usually are when they're in love."

"So not true. You're making it all up." She shook her head.

"And then there was Roger, Markus, Stuart, Rob-"

Olive was laughing by now. "Friend, friend, friend, friend!"

Virginia threw a withering look at the waitress. "Very friendly friends. Open your eyes, Olive!"

Olive allowed herself to believe. She looked winded.

"They... They were... In love with me?"

"Men don't eat pie every day for no reason, Olive."

There was more silence, and they finished their drinks.

"You're a beautiful woman, Olive. You shouldn't go to waste because your first love was your last. The world is bigger than Ned." She sounded as though she were speaking about more than the piemaker, and for the first time that night Olive felt truly sorry for this strange woman.

"Virginia-"

But she stopped there.

"Thank you for the company. And the talk."

Virginia smiled. "It was a long time coming. Thank you for the pie."

Olive looked shyly at her feet. "You should visit us sometime. I make a brilliant expresso, and there's always more where that came from." She nodded to the pie.

Olive gathered her coat and pulled on her gloves. Digby led the way to the door of the small shop, and Virginia turned the locks, revealing the wind and frosted pavement of the outside world. Olive shivered as though released from a cocoon. She turned once more and opened her mouth to thank Virginia, again, but found that she couldn't find the words. Her heart felt so free, freer than it had been in nearly five years. They nodded to each other, Virginia's green eyes glazed over with something that looked like tears (though, Olive reprimanded herself, what could they possibly be from?) and closed the door with a click. Olive faced the street and began the short walk to her apartment, singing with a levity blessed to her by a stranger who'd been more familiar than Olive could've ever wanted.

"Ned who?" she giggled to Digby, who barked happily, a snowflake glittering on his moist black nose.

R&R!