Wow, the feedback to the first chapter has been absolutely fantastic. Thank you so much.

This is just a quick chapter to get things going, don't know when I'll have time to write again this week, but will get the next chapter to you as soon as possible.

Thank you for reading.

CHAPTER II

Piper leaned back in her chair as she heard the front door to the shop open, craning her neck to see who had entered.

"Polly? Is that you?"

"Yeah, sorry I'm late. I had to help Pete find his keys, again. Everything okay here?"

"Of course it is. Oh, did you maybe bring the paper? There's this great new column about people in New York, there's only been two so far but it's actually quite interesting. Have you seen them?"

"No, haven't had time lately, but here you go," Polly said as she handed Piper the morning's paper.

Piper grabbed it eagerly, paging until her eyes fell on the item she was searching for. She grabbed her cup of coffee and settled comfortably into her chair by her desk before she started reading. Her eyes flew over the words in front of her, eagerly taking in every sentence. The piece was different to the previous two, and she scanned the column for the name of the author to make sure it was indeed the same. Larry Bloom.

"Polly, you have to listen to this! You're going to love it!" she called to her friend who made her way back to their office.

"Okay, I trust you. Hit me, but I better be amazed, I've got a lot to sort out for the window display."

"I promised I'd help you, just listen."

The first time I had the pleasure of your face I was lost. In a second you had stolen me from my mundane existence and gave me a glimpse of what it could be to be extraordinary, and this by your mere presence. But you don't know me. And I don't know you. Yet, somehow, you have dug a way into my subconscious and all I can think of is you.

I know I'm being dramatic, but I fear that simpler terms would never come close to describing that singular moment in time. I remember it well. You were sitting on a park bench, the continuous noise of the city and its people seemingly unable to reach you. Your blue eyes were raised, scanning the endless sky, not looking for anything but delighting in what you found there. The smile that played on your lips made my own curl instinctively, desperately trying to steal an ounce of the joy written on your face. Your face. A world of minute expressions and nuances, speaking loudly of your hidden thoughts.

As I passed you and the wind travelled towards me, I could not distinguish between your perfume and the blossoms surrounding you. I'd like to think that you smell like spring, that I would find the blossoms where ever I see you next. But how would I find you?

As the last of the winter chill hit you, you stuck your hands into your grey coat pockets after pulling your red scarf slightly tighter around your neck. The simplest things, yet I was mesmerised. Your mannerisms seemed to breathe new life into usually ordinary movements. I thought for a moment whether anyone else was so desperately captured by you, and looking around I wondered what they were thinking. How would the middle aged lady with her giant Latté describe you? 5"8, blonde hair, blue eyes, slim. Jeans, grey coat, red scarf, black ankle high boots. I found myself wondering how anyone could walk past you and try to put you in a generic little box, like you were simply part of the everyday New York life. How could they walk past you and not see the stories hidden in your hands, notice that occasionally there was a sadness in your smile. Wonder whether you were here to escape or discover.

You got up from the bench and started walking away from me as the moment was still etching itself in my memory. You don't know me. And I don't know you. But there was a moment that I did, I did know you. And maybe it's enough to know that, occasionally, there is someone that really sees you.

"So? Worth your time? I just think it's great that he's picking random people and writing such beautiful words about them. It's like he's giving an individuality to this crazy crowded city. Does that make sense? Polly?"

Polly was staring at Piper, her mouth slightly agape with a look of disbelief shrouding her face.

"Polly? What is it?"

"You. Piper. You are probably the most dim and unobservant person ever. It's you."

"What's me?"

"The entire piece you idiot!"

"Don't be ridiculous Polly. No one would bother to write about me like this."

"Can I draw your attention to the clearer than day signs? Assuming that we just listened to the same story. Look at the descriptors Piper! Your 5"8 blonde aloofness is plastered all over the page. Plus the fact that you sit on that fucking bench in the park every day."

"It could be anyone Polly. You know how many people fit that description? You're being silly."

"Of course I am, what could I have been thinking. I'm going to the front, here, let me just take your grey coat and red scarf and I'll hang them by the front door if you don't mind."

Piper just watched Polly walk out of the office. Sure, Piper was oblivious at the best of times, but was there a real possibility that Polly was right? Piper let the thought sink in. Of course it would be flattering, but she'd never know. It's not like she would call this Larry Bloom at the New York Times and question him about his muse.

Piper glanced at the paper one last time before heading out to help Polly with the window display. She forced herself to drag her thoughts away from the column and back to the reality of PoPi, they did after all have a business to run.

Alex scanned the printed text in front of her one last time before putting down the paper. She knew it wasn't her best work, but there was no way she would publish better than that under Larry's name. Now she was just waiting for him to have his little tantrum about the piece.

There was a knock on the door, somewhere between forceful and fearful. Here it comes…

"What?" Alex decided to be even more terse with Larry, hoping to throw him off his game even more.

"Alex? It's me, Larry, can I come in?" Larry was already peeking around the door.

"Again, what do you want?"

"Well, I wondered if we could talk about the column that was published today?" Larry inched his way closer to Alex's desk.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Well, from what I understood earlier this week, and I know you said it needed a lot of work, I just thought that you would edit the hell out of it."

"And I did. And now it's an acceptable piece that possibly deserves publication and doesn't put the entire newspaper to shame. What's the problem?"

"It's just, there isn't a single word left of what I wrote."

Alex sat and took in Larry's seemingly boneless form in front of her. There was that slight pity rising in her again, something she needed to supress as quickly as possible.

"Larry, I had to take care of it. There was a deadline and I couldn't work with what you brought me. It's a good piece published under your name, so what exactly is the issue here?"

"I felt that the piece I gave you was special. I really felt a connection with this woman. I really wanted to portray what an immense impact she had on me. I was trying to convey what I was feeling. I thought it was a pretty honest piece. I just thought it would be good enough."

"You know what I'm hearing Larry? Wanted, trying, thought. You're writing for the New York Times. You should know, be certain. I can't have fucking attempts, I need results. So how about you thank me for saving your ass, and get the fuck out of my office, back to your desk to write something worth printing? And en route, get Sam to come see me."

Larry sat speechless, just staring at Alex. He was never going to win with this woman. He was trying desperately to come up with something to say, something to save a little bit of his ego.

"Now, Larry."

Too late, there was no saving any of him. He got up and slouched out of the office, grumblingly relaying the message to Sam when he saw her in the corridor.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Sam, please come in."

"Everything okay? How are you enjoying the people of New York stuff we're sending you?"

"You know, your work is great, always has been. I'm loving what you're bringing to the table, but I want to adjust your assignment slightly."

"Sure thing. What do you need?"

Alex rummaged around her desk, locating the image she was looking for. The yet unnamed blonde in the park.

"I want you to find her again. Don't make contact, just bring me more images. I've got an idea to take part of this column further."

"No problem Alex, it's not stalking if it's work right? While we're on the subject of this young lady, I assumed this morning that it wasn't our verbally challenged friend who wrote that piece, was it?"

"You know me too well, Sam. No, it wasn't. And no, it's not stalking. Look, I'm a writer, it's all fictional, it's not like I have feelings for a complete stranger in a photograph. I just thought it would be a good idea to carry a thread through one of the columns, do an occasional piece on the same person. It will give the readers something to get invested in as well. I think… wait, why am I even explaining myself to you?"

"Because you know how well I know you Vause. But you're the boss, and your wish is my command."

With that, Sam got up and headed to the door. Before she exited she turned around to face the editor again.

"Hey, Vause. I'll find her for you."

Alex hoped that she had done the right thing. It made sense, her planning was solid. They needed a piece that people could get attached to. It just happened to be the blonde. It had nothing to do with what Alex had written, which she had made up completely anyway.

Alex sighed as she gave up trying to convince herself. She couldn't deny it, she still couldn't get the image out of her mind, and even if her writing was fiction, she had meant every word of it.

Well? Hope you enjoyed it. Sorry if it seemed a bit rushed, I'm probably not in the best space for writing right now. So you might have to wait a bit longer for a proper, better next chapter.

Reviews are very much appreciated, please let me know what you think.