Uhhhh, thank you guys for the reviews on the first chapter :) Now, let me quickly use the weekend for some more writing before I have to go back to work. . .

Chapter 2

When the alarm tore him from his sleep John let out an annoyed groan before he outstretched is hand, felt for the clock and, once he had gotten hold of it, threw it against the nearest wall. There was a loud shattering noise and then silence.

Soon he became aware of the hammering headache that came with his hangover and, shortly after, the vibrating of his phone. John considered giving it the same fate as his alarm clock, but instead decided to answer it.

"Yeah?" he croaked huskily.

"You didn't come back last night," Missy noted and there was a hit of something in her voice that he couldn't quite place. Was it worry?

"Went to a café, then a pub," he replied dryly. John didn't feel like he needed to justify his actions in front of Missy. She wasn't his mother and she wasn't his girlfriend. She was nothing to him and the fact that he hadn't thought about her at all ever since he had left her house made one thing very clear to him for the very first time.

"Missy," he began carefully, "Maybe we shouldn't see each other for a while. I think I need a break. From everything."

She snorted on the other end of the line. "That's actually a very good idea, since all you've done lately has been wasting my time."

John realized that, even though she could have put it a little more nicely, Missy was right. Feelings had never connected them, just sex, and with that he had struggled of late under the rising pressure of his existential doubts. Their attempts had become tedious, embarrassing even and John thought this was the perfect moment to stop trying altogether. They were wasting each other's time.

"John?"

"Yes?" he asked back after she had torn him from his thoughts.

"Are you alright?"

Missy sounded sincere in her question but he knew that she would never actually acknowledge his doubts and feelings about his own life. So he simply hung up and sank back into bed.

John wasn't alright. He was a man in his 50s who had no one and nothing, not even a job any longer and yet he knew that he had no one to blame but himself. John had chosen this path by himself, he had chosen to give himself to music and that was why he was here now. His phone rang again, someone from the orchestra, and he silenced the call. There were other messages on there, too, begging him to come back. He wouldn't.

John used all of his strength to get out of bed and drag himself under the shower, determined to look nice when he headed out today, back to café where he would wait for her to show up again. His thoughts had circled around the beautiful cellist all evening and all night and even now he could still hear the melodies she had played in his head as he stepped under the shower. The thought about her just wouldn't let him rest. John needed to see her again, hear her play again but this time he would talk to her.

What would he say? It didn't matter, he would think of something. But her music had touched him like nothing else in the past decade, it had enthralled him and captivated him and he needed more.

After he had put on a casual suit John headed out of the door and regretted his choice in clothing immediately when he stepped out of the house. Even though it wasn't even noon yet the sun was blazing and the August heat seemed almost unbearable under his jacket. John was glad when he found a shaded spot at the little café.

"You're becoming a new regular?" the friendly waiter asked him and John instantly recognized him from the day before.

"Considering it," he replied, but quickly decided to ask the question that was on his mind, "Tell me, the cellist who played over there yesterday, does she come here often?"

A smile spread over the waiter's face. "Oh, yes, Clara is a regular, too. That is her spot right there. She's good, isn't she?"

Good? Good? The cellist, Clara, was fantastic. Clara. What a beautiful name.

"You don't know much about music, do you?" John spat back but quickly cleared his throat once he realized that he was being rude. "Sorry, I just meant to say that she's a lot better than just good. I should know. I've been a conductor for the last decades."

The waiter smiled once more. "Well, Clara will certainly be happy to know that she has a fan and she's probably coming back here some time in the afternoon. She's usually here on a Wednesday. Can I get you anything?"

"Uhm, iced tea and the newspaper?"

The waiter scribbled something down into his notebook and nodded. "Iced tea and newspaper coming right up. Anything for breakfast?"

John only now realized that he hadn't eaten a thing today and decided to order a croissant as well even though he still didn't feel particularly hungry but he needed to pass the time somehow until Clara returned.

He waited for three hours until his silent prayers were finally answered a young woman, carrying a large case over her back, came strolling down the street and John thought she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered her. A sweet face with dark eyes, shiny brown hair, wearing a flowing summer dress that left her legs bare and high heeled shoes on her feet that made her seem taller than she actually was. Still John was sure she barely reached his shoulders.

Clara didn't notice him as she rushed past his table and into the café, only to come back outside with her borrowed stool a moment later and John dearly hoped that the friendly waiter hadn't pointed him out to her. If he had Clara showed no reaction as she sat down by the street and unpacked her cello. When she started playing the world could have ended around him and John wouldn't have noticed. He didn't know the song but he guessed that it was something modern as several young people stopped to listen and to drop a few pounds into her case. Maybe he should get up and do the same, empty his entire wallet into the cello case and tell her how magnificent she was but John knew that as soon as he would be standing right in front of her his voice would fail him. He had no idea what to say to this extraordinary woman and he surely didn't want to make a fool of himself.

Instead John leaned back and watched her, completely taken by what he saw. Clara didn't play the cello, she gave herself to the music with a passion that suddenly had his mind racing in the wildest of ways. He hadn't meant for his thoughts to drift off like that but now that he had started John couldn't stop himself from imagining her. With him. An almost forgotten tingling sensation spread through his body as he wondered if she would show the same kind of passion in the bedroom, on top of him with her breasts sweaty and moving with their rhythm, her head thrown back and him touching her like she was touching her cello right now. John knew he had gone too far in his fantasy when he felt his trousers becoming a little too tight around him and he crossed his legs to hide his obvious arousal. A part of him thought that he should feel bad for staring at her like that, for even thinking about getting intimate with a woman who would never in a million years be interested in him but he didn't. He had nothing in his life except for this little guilty pleasure.

"You were right, she is better than good," the waiter said with a smile after John had already forgotten about the rest of the world around him again. He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed and how long Clara had been playing but the sun had moved and he no longer sat in a shady spot.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asked.

"Uhm," John stammered, "No, just the bill."

"Alright," the waiter replied in a friendly manner and walked back inside through the café doors.

When John noticed the silence around him he looked over to where Clara had been sitting and found her stool empty. She had disappeared once more and he still hadn't talked to her. It was okay, John told himself, tomorrow would be another day.