Part II: The Journalist

The mistake was evident as soon as I punched the first key of the typewriter. The foreboding sense had been strong yet I had shaken it off, reminding myself of the certain wrath I would face if I chose not to write the article. I willed myself to believe that Blair Waldorf was nothing more than a story. Forget the first meeting, the night I watched enraptured as she nearly entered the wedding wearing two different shoes. The self-assured way she had floated into the reception hall. The graceful manner in which she collapsed to the floor after being taken out by a bridesmaid assailant.

Drinks one time didn't make her anything more.

Yet, she had lingered in my mind ever since that first night. And when I entered the bakery to meet the couple I was arranged to cover the wedding for and saw her instead, it felt like fate.

Why had I ever even pitched that godforsaken story?

If I could go back to the moment when Epperly kept pressing me for a fresh, fun story I would not say it again.

"A bridesmaid, how about a story about a bridesmaid." I had pulled the idea out of thin air. Or not out of thin air at all but rather than from the swirling thoughts of Blair Waldorf in my mind.

"A bridesmaid?" Came my editor's incredulous echo. Epperly had been frustrated with me for a while now, tired of my complaints about slumming it in the Weddings section. According to her, I hadn't proven myself worthy yet of a more intriguing section such as Arts or Travel.

"There's this girl," I began, more excited now about the forming idea. "She's been a bridesmaid, I think 26 times now, the van der Woodsen-Archibald wedding we're covering will be her 27th. I think there's a story there."

"A professional bridesmaid, so to speak." Epperly's pen came to rest under her chin. "I like it. Have a draft on my desk by next week."

It had seemed like a blessing at the time. A good excuse to spend time with Blair, who I irrationally wanted to see again.

But now, I know it was a curse.

When I wrote it, it was as though I was in a fever dream. It was the night after we had gone to the speakeasy and I had about ten emails in my inbox from Epperly demanding the draft. But somewhere around the time she had let me lead her into the speakeasy and take the coat off her shoulders, the idea of writing about her had started to feel like a betrayal.

After a hefty dose of whiskey, I convinced myself it was just one article. One article that was my ticket out of the world of matrimony and into something more palatable. Perhaps Blair would even find it flattering, being the star of his story.

But then the edits had happened and by the time Epperly returned the draft, Blair went from the role of shining, underappreciated best friend with a knack for witty insults to tragic spinster destined to always be in the shadow of her more beautiful friend. It wasn't what I had written at all.

I still remember the note, at the end of the hard copy edited draft, written in bright red ink. The one that made me wonder if Epperly could see through my words so easily.

People want a love story between the bride and the groom. Not the bridesmaid and the journalist.

It was a hit piece, that's what she had turned it into. She didn't want to paint the bridesmaid as the unsung hero of weddings. She wanted something that would appeal to the bride, to remind them that they were the one everyone should be looking at.

This is what I would have explained to Blair, had she not stormed out.

I thought she would cool off. I thought I would have a chance to explain, with a little bit of time. Maybe I could even show her the original piece, prove to her she wasn't just a mark.

But it's been three months and now, I'm starting to think she'll never know.

It hasn't been three months since I've seen her though.

There was a day in late September, two weeks afterward, maybe, when I went to see her. I waited patiently outside of her apartment when she didn't answer the door. Half an hour went by and I heard the unmistakable sound of her echoing through the marble-floored hallway.

When she saw me waiting, she had frozen in spot. Ten feet away and looking like it wasn't enough distance at all.

Her shocked expression went cool, quickly. Those brown eyes that once looked at me softly, like she was trying to know me, went black. "What are you doing here?"

I had imagined this very response yet it still threw me. "Blair," I plead. "I need to explain it all to you. I want to make things right."

Her brows knit together and she doesn't falter as she keeps that steady, cold gaze on me. "There's nothing to explain and nothing to make right." She breezes past me, pretending to reach the lock on the door that she doesn't have to stand inches away. She's so close that I could put my hand on her arm, let her warmth heat my sallow skin. But I don't.

The door unlocks and she steps halfway through, blocking the interior of the entrance with her body. Sure to not give me the idea of invitation. Those icy eyes fall on me again. "It's irrelevant now. Publish the article for all I fucking care, I hope it buys you a one-way ticket into the Arts column so I'm your last exploit. Though, I imagine you're creative enough to find a way to manipulate some hapless gallery owner or such…" She trails off, looking bored. "Best of luck."

I feel a gust of frigid air as the door slams in my face.

Since then, the leaves have changed, the sun has receded behind the clouds, and the city is empty save for New Yorkers; tourists having fled for warmer climates.

I should have forgotten about her now. Or at least let her become a far-off regret I muse over every now and then.

But I have failed to move on, instead, I see her face in crowded spaces. I blink and she's gone every time.

I have, I suppose, accepted that I committed a fatal error in our burgeoning relationship that will not ever be righted. But I can't quite relinquish my feelings for her. Even if I know they will never be returned.

Instead, I spin my heartache into a web of syllables and sentences. Each day, I grow closer to completing my first full-length novel. So at least there's that.

When I'm not working on the dark tale I'm spinning of lost dreams, I work on freelance articles that pay the bills and allow a brief reprieve from my innermost thoughts.

It's better than weddings, that's what I allow myself to believe.

I haven't thought of white dresses and bells tolling since the day I quit, three months ago.

The doorbell rings and I glance up from my laptop, trying to remember the last time I heard that sound. The few visitors I have, my dad or sister, always walk in or maybe text me first.

I walk apprehensively to the door, not letting my foolish hopes envision Blair on the other side of the door. More likely, it'll be a misdelivered package. Or a solicitor. Probably the latter.

I almost don't recognize her when I open the door. Her hair is highlighted, blonder than ever, but that giant ring is still recognizable, I couldn't forget that. I wonder when that was returned to its rightful place on her left hand.

"Serena," I can't help but make her name a question.

"Dan," She doesn't smile. "Can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," I stammer, opening the door for her. "What, uh, what can I do for you?"

I wonder if she's back to ask me to pick up where I left off writing about her wedding. No, I made it pretty clear I am hardly the person for that job. Then, a painful stab hits me in the chest, a jolt of fear. "Is Blair okay?"

Serena looks confused, "Yes, of course, she is."

Oh. I feel a little stupid. Call it wishful thinking that perhaps she's been too ill with some mysterious condition to return my texts or calls from three months ago. To tell me it's not irrelevant at all.

Serena retrieves a pale blue envelope from her leather tote, it's unsealed and Dan takes it apprehensively. She nods for me to retrieve the contents.

It's a wedding invitation.

Not Blair's, thank god. After that thought, I remind myself if she had gone and gotten engaged in the past two months that would be a pretty fast-tracked moving-on timeline. It was a ridiculous thought.

"I shouldn't be here and I certainly shouldn't be inviting you to my wedding. But," She looks at me with a neutral expression. "Blair is miserable and you look pretty miserable too and I thought I should help set things right between you too."

"Blair hates me," I frown. "And don't you?"

"No, Dan." A soft smile crosses her lips, a sympathetic one. "I think you're a good guy, with good intentions, that made a mistake. One that came at the expense of my best friend, unfortunately, but I don't think you meant to hurt her-"

"I didn't." My fervent response cuts her off. "I never would."

"I know," Serena shifts her bag to her other hand. I realize I should have asked her to sit, but it's too late now. "I read your texts to her, you seemed really sorry and like you really care about her. She deleted them, by the way. Never even read them."

I feel a slight prick of embarrassment at the idea of someone else reading my desperate pleas that night she had discovered the article.

"Anyways," Serena continues. "Nate and I are getting married in two weeks, she's the maid of honor so she can't exactly storm off when she sees you. But maybe just come to the reception," She suggests lightly. "She'll probably interrupt the ceremony by having the ushers escort you out. At the reception, there's less likely to be a scene."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I feel a swell of hope at the idea of seeing Blair again yet I can't help but not want to face another rejection. "This could ruin your wedding,"

"She's my best friend and her happiness is important to me. Plus, there wouldn't even be a wedding if she hadn't introduced me to Nate so I'll call it even. And don't worry, I'll hide all the steak knives before she's seen you." She teases gently.

Dan winces, "I hope it won't come to that."

"Me too. I'd rather not have a Carrie-style wedding. So don't fuck up." She says sternly before heading to the door.

"Thank you, Serena," I say gratefully. "It means a lot, that you're giving me a second chance with her."

Serena shrugs and then breezes through the door in that effortless way of hers. "Good luck."

I'm going to need it.

The week drags slowly and I pass the idle hours by rehearsing what I'll say to her. Or rather, scribble out a series of prospective conversations that could take place that start with me saying how sorry I am and her always glaring at me in fierce hatred and reminding me of my irrelevance. I would be a fool to think it might go another way. Yet, romantics are fools, aren't they?

So I press on. I take my best suit to the dry cleaners so it'll be ready for the wedding and I even buy a new tie. A silk skinny one that was in GQ, according to the salesperson. It's not as though it'll help me win her back. If only a 54-inch strip of matte-black silk fabric can repair a broken relationship. An almost-relationship.

I think that's what haunts me most, even now. The almosts. In my head, I think of her as an almost lover.

But that's a lie.

Because I know for certain that I loved her, that I still love her. But I suppose that title is somewhat true because I can't help but believe had I had more time with her, she could have loved me. And perhaps she almost did.

I don't belong here. I know that as I sit at the table at the very back, surrounded by the people Nate and Serena likely only invited out of obligation. A fratty seeming guy Nate likely went to school with, a distant cousin, and the drunken uncle, those types. That's who Dan has been relegated to spending his evening beside.

The second cousin, relation unknown, is already drunk it seems and the ends of her bleached blonde hair seemed to have similarly been doused in alcohol judging by the way they hang into her wine glass. She seized me as soon as I sat down, eyes sparking with interest.

"Where were you during the ceremony?" She slurred, leaning over. "I would have noticed you."

I pretended not to hear her question and excused myself to grab a drink from the bar. I wasn't planning on drinking, and still don't, but I need something to do until the bridal party arrives. As I stand idly in the bar line not caring how slowly it moves, I fiddle with my tie bar and hope it's not completely askew.

"Ladies and gentlemen," The wedding planner is tapping into a microphone with her hand not holding her planner. "The bride and groom will be joining us shortly so we ask you to please be seated at your assigned table so we can welcome them."

I take the imported beer passed to me by the bartender and head back toward the table, happy to see that now the Alpha Kappa Douchebag has stolen the tipsy blonde's attention. I slide into my seat and swivel so I'm facing the door. I half wonder if she'll turn around the second she sees me, or if she'll sick the usher on me. Possibly. But given that I'm so close to the path she'll walk, it would certainly catch everyone's attention so perhaps she won't make a scene.

I think a giant, roaring commotion would have been better than what ends up happening. It wouldn't have caused quite the sharp pain to my chest that I feel now.

The music lowers as the wedding planner welcomes in the bridal party. The violins still play though, low yet vibrant as people turn their attention toward the doorway.

Blair strides in, a periwinkle blue bridesmaid dress that makes her olive skin shimmer under the tea lit ballroom. But her eyes don't reach me. Instead, they stay fixed on the groomsman she's linking arms with. There's a twinkle in her eyes as though he's just made her laugh. His grey eyes cut to her as he leans in to whisper in her ear. She smirks and jabs him playfully in the arm as the cross the room. Her back is to me now but I don't need to see her face to know.

She's happy.

This is not the portrait of misery of Serena painted.

I hate myself for feeling disappointed. I want to be the type of man that smiles for her finding someone better. I want to want to get up and walk out the door. Leave her to her happiness.

But I'm selfish. So I stay.

Serena glides in looking like a Grecian goddess with her long, flowy blonde hair and seeming halo of light surrounding the crown on her head. Nate looks just as elated as he presses a kiss to her cheek. He pulls her chair out for her at their table, front and center of the whole ballroom. The bridal party flanks them on each side and as I watch, I've never felt like more of an outsider.

The wedding planner takes over as MC again and starts saying something into the microphone that I can't bring myself to pay attention to. At the bridal table, Georgina has that same bored expression on her face as she undoes the bobby pins from her hair. Blair seems to chide her, a frown now creasing her face as she steals the pin from Georgina's hand and puts it back into her hair where it was before.

That's when Georgina sees me, there's no mistaking the flicker of recognition as her disinterested gaze takes in the room. Her eyes reach the back of the room and land on me with surprise then amusement. I look away, feeling like a caught child before reminding myself that I was invited. Serena told me to be here. I haven't done anything wrong. Well, not lately.

I force myself to listen to the band as they play a classical rendition of Beyonce song and I muse over whether I should sneak out before Blair's noticed me. It wouldn't matter to her if she didn't see me, I'm irrelevant.

This is all so pointless, I realize that now, I likely am only setting myself up for a second rejection. Because why did I ever think this would work? A wedding is hardly a place for a reconciliation. I let out a sigh and push my unopened beer away.

One more glance, and then I'll go.

My eyes cross the room and when they find her, hers find me. I freeze, unable to blink, or move, or register any sort of emotion. Time seems to freeze with us as the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the violins fade away.

For a moment, I think the unreadable expression on her face will morph into a smile.

But of course, it doesn't. Instead, something else washes over her face but it's gone before I can label it. It's immediately replaced by a glare as she pushes out her chair and whispers something to Serena. Serena tries to catch her by the arm but she shakes her off and she's marching toward me before I can react.

A few strands of hair frame her beautiful indignant face as she cuts across the empty dancefloor and arrives before my feet.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" It's immediately clear that she hasn't lost her tenacity in the past three months.

"Hi," I try to sound unruffled by her brimming fury but I doubt I succeed. "Serena invited me."

"Of course she did," Blair seemed to anticipate this reply and whirl around briefly to shoot a menacing look toward her best friend. When she faces me again, I can tell she's thought of her winning retort. She has that look. "Don't you have another bridesmaid to go dupe? In fact, I saw another wedding happening on the mezzanine level. I'm sure they'll be more welcoming there. Oh and maybe it'll get you the promotion this time."

"I can't get promoted," I reply flatly. "I quit."

She's still standing and I feel like I should stand too. I notice now that a few of my table mates have turned their attention to our discussion. "Oh."

She wasn't expecting that.

"Blair, maybe we can go talk out outside?" I suggest gently, beginning to stand.

"No," Blair pushes me back into my chair before I've risen fully. "They're about to serve dinner. You and I will have to finish this later."

The lack of a we. A you and I, instead, shouldn't sting, but it does. But I force myself to remain hopeful at the prospect of finally getting to explain myself.

"I'll wait."

"Yes," She narrows her eyes. "You will."

With that, she turns and heads back to her table.

"Hm," The blonde leans in. "You just got even more interesting. Ex-girlfriend? I can make you forget all about her." She twirls a strand of hair.

I think reminding her of the guy on her right who she was just using similar lines on. "I think I'll pass," I say dryly, unable to feign politeness. "Besides, she's not someone I could ever forget."

Almost all of the reception traditions have been completed and as all the couples are invited onto the dancefloor, it's then that Blair deigns to give me her attention again. The blonde and Alpha Kappa Douchebag are dancing, the cousin is perched by the bar, and the rest of the table has emptied so it's just me. But not for long, as Blair roughly pulls out the chair beside me and sits much more forcefully than I would expect someone who can't weigh more than 100 pounds could.

"Let's get right to it," Blair orders without preamble. "What do you want? If you aren't with the Times anymore you clearly can't be here for a follow-up story so?"

I look at her in bemusement. Isn't it clear? I don't ask, instead, I reply honestly. "Blair, that article, it was…" I falter, trying to find the right words. "It wasn't what I wrote at all."

"You're saying you just so happened to have an article on handwritten by someone else also using the pseudonym Lincoln Hall and writing about a person with a name eerily similar to mine." She scoffs. "You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you?"

"No," I correct. "I- Let me start over. I shouldn't have written about you in the first place without telling you. It was so- It," All my practiced speeches of what I would say escape me and I stammer. I resolve to shut my eyes momentarily and try again. "It's my biggest regret, Blair, betraying you. Every day, I've thought about you and what I would do if I had a second chance at our- at dating you. I would have never written a thing about you. I probably wouldn't have even agreed to cover Serena's wedding. You were far more important than any promotion could be. But I felt backed into a corner by my editor and I talked myself into writing the article. I was going to tell you, the day after I wrote it. But when I saw you," I trail off, uncertain. I'm honestly surprised she's letting me tell her all of this. I've been waiting for her to cut in with some cleverly crafted diss and the fact that she hasn't has thrown me.

"It was harder than I thought." I continue, "I didn't want to jeopardize what we had. So I tried to get it back from my editor but it was too late. She had already completed her edits which completely rendered it into a brand new article. A hit piece. Something I would have never written." I implore her to believe me. "Blair, I have never regretted something so much as I did even writing a sentence of that article. I shredded it right away and sent in my resignation by the end of the week."

I study her face, anticipating her response. Her hands are idly smoothing her dress out and her eyes are fixed on her lap. It looks like she's thinking and I hold my breath, waiting for her reply. Blindly hopeful that she'll forgive me.

Suddenly, the orchestral music stops and a set of speakers that I hadn't even noticed begin blaring Single Ladies. "It's that time," The wedding planner sing songs. "The bouquet toss!"

Of course. I sigh and watch Blair's attention turn to the center of the dance floor where a cluster of girls are huddling together. Serena's at the forefront motioning for Blair.

"I think that's your cue," I say, a little disappointedly. "I'll have an ice pack ready, in case there's another casualty."

Blair shakes her head. "My bouquet toss days are over. I've decided it's bad luck."

"Because you met me during the last one," I surmise, despair tinging my words.

Blair doesn't disagree but she also doesn't agree. "I'll let Georgina have it." She says instead and we both watch as Serena sighs from across the room, seeming to catch on that Blair won't be joining and turns around to face away from the cluster of women rallying for the bouquet. With a great heave, she tosses it behind her so forcefully that it soars across the room, over the head of every single girl on the dancefloor. Yet they all still grab fistfuls of air, in hope, jumping and jostling.

At last, the bouquet begins its descent and it's just before us. I watch as it begins to slowly drop down and my eyes follow straight down to where it lands in front of Blair. It lands so it's just on the very edge of the white-tableclothed surface, teetering on the precipice. We both watch as it plops off the table and falls onto her lap. As though it wasn't clearly enough intended for her. There's a gasp from the audience and a few annoyed grunts. Someone yells, "That doesn't count. Redo!"

Serena, meanwhile, looks jubilant and is steadfastly ignoring the chorus of "Redo" chants. Blair sits there looking at it, not moving.

"Well, that's a sign if ever I saw one," I hear a raspy voice say and look up to see Blair's friend, Georgina.

"No, it's not." Blair fires back. She grabs the bouquet from her lap, stands, and then thrusts it at Georgina. "Here, it's yours. I'm going to go-" She pauses, obviously looking for an excuse. "Repin Serena's bustle, it came loose."

"Blair," I try to stop her at the same time as Georgina.

"B," Georgina rolls her eyes. "You're really so exhausting." She then looks at me expectantly and I realize, for some reason she wants me to stand. Her steely blue eyes are hard to refuse so I do. Then she takes Blair by the shoulders and gently pushes her toward me. "Go dance,"

"Absolutely not," Blair tries to wriggle free from Georgina's grip. "Let go of me, Georgina. Georgina,"

"You're so weak," Georgina laughs. "I'm barely holding you."

I interrupt this tableau which is quickly gaining traction as eyes shift toward us at the back of the room. The drunken uncle even looks concerned. "It's okay, Georgina. I'm sure Blair's date wouldn't like her dancing with another guy anyway."

They both exchange bemused glances before looking at me. "Carter?" They ask in unison.

I nod, unaware.

Georgina smirks, "Carter is not her date although he'd very much like to be. Unfortunately, for him she's trying to pawn him off on me. He'll be in good hands, though."

"Ew," Blair wrinkles her nose. Then she looks off in the distance, "Oh, look Serena's calling me over."

"Serena is with Nate." She squints. "And apparently feeding him cake, seriously?" Georgina pretends to gag then turns back to Blair. "You're a liar and they are disgusting. Why am I in this wedding again?" She shakes her head. "Blair, Dan has shown up to a wedding where he knows no one all the way and dressed up in what looks like a surprisingly well-tailored suit so," She grips Blair by both shoulders. "The least you can do is dance with him. One dance. Then, you can send him off in a Brooklyn-bound taxi for all I care."

I stand there through Georgina's little pep talk awkwardly. I try to focus anywhere else but Blair's displeased expression. Until it lands back on me.

"One dance." Blair echoes flatly.

"You don't-" I begin to give her a polite out before Georgina claps a hand over my mouth.

"One dance," With that, she pushes us together and toward the dance floor.

The speakers have since been silenced and the band now plays a classical rendition of some slow pop song. I hesitantly offer Blair my hand and she takes it after a stretched out second. There's distance between us as her other hand tentatively comes to rest on my shoulder and my hand encircles her waist.

"We really don't have to dance," I say as we slowly begin to sway.

"Now you say that, Humphrey?" She asks rhetorically. "You know, you're making your dance partner feel rather unwanted."

"I didn't mean that," I quickly amend. "I just meant that I wanted to talk to you. Dancing doesn't have to be part of the equation."

Blair seems to consider. "I think Georgina will handcuff us together if we try to stop. She keeps a pair, in her purse. Don't ask why." Her beautiful face contorts for a moment before settling into a neutral expression.

We fall into a brief silence before I bring my eyes back to hers. "I really am sorry."

She nods, "So if you quit, what is it that you do now?"

"I still write," I answer. "Just as a freelancer now."

"Write about what?" She asks and something almost like a smile comes to her lips. "Weather?"

The flicker of emotion I feel at her tiny reference to one of our long-ago conversations is so sharp, I have to look at a point beyond her shoulder. It's inconsequential really, just a tiny icebreaker. Yet, it's a painful reminder of what things were like. The easy banter. Before I fucked it all up.

When I look back at her, it's with a mask of amusement. "No, sadly, even the weather section turned me down."

She cocks her head, as if to say, Really?

"I mostly write for a few Brooklyn-based papers," I inform her. "Articles on new openings in the area, local events, things like that. I don't mind it. And," I take in a breath. "When I'm not doing that, I work on my novel."

"A novel?" She seems interested.

"Yes," I say a little unsure of myself. "I thought it was finally time I gave a try at the sort of writing I want to be doing."

Blair smiles now, a reassuring one that may not be broad but seems sincere. The tiny gesture sends another jolt to my heart. "Maybe I'll see it in a bookstore someday."

I try not to read too much into that and instead say, "Maybe. So how's your job going?"

I watch as she dithers before finally answering. "I put in my two weeks."

"Oh," I am genuinely surprised. "Why? What happened?"

"It just felt stagnant. Like I wasn't headed anywhere. I think I hadn't stayed for the right reasons and it was time to move on. I don't even have another job lined up. It's crazy, I think, but I think I have to figure out what I want to do first."

"That's not crazy," I say steadily. "You'll find something new and you'll be incredible at it."

"You can't know that, Humphrey."

"Of course, I do."

She rolls her eyes. "Right, cause you're still on the apology tour."

"No," I continue. "Because I know who you are. I know that you're fiercely strong. Independent. Outspoken. Beautiful. Capable of anything."

She looks taken aback and I watch a flicker of something cross her face before she glances away. "You really think that? You don't think I'm just destined to be 'always a bridesmaid?'" Her open, vulnerable face makes me feel another pang of regret.

"Of course, I could never think that of you. I didn't write that. My editor did." I say with urgency. "Blair," I let the gap between us close just a bit. "I'd do anything to make you believe that."

"I think I believe you," Her tone is hesitant and I feel her tense a bit. "I just don't know where we go from here."

"I don't know either," I respond honestly. "But I know that I've thought about you every day since I last you and I don't want to go another few months without seeing you. Or even a week. Or a day, really."

I watch Blair release a breath and a silent debate cross her features. "I don't want that either," She confesses softly.

I drop her hand and let my hand come to encircle her waist fully. I feel her hand tentatively creep up to my neck, softly. "Say I can see you tomorrow," I plead.

She nods, "You can see me tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I echo faintly. As if on cue, the violin swells. I lean in so close that our foreheads tip together and our cheeks brush. Just as I close the rest of the distance, she lets her promise of tomorrow be sealed with the touch of her lips to mine.

I hope you all liked this chapter! It was harder than I thought to transition to Dan's POV, especially since it was in first person. But I hope it flowed well and felt authentic. This one was longer than I had planned but I wanted to provide a real sense of progression. Particularly, since you all had to wait so long for this update. Also, this chapter came out way angstier than probably necessary for a romantic comedy style story lol. But it was a bit of a refreshing change to write since my other stories haven't had much drama in the plot lately.

I really do appreciate each and every one of you, even more so for being so patient and supportive. You readers are the best! I'll update again soon :)