Sipping hot chocolate in Central Park seemed the perfect way to celebrate his first snowfall in the city. Here in this little slice of nature, the traffic and lights were muffled, allowing the fat fluffy flakes to accumulate on the ground in soft powder instead of the dirty slush everywhere else. It was an almost perfect moment for Cameron, except he was alone.

He'd been alone since moving here.

It was the trade off. New York was where the artists went. At least that was what his father said. If his son insisted on pursuing such a career, he needed to be in an environment that ensured his success. This was not small town Maine, where the cows outnumbered the people and the moose were over friendly. In his hometown, he knew everyone, if not by name then by their familiar face. Here he was just another anonymous body. Cameron sighed into his cocoa, peering through the wafting steam at the other New Yorkers strolling the park. Most were hurrying off, escaping the snow rather than enjoying the beauty of it. There were a few exceptions though, such as the ice sculptor, carving amidst their own personal flurry of ice chips, seemingly mindless of the snow.

Always one to appreciate another artist, Cameron made his way over, standing a couple feet back to admire their technique and skill. Halfway through his drink, what started out as a hacked up block of rigid angels began to take shape. Cameron stared at the face emerging from the ice, mesmerized by it. It wasn't perfection, in fact, the ice sculptor seemed to leave purposeful flaws. Perfect through its imperfections.

"It's beautiful," he said. His words were quiet, not wanting to startle the sculptor. It should have been impossible to hear him over the whirring engine of the ice cutter, but the artist stood, letting the machine idle to a low purr as they turned, removing their goggles. Dressed like a homeless lumberjack with a puffy vest and a grungy plaid shirt, he didn't expect the reveal.

A middle aged woman grinned at him, her iron gray hair at odds with her youthful face. He looked into brilliant green eyes, bright as new leaves in the summer sun. Only the laugh lines around her eyes belied she was any older than he was.

"You think so? Have an artistic eye, young man?"

Cameron's neck heated. "I like to think so. Bit of a sculptor myself, though I work with clay." He gestured to the half finished sculpture. "Ice looks like an entirely different animal. It's amazing how she seems to emerge from the block."

"Oh, she was there all along, just had to break her out." The artist let her ice cutter idle off, stripping off a damp glove to offer him a hand. "I'm Gigi. Always happy to meet a fellow artist."

He smiled, shaking her heavily calloused hand. "Cameron, and likewise."

He could feel her studying her with an intensity he didn't encounter often in the city. Usually people kept their heads down, or looked passed you even when you spoke to them. Gigi made direct eye contact, her bright green eyes stripping his layers in seconds.

"You new to the city Cameron?"

How astute of her, he thought, nodding. "Yeah, came to pursue the art," he said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She released him, taking a chisel from the front pocket of her overalls to do some of the finer detail work on the ice sculpture.

"How do you like it here?"

He startled at her question, prepared for a lie, but something about Gigi's directness prompted the truth.

"To be honest, I've been rather lonely since I got here," he said, absently swirling his rapidly cooling cup of cocoa. "I've gone through all the motions of settling in, the loft apartment, the day job, working in the studio at night..." He hesitated.

"But?" Gigi prompted, carefully filing individual fingernails on the sculptures hand.

Cameron shrugged. "Can't seem to connect with anyone in the city." He smiled. "Honestly, I think this is the longest conversation I've had with someone outside of work since I moved here."

"That is just sad, boy, you need to get out more. Make a friend. Eat some pho. Try the cinnamon buns at the coffeehouse on West 84th. Spend all day playing in Toy Tokyo or wandering the Met," she said, winking at him.

That all sounded well and good, but the idea of doing all that alone left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Cameron sipped his drink, wincing at the now ice cold cocoa. "I shall have to take that into consideration. It was nice meeting you Gigi. Thanks for listening to my central park confessions," he said, saluting her with his empty cup before he neatly threw it into the wastebin.

She chuckled at him. "Anytime Cameron." Her green eyes sparkled. "Keep trying to find that connection. No one should be alone this time of year."

Wasn't that the truth. Cameron had already spent Thanksgiving alone, citing travel costs to his family, an excuse he planned to repeat for Christmas.

His first Christmas in the city, and his first Christmas alone. His shoulders slumped at the thought. He walked out of the path unaware of the green eyes boring into his back as he left.

"So young. If he keeps closing up, he'll forget how to connect," said Gigi to her sculpture. She smiled at the icy face. "Everyone deserves to connect." She stepped back admiring her sculpture. With a nod of satisfaction, she leaned forward and breathed on the frozen face. The scent of flowers and growing green things swirled through the snowy air.

A moment later the area was empty of all but the lady of carved ice, snow catching on her carefully chiseled eyelashes.

She blinked to clear them.

***

The weekend didn't quite dawn so much seep through the thick cloud cover, the snow falling thick enough to accumulate even on the New York streets. Cameron stared at the falling flakes through his bedroom window, cocooned in his comforter. He had the day off, the weather outside was frightful, and the space heaters sprinkled through his loft apartment kept it toasty. A block of plastic covered clay waited for him on his work table. He had a handful of commissions awaiting his attention, most of them from family and a couple loyal clients back home.

He rolled out of bed, going through the motions, brushing his teeth, making coffee, eating a bowl of cereal, and dressing in his clay stained clothes. He was on his second cup when he sat on his stool, staring at the block.

He couldn't see anything inside it.

Frustration welled. He downed the last of his coffee in two deep gulps, the back of his throat aching from any emotion he refused to give a name as he yanked on his coat. A walk would clear his head, let him breathe. Maybe he'd catch the sculptor in the park again.

Apparently the weather was too much for most New Yorkers, the streets mostly empty, the park deserted. Back home in Maine it'd be business as usual in this weather. Not even the ice sculptors were out, no sign of Gigi and no sign of her sculpture for that matter. Perhaps she had it moved. Cameron thrust his hands in his pockets, determined to enjoy the snow and not think about the lifeless block of clay on his work table. No spark, none whatsoever.

Movement made him look up. He stared. He couldn't stop staring.

She spun, arms outstretched to catch the falling flakes. Skin so pale it was almost blue, white blond hair, loose, clumped with snow. Ethereal, that was the world for it, a living ice princess dancing in the blizzard. He was so captivated by her he didn't notice her clothing, the thin blouse clinging to her like a second skin, soaked through, damp light blue corduroy pants and patent white leather shoes. The only protection she sported against the cold was an enormous scarf that wrapped around her neck and shoulders like an angora python.

He didn't realize he was still staring until she'd stopped, peering at him from beneath her extended arms. Her eyes were more silver than blue, luminous and stunning, and though he swore he'd never met her before, he felt a jolt of familiarity at her features. Those lovely silver eyes blinked at him.

"Hello," she said, nibbling her lip as she dropped her arms, clearly embarrassed at being caught in the act of frolicking. "Thought I was the only one here," she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

Cameron found himself grinning at her words. "I was just out for a walk," he said, with a half shrug.

"In this weather?" She said, clasping her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Says the lady dancing in the snow," Cameron countered. A smile tugged at her lips. They were pale as the rest of her, a little too pale. He frowned with concern. "Aren't you could? It can't be more than twenty five degrees out here."

The woman shrugged, the movement making her sink up to her chin in her python of a scarf. "Now that you mention it, it is a tad chilly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your lips are turning blue." Her eyes widened at his comment, reaching up to brush her pale fingers across her lips. An impulse seized him, one blurted out before he could think himself out of it. "Listen, I heard there was a coffee us a couple block up that had great cinnamon buns. Would you like to go grab a coffee and bun with me?"

She studied him for a moment, her mouth concealed by her scarf. "I think I'd like that," she said. She extended a delicate hand. "I'm Neve." Her skin glowed like pearls against his darker coloring, through her fingers were so frozen he yanked a pair of mittens from his pocket.

"Cameron. Here, your hands are freezing," he said, handing her the mittens. She stared at them like a foreign object. "I know they aren't the most fashionable but your fingers feel like blocks of ice."

"They're wonderful," said Neve, slipping them on. She rewarded him with a smile that made his heart flop like live fish in the bony net of his ribs. "Well, come on." She offered her arm. He accepted, wearing a bemused expression as the two of them strolled through the park.

From beneath the snow heavy branches of the trees, unseen by either, a figure stood, watching them with eyes the color of fresh leaves.

***

Cameron had never felt so immediately comfortable around another person. Past girlfriends, friends, even some of his extended family members left him less at ease than Neve. She sat across from him, a mystery wrapped up in a fuzzy scarf, her leg casually brushing against his beneath the table. He could swear her clothes steamed faintly in the warmth of the coffee house. He nibbled a piece of cinnamon bun, thanking every Deity he could imagined for Gigi's offhand recommendation. These had to be the best buns he'd ever tasted, or maybe it was the company?

"So what kind of sculpture do you do?"

The 'getting to know you' stage was usually awkward, the silences over long as each person thought of questions to pepper the other with. Neve didn't seem to have that problem, questions pouring out of her as fast as he could answer them, about him, his life, his art, his hometown. It took him awhile to catch on to how few questions he'd asked her in return. Or how vague her answers were.

"Some abstract, some life-like. Mostly, I just do what the clay tells me," he said.

A small smile played on her lips. He wanted to reach across the distance between them and wipe a bit of frosting from the corner of her mouth. His hands twitched around his cup. "You sound like someone I know," she said, affection clear in her eyes. Perhaps, she was taken. The thought made his shoulder muscles tense in protest.

"Where do you live in the city?" He tried to ignore the feeling.

She shrugged. "Around central park."

Despite her waifish appearance she had to be loaded if she lived in that area. He bit down on a sigh. She had to be taken.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Cameron nearly spat out his coffee. A dribble still managed to escape, attractively running like drool off his chin. Neve hid her grin under her scarf.

"No, no I do not."

The first beat of prolonged silence passed before Neve spoke. "Well, good, that would make a second date terribly awkward."

He blinked at her, a kernel of hope flaring to life in his stomach. "No boyfriend then?"

She gave him another of those mind scrambling smiles. "I know right? Lucky you."

Lucky him indeed.

***

Their coffee and cinnamon bun turned into luncheon sandwiches. It wasn't until the dishwater sky turned the color of over steeped Earl Grey that Cameron realized he'd spent the entire day in Neve's company.

She seemed to notice the same time he did. "It's getting late," she said, cupping a mug of coffee that had long gone ice cold.

Cameron scratched the back of his neck. "Yes, I should get home," he hedged Home to his empty loft and that lifeless pile of clay. He was just working up the nerve to ask for her number, for another date, something anything for more time in her company, when she reached across and grabbed his hand.

"Why don't we meet. For dinner or something. Are you free tomorrow?" Her touch startled him. Despite the hours they'd spent in the heated warmth of the coffeehouse, her skin was still cool to the touch.

He shook himself. "I have a shift at the gallery, but I'm free after five."

"Then let's meet again in the park. Same place okay?"

He wondered why she didn't ask him to meet at her place. Perhaps she was embarrassed by the poor artist. He bit down on the doubt. Maybe she didn't trust him yet. That took time. They'd only just met. Though it felt like they'd met before. Maybe he'd dreamed of her.

He hoped he dreamed of her again.

"Same place," he said, smiling. "Maybe I'll catch you dancing again."

Her secretive smile drove the doubts right out of his head.

***

The first day of work, counting down the hours was pure torture. The artist's gallery he'd managed to score a job at with his now semi usual fine arts degree was mostly dead during the week. The evening viewings drew the romantic crowd but the place was only really jumping for new collections. The pay was barely enough to cover his bills, but the hours were decent and the owner promised him his own showcase when the calendar opened up.

If it ever opened up.

Not that he could complain about that when he'd spent the better part of three weeks staring at a block of clay, seeing nothing. He hadn't even bothered when he made it home last night, ignoring his work table in favor of his sketch pad.

He sketched that secretive smile, over and over, until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

Now the clock taunted him, the ticks crawling by. Almost five. A few more minutes. His eyes were glued to the minute hand.

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice lilted in his ear. Cameron fell off his chair. He would have face planted on the ground if not for a familiar plaid covered arm catching him and hauling him back up.

He looked down at Gigi's bemused green eyes. "Give you a start, son?"

"Gigi," he breathed, trying to slow his pounding pulse. "Didn't hear you come in." He tried not to look at the clock. "Are you planning to stay awhile?"

"And keep someone so obviously ready to flee?" There was a wicked gleam in her eye that made him relax. "What has you so eager?"

"I met someone," he said. Odd, Gigi was practically a stranger, someone he'd talked to for all of five minutes in the park, but she knew this intimate detail about him, his loneliness.

Her smile reminded him of his mother, the knowingness of it. "That is wonderful. You off to meet your lady friend after you close up?"

"Yeah, I don't know where to take her though. Honestly I don't know the city that well."

"Then don't take her anywhere," said Gigi, tapping the side of her nose. "The park is probably the most romantic place in the city this time of year. The holiday lights, the snow on the trees, walk with her, son, listen to her. Conversation is the first great dance we engage in."

Her words made his skin tingle. He liked the idea of dancing with Neve, even if all the steps were spoken. "I like that, though she'll probably think I'm a cheapskate."

"Nonsense," chided Gigi. "How memorable are fancy dinners? An evening of words and words and words? Now that will last longer."

"You know, you're right."

Gigi rolled her eyes. "Course I am. Been around as long as I have, you pick up on a few things.

He grinned at that. The older woman could have been anywhere from her mid thirties to fifties. Or older. An ageless look.

She slapped his arm. "Have fun, kid."

***

Gigi knew her stuff.

The idea of a stroll enchanted Neve, who snuggled up against, threading her arm through his as they walked and talked.

They talked about everything. Everything. Their hopes, their dreams, doubts, fears. The flow of information was so much, so fast, but he lapped up every word she spoke, soaking up the pieces of knowledge she gave him, savoring them. Pieces of her, as rich and delicate as floral wine. She told him dancing was her passion. Her dream was to dance on a stage, for an audience. She told him she secretly feared the dark, but that winter, despite its long nights, was her favorite season. She told him how she hated being alone.

How often she found herself alone. Her confession made him pull her closer, fully into his arms, holding her for a long moment as the snow picked up again.

At first she stiffened at the touch. Her attitude as cold as her skin. No matter how long he held her, she couldn't seem to shake that chill. After a long moment, she hesitantly laid her head against his chest. He didn't miss the small frown between her brows, as if comfort was foreign to her.

The thought made his heart ache.

"I hate being alone too," he said. She stilled, then buried her face in his coat. He could feel her chill through his coat which only made him hold her tighter. She still hadn't warmed by the time she pulled away, that secretive smile lighting up her face.

"Then let's be alone together," she said, winking at him.

He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Would you like to come back to my place? Hang out for a while out of the cold?"

He knew the invitation was too soon when the words left his lips. Her expression fell. "I'd better not. Not tonight," she said, not meeting his eyes. She glanced at him, her silvery eyes pleading for him to understand. "But I would love another walk. Or we could do something else. Whatever you like."

She was babbling. He bit down on his grin and brought her hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips across her icy skin. "I'd like that."

Cameron stared at the block of clay on the table. For a moment, he thought he saw something, but it flit away, out of his grasp before he could see it clearly. He sighed, grabbing his sketch pad. This time he drew eyes, eyes, and eyes, silvery eyes that watched him with such bemusement. Except the eyes that looked back from the page were wary. Confused.

Wary in his embrace, like she'd never been loved.

That night he dreamed about being alone in the dark.

***

His dates with Neve fell into a pattern.

On the weekdays, they'd meet after he got out of work, often walking through the park at night. Sometimes they went out for simple meals, like Pho, or coffee. It was on those dates he began to notice the little things. How little she ate. How her coffee lost its steam within minutes. How her hands were always cold no matter how long they spent indoors. How she never let him see where she lived.

It took him days to notice her outfit changed little, but she always wore her massive scarf, and never a coat. How she never came back to his place, though he stopped suggesting it after the third or fourth rejection. Little oddities that added up despite those mind scrambling smiles. Despite the dull ache inside she eased with her company.

They were strolling through the park when he finally voiced some of the doubts that had been eating away at him. "Neve, are you ashamed to be with me?"

Her eyes widened. "Of course not!"

"Why do we never meet at your place? " Was she ashamed of her home? Or homeless? Did she think he cared about such things? "I don't care what it looks like," he said, his voice soft.

She sighed, walking in silence beside him. "I feel most at home out here," she said, both and answer and not.

He stopped, her arms trailing from his grasp. "You know how much I care about you," he didn't pose it as a question, but there it was again, that little frown of confusion on her brow. He swallowed, feeling a ghost of that hollowness again. He'd thought, all this time, they were connecting, but the wariness in her eyes made him feel as if that connection only went one way.

"You do know, right?"

Neve pulled away, shrinking into herself. "I...I don't," she whispered. He stared at her, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Show her. Cameron closed the gap between them in three long steps, framing her face, warm hands on cool skin. He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers as he closed his eyes.....

And felt nothing in response.

She stood, passive as marble, as cool to the touch. It was little more than kissing a statue.

Cameron opened his eyes to find her frozen, the shock clear in her expression. He pulled back, unable to breath. Unable to be around her. How could he read the situation so wrong?

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't bear that shocked expression on her face. "I'm sorry," he said again. He turned, his steps moving faster and faster. When she didn't say a word, when she didn't call him back, he broke into a run, his lungs burning for air the whole way home.