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.
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"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.
