It had been a more beautiful day than you could ever remember.

The sun peeking from behind cotton-wool clouds and the breeze weaving Celtic knots through your hair. Quiet too. Highly unusual for London in summer. Tourists usually poured into the city, along with everyone else lucky enough to have the day to themselves, taking advantage of the longer daylight hours.

You had ended up at your favourite spot in the park, under the bowing branches of a willow tree. Your fair skin couldn't take a full day of direct sunlight. In the cool shade you lay on your tummy.

The distant sounds of the city rumbled with the stream nearby, a perfect companion to your book. As you focused on the old, musty pages, you fiddled idly with a strand of cotton that had come away from the hem of the tartan blanket you lay on.

So engrossed were you, in the tale unravelling in your hands, that you were completely oblivious to the man watching you from his secluded park bench over the way. He was reading too, but had unknowingly let the thick stack of paper slip flat onto his lap.

You didn't see him suddenly snap back into reality and shake his head, ready himself to leave.

You didn't see the moment of hesitation as he rose to walk away.

You didn't see him look over his shoulder to take you in once more, before resolving himself to action.

No. You were blind to all of that. The first you knew of him was the slight cough, that came from a few yards away, and the polite, low voice that enquired;

"Excuse me? I'm so very sorry to disturb you but, do you happen to have a pen I could borrow?"

Smooth Tom.

Really smooth.

The girl looked up at him, jumped almost, not expecting company. Her eyes were a startling shade of blue, clashing exquisitely with the red hair that had floated about her in the breeze, gossamer on the wind.

It had been the first thing he had noticed about her. That hair.

It shone down her back, and dripped over her shoulders, the top half caught in a clip at the nape of her neck. He could see it catching the light there as he looked down at her, close enough now to see that it was green, enamel leaves twisting around each other. The colour matched the thin tea dress she wore that was cut demurely to her knees.

She had gazed up at him over her gold thin-rimmed glasses and said something, lost to him, too distracted to hear, as he stood, drinking her in. She let the old, leather-bound book drop to the tartan beneath her and leaned up on her knees to dig through the basket beside her.

How sweet that she uses a basket. She's like a fairy tale character...

He watched as her long fingers reached up to him, and took the proffered biro. Her wrists were so slender and she moved with effortless elegance.

"Thank you so much." he finally managed.

"Not a problem, honestly." she smiled, returning to her book.

You knew who he was, of course you did. You weren't a complete imbecile.

However, you had lived in London just long enough that the stardust glamour of celebrities had dimmed somewhat. You had seen enough of them doing their shopping, and drunkenly staggering from elite clubs into taxis, to have realised they were just as human as you.

He scribbled quietly beside you at, what you assumed to be, his script. You had imagined it would be something quick and then he'd be gone, but the scratching of nib against paper continued.

This was silly. You'd read this sentence five times.

"Wouldn't you rather sit to write? That can't be comfortable."

You had spotted a bench not too far off, it would be easier for him there.

His eyes flicked up from the page to meet yours.

Icy blue.

You tried to disguise the hitch in your breath by looking back down at your page and cleared your throat before speaking again.

"I mean, I'm not going to send out a search party if you decide to wander off with it." you smiled back up at him, gesturing to the borrowed pen.

His face broke into a grin and he laughed, lowering his eyes to the page.

"That's OK, I'm very nearly finished."

God, he was handsome.

But he was also someone you were never likely to see again, apart from on a screen. At least, you'd have something fun to tell your parents when they made their weekly phone call. You averted your eyes back to the page in your hands. He had millions of women staring at him like schoolgirls every day, he certainly wouldn't appreciate another.

"Thank you again." came his voice as he returned the pen to you, "I hope you didn't mind me taking up a little of your time."

"Not at all." was all you could manage as you looked up at him.

"Um... this is for you as well actually. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." he said, holding out the paper he'd been writing on, folded into quarters now.

"Oh..." you breathed, watching him smile and begin to walk away.

He strode off, long legs taking him far away in no time at all. You realised you had frozen in position, watching him leave. Lurching back into the real world you opened the page in your hand.

On the back was a few typed notes regarding a nameless character, meaningless to you, but as you flipped it, you saw the blue handwriting. Small words, tidy though obviously rushed.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate...