One Blonde Hair

I read the words I'd written for my story a dozen times, scrutinizing every word for maximum impact until they blurred on the paper.

I closed my eyes, rubbed my hands over my face, and took a deep breath, ready to dive in again when a sweet, familiar scent wafted past. Vanilla. My eyes snapped open, searching for the source of this unexpected fragrance. But the coffee shop was empty, devoid of any movement.

Looking down at my paper again, I noticed a long strand of blonde hair rolling back and forth across the page like a gentle caress.

That one thought led to another as my muse kicked into high gear, and before I even realized what was happening, the story I'd spent the last four hours tweaking came screaming to life and left me with extreme satisfaction. It had depth now and emotion, and who the hell had woken my muse so effortlessly?

I scanned the patrons: redheads, brunettes, not one blonde in the handful of customers seated throughout the shop. I couldn't have dreamed it. The strand of hair was within reach, and although the aroma of vanilla had faded, it was too powerful to dismiss.


I sighed and returned to my story, ready to tuck it in my bag and head home to type it into my computer.

"Would you care for a refill?" the waitress asked.

"I think I'm all set," I said, looking up at her. Her! The waitress was blonde!

I clumsily rushed to my feet, almost knocking her over. "Thank you."

She smiled, "For what? I didn't do anything."

"Oh, yes, you did. You saved my story. My name's Dan," I said, extending my hand.

"Jessica. A writer, huh?"

Her soft hand sent my mind in a spin of new story ideas.

WC: 300
Prompt: hair, story, paper