The first time he saw her, in the early morning light of that first day of November, she was a dream made flesh, an otherworldly ethereal being brought to life right before his very eyes. He watched her as she moved with a grace and beauty that caught his attention like no other woman had that day, or quite frankly, his entire existence.

She walked slowly along the river, the brisk autumn air keeping many people indoors. Her hair barely stirred as she ambled without purpose, occasionally stopping to smile wistfully at children running with their parents behind them, or to gaze at a flock of pigeons squabbling over crumbs cast amongst them by a little old lady on a bench.

He was drawn to her to the point of following in her footsteps. Her pace was slow enough for him to trail closely behind her, but not so close that he would accidentally bump into her should she stop suddenly. She kept her speed for the most part, sometimes looking just over her left shoulder where he would be barely out of her line of vision. Her perfect lips would turn up into a little smile, like something caught her attention, a memory, a sound, a scent.

John was absolutely enchanted by her. He knew he had to right to follow her as he did. There were rules. If she had any idea of how strongly he wished he could speak to her, to touch her…

Screeching tires and a blaring horn drew his attention away just for an instant, and he flinched and looked away. When he looked back, his blonde beauty, with her perfect smile and sure stride, had disappeared behind the corner of a building on the next street. He rushed forward to catch up, but amongst the crowd of morning commuters and vendors, she was gone, her long black wool coat blending in with every other one he saw.

His heart sank. This was the first time he'd felt a connection with anyone in so long, and he didn't even know who she was. He couldn't explain it, nor did he care to. All he knew was that he felt something.

He felt alive.

II.

He saw her again, three more times in fact, at different times of the day, but always in the same places. Along the river, in a park, on the pavement. As winter gave way to spring, she traded her coat for a long dress and cardigan sweater. She always dressed modestly, from another time almost, and that mesmerized him even more. She was so familiar to him, yet he was sure he'd never actually met her before.

She would look back over her shoulder toward him, where he followed and watched just out of her line of vision. Sometimes she threw a smile backward with that glance. Come on, she seemed to say with upturned lips and a nod of her head.

But still he hesitated. And each time he found her, each time he got up the nerve to follow her, she would vanish just as quickly as she appeared.

III.

It was by some miracle that, as the sun cast an eerie silver glow along the horizon one Friday afternoon in April, she suddenly appeared again, just stepping into his line of vision. This time he sat alone at a little outdoor table outside a coffee shop, his favourite place to watch the world go by. He startled and sat straight up, a breathless hitching in his throat making no noise. One second the pavement was empty, the next, she was just there.

The sun cast a halo around her golden hair as her blue eyes swept back and forth, passing him over again and again. He knew he should look away. He knew that he shouldn't obsess over her. That he shouldn't…

Before he could complete his next thought, her eyes focused directly on him with an intensity that took him aback. Nervously, he swallowed and turned away. No, she couldn't be looking at him.

"I've seen you, you know," she said in a high, clear voice, with a northern lilt that rang like a bell in his ears.

John glanced from side to side, then looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind him. Finally, he turned back to see her mysteriously amused smile, as her head cocked to one side, regarding him curiously.

"You can see me?" he almost croaked in disbelief.

"Of course, I can," she replied, taking a few steps toward him. "And I've known you followed me around. Looking for me."

"I'm sorry," John stammered, looking down at the ground between them as people walked past, oblivious to their conversation. "I shouldn't have done that. They told me the rules when I…" He swallowed and blinked back the memories. "That I shouldn't haunt people."

To his surprise, she laughed gently and slipped into the chair next to his at the table. "You're not haunting me," she reassured him. "And I've been looking for you as well." Very tentatively, she reached out her hand and placed it atop his on the wooden table. Just as seeing her had made him feel more in his heart than he had in a long time, the electric touch of her hand made his body awaken. He hadn't felt the touch of another in so long. He nearly wept at the sensation.

She let out a little gasp herself and smiled broadly when his palm turned upward and his fingers curled around hers. "I've missed this," she whispered, her fingers flexing and caressing. "Feeling."

"But how…" he wondered, smiling as he felt the softness of her fingertips gliding across his palm. He wanted to burst from within.

"I think...maybe we were fated to meet one way or another," she said simply. "It was just a question of when one of us made the first move."

He smiled and looked up at her. She was a pretty little thing, so unlike Vera, and far too lovely for the likes of him. The glow that had caught his eye in the beginning radiated from her entire being. Quicksilver and light, he quickly decided. Blue eyes that caught the sky, golden hair that reflected the sun, and a smile that captured his soul.

"So you're…" he said slowly.

She nodded and gave him a little shrug. "Yes."

John sighed heavily, brokenly.

"How long have you been here?" she asked quietly. "Generally speaking, of course?" The world around them had almost ceased to exist. There was only the feel of her hand in his and the brightness of her eyes as they bored into his soul.

He thought about it for a moment, the memory of the day itself fuzzy, but the date firmly etched in his mind. "October 14th, 1902." He winced bitterly at the memory of plunging the needle tipped vial of morphine into his thigh before succumbing to the darkness. "The pain became too much to bear. You?"

She smiled in gentle understanding. "Nineteen-eighteen. Spanish flu." She said it so matter of factly, with a little shrug. "I was a housemaid. My name is...was Anna May Smith."

"John Bates," he replied breathlessly. He hadn't said it in so long, he'd almost forgotten the sound of his name.

Her smile broadened and she laced her fingers with his. They fit perfectly. "Well, Mister Bates," Anna said, rising and pulling him up with her. Her hand never let go of his, and quite frankly, he didn't ever want her to let go. "We can go anywhere, you know. Where would you like to go?"

He didn't care, as long as it was with her. In only five minutes, he realized he wanted to spend the rest of eternity together. "I don't know," he admitted sheepishly. "I don't get around much. I haven't left London in a century."

"I've only been coming here the past few months," Anna said as she tugged at his fingers. "Something pulled me here. Perhaps it was you."

John beamed at her, the first genuine smile he'd shown in ages. "Then you'll have to show me where you've been hiding all this time."

She hummed and pressed her lips together. "How do you feel about Yorkshire?" she asked with a little grin that warmed his heart.

Memories that he didn't remember making flooded his mind, of Anna and a life and being in love with her. Drawing her in,. holding her close, waking beside her in the morning. A life they hadn't lived, a love they hadn't shared.

Anna May Bates, his heart whispered to him.

"I think Yorkshire in the springtime sounds lovely," he whispered, squeezing her hand a little tighter. "Shall we?"

And so they went.