I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's read/reviewed this story. Since y'all asked so nicely, here's a little update for you.

After an arduous day spent scrubbing every single surface in the kitchen, from the crown molding to the baseboards, Harry went to the pub again for supper that night. As it happened, Adam, the young man he'd met at the flower shop earlier in the day, had also stopped in for a quick pint. Harry watched as Adam made his way towards the back of the pub, where a group of six or seven other men had pushed together several tables and were already laughing and talking and furiously approaching that happy level of drunkenness with which some men like to greet the coming weekend. Adam caught sight of Harry as he passed, and stopped by his table to say hello.

"Adam Carter," he said, extending a hand, "I apologize for not introducing myself earlier; you looked like you had your hands full."

"Harry Pearce," Harry told him as they shook hands. "I just moved into a cottage down the way," he said by way of explanation for his earlier purchases.

"Oh?" Adam asked. "From where?"

"London," Harry answered.

Adam nodded. "Well, I see that Ruth has already welcomed you to town," he said knowingly, and Harry wondered what on earth he meant by that.

"She lives across the lane from me," Harry told him. "She's been very kind."

"Yes, well, that's because Ruth is a very kind person."

Before Harry could say anything else, one of the chaps in the back of the pub spotted Adam, and bellowed his name.

Adam gave Harry a cheeky grin. "I'm being summoned. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"And you," Harry answered politely. As he watched the young man depart Harry felt a growing concern about the purpose of their little chat. He knew this was a small village, and a new face would probably be gossip fodder for weeks to come, but there had been something deliberate in the way that Adam sought him out, something almost territorial in his tone when he spoke about Ruth that left Harry feeling distinctly uneasy.

The rest of his meal passed in silence and solitude.

The next morning, Harry was up with the sun, as ever. It was Saturday, and he had arranged for removal men to come by later and cart off most of the furniture. The dining table and accompanying chairs were made of solid oak and still quite sturdy, and he was certain that with a good sanding and re-staining he could get them looking good as new again, so they would remain. The sitting room, office, and first floor bedroom were to be stripped bare; nothing in any of those rooms was salvageable. The furnishings in the bedroom upstairs were serviceable and would stay put for now, but he was planning to have his own things moved in at a later date. All in all he supposed he was in for a busy afternoon, and was once more planning to set off to the café for breakfast.

And so it was that he made his way out of the cottage at just past seven, and started his journey into the village. As he walked he mused that this wasn't such a bad way to live; it was rather nice to wake up to peace and quiet, as opposed to the sound of traffic or a shrilly ringing mobile heralding some new catastrophe. The walk was pleasant, at least in this summer weather, and he would have to pass by Something Wonderful to reach the café, which meant that there was every possibility he might run into Ruth again. No, this life wasn't bad at all.

The waitress at the cafe remembered him from yesterday, and she made his tea just the way he liked it without being asked, and handed him his paper with a smile. Harry contemplated his newfound contentment as he seated himself at a little table on the sidewalk outside the café, newspaper propped open in front of him. Three days ago he'd been absolutely bloody miserable at the prospect of leaving his life in London behind, and now he was…well, happy.

It wasn't any one thing really, but rather a combination of things; freedom from bureaucracy and the constant feeling of being watched, the fresh air, the lack of tension, the friendly faces that greeted him at every turn, all coalesced into a general, wholesome sort of normalcy that he was beginning to enjoy immensely. The detective in him wondered when the other shoe would drop; the man in him rejoiced in the peacefulness of it all.

As he waited for his bacon sandwich Harry watched the village come alive around him. The shopkeepers strolled in, unlocking doors, waving to one another, and, in some cases, pulling their wares out to be displayed on the street. A few cars passed him by, but most of the people he saw were on foot. As it was the weekend, and still rather early, there were few enough of them that he didn't feel particularly on edge, and he attempted to turn his attention to his newspaper. He kept glancing away, however, in the direction of the flower shop. The door was still closed and the lights were still off; perhaps Ruth opened up a little later on Saturdays.

The waitress brought him his breakfast, and he set about the very serious business of eating it, his eyes focused on the paper. There were all sorts of horrible things going on in the world, but in his quiet little corner of Suffolk, it all seemed very far away.

Like all good things, however, his breakfast came to an end, and Harry forced himself to his feet, knowing he had a great deal to do before the removal men arrived. As he folded up his paper he glanced once more down the street, and was rewarded with the sight of Ruth, arranging flowers outside her shop. With a smile on his face he rushed inside the café to pay for his breakfast, hoping she'd still be out front when he started back down the lane. If the young woman behind the café counter noticed his impatience, she didn't comment on it, and she sent him on his way with blessedly little small talk.

Harry tried to appear as nonchalant as possible as he approached the flower shop, watching Ruth at work. She wore another long skirt today, her hair pulled back from her face and that same little pearl necklace just visible above the collar of her blouse. He could see her profile quite well; she had a very serious expression on her face, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she shifted the brightly colored blossoms around to her satisfaction. He was hesitant to interrupt her when she seemed so absorbed in her work, but he couldn't let the opportunity pass him by.

"Good morning, Ruth," he said as he drew level with her.

She whirled on him, startled perhaps, but the smile he was expecting never came.

"Is it?" she said acidly, dropping the flowers she was holding and wiping her hands violently on her apron.

"Isn't it?" he asked, very confused. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been all smiles and blushes and lingering glances, and now she very nearly vibrated with scarcely concealed contempt.

"I've just had a call from Jo," she told him, as if this explained everything.

Harry didn't have the faintest idea who Jo was. Something in his expression must have conveyed his bewilderment, because she continued, "You know, Jo. At the shop." She gestured down the street toward the shop where Harry had purchased his supplies the day before. "She wanted to warn me, you see. She saw us talking yesterday, and she wanted me to know that you were married and I shouldn't waste my time."

A number of things clicked into place all at once.

Before Harry could explain himself, she barreled on. "You lied to me, Harry! To my face! I'd love to know why. I'd love to pop round your cottage later and ask your wife what she thinks you're doing, going around telling people you're not married when you are."

She wasn't shouting, exactly, but her voice carried a good way, and Harry desperately hoped no one else was listening to her diatribe.

"Ruth, please, listen to me. I didn't lie to you." She rolled her eyes, and Harry felt his own ire beginning to rise. Who did she think she was, to treat him this way over such a silly misunderstanding?

"I'm not married. I'm divorced. This- Jo, is it? She made some remark at the check out about how my wife must have given me a list of things to do. Rather than burden her with the whole sorry story, I simply agreed and let her think what she wanted to think."

Ruth considered this for a moment, hands on her hips.

"So, you didn't lie to me," she said slowly, "you lied to Jo. So that's no big deal then. She's just a shop girl, she's not anyone important." The sarcasm in her voice was impossible to miss. She turned her back on him, once more focused on her flowers.

"Everyone's important, Ruth," Harry said quietly. "Whether they work in Whitehall or a supermarket checkout, they're important to someone. I didn't correct Jo because I didn't think she'd want to hear the whole story. I didn't think she'd remember the conversation, and I certainly didn't intend to hurt you or her in the process."

Ruth kept her back to him, but he could almost feel her thinking, and he was content to stay where he was until she was ready to speak to him again.

"You really believe that, don't you?" she asked quietly, still not looking at him. "That everyone's important."

"Of course I do. We need shop girls and mechanics and businessmen and politicians, and we need all of them. The world wouldn't work if you removed any one piece of the puzzle."

Ruth turned around again, and this time, her expression was decidedly more friendly, even if she wasn't smiling. She had finished with the flowers, lovely little bunches all arranged just so, and Harry couldn't help but admire the care with which she had preformed even this little task.

"Who are you important to then, Harry?" she asked in a gentle, almost teasing sort of voice.

Harry forced a laugh. "Oh, I'm retired. I'm not important to anyone."

"I don't think that's true," she said softly, and Harry had to fight to tamp down the hope that welled up inside him at her words. Her cheeks reddened slightly as if in embarrassment, and Harry wondered what on earth she had to be embarrassed about; he was the one who'd cocked it all up in the first place.

But apparently, Jo had felt the need to warn Ruth not to waste her time on him, which seemed to imply that Ruth was spending her time on him, and that was a very pleasant thought. And Ruth had been upset to learn that he was married; did these two facts in combination mean she was interested in him? It seemed impossible, but she was still standing there in front of him, blushing just a little, and his hopes suddenly seemed a bit more justified than they had moments before.

"Morning, Ruth!" A cheery shout came from somewhere behind him, and when he turned Harry found himself looking at bright young woman with long blonde hair and a wide smile. She was locking her bike to a little post near the storefront, having apparently just ridden up.

"Morning, Sam!" Ruth answered as the girl approached them.

"Harry, this is Sam," Ruth introduced them. "She helps me out from time to time."

"Got a big wedding up at the farm this afternoon," Sam told him in a thick Scottish brogue.

"The farm?" Harry repeated, turning slightly towards Ruth, but it was Sam who answered him.

"There's a lovely big farm just outside of town, and this time of year there's a wedding nearly every weekend. People come from all over; it's right by the sea and the view's just heavenly. And there's a big open barn with plenty of room for tables and a dance floor."

"And we've got a million and one things to do before this afternoon, so we really must be going," Ruth said apologetically.

Harry waved her away. "Then by all means, don't let me keep you."

Ruth stood there a moment longer, smiling at him, and he was very conscious of Sam's stare, flitting between the pair of them.

"Bye, then," Ruth said suddenly, turning towards the door.

"Good-bye, Ruth," Harry said, watching for a moment as she and Sam passed him by, heads bent close together. He could swear he heard the Scottish girl giggling.

And then they were gone, and he was left to set off for home, alone.