Ruth had begun taking lunch breaks, supper breaks and even tea breaks at irregular times of the day so that she could complete her research. She had spent the previous fortnight analyzing every green space within Harry's neighbourhood, learning where he walked, when he walked and with whom.

Now she stood, manila file folders in hand (filled with scrap printer paper from home) and a Styrofoam cup of tea in her other hand. She waited, peering around the bush until she saw the two men and the little dog. She knew that within the next five metres or so, one of the men would throw the rubber ball and the little dog would chase it.

One, two—the third throw projected the ball in her direction. She released a breath held in anticipation and nerves and stepped out, directly into the little dog's path, allowing herself to be tripped, dropping her files and cup of tepid tea onto the ground around herself and Scarlett, the Jack Russell Terrier.

Soon, two younger hands were helping her up.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. Your files! Scarlett, you bad dog. Dad, you really should train her better," Graham reprimanded his father and pet.

As Graham helped Ruth to her feet, Harry froze, half of her files gathered in his hands as their eyes met for a moment. Suspicion positively oozed from his face, voice and manner.

"Ru—" he began.

She cut him off, extending her hand to Graham. "My name is Ruth, Ruth Evershed. It was my fault, not the little dog's. I wasn't paying attention. I have a habit of doing that."

"Mind always on higher things," Graham responded, shaking her hand and smiling companionably. "I'm Graham Pearce." He turned aside to indicate his father. "This is my father, Harry, the owner of the little beast."

"Nice to meet you, Harry." She didn't attempt to shake his hand. Ruth chuckled nervously. "Again, I'm sorry. Thank you for your help." She stacked the few files she'd collected in her arm and made to walk away.

"Wait," Graham stopped her. "You must let us buy you a new—tea, was it?" he asked.

"Yes. Tea." She tried to meet Harry's gaze but he avoided her eyes, returning to his task of gathering the remaining files, handing them over to Graham who gave him a funny look and then passed them over to Ruth. "Really, don't bother. It was cold anyway. I'll make a fresh pot when I get home."

"Are you certain?" Graham asked.

"Yes, of course. Thank you. Good day, Graham and—" She gulped. "Harry."

She could feel Harry's cold and confused eyes boring into her back as she walked away. STEP ONE. Complete. She thought she heard Graham chastising his father for rudeness as she departed but she wasn't certain that she had heard anything accurately over the rush of blood in her ears.

It took six days for her to recover from the nerves of "Step One". Finally, she felt that she was able to cope with "Step Two".

Ruth spent ninety minutes amongst the tomatoes and cucumbers before he finally appeared. Harry seemed to do a substantial shop at the grocery store once every two weeks with infrequent trips to the local convenience in between. She knew he liked tomatoes, so here she stood for the fourth evening in a row.

"Oh, hello," she greeted him, popping up from behind the tomato stand.

"Ruth!" he responded.

"You recall my name," she responded, trying to sound pleased to be remembered. "It was you at the park the other day, wasn't it? You and your son?"

Harry stepped up close, anger bursting through his calm exterior. He grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her close. "What do you think you're playing at?"

She breathed deeply to try and remain calm but her heart was playing a tattoo against her ribs and each breath stuck for a moment at her tightened larynx. "Maybe—" She cleared her throat to get her voice working. "Maybe when you've hurt someone—deeply—disappointed them—you have to go back to the beginning—start again—And then, maybe—if the reasons you fell in love still exist then—you'll fall in love all over again. If you don't, then maybe it wasn't love in the first place."

Harry pulled her minutely closer and she watched his jaw clench, and then tilting her head slightly higher, she thought she could see the smoke rising from his smouldering eyes. "Leave me alone," he commanded but she could hear the insincerity in his voice.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" a man asked—quite a large man, in fact. Harry looked as though he wanted to smash the interloper in the jaw but instead chose to release her arm, shaking his head and walking away.

"I'm fine, thank you," she reported.

"Sure?" the man asked gently.

"Yes, thank you," she confirmed. STEP TWO. Completed.

She was still shaking when she walked through the door of her flat.

If the reasons you fell in love still exist then you'll fall in love all over again. If you don't, then maybe it wasn't love in the first place.