The weeks often ran into the weekends for Harry; he was usually in the station on a Saturday with the same regularity as a Tuesday. He hadn't much to do, so he chose to be at work most of the time.

This weekend, however, was different. Young Wesley Carter got it into his head that Harry and Harry alone could teach him proper cricket batting form. Adam didn't mind at all, knowing that Harry probably did have better form, since he was the type to feel strongly about such things. So Adam had asked—begged, really—for Harry to come over on Saturday afternoon to give Wes some cricket training. Harry readily agreed. No begging required.

And that was how Harry ended up in the Carters' back garden that day. The fact that Ruth lived next door and he might get to see her somewhere other than the police station or on their short walks each day was merely an added bonus.

Ruth was off work that Saturday. She'd been working six or seven days a week for nearly a month now, and Harry insisted that she take the full two days off. "There simply isn't enough work that needs doing for you to be in so often, Ruth," he'd explained. "We all know you're a dedicated employee. No need to try so hard." He had been teasing her, but she was a bit taken aback by his words. She'd always struggled being overeager when she enjoyed something. Her stepbrother, Peter, had always scolded her for being too excitable, always left her feeling deflated when she tried to share her interests with him. Ruth had spent far too much of her life seeking approval from the men she'd admired; Peter had been the first in a long line, and perhaps Harry was the most recent. But no, Harry was different. Harry already liked her. Harry just wanted her to be happy, if his final farewell as she left on Friday was any indication. "Take the weekend off and do something for yourself," he'd insisted. And Ruth had smiled. She was still smiling.

She had decided to take Harry's advice and do something for herself. Ruth had a long lie-in on Saturday, snuggling up with Fidget and lazing about until late in the morning. She'd gotten dressed and gone to the pub for lunch and wandered around the shops on the high street, feeling the sudden urge to impulsively waste her money on a lot of things she wanted but certainly didn't need. It had actually been quite fun, returning to Ros's house with her arms full with bags of delightful little items. Colorful potholders to use in the kitchen when she cooked. Scented candles in beautifully decorated jars. Decorative figurines of frogs and rabbits and dragons. Ruth had never really owned pointless things like that before; she moved around too much and packing up items she didn't need was a chore she'd done without. But now, she had a sudden urge to fill the space she occupied with anything that made her smile. Ros hadn't been too pleased to come home after lunch and see Ruth's influence spread through the spartan living room, but Ruth held firm. She paid rent, she'd earned the right to have her own things occupy the space they shared for as long as they shared it. And by now, nearly two months after arriving in town, Ruth had committed to making it hers for the foreseeable future.

After explaining all this to Ros, who had held up her hands in defeat and settled on the sofa with the telly, Ruth went upstairs to light some of her new candles and take a luxurious bath. It was absolutely heavenly to be surrounded by bubbles and soothing oils and a myriad of delicious scents. Ruth hadn't indulged like this in longer than she could remember.

While Ruth was contentedly submerged in the bath, Harry was next door pitching to Wes, barking instruction each time the boy swung his cricket bat. "Pull your elbows in lower. Yes, that's it." Another swing. "No, you're leaning in too early."

After about half an hour of this, Harry could tell Wes was getting very frustrated with himself. "Uncle Harry, I can't do it!" he whined.

"Yes you can, Wes. Don't get discouraged. You're still learning," Harry replied, trying to be a bit gentler. He'd noticed Wes didn't seem to be his usual sweet self, but the boy was growing up and things were bound to change in him sooner or later.

"I'm no good at cricket." Wes chucked the bat to the ground and crossed his arms in a huff.

Harry had to try not to laugh. It was rather cute to see a little boy get upset, but Harry wasn't about to minimize Wes's feelings; that would only make him feel worse. "If you're no good at cricket, how come you wanted me to come help your batting form? I think you like cricket and you want to get better, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Wes replied in a quiet voice.

"Then why don't you pick up your bat, and I'll come position you correctly. We can try again. After all, it just takes practice. You'll get it, I promise." Harry walked across the grass to where Wes was reluctantly taking the bat in hand again.

As Harry made his way over, movement across the way caught his eye. He looked up at Ros's house and realized he was looking right into Ruth's bedroom window. He knew it was Ruth's bedroom window because Ruth was inside. And she was entirely naked.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat and his breath get caught in his throat. She was exquisite. He always found her lovely, but under those voluminous skirts and ill-fitting blouses, he could barely tell that she had a gorgeous figure. Her waist was narrow and her hips flared and her bum…oh Harry would dream of it for the rest of his life, he was certain. Perfectly firm and plump and pale and soft and utterly intoxicating. He briefly imagined what it might look like with his teeth marks. Every fantasy he'd ever suppressed about her, this brilliant woman who smiled when he held her hand and asked him about his life and seemed to want to share his world, all invaded his mind at once.

It couldn't have been more than five seconds he'd spent staring at her in all her naked glory, but it was long enough that he'd halted in the middle of the garden and all the blood from his brain rushed to his groin.

"Uncle Harry, are you alright?"

He jolted, remembering that Wes was right there. Harry coughed and tore his gaze away from the window next door. He suddenly realized that if he could see Ruth through the window, so could Wes. "Wesley, why don't we take a break? Yes, let's go in and have some ice cream." He quickly hurried over to guide Wes inside and keep him faced away from the window.

"But you were going to help my form," Wes replied with confusion.

"We can try again later." Harry took one more look up at Ruth, only to find that she had turned slightly. Her profile was now visible through the window and she'd lifted her arms to pile her hair on top of her head. The movement accentuated her breasts, pert and full. Harry groaned softly as his entire mouth went dry. He tried desperately to get the image out of his mind of affixing his mouth to her chest, swirling his tongue around her dusky pink nipples, wondering what sounds she'd make as his teeth grazed over them.

Ruth got out of the bath and wandered around her room, trying to decide what to do. It was a lovely spring day, but she didn't really want to go out again. The weather mocked her for even thinking she should stay inside and read. There was, however, a lovely garden next door. Perhaps she'd go say hello to the Carters.

Fiona, mildly confused to have Wes moodily eating ice cream in her kitchen with a very distracted and quiet Harry Pearce, immediately went to answer the door at the sound of the bell. "Hello, Ruth!" she greeted warmly. "We're all having some ice cream, would you like to join us?"

"I would love to, thank you!" Ruth replied happily.

Inside, Harry heard Fiona say Ruth's name, followed by Ruth's own lovely voice. He couldn't bear to face her. He wouldn't be able to prevent himself from acting a complete arse, from bungling the whole thing quite stupidly. And so, in a fit of cowardice, Harry retreated. He put his half-finished ice cream dish in the sink and hurried into the bathroom down the hall before Ruth and Fiona came into the kitchen.

"Wes, where's Harry?" Fiona asked.

"Bathroom," the boy replied, his mouth full of vanilla ice cream.

"Harry's here?" Ruth asked, feeling a warm bloom in her chest at the unexpected pleasure of seeing him.

"Yes, he's been helping Wes with cricket, hasn't he, habibi?"

"Sort of. I'm rubbish. I don't think Uncle Harry wants to help me anymore," Wes told his mother darkly.

"I can't imagine that's true," Ruth interjected. "Harry's the chief of police. It's his job to help everyone. It's what he likes to do. I'm sure he wants to help you the best he can."

Harry overheard Ruth as he snuck through the hall and out the front door. Later, when he was alone, he could pick through her words and try to determine their meaning. As it was, he was too clouded by that assault of lust to give much rational thought to much of anything.