A/N: Last chapter. Thank you to readers and reviewers.

Catherine had stayed in bed until just before they left, and Mark had had to put Ellie to bed for her daytime nap.

"Mmm, interesting," Mark says as he joins Ruth and Harry in the kitchen. "The things kids say."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks.

"Her last words to me before she fell asleep were, `Oof loves Poppy.'" Mark looks from Harry to Ruth and back again.

"She must have imagined it," Ruth says, her face giving nothing away.

"She's a particularly observant child, as Harry already knows."

Harry shrugs his shoulders, and tucks into his chicken salad sandwich. "Good night last night, Mark?"

Mark shakes his head, smiling at them both. "Just make sure that Catherine and I receive an invitation."

"To what?" Harry appears disinterested in the conversation.

"To your nuptials."

Harry and Ruth exchange a quick glance, but maintain expressions of neutrality. They continue munching on their sandwiches, and Harry wipes mayonnaise from his chin with a paper napkin.

"Ruth …..."

They are only a couple of blocks from the B&B, and Harry feels he must speak now, before it's too late.

"Mmm?"

"I …... I don't want you to spend another night in that B&B." He quickly looks at her, but Ruth is gazing ahead, through the windscreen.

"Oh? Where do you suggest I sleep?"

"At my house. With me. I'm asking you to move in …... with me."

Ruth then turns her head to look at him, relieved that he has taken this risk, that he has been brave enough to risk her rejection. "I've been wondering when you'd ask …... or even if."

"I've wanted you living with me from the moment I opened my front door to you …... how many days ago was it?"

"Five."

"That long?"

Harry pulls up in front of the building, and turns off the motor. He reaches across and kisses Ruth, his fingers under her chin. "I was so scared you'd say no," he says quietly, his face still close to hers.

"I know, but I had to wait until you asked me, Harry. I have to know that you want me with you enough to take that risk."

Harry nods, kisses her again, and then turns to open his car door. "Let's get your things."

They spend the afternoon packing Ruth's possessions into Harry's car, and then driving back to his house, and unpacking them, only to find places for them in Harry's house.

"Your clothes are easy," Harry points out, climbing the stairs, carrying one of her suitcases. "There's plenty of room in my wardrobe, and my chest of drawers."

"I'm sleeping with you?"

Harry stops on the landing, puts down the case, and turns to Ruth, who by this time, is standing beside him. "After last night, where did you think you were going to sleep? I was really hoping you'd want to sleep with me."

She smiles and nods. "Just checking."

After Ruth's clothes are hung and stacked in drawers, her toiletries in the en suite bathroom, and her few books are lined up on the bookshelves in the sitting room, Harry runs a bath.

"It might help us relax, Ruth."

They have each undressed, and are wearing their bathrobes, when Harry's mobile phone rings. He picks it up from beside his bed, and listens.

"Alright, I'll ask her." He covers the phone with his hand, and looks at Ruth, who is just about to remove her bathrobe before she climbs into the bath. "Ellie refuses to go to sleep until you sing to her. She wants the angel song."

Ruth puts out her hand for the phone, and speaks briefly to Catherine, and then begins singing softly into the phone. Harry stands in the doorway to the en suite, his shoulder resting against the door frame, spellbound by the ease with which Ruth has adopted the role of soothing his granddaughter with her voice. He knows how Ellie feels ... after all, he also is soothed when she speaks or sings.

Ruth hands the phone back to him, having said goodnight to Catherine. "Asleep within two minutes," she says, smiling.

Harry takes the phone from her hand, and grasps her fingers in his. "You're amazing, do you know that?" he says quietly, his eyes seeking hers. "What have I ever done to deserve you?"

Ruth is momentarily stunned by his openness. She and Harry are not in the habit of declaring themselves to one another. It is not their way. She lifts her face to look into his eyes. "And here was I thinking I'm the lucky one."

Getting into the bath is the awkward part, with Ruth sliding under the water first, leaving Harry stranded, standing beside the bath, completely naked. He begins to cover himself with his hands, when Ruth reaches out, and grasps one of his hands in hers.

"I've had my hand on what you're trying to hide, Harry. There's no need for embarrassment."

"I'm not embarrassed. I'm trying to be polite."

Ruth smiles at him, as he steps into the bath behind her, and leans back against the end of the bath, pulling her against him so that he can slide his arms around her.

"I hadn't known it was possible to be this happy," he says, his mouth close to her ear.

They lay back in the bath – Ruth nestling between his legs, with her head on his shoulder – for over half an hour. Surprisingly, it is relaxing. Harry has not spoken for a while, so Ruth assumes he has fallen asleep.

"I've been thinking …..."

The rumble of Harry's voice in his chest startles Ruth, but she listens.

"If it's alright with you, I think we should get married."

Ruth says nothing. What does one say to that? Is this a serious proposal? Is he simply brainstorming? What?

"Isn't it a bit soon to be talking marriage?" she says at last.

"Ruth, we've known one another for over a decade -"

"And we've spent the past four years apart. We have to reacquaint ourselves with one another."

"But you're not against the suggestion."

"No …... on the contrary, I think marriage is probably inevitable."

"You make it sound like the plague."

Ruth turns in his arms, and lifting one arm, she slips her hand around his neck, and kisses him gently. He begins to kiss her with more passion, and his hands move from her waist down her body to between her legs, where he gently massages her. She begins to moan softly, and then turns in his arms, at the same time as she pulls his fingers from between her legs.

"I thought you were enjoying that," he says, his voice rasping against her ear.

"I am. I have a suggestion."

Harry lifts his head, so that eye contact is easier.

"My suggestion," Ruth begins, "is that we get out of the bath, dry ourselves, have something to eat, and then go to bed together."

"You're not tired, then."

"No, Harry, I'm not tired."

"I'd like it if we made love ….. properly this time."

"Mmm, me too."

Suddenly, Ruth pulls away from him, and steps out of the bath. She doesn't look back at him until she's wrapped a towel around herself. "And about that question you asked me," she says, turning to face him, and running her eyes over his whole body, her expression one of appreciation.

"What question?"

"The marriage question."

Harry sits up in the bath, his face eager.

"Ask me again in a month. If we haven't killed one another, or died from boredom, then marriage might be an option."

Harry watches her as she leaves through the door to the bedroom. He knows that his second proposal was no more romantic than his first, so he can hardly be disappointed that she hasn't swooned in his arms at the suggestion. He knows what he must do. He must woo her, look after her, make himself indispensable to her. Then she'll have to say yes.

As Harry pulls the plug, and then steps out of the bath, he makes a mental note to talk to Catherine. She's a woman, and she might have some ideas about how he can best get Ruth to say yes. He couldn't bear it were she to again say no.

In the bedroom, where Ruth has just finished dressing, she smiles as she thinks of Harry. She knows he's worried that he blew it once again. It seems proposals of marriage are not his forte. She also knows she'll say yes when he again proposes to her. More than anything, Ruth is looking forward to Harry wooing her, as she knows he will. She is very much looking forward to the next four weeks.

"You know," Ruth says, once they've settled into bed together, and they've turned towards one another, their faces close, "if we go ahead with this marriage idea -"

"It's not just an idea, Ruth, it's a commitment. I'm completely serious."

"I know, and so am I. What I wanted to say was ... if this isn't that good - tonight -"

"You mean the sex?"

"Yes. If it isn't that great between us, it's not a deal breaker. I'll not be marrying you for sex, Harry ..."

"And here was I, thinking you lust after my body."

"I do, but ... I'm not after you just for sex. Without you, I'm not fully functional. These past four years, I've only been half alive. I can see that now. When I'm with you, everything is just that much brighter, and my heart is lighter. You are my life, Harry."

And that is when she stops talking, because he's leaned into her, and is kissing her. If that's not an acceptance of his marriage proposal, then he doesn't know what is.

Much later, after Ruth has fallen into a deep post-coital sleep beside him, Harry opens the drawer by his bedside, and takes out his diary, along with the pen Ruth gave him, and he begins to write.

Thursday 1st January 2015:

2015 has begun in the best possible way. After dinner Ruth and I retired to bed, and we made love for the first time. Yes, we first met almost 12 years ago, and we have loved one another for much of that time, and yet we waited until now. It was everything I had hoped it would be. I am hoping this augers well for her reply to the clumsy proposal of marriage I sprang on her earlier in the evening. If I'm being honest, I was spurred on by both Catherine and Mark suggesting that a marriage is on the horizon, along with Ellie's astute observation that "Oof loves Poppy".

I remain hopeful. Ruth is everything I have ever wanted, and if I can't have her – if she stops loving me, for whatever reason – then I am prepared to remain single for the rest of my days on earth.

I regret taking no for an answer when last I proposed to her – and when I asked her on that second dinner date over eight years ago. Despite that, I am happy with where we are now, and I am sure she is also. Only a week ago I would not have called myself a happy man – contented in a way, but certainly not happy. How quickly things change.

Fin