He asked her on a May evening in the garden.
The garden was at its best in May, the medicinal herbs fully in their spring growth, the hardy plants that had survived the winter with the particular vitality of things that have come through difficulty and are making no secret of having emerged stronger. The cherry tree she had planted in March against the eastern wall had surprised her with a persistence she had not been certain to expect from a tree planted late in a cold soil, and it was flowering now, actual flowers, small and white and entirely confident.
She had been on her knees with her hands in the soil when she heard him come through the garden gate and she looked up and found him standing a few feet away with an expression she had not seen before.
Not the expression. She knew all
