He asked if he could use her phone then, to call the artists' hostel. He had meant to call them from the airport but hadn't. He came back minutes later, looking sheepish.

“That was stupid,” he said, looking embarrassed. He hadn't even kissed her that night, and she was grateful for it. If he had, she would have told him to leave. She had promised herself that, before things got out of hand again.

“What happened?” She was snuffing the candles out. He was going to be leaving in a minute. The evening had gone well, and had been easy. If she could just get over her insatiable attraction to him, everything would be perfect.

“I didn't call them soon enough. They're full. I can probably find a hotel somewhere,” he said, looking at her with unspoken questions, and she suddenly looked worried.

“Are you asking me if you can stay here?” she asked him pointedly, wondering if it had been a manipulation or if the artists' hostel in the Marais really was full. But he did look genuinely embarrassed. He just wasn't organized, and never had been. He had told her that Beth had done everything for him ever since he was nineteen, until she left. And at first he couldn't manage without her, but was learning.

“I wasn't going to,” Liam said honestly. “I didn't want to put you on the spot. I can sleep at the airport if I have to, or the train station. I've done it before, it's no big deal.”

“That's silly,” she said practically, and then took a deep breath. “You can sleep in Xavier's room. But Liam, I won't sleep with you. I don't want to turn my life into a mess, nor yours. If we go on doing what we did yesterday, it will only be confusing.” He didn't recall either of them being confused the night before, but he said nothing and nodded.

“I'll be good. I promise.” He knew this would have been hard for her, too. She had lived here with her husband and children. The house was not a clean slate for her, unlike the hotel room in London. He didn't want to upset her, or frighten her, and he knew he would if he made a move on her here.

He followed her respectfully as she led him to Xavier's room, on the floor above her own. His room was directly above hers, a good-looking young man's room, with simple decor, in navy blue, and a painting she had given him years before for Christmas, of a woman and a young boy. He had loved it at the time, and it still hung there as a reminder of her son's childhood. The room had oeil de boeuf round windows that looked out onto the garden. Liam liked knowing he was near her, as she kissed him goodnight on both cheeks, and he managed to resist her. He was in no hurry. What he felt for her could wait, if it had to. He lay in bed that night, thinking of her, as she did about him. A thousand times he wanted to run down the stairs to her, but he didn't. He didn't see her again until they met in the kitchen the next morning.

She made him eggs and bacon, and they discussed what they were going to do. Since he had stayed politely in Xavier's room, without arguing about it, or crossing her boundaries, she was no longer anxious for him to leave. The weather was gray but better, and they decided to walk along the Seine. They looked at the Bateaux Mouches, and she pointed out new things to him. He purchased an art book and gave it to her. They bought crêpes from a street vendor, wandered past the pet stores, and laughed at the chickens. Liam wanted to go inside, and talked about a dog he'd had as a child and loved. It had died the same year as his mother. The rest of the time he made her laugh, told her jokes and funny stories. She asked him about his children, and she talked about her own. It was one of those perfect afternoons of ease and comfort, shared confidences and friendship, and love that was unspoken but powerfully felt by both of them, no matter how much she was resisting. He gave her what she had missed for the past fifteen months, companionship, and someone of her own to talk to. He filled her loneliness like foam that expanded and filled it to the brim.

They were standing in the last of the pet shops on the quais when he spotted a cocker spaniel. The man in the pet shop told them it was the runt of the litter, and Sasha said it had the saddest eyes she'd ever seen.

“You should get a dog,” Liam said confidently. “It would keep you company.” He had thought of the same thing, but it was too complicated for him in England.

“I travel too much. I'd either have to leave it here, or forever be dragging it on and off planes, which doesn't seem fair.”

“You do it. Why couldn't a dog?”

“I haven't had one since the kids were little. It's too much work,” she said practically. “It would pee all over the gallery and Bernard would kill me, and so would Karen in New York.”

“You can't let other people make those decisions.” But she did. She was doing the same thing about him. She was too afraid of what other people would think if she got involved with him. And he wasn't housebroken either.

They took the puppy out of the cage, and she came to life instantly while Liam played with her. Sasha stood back and watched, as the puppy licked his face and he let her. She was black and white, with a pretty head, black legs, and four white feet. He told her the dog he had had as a boy had been a cocker spaniel, too.

“Maybe you should buy her and take her home with you,” she said, encouraging him. He was obviously enamored with her, and looked sad when he put the little dog back in her cage. She whined and barked as they left. Liam looked back at her, blew her a kiss, and waved.

“I couldn't get her back into England,” he explained to Sasha. “The Brits are so damn complicated. They've relaxed the quarantine rules a little, but you have to have enough papers to get her qualified for outer space. Besides”—he grinned at Sasha boyishly—“I'm not responsible enough to have a dog. I forget everything when I'm painting. I'd need a wife to get another dog.”

“There's a hell of an admission.” It confirmed all she feared about him, but this time it didn't seem frightening. It was just a simple statement of fact. Liam was well aware of who and what he was. And so was she. He was a charming irresponsible boy.

They went to Berthillon again, and that night she drove him back to the airport. He sat looking at her for a long moment before he even attempted to get out of her ridiculously small car.

“I had a wonderful time with you this weekend,” he said quietly. They hadn't made love. They hadn't done anything insane. They had just hung out together, eaten ice cream, talked, gone for long walks, bought an art book, sat in cafés, and played with a dog. It was everything she'd missed, and different from anything she'd ever had. She and Arthur had had a totally adult life, a life of responsible equal partners doing serious things. There was something wonderful and playful and young about Liam. He was part man, part boy, would-be lover, if she let him, and in some ways because of his youthful ways, almost like an adopted son.

“I had a good time too,” Sasha said, smiling at him. “Thank you for surprising me. If you'd asked me, I'd never have let you come.”

“That's why I didn't ask,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed her. She was grateful that he had respected her wishes until then. As he kissed her, she felt everything she had felt for him in London, and had managed to resist all weekend. It would have been impossible for her to do so if he had kissed her before the end. And even more impossible for him. They sat kissing each other for a long time, and then they sat looking at each other. It was impossible to have anything more between them. She wished it could be different, but knew it couldn't. She didn't say it to him this time. There was no need. He knew what she thought. “I want to come back and see you,” he said before he got out. “Will you let me, Sasha?”

“I don't know. We'll see. I have to think about it. We may be tempting fate if we try to do this again, or kidding ourselves that we could limit it to this. You're awfully hard to resist.” He kissed her again then and proved it. She could hardly breathe when he stopped kissing her, and she wanted him desperately. She wanted nothing more than to drive him home with her. But she didn't. She knew she couldn't. She got out of the car, and then laughed as she watched him unwind his legs and do the same.

“You're my dealer, for chrissake. With all the money you're going to make off me, can't you at least afford a decent car? I'm going to herniate a disk getting in and out of this thing. Maybe I should give you an advance.” She laughed at him, and followed him into the airport. He was wearing the cowboy boots, his jeans, a fisher-man's sweater he had bought in Ireland, and a baseball cap his son had sent him from the States. He looked tall and masculine and young. Everything about him was appealing, even and especially the childlike quality that frightened her so much.

She followed him in silence to the gate. He was the last one to board. Part of her wanted him to miss the plane and stay with her. Another part of her wanted him to leave and never come back to see her again. The two parts were constantly at war.

“I'll miss you,” he said quietly.

“So will I.” She was being honest. She was always honest with him. She found she could tell him whatever she thought.

He kissed her then, long and hard, as they began closing the door to the plane.

“Go… you'll miss it…,” she whispered. He ran, and turned one last time, with a broad grin, waved, and then boarded the plane. She had no idea when she'd see him again.

As he took his seat, he was thinking of her, and the remarkable blend of contrasts she was. Hard and soft, vulnerable and strong. She was serious and sad at times, when she spoke of her parents or her late husband, and then suddenly funny and happy and even youthful at other times when she talked about her artists, or her children, or her views on life. She was simple in what she expected of life, and unpretentious. Complicated in her rigid ideas about how she felt she should behave in society, and wanted to be perceived. A grande dame and painfully ladylike one minute, and whimsical and mischievous the next. He knew from Xavier that she was a terrific mother, and could sense himself that she was a great friend. Responsible, conscientious, capable, brilliant in her field, and at the same time a small, lonely woman who needed a man to hold her and love her. And no matter how prepared she was to fight him on it, Liam wanted to be that man. However long it took.