She and Jeff talked incessantly about the house for two hours, over dinner. He'd had a million ideas since the last time they spoke on Tuesday. He wanted to see if he could help her do something more elegant with the back staircase, and he had designed an entire kitchen for her on the main floor. It was only a rough sketch, of course, but she loved it. He was suggesting a gym in the basement, where the old kitchen had been, and had even included a sauna and steam room.

“Won't that cost a fortune?” she asked, looking worried, although Phil would love it. She hadn't told him about the house yet, but was going to that weekend.

“It doesn't have to. We can use prefab units. We can even put in a hot tub.” She laughed at the suggestion.

“Now we're really getting fancy.” She especially loved his design for the kitchen, it was functional and pretty. There was even room for a large, comfortable dining table in front of the windows facing the garden. He was putting a lot of time and thought into her project. Occasionally, it made her wonder what his bill would look like. But he was obviously as passionate about the house on Scott Street as she was. It was just his cup of tea.

“God, I love this house, Jeff. Don't you?” She beamed at him.

“I do.” He smiled happily at her, looking relaxed after they finished dinner. They were both drinking green tea. “I haven't enjoyed anything this much in years. I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into it and start.” She told him she had called the electrical and plumbing contractors that week. She had appointments with all of them the following week so they could make bids. They had all told her they couldn't start the actual work until after Christmas. Like Jeff, she could hardly wait to start. “Just wait till we have the place ripped apart, get everything cleaned up, and then put it all back together.”

“You make it sound scary,” she said, smiling at him. But he was so calm and reassuring, if anyone could make it happen, he could.

“It is scary at times, but when you get it all done, it's the most incredible feeling.”

Sarah was hoping that the house would look respectable again by the summer. Or at worst, by the following Christmas. Jeff didn't think it would take a full year. He paid the check, and then looked at her with a quizzical expression. He had a boyish face, but a wise man's eyes. He seemed both old and young at the same time, and was only six years older than she was. He was forty-four years old. And he had mentioned in passing that Marie-Louise was forty-two, although Sarah thought she looked much younger. There was something about her spicy, somewhat racy look that made her seem even younger than Sarah, who had an entirely different, more businesslike look, at least on days she went to the office. As she sat at dinner with Jeff, Sarah was wearing a simple navy blue pantsuit. On Sunday she'd been wearing jeans, Nikes, and a red sweater. He liked that look. When his mother had met Marie-Louise, she had said she looked like a hooker, although there were times when he had to admit that he liked that look, too. Sarah looked more American, more natural and wholesome, like a Ralph Lauren model, or the Harvard student she had once been.

“Tell me something,” Jeff said, with his more boyish look. “If we're going to be spending all this time together, working on the house, am I allowed to ask personal questions?” He had been curious about her since they met, and even more so once she told him she was buying the house. That was a hell of a brave thing for her to do, and he admired her for it.

“Sure,” she said with a look of innocence and openness that he loved about her. Sarah always looked as though she had no secrets. Marie-Louise looked as though she had many, some of them decidedly unpleasant. She was not an easy person. “Shoot.”

“Who's moving into that house with you?” He looked embarrassed after he said it, but Sarah didn't.

“No one. Why?”

“Are you kidding? Why? You're moving into a five-story, thirty-thousand-square-foot house, and you're asking me why I was wondering who was moving in with you? Shit, Sarah, you could invite in a whole village.” They both laughed as the waiter poured them each more tea. “I just wondered.”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Is that how you want it?” He sounded as though he were volunteering, but they both knew he wasn't. He had lived with Marie-Louise for the past fourteen years, and even if she seemed difficult to Sarah, apparently she suited him.

“Now, that's a more complicated question,” she said honestly, looking at him over her cup of tea. “That depends on what you mean. Am I looking for a husband? No, I don't think so. I've never been convinced that marriage is the answer for me. It seems like a lot more trouble than it's worth. But I guess that depends on who you marry. Do I want kids? I don't think so. At least I never have. Having children sounds too scary to me. Would I like to live with someone? Probably, or at least have someone who wants to be around pretty full-time, even if he has his own life. I think that's probably what I'd want. I like the idea of sharing my life with someone on a daily basis. That seems to be pretty hard to find. I may have missed the boat on that one.” He laughed at her answer, although he had listened seriously up until the end.

“At your age? Your boat hasn't even come into port yet. These days all the women I know wait until they're forty, or your age at least, to settle down.”

“You didn't. You must have settled down with Marie-Louise when you were thirty.”

“That's different. Maybe I was stupid. None of my friends got married till their thirties. Marie-Louise and I had a very passionate relationship with each other when we were students. It still is a lot of the time, but we've had our ups and downs. I guess most people do. Sometimes I think it makes it harder that we work together. But I like being with someone every day. She says I'm too insecure, needy, and possessive.” Sarah smiled at the description.

“You look fine to me.”

“That's because you don't live with me. She may be right. I tell her she's too cold-blooded and independent, and too goddamned French for her own good. She hates it here, which is hard, too. She goes home every chance she gets, and then stays there for six weeks instead of two.”

“That must be rough for your business,” Sarah said sympathetically. She wouldn't have liked that, either.

“Our clients don't seem to mind it. She works from over there, and stays in touch with all of them by e-mail. Basically, she just hates living in the States, which is rough on me. A lot of the French are like that. Like their best wines, they don't travel all that well.” She smiled again at what he said about her. It wasn't mean, but more than likely true. She hadn't seemed happy or pleasant when Sarah met her. That would be hard to live with. “So what about you? There's no everyday person in your life now?” She didn't feel he was putting the make on her in Marie-Louise's absence, just trying to be friends. She suspected he was lonely, and so was she.

“No,” Sarah said honestly. “There's someone I see on weekends. We have very different needs. He's divorced, and has been for twelve years. Three teenage kids, whom he sees for dinner once or twice a week. He goes away on holidays with them. He doesn't see more of them than that, and he never sees them on weekends, they're too busy, and I don't think he'd want to. He hates his ex-wife with a passion, and his mother, and sometimes all that anger spills over onto me. He's an attorney, too, and he's very busy. But mostly he likes to do his own thing, during the week anyway, and sometimes on weekends. He doesn't have much tolerance for closeness, or someone in his space all the time. We spend Friday and Saturday nights together. It's strictly a weekends-only deal. He goes to the gym every night during the week, and he flat out refuses to see me, except on weekends. Holidays are not included.”

“Does that work for you?” Jeff asked her with interest. It didn't sound good to him. It was probably an arrangement Marie-Louise would have liked, if she could get away with it, but with him, she couldn't. He would never have tolerated what Sarah had just described to him, and he was surprised to hear that she did. She looked like a woman who wanted more than that, and needed it. But maybe he was wrong, and she didn't.

“Honestly?” she answered him. “No, it doesn't work for me. Weekends-only is the pits. I hate it. It was fine at first, but it got to me after the first couple of years. I've been upset and complaining about it for the last year, but he doesn't want to hear about it. That's the deal that's on the table. Take it or leave it. He's a tough negotiator, and a very good attorney.”

“Why do you put up with it, if you don't like it?” Jeff was ever more curious about her.

“What else is there?” she asked sadly. “I'm not that young anymore. There aren't a lot of decent guys out there at our age. Most of them are commitment phobic. They've had a bad marriage and don't want another one, or even a full-time commitment. The ones who've never been married are usually dysfunctional, and can't tolerate any relationship at all. The good ones are married by now and having children. Besides, I'm busy. I work too hard. When am I supposed to go out and meet someone? And where? I don't go to bars. I almost never go to parties anymore. I don't drink enough to enjoy them. The guys I work with are all married. And I don't do married men. So that leaves what I've got. I keep thinking that eventually he'll want to spend more time with me. But he doesn't. At least not so far. And maybe never. This works for him, better than it does for me. He's a nice guy, though he's selfish sometimes. And most of the time I enjoy him, when I don't upset myself worrying about how little I see him.” And she didn't want to add to Jeff that the sex was great, even after four years.