Rob put his hand on Lena’s knee and pushed her skirt up. He began to unbutton her shirt with his other hand. Lena cupped his face and leaned in, closing her eyes in anticipation of a ground-shattering kiss.

“We can’t,” Rob said, leaning away. “We need to find everyone involved in trafficking uranium and apprehend them.”

“What?”

Lena woke up, confused, aroused, and dizzy. She blinked a few times, while her mind adjusted to the real world. The curtains in her bedroom were drawn, softening the summer morning’s sharp light. Lena looked at the vacant side of the bed and imagined Rob lying there, gazing at her. The image was so vivid she could almost hear his breathing and feel the warmth of his skin. She longed to touch him. She yearned for his touch. Was she in love? Was it too late to fight her feelings? Or was she merely lusting after him, her mind overpowered by physical need?

She got up and opened the window. The street bustled with delivery vans, bicycles, and pedestrians rushing to their workplaces, dragging their children to day care or walking their dogs. Lena closed her eyes and listened. Through the cacophony of sounds that included someone’s television and a couple of sparrows chirping animatedly, she could hear the vibrant, rhythmic pulse of the city.

She pushed her hair away from her face and sighed in acceptance of what she was about to do. Whether she was in love or in lust was a moot question, really. In any case, it probably wasn’t going to end well for her. But the truth was, she had to give Rob a second chance, or else all those what-ifs and might-have-beens plaguing her would soon make her sick, mentally and physically. She wasn’t being stupid or self-destructive. She was merely making a rational choice between probable calamity and impending disaster.

After that aha moment, the day dragged as though it had fallen from the normal time-space continuum into a slow-motion black hole. Having decided to go down to La Bohème around midnight so that she could catch Rob just before the end of his shift, Lena tried to occupy herself the best she could. She read, translated, read some more, ate, changed into a different pair of jeans, tied her hair up, let it loose, tied it up again. When her dad called at seven, she greeted him with a degree of enthusiasm that made him suspicious.

“Is everything all right with you, Lenochka?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Dad, just a little restless.”

She went on to ask him a million questions about Anna and the wedding plans. After they hung up, she tried to read again, but she was too antsy to sit down for more than a few minutes. At eleven thirty, she grabbed her purse, threw on a cardigan, and walked out of her apartment.

The bistro was winding up, but Rob was nowhere to be seen. Probably helping in the kitchen, Lena thought. She sat down and waited for Jeanne, who was clearing up a table, to notice her.

“Look who’s here!” Jeanne beamed. “Is it really you or an apparition?” She pinched Lena’s arm.

“Ouch.” Lena swatted Jeanne’s hand away.

“Hmm. Feels real enough . . .”

“Ha-ha. Hey, I was wondering—”

“He’s inside. Should be done in a few minutes. Sit tight. Shall I get you a glass of Chablis?”

Lena nodded, realizing that her dream about Jeanne remembering her preferences had come true. Must be an auspicious sign.

Rob walked out of the kitchen, an empty tray in his hand, and looked around. When he saw Lena, he started and then stopped. He looked at her, searching her eyes for an answer to his unspoken question. Lena held his gaze. It took all her willpower not to stand up and run to him. She wanted him to come to her.

Finally, a smile spread on Rob’s face, and he strode to her table. He sat down across from her and took her hand.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“This means you are on probation for an indeterminate length of time. If I see the smallest sign of spy activity, I’ll leave. I’ll move out of here . . . and I’ll tell your mother.”

“Oh no, please, not my mom! She has a really heavy hand.” Rob’s expression grew more serious. “Lena, you have no idea how glad I am that you came around.”

She gave him a long look. He hadn’t actually said he’d stop spying. “Can you give me your word?”

“What if we did it together? You’ll tell me what I can report. Isn’t it a brilliant idea?”

Her mouth thinned. “Is this a joke?”

“Lena, the guy is so desperate he’d take anything.” Rob smiled brightly. “The stuff I’ve been giving him so far was totally harmless.”

“And you’re the best judge of what’s harmless for my family?”

He said nothing, the smile slipping from his face.

She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why on earth would you wish to continue?”

“It’s good money. And I need it,” he said, a hard edge in his voice.

“I can lend you money or get my dad to lend you as much as you need.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t. Things would become weird between us.”

She searched his eyes. “Because now they aren’t weird at all?”

He only sighed in reply.

When she spoke again, her tone was firm. “If you want to be with me, Rob, you’ve got to stop reporting to this guy. The choice is yours.”

He nodded slowly. “OK. I’ll quit.” Then he smirked and added, “And from now on, I’ll only accept jobs that don’t involve snooping around.”

“Will you please consider borrowing from me?” she offered again.

“If you want to be with me, Lena,”—he gave her a sly look, as he echoed her ultimatum—“you’ve got to stop fretting. By the way, what made you change your mind about giving me a second chance?”

“Curiosity.” She smiled, trying to appear nonchalant.

Could Rob see through her? Could he guess that “misery” would have described her state over the past week much better?

He didn’t say anything but began to stroke her hand, first gently, then more daringly.

She’d lost herself in his eyes, spellbound, when Jeanne said, “Rob, I can finish up here while you go change. We’re nearly done, anyway. And then you two lovebirds can leave, so I can close the shop and go home.”

Rob jumped to his feet. “Lena, please wait here. I’ll be back in a sec. And thank you, Jeanne!” he shouted already halfway to the kitchen.

When he reemerged three minutes later, having changed into jeans and a T-shirt, Lena was waiting by the exit.

He reached her in three long strides. “I know a cool place just a few blocks from here on rue La Fayette. They’re open all night. Want to check it out?”

“No.”

She took his hand and led him to the green gate, and then inside her building.

* * *

Rob’s heart raced. He had spent so many hours fantasizing about making love to Lena and then reminding himself it would never happen, that the notion migrated to the realm of impossible dreams. Was he really going to be able to touch her, kiss her, hold her the way he’d held her in his fantasies?

When Lena led him into the tiny elevator, and he found himself facing her, their bodies almost touching for lack of space, he could wait no longer. He backed her against the wall and pressed his lips to hers. Dazed by the pleasure of it, he slid his tongue into her mouth and kissed her with an urgency that bordered on desperation. She tasted exactly like she looked—sweet, delicate, and infinitely lovely. He’d been hooked on that taste since their first kiss, hungering for it, craving it. When the elevator screeched to a halt, Rob had to summon all the willpower he possessed to break the kiss and tear himself from Lena.

Once inside the apartment, she turned to him, her cheeks flushed and her lips a little swollen from kissing.

“Would you like a drink?”

He slowly shook his head, a tiny smile flickering in his eyes, and Lena’s blush deepened to crimson red. She must have understood his unspoken reply: He wasn’t thirsty for a drink—he was thirsty for her.

Without a word, Lena took his hand again and led him to the bedroom. After they entered, she lit two big candles placed on either side of the bed. Shadows began to dance on the walls, and a light scent of jasmine filled the room.

“I know it’s corny, but I don’t care,” she said with a smile that blew Rob’s mind.

“Corny’s fine. I like corny.”

He pulled her to him and renewed the kiss. His hands roamed her back then plunged into her hair. He delighted in its satiny feel, its soft, silky smoothness against his fingertips. She gasped with pleasure. His lips moved down to kiss her neck, and he began to undo the little buttons on her blouse. He was clumsy with excitement. As soon as he managed to open the top three, he bared one of her shoulders and rained small kisses on it, then teased his tongue up along her graceful neck and back to her mouth. He couldn’t get enough of her.

In his fantasies about this moment he always went slowly, demonstrating his prowess, driving her to beg him to make love to her. But as her tongue darted into his mouth with an eagerness that equaled his own, he knew that slow wasn’t an option this time. Without breaking the kiss, he undid the remaining buttons, removed Lena’s shirt and unfastened the clasp of her bra. She slid her thumbs under his T-shirt and tugged it up and over his head. The rest of their clothing flew off in a heated frenzy until they stood in front of each other completely bare. For a few seconds Rob remained motionless, gazing at Lena, completely mesmerized by the play of light and shadow on her small firm breasts, her lithe thighs, and her flat tummy.

Then suddenly he could wait no more. He took a step toward her, flattened his hands against her lower back and pressed the entire length of his body against hers. She moaned softly and threw her arms around his neck. He drew in her intoxicating fragrance and eased her onto the bed.

* * *

Lena woke up and lay still for a moment, her eyes closed. As the sunlight tickled her skin, she listened to Rob’s even breathing. By the time they had finally fallen asleep after making love, talking and making love again, it was almost dawn. Lena remembered words, gestures, and movements from that magical candle-lit night. She was afraid that if she opened her eyes now, the enchantment would be over.

When she finally did, what she saw took her breath away. Rob was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his face turned away from her. His arms were raised above his head, hugging the pillow. He had uncovered himself in his sleep, and she could see him—all of him—in his stark male beauty. A ray of sunshine had snuck into the bedroom through a narrow gap between the curtains and landed squarely on Rob’s tight, muscled butt. After she looked her fill, her gaze slid upward along his gorgeous torso to his sinewy arms. And then she turned away. For if she didn’t, she was going to press her body against his and wake him up.

When she turned back a few minutes later, Rob was still lying on his stomach, but this time awake and looking at her.

“Good morning.” His husky morning voice was incredibly sexy.

He shifted, placed his hand on Lena’s waist and pulled her close. He smelled deliciously, dizzyingly masculine. She kissed him on the collarbone and the neck, and then trailed her lips along his jawline to his mouth. His lips were soft and warm, and his morning stubble grated a little against her chin.

When she pulled away after a long, lush kiss, Rob’s hand that had been holding her waist, went up to cup her cheek. “I don’t know how I’m going to manage it, but I’ve got to go.”

Lena drew back a little. “OK.”

“I have a job interview at eleven, and I need to get home to change into a suit. The interview is for a junior managerial position. I probably don’t stand a chance, but I need to keep trying.”

“Go get them,” she said.

He placed his hand back on her waist and trailed his fingertips along the curve of her hip. “I’ll need all my control to make it through this day before I can be in bed with you again. Or on the couch, a chair, the kitchen table—anything.”

Lena bit her lower lip. “Hmm. Let’s put a pin on that last suggestion. The kitchen table sounds . . . promising.”

She could hardly believe she’d spoken like this to a man—without a hint of inhibition.

Within a second he was on top of her, propping himself up on his elbows, his pupils dilated with desire.

“I’m going to be late for my interview.” He bent down and suckled her nipple. “But it doesn’t matter.” He suckled her other nipple. “Because if I don’t get inside you right now, I’ll die.”

* * *

As soon as he walked out of the small meeting room where interviews were being held, Rob dialed Boris’s number.

“Rob, what have you got for me?” Boris greeted him in his businesslike manner.

“I want to call our deal off.”

“Oh. You hit the jackpot?”

“I wish . . . I just can’t do it anymore.”

I promised her.

Rob stepped out of the shiny granite-floored lobby and filled his lungs with warm summer air. It was a relief to put an end to his short-lived spying career and be at peace with his conscience again. Even if, for now, he had no clue where he could get the funds to pay the school fee. Unless, of course, he did “hit the jackpot” by quickly landing a good job. But the chances of that happening, given the current job market, were modest.

“Are you sure about this or are you trying to renegotiate the fee?” Boris asked dryly.

“I’m sure. Besides, I don’t see how it’s a good deal for you. Lena and her father rarely talk shop, and most of the info I give you is useless.”

“Most but not all,” Boris said. “Listen. Give me one more juicy morsel like the one about Malakhov’s interest in Raduga, then quit. I’ll raise your fee sixfold for a scoop like that.”

Rob couldn’t help doing the math. Six times his current fee, plus what he’d made on the double shifts at La Bohème, would free him of debt.

“I’ll call you if I hear something,” he said.

As Lena emerged from behind the green gate, she spotted Rob approaching the bistro. His grin indicated he had made it to his interview. He’d gone there straight from her place, figuring it was better to show up in an imperfect state than not to show up at all. So he had taken a speedy shower, borrowed her razor to shave, and used his index finger to brush his teeth. On his way out, he’d stopped by the bistro and swapped his T-shirt for one of his starched server shirts.

Already briefed by Jeanne about the reconciliation, Pepe showed them to a small table squeezed between two others. “I am afraid we cannot offer you the private terrace out back at this time. It’s currently occupied by the proprietor.”

“It’s OK,” Lena said while Rob glared at Pepe.

After they finished their lunch and ordered espressos, Jeanne joined them during her coffee break. Rob stood up and adjusted the central parasol to make sure all three of them were protected from the midday sun.

“Paris weather rocks,” Lena said, taking a sip of her coffee. “It hardly ever rains.”

“The past couple of months have been an anomaly, absolutely not representative of Parisian weather,” Jeanne said. “If you’re lucky, it may last until early September and may even come back for a week in late October.”

“Don’t you love Indian summer? Like in that Joe Dassin song.” Lena hummed the melancholy tune, and wondered if Rob would still be with her in October.

Better not think about it now.

“Yes, yes, it’s very nice,” Jeanne said. “But the norm in Paris is wet and chilly. Just like London or Brussels. Only for some strange reason, Paris has a better rep. People imagine it as sunny or brightly lit at night. But its true face is gray.”

“I’ve been to Paris several times before, and the weather was nice every time,” Lena protested. She wouldn’t have the city of her dreams trashed like that.

“When was it?” Jeanne asked. “What time of year did you visit?”

“Well, summer, mostly . . . and spring,” Lena had to admit.

“Told you. Wait till you see our real weather. Till you experience the veritable Parisian drizzle—drives you out of your mind.”

Lena turned to Rob, but he was busy talking to Pepe who had come to collect the check. Still, Lena was determined to stand her ground. “It’s just rain, Jeanne, we have that in Moscow, and in Geneva, too. What’s so special about the Parisian drizzle?”

“Oh, it’s not just any drizzle, honey. It’s this humidity hanging in the air in tiny little droplets, so tiny they penetrate your skin and then your skull and get into your brain.”

Lena shuddered at the image . . . then felt Rob’s hand on her knee. He was still talking to Pepe, his face turned away from her, but his hand—concealed by the table—got under the hem of her sundress and began to caress her thigh.

“Rest assured. You’ll be able to make your own opinion about the Parisian drizzle soon enough,” Jeanne said.

“You’re mean, you know? Even if I’m deluding myself about how great Paris is, why drizzle on my parade? Can’t you just let me bask in my dumb love a little longer?”

“Lena, dear, don’t listen to Jeanne,” Pepe said. “She’s French, so she complains. That’s what the French do, always and in any circumstance.”

“No, we don’t, you silly little—” Jeanne started.

Pepe didn’t let her finish. “It’s not your fault, Jeanne.” He turned to Lena and repeated for extra emphasis, “It’s not her fault. It’s what they’re taught from their tenderest age.”

“Says who?” Rob asked, his hand scorching hot against Lena’s thigh.

“Imagine this little baby.” Pepe made a fish mouth and emitted a couple of high-pitched screams. “So this baby is really, really happy. It just got its first squeeze of breast milk. Life is beautiful, everything is perfect. And then it hears Mommy say, ‘Oh shit, I’m so bored’ or ‘Oh shit, I feel like a cow’ or ‘Oh shit, this baby is so ugly’.”

Encouraged by the girls’ giggles, he continued, “I’m telling you, Lena, complaining is a national sport—no, it’s a national value—in this country. Didn’t you know? It’s what the revolutionaries stormed the Bastille for. They wanted every citizen to have the right to grumble.”

Pepe climbed on a chair, raised his clenched fist in the air, and recited, “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité, Complain.”

The patrons sitting within earshot of Pepe cheered enthusiastically. He bowed and climbed down from the chair, looking exceedingly pleased with his deconstruction of the French character. Jeanne narrowed her eyes at him and mumbled something unintelligible.

Rob grinned, obviously too entertained—or too distracted—to defend his compatriots.

Lena smiled, as a wave of pure, unadulterated happiness washed over her.

* * *

By the time they stood to leave, Lena’s sole concern was to quickly get someplace where Rob could finish what he had started at the bistro. Without saying a word to each other, they headed straight back to her apartment.

A few hours of lovemaking later—including on the kitchen table—Lena was too exhausted to go out again. Rob said he was happy to stay put. He needed to check his e-mail and send his CV to a few more companies. Lena lent him her laptop and settled on the couch with a book, but she couldn’t focus on reading. Too many questions assaulted her mind. She wondered if Rob was going to stay for the night, if he would be prepared to leave France for a job offer abroad, if he’d managed to find the money he needed.

After staring at the same page for twenty minutes, she asked, “What are the jobs you’re applying to?”

“All kinds. I’m afraid I’m not in a position to pick my industry or location. I’ll be happy if I can negotiate the starting salary.”

There, she had at least one of her answers. Better not dwell on it too much.

She smiled brightly. “What if the job you were interviewed for this morning worked out? You said the interview went pretty well.”

“I hope so.” Rob turned to Lena. “And what about you? Any change since a month ago?”

“My supervisor in Geneva encourages me to apply for a PhD program, which means at least three more years of study. I don’t mind the study as much as the purpose of doing a PhD. It would be to stay in the academia.”

Rob quirked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than working for my dad in the IT field, which would either drive me crazy or bore me silly. Most probably both.”

“But?”

“But . . . I guess what I’d really like to do with my life is translating literary works. I love it and I think I’m good at it. I’ve decided to do just that during my “gap year” in Paris. I’ll translate as much as I can—prose and poetry, from Russian to French and vice versa.”

Lena smiled apologetically. “Unlike most new graduates, I can afford to experiment. After all, being a minigarch does offer a few perks.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Thanks for letting me use your laptop.” He stood and ran his hand through his hair. “Lena, I need to go to my place tonight . . .”

“Yes, sure.”

He took a step toward her. “Would you like to come with me? I know you’re tired.” He grinned smugly. “But we could have a quiet evening at my place, just watching TV. Mat is out of town, so I have the apartment to myself.”

Lena silently counted to five before answering. “OK, let’s see what your lair looks like.”

The lair was reasonably neat for a place inhabited by two young men. On the way upstairs, Rob picked up the mail and went through it, separating the junk.

“I have a letter from my grandfather. He’s the only member of my family who still writes letters using pen and paper. Now that I think of it, he’s the only person I know who still does that.” He waved a small envelope addressed to him.

“I know. A vanishing art . . . On the other hand, look at the bright side—all the trees that weren’t cut, animals that weren’t deprived of their habitat, indigenous tribes that weren’t displaced.”

“I see your point, but when I read this letter”—he pointed at the two densely filled pages he was holding—“I can relate to the person who wrote it in a different way than when I read a three line e-mail with no caps.”

She smiled. “You have a nostalgic side!”

“I hope you still like me.” He led her to the kitchen that had a small dining table, a bookshelf, and a wall-mounted TV. “What would you like to drink?”

“Tea would be good.”

He turned on the electric kettle and put teabags into their mugs. “You know, my grandfather is the family’s maverick. He never wanted to be a farmer, had big dreams when he was young.”

“Did he pursue them?”

Rob shook his head. “He gave up on them to stay in the village and marry my grandmother. I think he spent his every waking hour ever since regretting that decision.”

“But didn’t he love your grandma? Didn’t they raise kids together? Live a tranquil life in a beautiful setting?” Lena was inexplicably disturbed by Rob’s comment on his grandfather’s choice.

“They produced my dad, and then Grand-maman died of cancer. After that, Grand-papa had a pretty long bout of depression. I’m not sure about the specifics, but my father says Grand-papa became too cozy in his depressed state to get out there and face the world.”

The kettle started beeping, and Rob interrupted his story to finish making their tea. He placed a steaming mug in front of Lena.

“Thank you. But, please, let me do this next time. I may suck at cooking, but I do know how to make tea and coffee. Isn’t it enough that you bring me food and beverages when I’m at La Bohème?”

“At La Bohème, I’m paid to bring you food and beverages. So it doesn’t count. Whereas here, I’m free to do as I please, and it pleases me to make you tea.” Rob sat down next to Lena and added, “Since I can’t very well go and hunt a saber-toothed tiger for you.”

Lena raised her eyebrows.

“Because I would, you know, if you wanted one. Had they not been extinct.” He wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead and blew out his cheeks. “Thank God.”

Lena giggled. But she still wanted to hear the rest of his grandfather’s story. “Did your Grandpa recover from his depression?”

“Kind of. After my dad took over the farm and married my mom, Grand-papa rented a little studio apartment and developed a routine that still keeps him going. He starts every day with a little exercise session.”

“Good for him.”

“He also makes sure to always have company for his meals. Usually, it’s one of his bridge club or chess club buddies. Sometimes, my sister. Then he goes for a long walk in the afternoon. And then he goes over to my parents’ place for dinner.”

“This doesn’t sound like an unhappy life to me,” Lena said.

“It doesn’t sound like it, but to him it is.” Rob took a sip from his mug. “You see, he measures what he’s got against his unfulfilled dreams. He wanted to go to college, travel the world, be a movie director . . . He didn’t do any of that, hence the regret.”

“He could’ve at least traveled once your dad was a grown man, couldn’t he?”

“He was broke.” Rob gave Lena a strange look, then said, “You see, when you’re eighteen and you hitchhike your way around the world, you’re an explorer. When you do it at sixty-eight, you’re a tramp.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the evening quietly in front of the TV, just as planned. The night turned out to be a lot less quiet.

In the morning, when they sat down to coffee and toast in the kitchen, Lena thought it was lucky that Mat was out of town. She would have been too embarrassed to face him now, considering all the commotion she and Rob made during the night.

“You bring me luck!” Rob interrupted her thoughts, turning his phone to Lena.

The company he’d interviewed with the day before had requested a follow-up interview.

“Who knew that having slept for only three hours before a job interview would work for me?” Then his tone became more serious. “This is my first follow-up, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“I’m so happy for you.” She gave him a playful wink. “Must’ve been the jeans and server’s shirt combo that did the trick.”

“How about my superior intelligence and leadership potential? Anyway, I don’t want to get my hopes too high yet. It’s just a follow-up interview, not a job offer.”

Lena was about to ask what and, especially, where the job in question was, when Rob clapped his hand to his forehead. “I almost forgot to tell you: I’ll be visiting my family this weekend. Their farm is in a small village called Saint-Fontain, next to Besançon. Have you ever been there?”

“On the Swiss side of the Jura Mountains, yes, but not in French Jura.”

“It’s the July Fourteenth, so there’ll be lots of festivities. My parents extended the invitation to Amanda and Mat. I asked if I could bring a third friend, and they said the more the merrier. So, if you don’t have better plans for your weekend . . .”

Lena noted Rob’s use of the term “friend” to describe her and it rattled her. On a rational level, she knew he couldn’t possibly have referred to her as his girlfriend, considering that they had been together for only two days. She also knew that if she had to mention Rob to her dad, a “friend” would be the word she’d use. But to her dismay, insecurity was once again clouding her judgment, making her doubt herself and others. She was aware of it, yet she couldn’t help it.

Rob misinterpreted her frown. “Lena, if you’re not too excited about spending the weekend with a bunch of village folk, drinking and making merry, I won’t blame you.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m actually quite curious to get a glimpse of French rural life. It was just unexpected.” She fidgeted with her watch strap. “And . . . you don’t need to invite me just to be polite. I can have a perfectly fine weekend here or go visit friends in Geneva while you’re away.”

“But I want you to come,” he said, taking her hand. “Once you know me better, you’ll see I don’t do things just to be polite. I’m inviting you because I’d like you to come with me to Saint-Fontain.”

She searched his eyes.

“Besides, the Swiss side of Jura is a pale sham compared to the French side. Our forests are greener, our skies are bluer, and our mountains are taller.”

“Watch out—I may bring my measuring tape.”

“Does it mean you’re coming?”

“I guess it does.”

“Great! You’ll see—it’s going to be fun.”

Lena nodded, trying to ignore her gut feeling that a weekend in Amanda’s company was likely to be anything but fun.