"I'm fine."

"I got a room for us. A duplex. Separate sleeping areas so we can have that option."

I said nothing.

"Man." Terese managed a smile. "It's so good to see you."

I felt the same. Maybe it had never been love, but it was there, strong and true and special. Ali said we weren't forever. With Terese, well, maybe we weren't everyday, but it was something, something hard to define, something you could put on a nearby shelf for years and forget about and take for granted and maybe that was how it should be.

"You knew I'd come," I said.

"Yes. And you know the same is true if you'd been the one to call."

I did. "You look great," I said.

"Come on. Let's get something to eat."

The doorman took my suitcase and sneaked an admiring glance at Terese before giving me the universal man-to-man smirk that said, Lucky bastard.

The Rue Dauphine is a narrow road. A white van had double-parked next to a taxi, taking up nearly the entire street. The driver of the taxi was screaming what I could only assume were French obscenities but it might have just been a particularly aggressive way of asking for directions.

We turned right. It was nine in the morning. New York City might be in full swing by that hour, but strolling Parisians were still rousing themselves from their beds. We reached the Seine River at the Pont Neuf. In the distance on our right, I could see the towers of Notre Dame Cathedral. Terese started down the river walk in that direction, past the green boxes that were famous for selling antique books but seemed more intent on pushing chintzy souvenirs. Across the river, a giant fortress with a gorgeous mansard roof rose, to quote Springsteen, bold and stark.

As we got closer to Notre Dame, I said, "Would you be embarrassed if I rounded my shoulders, dragged my left leg, and shouted, 'Sanctuary!'"

"Some might mistake you for a tourist," Terese said.

"Good point. Maybe I should buy a beret with my name stenciled on the front."