So now all her gear was in the back of his car, safe enough, but she'd just gotten more agitated as the day wore on.

"I have to call my mom again. I have to reach her. And then I promise, I'll return all the money I borrowed from you immediately."

"This may be killing you, Kelly, but it's not killing me. And I know you'll return the loan. Quit having a stroke."

"But I don't borrow money. From strangers. From anyone."

"Think of it from my perspective. If I were in a bind in a foreign country. I'd like to think someone would step up and help me."

"But not like this. You've given up the whole day. Your work. Your place. And you're still stuck with me."

"You know what? You need a drink. We both do."

She opened her mouth as if she were going to object to that, too, but then…for the first time… she suddenly seemed to open her eyes. Forget the all-consuming anxiety that had been eating her up.

A few moments later, he wrapped her hands around a glass of wine. A Syrah from the Rhone Valley, red as a ruby in the fading daylight.

She took a sip without looking, likely without tasting.

The boat had just started moving, the buzz of Paris traffic and tourists fading away. The other cruisers fell silent, too. No one could seem to help it on these Seine riverboats, even the Parisians. Paris really was the city of lights…and as dusk fell and the monuments lit up, so did all the ancient bridges. Those diamonds of light glittered in the Seine.

They passed the Musée d'Art, but all the good stuff was a distance away yet. The guide would do his tourist thing, identify the Jardin des Tuileries and the Louvre and all the usual great historical stuff…but that was later. Dinner was now. Wine. The lights. The textures and sounds of Paris.