Le Filou

by inkstainedfingers97

"I wasn't sure what to think of it, at first. It's kind of…sneaky." Kim visits Teresa in Paris and finds her friend has left out a few critical details about her summer abroad. One shot sequel to "Red Violin."

Le Filou

Rating: T

A/N: I'm publishing this as a belated birthday present for French Pumpkin. I put an easter egg in this story just for you, my friend. Let's add this to the pile of sequels I never intended to write... this one's not a novel, though! Just a one shot.

xxx

Kim dragged her suitcase behind her and hitched her other bag higher on her shoulder, scanning the terminal at Charles de Gaulle for a familiar face.

A stranger jostled her from behind, causing her bag to slip from her shoulder. Cursing, she stopped to right it, then resumed her progress forward.

"Kim!"

She looked around and saw Teresa smiling and waving to her from behind the security cordon. Grinning, Kim waved back and made her way over to her friend.

Once Kim exited the security area, Teresa hugged her hello. "I'm so glad to see you," Teresa said warmly. "How was your flight?"

Kim shrugged. "Long, but uneventful."

"Are you completely exhausted?" Teresa said sympathetically.

"I feel okay now," Kim said. "I slept on the plane part of the way. I might need a nap later, though."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Teresa said with another smile.

Kim squeezed her hands. "What about you? Paris must agree with you. You look amazing." Looking her friend over, she thought 'radiant' might be a more appropriate word. Teresa appeared to be lit from within, positively glowing with good health and happiness.

Teresa blushed a little. "Oh—I'm good. Staying busy, you know."

"I bet. I worked with Gareau a few years ago – he's a real slave driver."

"Oh, he's not with the Paris Orchestra anymore," Teresa said, surprised. "He left in a huff over some creative dispute about six months ago and went off to Russia."

"Really? I hadn't heard. Who have they got now?"

"Labosierre. He's great."

"I've never worked with him myself, but I've heard good things," Kim said. She hitched her bag up on her shoulder again. "Listen, should we get going? I'm dying to catch up, but I'd prefer to do it over a glass of wine after I have a chance to clean up a bit."

Teresa looked chagrined. "Uh, yes. Just—before we go, there's something I need to tell you."

"What's that?"

Teresa licked her lips, looking a little nervous. "I really should have warned you sooner," she said awkwardly. "I meant to send you an email to let you know, but I could never figure out how to explain properly."

"Warn me about what?" Kim asked, intrigued.

"Hello, ladies," a male voice interrupted them. "May I interest you in some coffee and pastries?"

Kim looked up to see an extremely handsome, vaguely familiar blond figure grinning down at them and extending a cardboard tray with three take-away cups. He smiled at her, eyes twinkling.

"Kim," Teresa mumbled, tomato red. "You remember Patrick Jane."

The name clicked into place. Kim remembered the man from the party in San Francisco three months ago. Her eyebrows rose. "Patrick. Hello."

His eyes twinkled. "Kim. Nice to see you again." He held up a bag of pastries. "I brought you some breakfast."

"That's…kind of you," Kim said, eyeing the pastry bag with longing. She was starving.

He handed the bag to her and smoothly relieved her of her shoulder bag at the same time.

"Oh!" Kim said, startled. "You don't have to do that. I can get it."

"Nonsense." Patrick said, giving her a wink. He took the roller bag from her as well. "Serving as Sherpa was the condition of me being allowed to come."

"I see," Kim said, though she didn't. She cast a curious glance at Teresa, but her friend was busy eyeing the coffee.

"Which one's mine?" Teresa asked, peering at the three cups.

Patrick set the roller bag upright to free one hand and gestured. "Café americain for you, my dear. A noisette for Kim. And for me…"

"Let me guess," Teresa said dryly, taking the cup he had indicated for herself. "Tea."

He beamed at her. "You know me so well." Teresa rolled her eyes.

"A noisette?" Kim asked curiously.

"Espresso with a shot of cream," Teresa explained.

Kim made a satisfied noise. Just what she wanted after a long plane ride. She took the cup. She took a sip, then investigated the bag of pastries. Three plump half circles of golden pastry beckoned from the bottom of the bag. She inhaled. They smelled heavenly.

Remembering her manners, she extended the bag to Teresa.

Teresa shook her head. "Those are for you. We already ate."

"Oh—okay. Thanks," Kim said. She didn't need telling twice. She fished the first one out of the bag and took a bite. The shape was different, but they somehow reminded her of her grandmother's apple turnovers. But—she sent a mental plea for forgiveness to her grandmother's memory—these were even better. The pastry light and flaky, the filling absolute perfection. She sighed in surprise and pleasure. "So good."

"Glad you like them," Patrick said, pleased. "I had to guess about your favorites, and then there's a certain amount of cross-cultural food translation involved, of course. But I thought these might do the trick."

Kim's brow crinkled in consternation, but she was too busy savoring the delightful pastry to inquire further.

"All right, quit showing off," Teresa said to Patrick, exasperated. "Let's go."

They trooped outside. Kim looked for signs for the metro, but Patrick beckoned them to a black town car idling by the curb. "Here we are," he said cheerfully. A driver hopped out of the car and took the bags from him. The man deposited them in the trunk, then opened the back door for the three of them. Patrick gestured for them to precede him, then climbed in after them and took his seat next to Teresa, who was sitting in the middle.

"Wow," Kim said, examining the interior of the car. Even with three of them sitting abreast, the backseat was comfortably spacious. "Fancy."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Patrick believes in traveling in style."

Hiring a car with a driver must have set him back a pretty penny, Kim thought. "I figured we'd just take the metro."

"See?" Teresa said to Patrick pointedly. "Some people understand that taking local transport is part of the experience of travel."

"Not when they've just arrived from a trans-Atlantic flight," Patrick said firmly. "Kim's here for a week—there's plenty of time for adventures when there's no luggage to be carried."

Kim had to agree with him there. "Thanks for taking the trouble. I'm sure I'd have managed, but it certainly is nice not to have to schlep the bags around on the train."

"It's no trouble," Patrick said, confirming her guess that he'd been the one to foot the bill for this particular indulgence.

Teresa distracted her then with a question about some of their co-workers back in San Francisco, and Kim spent most of the drive into Paris imparting the last several months' worth of goings on within the San Francisco Symphony.

"Oh, and did you know Grace has started dating your friend Wayne Rigsby?" Kim remembered to ask after they'd caught up on other matters.

Teresa nodded. "Cho wrote me. He was complaining about Rigsby mooning around after her when they were on the job, but I'm happy for Grace. Rigsby's nice."

"Yeah, he's sweet," Kim confirmed. "He follows her around like a lost puppy."

"I hope it lasts," Teresa said. "For Cho's sake, if nothing else. He was full of dire predictions about what his life would be like if Rigsby ended up with his heart broken."

"It will," Patrick said confidently. "Cho has nothing to worry about."

Teresa turned to him, half-exasperated, half-amused. "What the hell do you know about it? You talked to Rigsby for five minutes, tops, and you never even met Grace."

Patrick shrugged. "I watched them long enough to form my own conclusions. Rigsby was clearly willing to kill and die for her after talking to her for ten minutes. That sort of loyalty is very attractive to a woman. I'm sure Grace will find his particular brand of adoration and protectiveness a welcome change after the jerks she's dated in the past. They might have a few bumps along the way, but they're a good match."

"How do you know she's dated jerks in the past?" Teresa demanded. "I never told you that."

"Please," Patrick said, rolling his eyes. "It's written all over her."

xxx

The car pulled up to a three story apartment building in the heart of Montmartre and came to a stop.

Kim blinked. "This is where you're staying?" She could hardly imagine how one managed to secure a sublet in such a desirable location.

"Yeah," Teresa said. "Patrick found it for me. Wait til you see the inside."

Kim raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. This man was just full of surprises, wasn't he?

Patrick collected the bags from the driver and tipped him lavishly. Teresa wordlessly took Kim's shoulder bag from him, and he grinned at her. Teresa's lips twitched as she turned to lead the way into the apartment. Kim protested that she could carry her own bags, and they both shushed her. When they reached the landing at the top of three flights of stairs, Teresa unlocked the door and ushered them into the apartment.

"Wow," Kim said, looking around. "This place is fantastic." The apartment was light and airy, with a cozy living area and a small but well-equipped kitchen. French doors opened up to a small balcony complete with a small table and two wrought iron chairs. Flowerpots spilling over with blossoms covered every available surface. But it was the view of the Paris skyline that elevated the place from charming to spectacular. Kim saw a music stand perched near one of the windows and felt a shot of envy at the idea of practicing every day with such a beautiful view to serve as inspiration. She quashed it down. She reminded herself to be grateful that she had the week off and the opportunity to enjoy the view for the whole time she was here. Plus the opportunity to act as a tourist for once, instead of working all the time as was usually the case when she found herself in one of the capitals of Europe. She was really looking forward to it.

"Please make yourself at home," Teresa said. "Come on, I'll show you your room."

Teresa led her into a small, comfortable bedroom decorated in soothing shades of robin's egg blue. Teresa set her shoulder bag on the bed and Patrick propped the roller bag in the corner.

"It's lovely," Kim said sincerely. "Thanks so much for having me."

"Thank you for coming," Teresa said with a grin. "So, what do you want to do first, now that your vacation has officially started?"

"Shower," Kim said fervently.

Teresa laughed. "I think we can make that happen. The bathroom's at the end of the hall. I set out some fresh towels for you—help yourself to whatever else you need."

"Thanks."

"We'll let you get settled, then," Teresa said, giving Patrick a nudge and preceding him out the door. Kim didn't miss the way his fingers tangled with hers briefly as he followed her out, nor the way her fingers fleetingly but unmistakably squeezed back. Kim grinned to herself. Oh, she couldn't wait to hear this story.

In the bathroom, she noticed two toothbrushes in the toothbrush holder next to the sink. A man's razor and shaving cream rested on the open shelf beneath the medicine cabinet. Kim shook her head. Curioser and curioser.

When she emerged from her shower, considerably refreshed, she headed back down the hall towards the kitchen, where she could hear Patrick and Teresa washing the dishes and bickering good-naturedly.

"Come on," Patrick said. He rinsed off a plate and handed it to Teresa. "I'll be good."

Teresa snorted as she took the plate and dried it. "Yeah, right."

"Seriously, I'll be on my best behavior," he wheedled.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "That's not exactly setting the bar high."

Kim entered the room. "What are you guys talking about?"

"I'm trying to convince Teresa to let me go with her to her rehearsal tomorrow afternoon," Patrick told her.

"And I'm telling him there's no way in hell that's gonna happen," Teresa said pleasantly.

"Just because I got off on the wrong foot with Renaud—"

"He insulted the bassoonist," Teresa told Kim.

"Nonsense, I just told him he needed to work on his breathing patterns a bit."

"You told him he sounded like an asthmatic elephant charging up a set of stairs," Teresa said, exasperated.

"Merely illustrating my point," Patrick said, unruffled.

"You didn't leave it at that, either," Teresa said. "By the time the rehearsal was over, you'd alienated the entire wind section. The first flute hasn't spoken to me since."

"Well, I did you a favor there," Patrick said, unrepentant. "The woman's a horrible snob. Her nose is so high in the air it's a wonder she doesn't get altitude sickness just by walking around."

"Oh, yes," Teresa said sarcastically. "Comments like that definitely make me want to change my mind about letting you set foot in the rehearsal space. You should consider yourself lucky I don't have you banned from the actual performances."

"You can't ban me from the performances," Patrick said indignantly. "I'm a paying customer."

She arched an eyebrow. "You really want to test me on that one?"

He held her gaze for a moment before hastily clearing his throat and turning to Kim. "So, Kim, I was thinking that tomorrow you and I could hang out while Teresa is at rehearsal. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me," Kim said agreeably. "Got anything in particular in mind?"

Teresa wiped another plate and nudged him. "You should take her to that ice cream place. You know, the one on l'île St. Louis—I forget the name of it."

"Berthillon," Patrick supplied. He addressed Kim. "I don't want to brag—"

This prompted another indelicate snort from Teresa.

"—but I'm somewhat of an ice cream expert," he finished, unperturbed.

"Oh, really?" Kim said, amused.

"It's true," Teresa said. "I think he's tried every ice cream place in the city."

"And Berthillon is the best one," Patrick said.

"Sounds like I'd better not miss it," Kim said with a grin.

"Do you have any particular places you want to see while you're here?" Patrick asked her, finishing with the last of the dishes.

Kim shook her head. "I'm pretty open. I've seen most of the major tourist attractions at one point or another from work trips, but I wouldn't mind going to a few of them again. Everything is always so rushed when you're traveling for work. I'd love to go back to the Louvre at some point."

Patrick's eyes lit up. "Ah, the Louvre! We should definitely go—Teresa has a very limited attention span when it comes to museums."

Teresa swatted him with the dish towel. "Hey, just because I don't want to stare at every painting for twenty minutes apiece—"

Patrick ignored her. "It's settled, then," he said to Kim. "Museum first, then ice cream."

She smiled at him. "Sounds like an excellent plan."

Patrick took the dishtowel from Teresa and dried his hands. "Well, I'd better be going," he announced. "I'm sure you two have lots to catch up on." He gave Kim a wink that indicated he was fully aware he would be the primary topic of conversation.

She smirked and winked back. His grin widened and he chuckled.

"Stay out of trouble," Teresa told him, in a tone that implied she didn't have much hope of this particular outcome.

"I'll call you if I need bail money," he joked, dropping a light kiss on her lips.

"Don't fleece anybody, either," she warned, giving him a quick peck in return.

"Nobody undeserving, anyway," he said in agreement. He squeezed her hand. "We're on for dinner tonight, yes?"

"Yes," Teresa confirmed. "Eight o clock."

"Perfect. I'll see you both there." He took a set of keys from the kitchen counter and put them in his pocket. "Au revoir!"

He left, and they heard him whistling cheerfully as he headed down the hall.

Teresa turned to Kim. "That's okay, isn't it? About dinner, I mean."

"Sure. Sounds like fun."

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about Patrick joining us," Teresa said apologetically. "But he insisted he wanted to take us out to dinner."

"I don't mind," Kim said truthfully. "He seems like an entertaining guy."

Teresa smiled wryly. "He is that. You definitely won't be bored. Besides, the food will probably be fantastic. Patrick's very good at food."

"He's good at food?" Kim said, amused.

"Oh—you know what I mean," Teresa said, flustered. "He always seems to find the best places to eat, one way or another."

"I see," Kim said, suppressing a smirk.

Teresa cleared her throat. "Anyway, enough about that. What do you want to do now? You ready to hit the town?"

Kim grinned wickedly. "Not yet. I think I'd like to hear more about what else Patrick is good at, first."

Teresa blushed. "You sure you don't want to, uh, take a walk first? See some sights?"

"Nuh-uh," Kim said sternly. "You don't get to spring a man that beautiful on me and get away without giving me details." She took Teresa by the elbow and steered her into living room. She sat her down on the couch, then curled up next to her and looked at her expectantly. "Spill, my friend."

Teresa appeared very interested in the embroidery on the couch cushion next to her. "What do you want to know?"

"So many things," Kim said with feeling. "First off, what the hell is he doing here? Is he out here on business or something? Is that how you reconnected with him after meeting him at that party back in San Francisco?"

"Not exactly," Teresa mumbled.

"Fine, so how exactly did he come to be here, then?"

Teresa grimaced. "He sort of…followed me here."

"You're kidding."

Teresa shook her head. "'Fraid not."

"After knowing you what, two hours?" Kim said, incredulous. "Is the man insane?"

Teresa smiled wryly. "A little longer than that, actually, but yeah. That's what I said."

"Did you sleep with him before you left San Francisco?" Kim asked. It was the only conceivable explanation she could think of. She whistled. "Damn. You must be amazing in bed."

"No!" Teresa cleared her throat. "I mean, no, I didn't sleep with him. Uh. I mean, technically, yes, we did sleep together. But only in the literal sense. I mean, we were fully clothed and on the hood of his car…"

Kim stared at her.

"Don't get me wrong, I definitely thought about it," Teresa continued. She cleared her throat. "I probably would have." Her eyebrows came together in a scowl. "But then he wanted to get sandwiches."

"Sandwiches," Kim echoed.

"Yes," Teresa said, sounding piqued. "At three am!"

"So you got sandwiches instead of sleeping with him," Kim repeated, trying to follow along.

"Well, I was hungry," Teresa admitted. "And he wanted to have a picnic."

Kim shook her head. "Start at the beginning. I want to hear the whole story."

"Well, you met him at the party," Teresa said, as though this were an explanation unto itself.

"Yes. For ten minutes," Kim reminded her.

"Right. He gave me two bottles of water, and the next thing I know I'm agreeing to take him with me to the Black Cat to see the last set of this jazz band I love. So we go see the end of the concert—he made me order him tea at the bar, do you believe that?"

As though this were the most incredible element of the story. "Shocking," Kim said dryly. "Then what?"

Teresa blew out a breath. "The band played an extra set. We…danced."

The way she said it told Kim that far more than a simple dance had passed between the two of them on that dance floor, but it didn't seem quite right to pry into the specifics in this particular instance. Besides, she had lots of other prying to do—she needed to choose where to exert her nosiness most effectively. "Sounds romantic."

"It was," Teresa acknowledged. For Teresa, this was a significant admission. "So anyway, the concert ends, and we walk back out to his car, and I figure—he knows I'm leaving, he's probably going to ask me to go back to his place. But then—"

"Sandwiches," Kim supplied.

"Exactly," Teresa said, nodding. "He says we should go have a picnic under the stars."

"Super romantic."

"I guess," Teresa said grudgingly. "So we go up to the Lawrence Hall of Science and have a picnic at three-thirty in the morning on the hood of his car. We talked a while, and then I guess I fell asleep. Then I woke up and he drove me back into the city to pick up my car."

Kim shook her head. "You're the worst storyteller ever."

"Hey," Teresa said indignantly. "You're the one who wanted to hear this!"

"I'm serious. You talk like you're in a police interrogation." She gave her a mock salute. "Just the facts, ma'am."

"That's what happened!"

"Nothing in what you just said explains why he would get on a plane and follow you halfway across the world after one night," Kim said, exasperated.

"I thought we already covered this—he's crazy."

"Seriously. What happened when you picked up your car?"

Teresa licked her lips. "Well—he kissed me."

"Now we're talking," Kim said approvingly. "So how was it?"

"The kiss?"

"Yes, of course the kiss!" Kim said impatiently. Had the woman never engaged in girl talk in her whole life?

Teresa fidgeted. "It was…nice."

"Nice," Kim groaned. "You're killing me here, Teresa."

"It was—" Teresa exhaled. "I'm sorry. There's no way to describe it without sounding like a total idiot."

"I'll give you a free pass on sounding like an idiot," Kim assured her. "Tell."

Teresa struggled for another moment. "It was the kind of kiss that I didn't think really existed outside of bad novels," she said finally. "Like—being swept away on a tide, but to this really amazing place I never knew even existed."

Kim made a satisfied noise. "Now we're talking. Sounds like something out of a really good novel."

Teresa made a face. "It was every cliché in the book. Fireworks, cartoon birds singing… Everything I made fun of my whole life."

Kim laughed. "Ah, the bittersweet taste of defeated cynicism."

Teresa swatted her on the leg. "Shut up."

"So then what happened?" Kim said expectantly.

Teresa shrugged. "I went to the airport. Came here. I assumed I'd never see him again."

"And yet…" Kim said leadingly.

"And two days later, he showed up at my hotel room here in Paris with no luggage," Teresa said.

"What did he say?"

"Well, first he stole my omelette and invited himself to take a shower in my room."

Kim raised her eyebrows. "With you in it?"

Teresa shook her head. "I was busy eating the omelette I stole back from him. I didn't even realize what he was doing at first."

"And then?"

"He told me that the night we had in San Francisco was extraordinary, and he wanted to get to know me better. And as crazy as it was, I knew I would regret it if I sent him away. So…he stayed."

Kim's eyebrows climbed higher. "With you?" This was not the cool, deliberate, and commitment phobic behavior of the Teresa she knew.

"That part was an accident," Teresa mumbled.

"An accident?" Kim echoed. "An accident which caused you to let a strange man move in with you after spending less than twenty-four hours in his company?"

"Well," Teresa hedged. "I told him he could meet me after rehearsal that day. He came and picked me up, and we ended up walking around for something like five or six hours. And then we were really hungry so we stopped and got a bite to eat. And then he walked me back to my hotel room and it was really late… and he'd been traveling for two days… and he didn't have any luggage."

"What does the luggage have to do with anything?"

Teresa shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It seemed significant at the time."

"Okay. He didn't have any luggage," Kim prompted.

"Right. Anyway, it was late. He was obviously exhausted. But he was smiling at me with this dopey, happy grin on his face…so I told him he could stay on the couch."

"The man crossed an ocean for you and you made him sleep on the couch?" Kim asked.

"He was acting like a crazy person!" Teresa defended.

"Uh-huh," Kim said, unimpressed. "And how long did the sleeping on the couch arrangement last?"

"Two weeks."

"He flew across the Atlantic and then waited two weeks to make a move?" Kim said incredulously.

"He didn't make a move," Teresa said crossly. "I practically attacked him on the couch."

Kim laughed. "A man that good-looking—I'm impressed you held out that long. I take it he was a willing victim?"

Teresa blushed again. "Yes."

"So why didn't he jump you, then?" Kim asked curiously. "He doesn't strike me as the type to hesitate to go after what he wants."

"He's not," Teresa confirmed. "I mean—he kissed me a lot. But he said he didn't want to sleep with me if it was going to cause me to freak out and kick him out. He said he'd rather stay on the couch and 'play the long game.'"

"The long game?"

"His words. He said he'd rather wait until I was sure what was between us was something real."

"You're making this up," Kim said flatly.

Teresa shook her head. "It's true."

"How…chivalrous."

"Yeah, he was a perfect gentleman." Teresa's tone indicated that the word was not intended as a compliment.

"That's sweet."

"Yes. It was both sweet and annoying at the same time."

Kim smirked. "You sound a little put out by that."

"Well, he was driving me crazy," Teresa huffed. "Being so sweet all the time and then refusing to make a move."

"So you took matters into your own hands," Kim surmised. Sounded like the only sensible thing to do, really.

"Exactly."

"Did something particular happen at two weeks?" Kim asked. "Or did you just decide enough was enough?"

"I had a late rehearsal. The conductor was sick. The concert mistress was in Geneva—everything was chaos." Teresa sighed. "We were there for hours. I got home late, was in a terrible mood. Patrick was there waiting for me. He asked me some simple question and I basically bit his head off. Then I was angry at myself, because I always—" She cleared her throat. "I'm not the best at controlling my temper."

Kim made a noncommittal noise, knowing from experience (as a witness to a particularly memorable scene involving one of the more condescending of their male colleagues) that this was a fairly significant understatement.

Teresa raked a hand through her hair. "Anyway, I was in a foul mood and frustrated with myself. But Patrick just kissed my hair and asked if I wanted something to eat, because he'd made me dinner."

"In the hotel?"

"Yeah. He convinced the hotel staff to let him borrow a hotplate from the kitchen and somehow managed to make this amazing meal on a single burner, or whatever you call it. And he'd gotten this really excellent bottle of wine from somewhere—I think he might have conned it off some French millionaire, I don't know."

Kim was intrigued by the 'conning a rare bottle of wine from a millionaire' comment, but she focused on the critical elements of the story. "Then what happened?"

"We ate dinner on the couch. And when we finished, he smiled and put his arm around me and asked me if I wanted to watch 'The Lady Vanishes' with French subtitles, because there was a late showing on cable and he knew I like old movies."

"Ah," Kim said, understanding dawning. "And that was when you attacked him." The man had cooked and offered to cuddle up with a movie of her choosing. Who could resist that?

"Pretty much," Teresa said. She cleared her throat again. "Anyway, we ended up in the bedroom and never quite got around to watching 'The Lady Vanishes.'"

"Imagine that," Kim said dryly. "Was it worth the wait?"

"Yeah." Teresa shivered in recollection. "And then some."

"So he's as good as he is good-looking?" Kim quipped.

"He's—" Teresa stopped.

"Wow," Kim said, impressed. "That good, huh? Tell me more."

Teresa shook her head. "I don't have the words. He's—it's like I was eating oatmeal my whole life. Sometimes it was good oatmeal and sometimes it was bad oatmeal, but it was always oatmeal. I didn't know there was anything else. And then suddenly I'm being given a four course meal at a five star restaurant where every bite is just—" she cleared her throat again. "Well, you get the idea."

"I'm happy for you," Kim said sincerely. "Sounds like things are going well."

"They are," Teresa said softly, as though she couldn't quite believe it herself.

"So how'd you end up in this place?" Kim asked. "You said Patrick found it."

"Yeah."

"How'd he manage that?" Kim prodded.

"I'm not too clear on the details," Teresa admitted. "He found this guy who was planning to rent this place out for the summer and did some kind of favor for him. In exchange, the guy agreed to rent out the place at a discounted rate."

"Must have been some favor," Kim commented.

"Yeah. I tried to ask him about it, but all he would say was that the other guy got the better end of the deal by far."

"So you guys moved in here together?"

Teresa shook her head. "He said this place was for me."

"Where did he stay, then?"

"He stayed at the hotel for a few weeks," Teresa said. "But then we kept seeing each other all the time, and he kept insisting on walking me home—"

"And you'd grown accustomed to 'dining at five star restaurants,'" Kim smirked.

"—and one day he just…stayed. And I don't know, I just—kept forgetting to kick him out."

"Easy to do, I'm sure," Kim said, straight-faced.

Teresa swatted her on the arm. "Shut up. Anyway, I guess he must have checked out of the hotel at some point. Next thing I know he's cooking me breakfast every morning and doing all our laundry together."

Kim couldn't help laughing at her friend. "And this is how he 'accidentally' moved in?"

"Well—we never really talked about it," Teresa admitted. "It just sort of…happened."

Kim shook her head. "How did you end up leaving for three months and wind up with the perfect man?"

Teresa snorted. "He's definitely not that."

"Come on. A guy who cooks and cleans for you and clearly adores you? Sounds pretty good to me. What are his faults?"

Teresa gave her a look. "Would you like them listed alphabetically, or in order of mildly annoying to absolutely infuriating?"

Kim laughed. "Just give me the highlights."

Teresa started to tick items off on her fingers. "He picks locks, plays tricks on people, insults perfect strangers on the street, lies without batting an eye, hypnotizes people into letting him have his way, runs elaborate cons for his own amusement—"

"Whoa," Kim said, blinking. "Seriously?" If it were true, she was a little surprised Teresa was willing to put up with all of that.

"Well," Teresa relented. "He only picks on people who deserve it. According to him, anyway. He thinks it's his mission to 'put bullies and petty tyrants in their place.'" She snorted again. "Sometimes I think he thinks he's some kind of one man Justice League."

"Can you give me an example?" Kim asked, trying to wrap her head around what Teresa was telling her.

"He convinced me to go to Monte Carlo with him one weekend," Teresa said, shaking her head. "He asked me to lend him a hundred euros. The next thing I know he's at a poker table with a hundred thousand euro buy in. And he sets his sights on this big guy with a mustache. He takes the guy for three million euros, then informs the casino's security team that the man is trafficking young women from Eastern Europe out of their hotel, and wouldn't they like to do something about that."

"You're kidding," Kim said, her eyes round.

"No. It took him a while to get security to look into it, but eventually he convinced them to check the guy's room. They found twenty girls in there, all bound and waiting to be 'delivered' to the man's customers," Teresa said, her mouth twisting in disgust.

"What happened to the guy?" Kim asked, fascinated.

"The police arrested him. Turns out he was part of a ring, so they were able to use some of the stuff the girls told them to bust up similar rackets in other high end hotels across Europe."

"How did Patrick know about the women?"

"Something about sweat stains, cheap perfume, rope burns, and beady eyes," Teresa said, rolling her eyes.

"What did he do with all the money he won from the creep?"

Teresa's expression softened into one of affection. "He gave it all to the girls. Told them to take it to get home and go back to their families or go somewhere new and start fresh."

"That's sweet."

"Yes," Teresa said softly. "He can be very sweet."

"Does he do stuff like this often?"

"Not quite to that scale," Teresa allowed. "Usually it's playing tricks on the baker who's cheating his suppliers until he agrees to pay up to escape whatever torture he's devised, pickpocketing somebody's he's seen picking on somebody else, that sort of thing."

"He certainly sounds…unique."

Teresa grinned. "He is that."

Xxx

The three of them had a lovely dinner out that night. Patrick was charming and attentive, clearly eager to make Kim's evening pleasant because he knew it would make Teresa happy to know that her friend was enjoying herself. Kim even got a taste of the peculiar sense of justice Teresa had described to her that afternoon. Patrick took one look at the maître d' and declared he was a brute to the rest of the staff. Ignoring Teresa's warning, he proceeded to spend the rest of the evening terrorizing the man, all without leaving his seat. Kim had to admit she was impressed, even if she had been rather alarmed when Patrick 'accidentally' set the other man's tie on fire. Patrick, however, calmly doused the flames by throwing a glass of water in his face. Then he smiled very sweetly and asked for the dessert menu. Kim was hard-pressed to suppress the urge to laugh. Teresa, meanwhile, kicked him under the table and shot him a glare. Contrite, he returned his attention to his self-appointed task of entertaining his two companions. He insisted on treating them to decadent French desserts, and made sure they had the best wine to accompany them. Later, when Kim's attention was mostly occupied with her pot de crème, he took Teresa's hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles in a gesture of silent apology. Teresa huffed and rolled her eyes, but Kim noticed her attitude softened considerably after that.

Xxx

The next morning, Kim and Teresa went sightseeing, going for a long ramble in the Paris streets before stopping to get lunch at one of Teresa's favorite cafes. When Teresa had to leave for rehearsal, Patrick met them in the Tuileries garden and accompanied Kim to the Louvre. She discovered he'd spent quite a bit of time in the museum since his spontaneous decision to come to Paris. He was full of fascinating tidbits about his favorite pieces, and showed her several "hidden treasures." Pieces rich in history and constructed of exquisite craftsmanship that were not along the beaten path most visitors frequented in their hurry to visit the most famous artifacts in a limited period of time.

After spending several hours in the museum, they walked over to l'île St. Louis and got ice cream at Berthillon. Patrick managed to secure them a table despite the afternoon rush. Kim, grateful for the chance to sit after being on her feet all day, held their spot while Patrick went to the counter to order. He returned with two elaborate concoctions of three scoops each. Topped with whipped cream, the scoops were served in scalloped silver dishes and garnished with a wafer thin cookie sticking up out of them like a jaunty, almond-studded sail.

Kim took a bite of her pistachio and vanilla ice cream and nearly moaned aloud. Heaven.

"Good, isn't it?" Patrick said, taking a bite of his own. "Teresa and I come here at least once a week. I'm going to miss this place when we go back to the States."

She glanced at him. "So you're planning to go back with her, huh?"

"Ah, we've arrived at the point in our acquaintance where you demand to know my intentions towards your friend. Okay. I'm ready for the interrogation," he joked. A twinkle in his eyes let her know he was teasing, but despite this, Kim detected the slightest trace of anxiety in their depths. She realized with a start that despite his charm and casual air of self-assurance, he was actually nervous. He wanted Teresa's friends to approve of him. Kim decided this tiny of betrayal of vulnerability made her like him better.

"All right, then," Kim said, deciding to take him at his word. She took another bite of her ice cream. "Why don't you start by telling me a little more about yourself. What were you doing before you came to Paris?"

"I told you when we met—I used to be a con man."

"I remember," Kim said. "You said you were a member of the idle rich. Is that what this pursuit of Teresa is about? A way of entertaining yourself for a few months?"

"I would never do that to her," he said sharply.

Kim held up her spoon in a gesture of mock surrender. "Okay, okay. But you've gotta admit, it's strange. Not many people can afford to just pick up and leave their lives behind without a second thought."

He was silent for a long moment. "My situation… it's difficult to explain." He cleared his throat. "I'm not sure how much you know about my history," he said awkwardly.

Kim raised her eyebrows. "Your history?"

He swirled his spoon in the melted portion of his ice cream and did not meet her eyes. "Are you familiar with the serial killer named Red John?"

"Yeah, of course, it was all over the papers a few years ago." Then the other shoe dropped. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, my God. You're that Patrick Jane?"

Rather than being offended, he looked relieved that he wouldn't have to explain the whole thing. "Yes. He killed my family, and I killed him. Afterwards…" he trailed off. "Well, I've pretty much been a mess ever since," he confessed.

"I'm sorry," Kim said sincerely. "I can't imagine."

He made a dismissive gesture, not rejecting her expression of sympathy, but rather indicating that he'd prefer not to discuss the painful topic in further detail. "Anyway," he said, his breath coming out in a whoosh. "It's… I don't really know how to talk about it. It's like I was living underwater for five years. Everything was flat and gray. But then I heard Teresa play, and suddenly I could see color again. That was why I conned my way into the party that night. I had to meet her. And then I talked to her, and…well, you know what she's like," he said to Kim. A soft smile graced the corners of his mouth. "She's amazing."

He cleared his throat again. "Anyway," he said, a little embarrassed. "We spent some time together that night, and every moment we spent together was…" He poked at his ice cream again, then looked up at her. "But then she was supposed to leave the country for three months, and it was like being pushed underwater again." He smiled ruefully. "I know it sounds crazy. But I realized that if I wanted to keep breathing, I had to come here."

"Hm," Kim said noncommittally, torn between the romance of it all and concern that this clearly damaged man had tied up some portion of his emotional stability in one of her good friends. She took a bite of her ice cream to cover her uncertainty.

"I see you're ounconvinced," he commented. "I can't say I blame you. I'd probably feel the same way, in your shoes."

"Feel what way?" Kim said, a little uncomfortably.

"Please," he said, unimpressed. "You're clearly sitting over there thinking that I'm using your friend as some kind of excuse to avoid dealing with my past. That I may mean well, but that doesn't mean you should just let me foist my issues off onto someone you care about."

"I…am not," Kim defended weakly.

"You're looking for reassurance. You want some kind of guarantee that I'm not going to latch onto her like some kind of parasite. That I have something to offer her in return."

Kim raised her eyebrows. "Can you provide a guarantee like that?"

Patrick put down his spoon. "Okay," he said. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked her in the eye. "Here it is. I'm in love with her. Enamored, smitten, besotted, completely gone on her. I want to watch her put a ridiculous amount of sugar in her coffee every damn day and nag her about eating a real breakfast because a cup of yogurt is not adequate nourishment. I want to see her wrinkle her nose and know that she can't stand the sound of elevator music, but she's too polite to say anything if someone is playing it in her vicinity. I want to make sure she always knows the score to the Cubs game, even though I don't give a fig about baseball. I want to warm her up when she's cold and hold her hair when she's sick and listen to her complain when she's had a hard day. In other words, I want to take care of her. Even if I have to trick her into accepting it sometimes because of her delightfully stubborn insistence she can take care of herself."

Kim stared at him. "That's…quite a speech." If it was true, Teresa was a lucky woman.

He held her gaze. "I meant it."

Kim shook her head. "I believe you. It just seems like you're rushing things a bit."

Patrick nodded. "That's what Teresa thinks, too. Personally, I don't see the point in waiting, but I'm endeavoring to exhibit patience for her sake."

"Very generous of you," Kim said dryly.

He flashed a grin at her. "I don't mind. I can wait, as long as she's with me."

Kim thought about Teresa's expression of appreciation for her regular treatment to 'five star dining experiences' and hid a smirk. "I don't think you have anything to worry about on that front at the moment."

"That's a relief." He picked up his spoon again. "So. We good?"

Kim considered this. She thought about how Patrick had looked at Teresa at dinner the night before, and how Teresa had flushed with pleasure when he'd taken her hand. "Yeah," she said, picking up her spoon in turn. "We're good."

xxx

Patrick cooked them dinner that evening. Kim discovered that when Teresa said Patrick was good at food, the description applied to his cooking skills as well as his expertise in ice cream shops. He made them beef bourgignon with roasted potatoes and poached pears with honey for dessert.

"That was amazing," Kim said when she couldn't eat another bite.

"Patrick has been taking cooking lessons," Teresa informed her.

"Well, they're paying off," Kim said with feeling.

"I thought I'd better find something to entertain myself during the day while Teresa is at rehearsal," Patrick said. "She doesn't approve of my idle ways."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Heaven forbid you find yourself without amusement for more than two minutes in a row."

He shrugged. "What's worse than boredom?"

"For you, probably not much," she agreed. "When you have something to occupy your mind you're far less likely to get into trouble."

"You act like I never go anywhere without disaster following me," Patrick protested.

"Right. Who was it that had to talk that French policeman out of arresting you last week?" she demanded.

"The man was a pompous ass," Patrick said without remorse. "Besides, you speak French better than I do, so it only made sense for you to be the one to sweet talk him out of throwing me into one of the old cells at the Bastille and throwing away the key."

"You're lucky you got off with a citation," Teresa told him.

"I told you, I'm not paying that ticket," Patrick said dismissively.

Teresa narrowed her eyes at him. "You will if I have anything to say about it."

Patrick grinned at her. "We'll see about that."

"What was he going to arrest you for?" Kim asked Patrick curiously.

"Being a public nuisance," Teresa muttered.

"It was all a big misunderstanding," Patrick assured Kim. He looked skyward. "One that may or may not have resulted in me accidentally shutting down the Châtelet metro stop for an hour and a half."

Kim raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

"Don't encourage him," Teresa said, exasperated.

Patrick cleared his throat. "Enough about that. Kim, we should discuss what's next on your travel itinerary."

"I thought I might go to Monet's gardens tomorrow," Kim said. "I've never been."

"Ah, Giverny," Patrick said. "It's lovely—you won't be disappointed."

"I haven't been yet," Teresa said. "If you go in the morning, I can go with you. I have to be back by four, though, so I can get ready for the concert tomorrow night."

"That sounds good," Kim said. "I'd like to go to the concert."

"Great," Teresa said with a smile. "Check in at will call when you get there. I'll get you comp tickets."

Kim looked at Patrick. "Are you going to the concert, too?"

His gaze rested on Teresa as he answered. A soft smile played about his lips. "Wouldn't miss it."

Xxx

After their day admiring the gardens at Giverny, Teresa left Kim at the apartment and hurried out to go to the concert hall, a dry cleaning bag in one hand and her violin in the other. Kim took her time getting ready, enjoying the opportunity to dress up for a concert in something other than black for once. She put on a blue dress and went out to the living room where she found Patrick waiting in an immaculately pressed suit.

He made a show of offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall," Kim agreed, taking the proffered arm.

They arrived at the concert hall with plenty of time to spare and decided to stop by back stage to wish Teresa luck before the performance.

Teresa smiled in pleasure when she saw them. "You made it! I wasn't expecting to see you until after the concert."

Patrick produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and handed them to her. "We came to wish you luck." Kim would have sworn he hadn't been carrying them when they left the apartment. She studied the clean lines of his suit. Where the hell had he been hiding them?

"How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to bring flowers to every single concert?" Teresa said, both charmed and exasperated.

He kissed her on the cheek. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop trying to be so controlling and just get used to it, woman?"

Teresa shook her head. "I don't know why I put up with you." She attempted to hide her dimple by burying her nose in her flowers. She did not succeed.

"Well, if I'm not wanted here, I do have some business I need to attend to," Patrick said, straightening. "If you ladies will excuse me for a moment…" He looked at Kim. "Wait here. I'll be back to collect you in a few minutes."

"Stay out of trouble," Teresa warned him.

"My intentions are as pure as the driven snow," Patrick assured her.

"Why does that not reassure me?" Teresa wondered aloud.

He blew her a kiss from the door. "Back in a trice!"

Kim turned to Teresa, perplexed. "What kind of business could he possibly have to attend to at a concert hall?"

Teresa looked chagrined. "I forgot to tell you. Patrick got this notion into his head about fixing you up with one of the musicians here."

"Really?" Kim said skeptically. "He knows I'm leaving in a few days, right?"

"He can't be reasoned with when an idea like this takes hold of him," Teresa sighed. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I guess not," Kim said dubiously. She grinned suddenly. "Maybe I should take a leaf from your book and have a little Paris romance myself."

"Ha, ha," Teresa said dryly, but she was blushing as she said it.

Patrick returned shortly thereafter. "We should head to our seats," he told Kim. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she said. She smirked at him. "Are you all finished with your 'business?'"

"I was just sowing the seeds," Patrick said airily. "I'll have to wait until later to see if they germinate."

Kim snorted but let it pass. Germinate, indeed.

They took their seats.

"Wow," Kim said, settling into the box seat overlooking the stage. "I can't believe they gave us such good seats. Comp tickets from the symphony back home are never this good."

It was Patrick's turn to look chagrined. "I may have… renegotiated a little, on the issue of the tickets."

Kim raised her eyebrows. "Renegotiated?"

"I bought season tickets to this box when I first came out here," Patrick confessed.

"What happened to the tickets that Teresa left us, then?" Kim wanted to know.

"I have an arrangement with Abdul, at the box office," he explained. "Whenever Teresa leaves me comp tickets, he turns them over to someone who can't afford the full price tickets, free of charge."

"That's nice of you," Kim commented. "But why did you buy the season tickets in the first place if Teresa could get you comp tickets?"

"She can't get the comp tickets for every show. Besides, as you say, the seats aren't as good," he said. "I don't want to miss anything."

Kim stared at him. "You come to every show?"

"I love listening to her play," Patrick said simply.

The concert began. The program started out with pieces Kim knew – Ravel, Dvořák, Verdi. They played a piece by Wagner she'd always detested, but this was more than balanced out by a Berlioz piece she absolutely adored. Teresa played her solos to perfection, of course. Seeing her onstage, Kim could see how Patrick had been so dazzled by her, that first night. She herself had seen Teresa onstage many times, of course, in the course of their work together, but after all, she had her own work to be thinking about when they were performing. Besides, the cellists sat towards the back of the orchestra, where bows and elbows and the conductor's own wild gesticulations often blocked the view of the center of the stage, so her opportunities for directly observing her friend in action were somewhat limited.

Kim had always known Teresa was extraordinarily talented. She had listened to her play with both pleasure and admiration on many occasions, but for the first time, she truly appreciated why all the critics raved about not only the music she made, but also her presence onstage. Tonight, she saw how Teresa's energy and focus drew in the audience. How her lightest touch to the bowstrings made the audience members catch their breath, bite their lips, and sigh with pleasure, all in turn. She didn't play to them, she brought them inside the music with her.

Kim glanced over at Patrick. He sat on the edge of his seat, his elbows on the railing in front of him, leaning as close to the stage as he could from their box seats. He wore an expression of rapt attention, as though he were focusing all of the power of his considerable intellect on parsing out each note and examining it from every possible angle.

Towards the end of the concert, Kim was surprised to hear the conductor introduce two new pieces. He waxed poetical about the pieces for several long minutes, and kept pausing in the middle to bow to Teresa. She nodded in acknowledgment, receiving the praise graciously, if not comfortably. Kim's eyebrows contracted as she listened. Her own French was good enough to order a delicacy at a bakery and get through most necessary transactions of daily living, but she had to admit the conductor's long speech was mostly beyond her. Still, she picked out a few bits here and there. Was he really saying—

She snatched up her program and flipped it to the page listing the compositions scheduled to be played that evening. Sure enough, next to both of the new songs, there was Teresa's name, twice over. Soloist: Teresa Lisbon. Composer…Teresa Lisbon.

She punched Patrick on the arm. "Look at this!"

"Ow!" He rubbed his arm. "Now I know why you and Teresa are such good friends," he grumbled. "You hit just as hard as she does."

"Did you know about this?" Kim said, pointing to the program.

"Oh…yeah," he said, his expression turning to one of mingled pride and affection. "They just premiered two weeks ago. They've been quite the sensation."

"I didn't even know Teresa wrote music," Kim said in wonder.

"Shh," Patrick said, edging even further forward in his seat. "They're starting."

The first one was—well, Kim didn't really know what to make of it, at first. It started out light and airy, fully of whimsy and a subtle, mocking humor. But just when she thought she'd gotten a handle on it, the piece changed. Suddenly, it wasn't so funny anymore. It was more complex than she'd first understood. Melancholy overtook that subtle mockery, then moved into something almost…sweet. A note of tenderness crept in—but no, Kim realized—that had been there all along, since the very beginning. The intricate sequences veered from light to dark and back again, each time taking the listener deeper into the heart of the piece.

The second piece…Kim didn't have words. She'd listened to a lot of music in her life. Played with some of the greats. Somehow, though, this piece stood apart. It was simply exquisite. She found herself thinking of her grandmother and apple turnovers and every person she'd ever loved. Tears pricked her eyes unexpectedly at the sheer, raw beauty of it. Her fingers itched to try those notes on her cello, to take the piece that much more deeply into herself.

When the concert was over and Kim had clapped so hard her palms stung, she picked up the program again. She looked at the titles of each song. The first one, 'Le Filou,' was a word she didn't know. The second one translated as 'Margaret's Song,' and Kim remembered. Teresa's mother had been named Margaret. Her eyes welled up again.

Patrick placed his hand on her wrist in a gesture of solidarity. "I know," he said. "I feel the same way every time I hear it." He squeezed her arm gently. "Come on. Let's go backstage and congratulate our prodigy."

Fighting their way backstage took some time, despite taking several 'shortcuts' that Patrick knew. When they finally caught sight of Teresa, she was surrounded by admirers clamoring to express their appreciation of her music. Teresa wore an expression Kim recognized—a polite smile that was a little too fixed signaled her longing to escape. Kim shook her head. For a performer of such prodigious talent, Teresa never had quite gotten accustomed to being in the spotlight.

As Kim and Patrick approached, Teresa looked up. Her expression brightened when she recognized Patrick's bright blond head. She said something to the group around her and a moment later, she was making her way towards them.

"Come on," she said, seizing Kim's hand in one hand and Patrick's in the other. "This way." She dragged them into the dressing room where they'd met her before the show.

Kim hugged her while Patrick shut the door behind them. "That was amazing," she said with feeling. Again, words failed her. "Really—I…"

"You moved her to tears," Patrick said. "Really. She was sniffling the whole last ten minutes of the concert."

Teresa squeezed her hands. "You really liked them?" she said, a trace of anxiety in her tone.

Kim nodded, letting her friend see the emotion in her eyes, which was the truest answer, in any case.

Teresa hugged her with an expression of relief. "I'm so glad," she said, her voice a little choked.

When Teresa released Kim, Patrick leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Magnifique," he said in an exaggerated French accent. Then in his real voice, low and grave, he added, "As always."

Teresa gave him a watery smile. "Yeah?"

He tapped his chest in the place over his heart. "Gets me every time." The words could perhaps have been construed as mocking, under other circumstances, but the look he gave her as he said them betrayed the deep sincerity behind them.

Teresa squeezed his hand and pulled him down for a quick kiss. "Thank you," she said softly.

He put his arms around her and drew her into a hug, holding her tighter than Kim might have expected. "I meant it," he whispered. He cradled her in his arms like she was the most precious thing on the planet. Kim remembered his declaration of how he meant to take care of her, and watching him now, she realized the depth and truth of those words in a way she hadn't fully understood before.

Then he spoiled the moment by patting Teresa on the rear end and announcing, "Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, my dear, I need to check on my little…gardening project."

Rolling her eyes, Teresa let him go. "Are you sure about this 'project?'" she said dubiously.

"Come now," he said. "When have I ever steered you wrong?"

She gave him a look that very clearly said, 'Seriously?'

He opened his mouth to defend himself, then clearly thought the better of it. Instead, he said, "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"All right," Teresa said, still doubtful. "I suppose there's no real harm in it."

"That's the spirit," he said, and left.

Kim took the opportunity to hug her friend again. "Patrick's right," she said when she pulled away. "You were magnificent. When did you start writing music? I had no idea you had any ambitions to be a composer."

"Oh," Teresa said, blushing. "Well—I didn't, exactly. The second one, 'Margaret's Song,' is about my mom. I started writing it ages ago, tinkering with it bit by bit. I had it in my head for years. But I never could get it quite right until—until recently," she finished lamely.

"Well, it was beautiful," Kim said sincerely. "I hope we can play it when you come back home."

Teresa grimaced. "I think I can guarantee that. Somebody posted a YouTube video of it the night of the premiere. I got a phone call from Michael in the middle of the night about it. He read me the riot act for letting the Paris Orchestra premiere it instead of SFS. He made me promise to let him feature it next season."

Kim made a face. "Well, I'm sorry to hear you had to listen to Michael talk for any prolonged period of time, but I gotta say I'm pretty thrilled about the outcome."

Patrick came back in then, a tall black man following close behind him. "Here we are," he said cheerfully.

The other man had to duck slightly to pass through the door, so it wasn't until he raised his head that Kim got a good look at him.

Yowza. His finely sculpted features spoke of both strength and elegance, with a softer sweetness lurking just beneath the surface.

The man flashed a brilliant white smile at her. "You must be Kim-ber-ley," he said in slow, deliberate English. His speech bore the traces of an accent she couldn't quite identify. She guessed it originated from some West African nation, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly which one. He smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made him even more devastatingly handsome. "Very pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Kim managed, still staring. Good Lord. The man was beautiful. And the way he said her name…

"This is Philippe Otokore," Patrick said, clearly pleased at her reaction. "He plays the trumpet."

"It was a wonderful performance," Kim said, her voice unnatural and stilted in her own ears. She blamed the pheromones. They were scrambling her brain.

Teresa came to her rescue. "Hello, Philippe," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "You played very well tonight."

"Merci, Thérèse." He pronounced her name the French way: Teh-rezz. It sounded almost like the way Patrick said it – Teh-ray-za, only without the 'a' at the end. Philippe kissed her on both cheeks. "But it is I who should be congratulating you. You were superbe." This last also pronounced in the French manner, with the 'per' in the middle sounding like the word 'pair' in English.

They exchanged several more compliments, Patrick chiming in now and again, and then Philippe turned back to Kim.

"And you, Kim-ber-ley?" he said, still in that slow, rich voice that reminded her of melted chocolate. "What did you think of the music of Thérèse? It is very beautiful, non?"

"Yes," Kim said, still somewhat in a state of confusion. "It was… quite something."

"Everyone loves 'La Chanson de Marguerite,'" Philippe said. "I do as well. But 'Le Filou'—that is a very interesting piece of music, n'est-ce pas?"

"I agree," Kim said. "I wasn't sure what to think of it, at first. It's kind of…sneaky." Seeing Philippe's look of confusion at her use of the word, she hastened to add, "I mean—every time I thought I knew what it was about, it changed. Parts made me want to laugh, and other parts were almost… tragic. But it was definitely always interesting." She turned to Teresa. "I meant to ask – what does 'Le Filou' mean? I don't know the word."

"It means 'crook,'" Philippe supplied.

"Swindler," Patrick said cheerfully, at the same time. "Although I'm partial to an alternative translation: rogue." This with a grin in Teresa's direction.

She glared at him. "I think 'trickster' is closest to the original intention. In English, I titled it, 'The Troublemaker.'"

Kim laughed in surprise and delight. "That's perfect."

"It's a song about me," Patrick said proudly.

Kim blinked. "Really?"

"I did not know that before," Philippe said. He shook his head. "If the song is like you, Patrick, I must pity Thérèse. You must be a very difficult man to live with."

"Tell me about it," Teresa said dryly, and everyone laughed.

"Come on," Patrick said, clapping Philippe on the shoulder. "You can all abuse me further over dinner. I'm buying."

Xxx

Patrick had made reservations at another restaurant specializing in French delicacies, and with his selection, proved that he excelled at more than metaphorical five star dining. He amused them all by guessing their orders, and then persuaded Kim to change her original order of cordon bleu to the house specialty, which was a kind of rabbit stew. He was right – the rabbit was delicious, and not something she would have ever normally ordered for herself.

What followed was one of the most pleasant evenings Kim could recall in recent memory. The wine flowed smoothly, and Patrick, not distracted by the need to torture any of the wait staff, exerted himself to keep the three of them entertained with a series of ever more incredible anecdotes from his life traveling a carnival circuit when he was a boy. Kim privately felt this explained a lot.

Philippe in turn, told them about growing up in Côte d'Ivoire ("Ivory Coast, in English," he explained) and moving to Paris with his family when he was fourteen. "But," he said, "As I told Patrick before, I may not stay in Paris very much longer."

"Really?" Teresa said. "Have you gotten an offer from another orchestra?"

"Not an orchestra," he said. "My cousin is starting a band in San Francisco." His eyes came to rest on Kim. "He has asked me to join them."

Kim ignored the little skip her heart did when he mentioned the possibility of moving to San Francisco. "Really?" she asked, intrigued. "What kind of band? Classical music?"

He shook his head. "No. It is—" he turned to Teresa and said a series of words Kim didn't know, attempting to describe it to her in French. "How do you say in English?"

"Mm," Teresa said, considering. "Fusion, I think. A mix of different types of music?"

"Yes," Philippe said, pleased. "Just so. It is the same word in French, after all."

"What types of music will it include?" Kim wanted to know.

"It will be some classical, like I play," Philippe explained, his eyes lighting up as he spoke about the music. "But mixed with some music from my country, with instruments you do not see here. Like the ahoko, and the djembe."

"So," Patrick said with a gleam in his eye. "What do you think? Are you going to take the offer?"

"I do not know," Philippe said. "It would be difficult to leave my parents here, and my two younger sisters. But the music is very exciting. And my older sister is in Seattle, and my brother in Los Angeles, so that would be much closer. It is not an easy decision." His eyes came to linger on Kim again. "Of course, now I know that San Francisco must be full of beautiful women, if they are willing to let two women as beautiful as Thérèse and Kim-ber-ley come to Paris and not keep them all to themselves." His eyes twinkled. "So that must be a consideration."

Xxx

"So," Patrick said to Kim under his breath as they were leaving the restaurant. Philippe and Teresa were walking a few steps ahead of them. He eyed Philippe meaningfully and smirked at her. "You two certainly seemed to hit it off."

"He's nice," Kim said non-committally. Her eyes traced the lines of Philippe's shoulders in his jacket without her permission. "I'm not sure what you imagine is going to happen here, though. I'm only in town for a few more days."

"So what? You like each other, and he might be moving to San Francisco."

"Might be," Kim stressed. "And he's a very nice man, but I barely know him. I'm not about to start anything with a perfect stranger, just because I'm on vacation."

"Liar," Patrick said cheerfully. "You're thinking about it. I know you are."

She hit him on the shoulder. "Shut up."

"Come on," Patrick said, unrepentant. "What's the harm? Like you said, you're on vacation. If it works out, maybe you'll see him again in San Francisco. If not, you never have to see him again."

Kim found she was considering it, despite herself. To cover it, she smirked at him in turn. "What, are you trying to get rid of me so you can have the apartment all to yourself again?"

"Of course not," he said sternly in response to her teasing. "I just think you two are well-suited, that's all."

"How could you possibly know that?" Kim said, exasperated. "You hardly know me, and I can't imagine you know Philippe all that well, either."

"I know enough," Patrick said dismissively. "This is what I do."

Kim raised an eyebrow. "What, poke your nose into other people's business where it doesn't belong?"

"No," Patrick said with dignity. "Read people. Learn about them without them having to say anything." He paused. "Okay, yes, I do poke my nose into other people's business, too. But this is for your own good. He's a good man, and he makes you smile."

"Mm," Kim grunted. It was true. Philippe had made her smile.

"Come now," Patrick persisted. "I was right before, wasn't I?"

Kim glanced at her. "Right about what?"

"The guy at your gym," he said, as though this were perfectly obvious. "He asked you out, didn't he?"

Kim now remembered a conversation they'd had when they first met, in which Patrick had advised her that if she smiled at the man she'd been eyeing at the gym, he would be sure to ask her out. "That didn't work out," she said, incredulous. "I went out with him three times and all he ever talked about was his car and his max weight on the bench press."

"So?" Patrick said. "The bet didn't specify that you had to end up married to the guy with 2.5 kids on the way. The bet was that he would ask you out, and he did. You still owe me five bucks for that, by the way."

Kim stared at him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Double or nothing? If things don't work out with Philippe the way I've predicted, I'll give you your money back."

Kim looked back at Philippe's shoulders. "No bet," she said reluctantly, and handed him the five bucks.

Xxx

Philippe drew her aside for a moment before they went their separate ways. "Kim-ber-ley," he said in his melting chocolate voice. "I would like to see you again before you leave. May I take you to dinner tomorrow night?"

Kim ignored the sight of Patrick giving her a thumbs up sign behind Philippe's back, and Teresa, seeing this, elbowing him in the ribs. Kim gave Philippe a little smile. "I would like that."

He beamed at her. "Wonderful." They arranged to meet the following evening, and they parted ways.

Xxx

Two mornings later, Kim let herself into the apartment with the key Teresa had lent her, and tried to make her way as silently as possible back towards the blue bedroom, hoping she wouldn't wake Patrick and Teresa.

"Well, young lady," a voice boomed out from the balcony. "Just who gave you permission to stay out so late on a school night?"

Busted. She looked up to see Patrick and Teresa seated at the little table on the balcony. Teresa, curled up in one of the chairs with a cup of coffee, gave her a warm smile, but Patrick just smirked, his eyes merry with amusement.

"Gee, I'm sorry," Kim said sarcastically. "I must have forgotten my permission slip. Oh wait," she said in mock surprise, taking her hand out of her pocket and showing him her middle finger. "There it is."

Patrick laughed, clearly delighted by her response. "I see there's no need to ask you if you had a good time, then."

"Yes," Kim said defeated. "Go ahead. You can congratulate yourself on your matchmaking abilities all you want. I had a great time."

"She's catching on to your ways fast," Teresa murmured into her coffee cup with an amused glance at Patrick.

"I'm not worried," Patrick said confidently. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." He finished his tea. "Speaking of which, I have an excellent play in motion. If you ladies will excuse me, I really must attend to some of the details."

"Oh, Lord," Teresa said. "What is it now?"

He bent down and kissed her lightly. "Nothing you need to worry about, my dear."

"Comforting," she grumbled, but she kissed him back.

He left, and Teresa and Kim were left looking at each other in bemusement.

"I'm hungry," Teresa announced. "Want to go get breakfast at that café down the street?"

"Yeah," Kim said gratefully. "Let me take a shower first."

Xxx

Forty-five minutes later, Teresa and Kim were seated at an outdoor table in the brilliant morning sunlight, happily devouring a plate of pastries and fruit.

"So I guess you decided to indulge in a little Paris romance, after all," Teresa said, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"I guess so," Kim said with a rueful smile. "Not exactly something I planned for, I can tell you that."

"I've learned that things rarely go according to plan when Patrick is around," Teresa said dryly. "Plans that aren't his, that is."

Kim grinned. "I believe that."

"So, do you think you'll see Philippe again?" Teresa asked, taking a sip from her second cup of coffee.

"He wants to see me again tomorrow," Kim said. "We're going to meet up for coffee in the afternoon. And he asked me to show him around if he ends up moving to San Francisco."

"I'm glad," Teresa said. "Philippe is a good man."

"Yes," Kim agreed. "I know I haven't known him long, but I can tell he is that."

"Besides," Teresa said, taking another bite of pastry. "If you're seeing him, then you won't be able to give me so much crap about the Patrick situation."

Kim laughed in her face. "Oh, no, my friend. There's no comparison. I had a one night stand with a handsome stranger in a foreign country. You inspired a man to follow you to another continent without even sleeping with him first. I will be giving you crap for years about this one."

Teresa threw a piece of pastry at her. "Hush. Besides, you just said you're going to see him again. Doesn't seem like a one night stand to me."

Kim shrugged. "We'll see." Even if it came to nothing in the end, she'd still have some very fond memories of her trip to Paris. She glanced over at Teresa. "What about you?"

Teresa grew very interested in her pastry. "What about me?"

"Things seem pretty serious between you and Patrick," Kim prodded.

"It's been pretty…intense," Teresa said cautiously.

"So? What do you think? Is he a keeper, or what?"

"I…I don't know."

"What don't you know? 'Cause I hate to break it to you, but he's a goner. If you asked him to build a bridge across the Atlantic made of toothpicks, he'd start collecting wood."

Teresa smiled faintly. "More likely he'd manipulate someone else into doing it for him, but I take your point."

"Teresa," Kim said. "Come on. Spill. What's the deal between you two?"

Teresa cleared her throat. "He, uh, keeps talking about getting married."

Kim choked on her pastry. "He proposed? After three months?"

Teresa grimaced. "Two months, actually. And now he won't shut up about it."

"Holy shit," Kim breathed. "Seriously?"

Teresa nodded. "He suggested we go to Scotland for a weekend. Apparently, he thinks it would be very romantic to be married in Gretna Green." She made a face. "Like we were a couple eloping in some nineteenth century British romance novel. But when he saw I wasn't exactly jumping up and down over the idea, he said he wasn't picky. He said he'd be willing to get married anywhere I wanted to. Except the Amalfi coast," she added. "He has a strange bias against the Amalfi coast."

"What has he got against the Amalfi coast?" Kim asked, confused. She'd been once—it was beautiful there.

Teresa shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. When I asked him about it, he just started muttering about French musicians and how they aren't to be trusted."

Kim shook her head. "Okaaay." She took another bite of pastry and looked at her friend. "So, why aren't you?"

"Why aren't I what?"

"Jumping up and down over the idea," Kim said gently. "You guys seem pretty crazy about each other."

"Because I'm trying to maintain some kind of reasonable grip on reality!" Teresa said, piqued. "Not everything is a romantic walk in Paris. At some point, you have to wake up and deal with the real world. When it becomes more about who's going to take out the garbage and do the dishes."

"I saw you two doing dishes together the other day," Kim pointed out. "You seemed to have a pretty good system worked out."

"You know what I mean," Teresa grumbled. "Of course it's easy to get swept up in the romance of it all here, when every walk is down a quaint historic street and the food is so damn good."

"Ah, yes, let's not forget the abundance of five star dining experiences," Kim said with a straight face.

Teresa threw a napkin at her this time. "I'm just saying—things are bound to be different once we go back to the States."

"Yes," Kim agreed. "You won't be able to get ice cream that's quite as good."

"Yeah," Teresa said broodingly, her mind clearly not on the ice cream.

"Hey." Kim touched her wrist. "Do you love him?"

Teresa took a wavering breath. "Yeah," she said. Her voice shook a little. "Why do you think this is so terrifying?"

"You know," Kim said, returning her attention to her own pastry. "People used to get married after a couple months all the time. My grandparents got married after they'd only known each other six weeks, and they were married fifty years."

"That might have had something to do with a war going on at the time," Teresa said, exasperated. "I can't believe you're encouraging this idea. I thought I could rely on you for some common sense!"

"I wouldn't say I'm encouraging the idea, exactly," Kim said thoughtfully. "I'm not saying you should run off to Gretna Green next weekend, or anything. I'm just saying—you guys are good together. Maybe you need to be open to the idea that this could actually work."

Teresa looked at her, with an expression of mingled hope and disbelief. "You think?"

Kim thought about the look on Patrick's face when he'd listened to her play. "Definitely."

Teresa blew out a breath. "Well, I'm definitely not getting married before we leave," she said with certainty. "That's only a few weeks from now."

Wow. So she really had been thinking about it, Kim thought to herself with amazement. Would wonders never cease. "Very sensible," she agreed, hiding a smile.

"Exactly," Teresa said, nodding. "We need to see how things go when we're back in San Francisco, and all the pressures of ordinary life are back in place. When I've gone back to work and everything, I mean."

Kim forebore to mention that Teresa had been working all summer. "Mm-hm. Very wise."

"Then, once we've been back for a while, there will be plenty of time to decide," Teresa reasoned.

"Good thinking," Kim said, picking up a croissant. She looked at Teresa and quirked an eyebrow at her. "So. Think he's got a ring yet?"

"He says he does," Teresa said, ruffled. "But he said he's not going to let me see it until I say yes."

Kim laughed out loud. Oh, yes. This was serious indeed. She was going to be stuck in a bridesmaid's dress six months from now. She'd bet her bottom dollar on it.

xxx

As Kim walked back towards the apartment after her date with Philippe the following afternoon, she saw two familiar figures standing together just before a railing in front of Sacré-Cœur, a spot perfectly situated to look out over the city from the hill. Her friends, though, were not admiring the skyline, but stood facing one another, deep in conversation, oblivious to the outside world.

Kim's footsteps slowed, then stopped, as she watched the scene unfold with some uncertainty. Whatever they were talking about, it didn't look like a conversation she wanted to interrupt. Teresa said something and Patrick frowned. He raked a hand through his hair, upset, then took her hand in his and said something in return, his voice low and fierce. Teresa looked at him for a long moment then, then looked down at their clasped hands. Her gaze fixed determinedly downward, she said something unintelligible in the general direction of their joined hands. Patrick went very still. Then he ducked his head and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. Whatever he saw there must have been encouraging, because he broke into a smile that lit up his whole face. He grabbed her by the upper arms, and asked her something. When she nodded, he flung his arms around her and pulled her in close, burying his face in her neck. He swayed a little, as though trying to hold her even closer, but finding the only possible path to success in this endeavor was to draw her into some shared movement with him.

Teresa closed her eyes and held onto him just as tight.

Kim waited, wondering if the appearance of the ring was in the offing, but Patrick only turned towards the view and murmured into Teresa's hair, and she nodded and tucked her head in the curve of his neck.

After another few moments had passed, Kim approached cautiously. "Hey," she said warily, from a safe distance. She was prepared to beat a hasty retreat if it turned out she was interrupting after all, but Teresa turned towards her with a smile. "Hey. How was your date?"

"It was good," Kim said, allowing a small smile to steal over her features. "Philippe's a really interesting guy."

"Ah, but what weight can he bench press?" Patrick teased. "That is the question."

Teresa poked him in the side. "More than you, lazy."

"Meh," Patrick said dismissively. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Such as?" Teresa said skeptically.

"Scoring four tickets to the opera, for one thing," Patrick said triumphantly. "For Kim's last night. We've got to send her off in style, don't we?" His eyes twinkled at her. "And I'm sure Philippe wouldn't mind the opportunity to see her in fine evening wear, do you?"

"Stop teasing," Teresa said, pinching him in the side. "Leave them alone, or I'm going to leave you at home."

"You wouldn't," Patrick said confidently. "I have all the tickets."

Teresa pinched him again, and Kim took the opportunity to see if the ring had come out after all, before she'd arrived.

"No ring," Patrick said, reading her mind in that disconcerting way of his. "She hasn't agreed yet. But I understand you've been pleading my case for me, and for that, I am in your debt."

"What? I didn't—I never—I didn't say anything about anything like that!" Teresa spluttered.

Patrick ignored this and addressed Kim. "She's coming around to the idea," he said, pleased. "Whatever you said… thanks."

Kim looked between them curiously. "What exactly have you guys been talking about?"

"She's given me reason to hope," Patrick said grandly. "Finally."

"I did not!" Teresa said indignantly. "What the hell makes you think Kim has anything to do with it, anyway?"

He shrugged. "For weeks, you shut me down cold every time I even come within the vicinity of the topic of marriage. Then I leave you alone with Kim for one morning, and suddenly you're singing a different tune. You do the math."

"I'm not singing a different tune!" she protested. "I'm singing the same tune. It's way too early to be thinking about stuff like that."

"Ah, but you didn't reject the idea out of hand," he said, waggling a finger at her. "I maintain that I am in Kim's debt."

"Hold on there, cowboy," Kim said, holding up her hands to disclaim the portion of credit he was inclined to attribute to her. "You've still got a long road ahead of you."

"I know." Patrick beamed at Teresa. "I'm really looking forward to it."

Xxx

The rest of Kim's vacation flew by in a whirlwind of activity, including everything from excursions to historic sites and the theater, to late night chats with Teresa, to stolen kisses with the delectable Philippe. And of course, truly excellent pastries. Before she knew it, she was back at the airport with Patrick and Teresa, getting ready to get in the security line.

Teresa hugged her. "Thank you so much for coming," she said. She squeezed her a little tighter. "It means a lot."

"Are you kidding? Thanks for letting me sponge off your awesome apartment for a week," Kim joked. "I haven't had such a nice vacation for years." She looked at both of them. "Seriously. You guys have been so generous to me. Thank you."

Patrick kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad we got the chance to know each other better this week," he told her. He grinned. "It makes me feel like I've got a bit of a head start in winning over the rest of Teresa's friends."

Teresa smacked him in the stomach. "Very funny."

"Seriously," Patrick said, leaning closer to Kim and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I'm gonna need your help with Cho. I have a feeling he's going to be a tougher nut to crack."

Kim laughed. "I'll do what I can. I think you're right, though. You're going to have an uphill battle with that one."

"That's all right," he said diffidently. "Fortunately, Rigsby's already positively disposed towards me since I helped him get that first date with Grace."

"Oh, yeah," Teresa said sarcastically. "That was all you. What with your talking to him for two minutes and never even talking to Grace at all."

"Please," he said, unruffled. "The poor man would still be dithering over the crab puffs if it weren't for me. He owes me."

Teresa rolled her eyes.

Kim realized she was likely to miss her plane if she waited for the two of them to stop bickering. "I'd really better be going," she interrupted. "I just have one favor to ask," she said to Teresa, embracing her one more time.

"What's that?" Teresa asked.

Kim kissed her on the cheek. "Don't put me in pink for the wedding."

Teresa turned red, but Patrick only laughed. He put his arm around Teresa's waist and gazed at her fondly. "I think we can promise that, don't you, my dear?" Teresa blushed harder and elbowed him in the ribs.

Kim laughed and waved her good-byes. She hid a smile as she walked towards the security line, luggage in tow. Oh, yeah. There would definitely be a wedding by spring.