Regina wanted to get out of that apartment as soon as possible, so only a few minutes after the man left, and after making sure he was gone for sure and not lingering downstairs, she locked the door again, took both sets of keys, and as calmly as possible directed Henry out of the building, not saying much about the incident for fear of scaring him. Or scaring herself all over again.

She used her phone to find a nearby hotel, and cursing because she knew it would be expensive to stay even one night in a hotel, she hailed a taxi and gave him the address. She needed a safe place to stay that day and figure out what to do.

..•..

The hotel they'd found was cozy, old, looked over the charming rooftops of Paris… and expensive, even thought it was a relatively modest accommodation. By the second day, Regina knew that they shouldn't stay there for more than another night. It was time to figure out the apartment situation.

..•..

Regina learned that Marguerite, the woman whom Henry's grandmother had said she'd left a set of keys with just in case, was supposed to be in apartment 2A. Instead of calling Henry's grandparents, who couldn't really do much for her 6,000 miles away and she was afraid of upsetting them with news of the situation, she decided to go directly to Marguerite and get the story.

When she and Henry returned to the building, both felt more rested and were far more alert, at least. Regina even brought one of their suitcases along with them, so she could start making the apartment feel more like theirs. The previous day she'd bought cleaning supplies so she could tidy up after the uninvited guest, and some food, so they could at least have a somewhat normal meal cooked in their kitchen that evening.

Their neighborhood truly was beautiful. Amidst all of the confusion of finding a stranger in her apartment and the haze of jet lag, she'd forgotten that they were in Paris. A bright sun in a pretty cerulean sky illuminated the historical cream-coloured buildings with their tall windows and charming architectural details. It was a magnificent city, every bit as charming as she remembered. No wonder she'd fallen for Daniel here. It was a city worthy of their romance.

At the building, Regina buzzed 2A. A woman answered in French.

"Bonjour, Marguerite?" Regina asked.

"No. I'm her granddaughter, Emma," replied the woman in French.

"Oh. I'm living in 3A now and I was told to talk to you about the apartment," Regina replied in French.

The door clicked open, and Regina and Henry stepped inside.

Emma's apartment was cool, sleek and updated, every bit the opposite of what Regina had seen in her shabby apartment yesterday. Emma's apartment kind of looked like a high-end Ikea catalogue, very much inspired by Scandinavian designs often pictured in the interior design magazines that Regina sometimes read.

"Come in," the tall, blonde woman said in lightly-accented English after they'd introduced themselves at the entry. The woman's combat-style boots thudded on the sleek dark wood floors of her apartment as she led them to the sitting area near a high window.

"Coffee? It's the only thing I can do, sorry I can't make you anything else. Oh, and I have juice for the kid?" She studied Regina and Henry.

"No, thank you, Henry and I don't want to bother you," said Regina.

Emma hesitated. Regina suddenly realized that maybe that wasn't the polite thing to do in France.

"You know, I misspoke. I actually would like a coffee. And Henry will take a juice. Thank you," she corrected.

Emma seemed content with this answer, and busied herself in the tiny, yet sleek, kitchen - it would be the size of a closet in the U.S., Regina thought to herself.

"So you're in 3A now? I'm amazed, that apartment has been empty for years."

"It belonged to my son's grandparents, who are French but live in the United States now," explained Regina. "It is mine now. They wanted us to have a new chance here in Paris."

"Amazing. That's a really nice place, you know. Good-sized apartments like that are hard to come by here these days."

"I suppose so. So, I assume you know why I'm here. I want to know who has been sleeping in the apartment?' Regina decided to cut straight to the point as Emma handed her a tiny, steaming cup of coffee. It looked like espresso, with a bit of foam on top.

"I'm really sorry about that. I have no idea what to say other than to apologize. He had no right to be there, and it's my fault he was. Your grandparents -"

"Henry's grandparents."

"Sorry, his grandparents, knew my grandmother, Marguerite, who used to live here. They'd asked her if she'd hold on to a key just in case anyone ever needed to get in for some reason, you know, an emergency or to fix utilities or something. My grandmother moved to the country about a year and a half ago to retire, and passed the key on to me when I moved into the place. I knew no one had been there for close to 10 years. But I didn't think much of it until Robin, my friend -"

"His name is Robin? Like the bird? Or Hood?" Regina interjected.

She nodded. "Yes. Like that. He's really the nicest guy you'll meet, I've known him for ages, we have the same friends. He's someone who has his heart in the right place, and he needed a favor, and I owed him a favor, and it made sense for him to stay a while around here. So I told him about the apartment, and he crashed there."

Regina pursed her lips. It seemed innocent enough.

"I see. Even though it wasn't yours to give," she said somewhat testily. "Well, will he stay away from my son and I for now on?'

"Of course. He already called me yesterday, apologizing. Although, just to say, he installed a new fridge, stove and water heater at some point, because none of them worked when he first started using the place. And he told me he'd pay you rent-"

"He doesn't owe any rent," said Regina, thinking she'd rather just have the situation behind her. "I just want to move in and move on."

"Of course. You need a hand with anything?"

"We'll manage."

"Let me help. I at least owe you that."

..•..

One week, three trips to Ikea and one Saturday morning jaunt to Emma's favorite flea market later (Emma tagged along with them, which somewhat irritated Regina but in the end she was grateful for her company, her extra set of hands and fluent French when it came time for them to negotiate prices and hire a driver to take them back to the flat with all of her purchases), Regina and Henry were comfortably settled into their Montmartre apartment. Henry was nestled into the tiny study off of the main living/dining/kitchen area, divided from the rest of the house with charming French doors and a little window with a view over the rooftops - it was like something out of a story book, he had said, which made her smile - and Regina was moved into her bedroom on the other side of the main room, which was small and cozy, just enough space for a double bed (with a cute wrought iron headboard - one of her purchases with Emma at the flea market), a wardrobe with flowers painted on it (another antiques market purchase), a freshly-vacuumed Persian rug that had come with the apartment, and a window seat with built-in bookshelves on either side of the window. It was cozy, and best of all, it had a little terrace that she could just step onto and sit on a tiny table and chairs that she'd found in a closet. The finishing touch was a vase of freshly cut peonies from a florist on a corner, and pots of flowers on the terrace.

She had also managed to get Henry signed up for school. Although it was the beginning of summer and he'd just finished his school year back in the U.S., Regina wanted to get him adjusted to the language and whatever cultural differences might come their way in the next year or so, and found a school for him that accepted him into their summer program that was, miraculously, within walking distance. It would be a bit of a hike every morning and afternoon, but Regina could hardly mind when they had the charming neighbourhood of Montmartre to wander through each day: tall houses on either side of the narrow, impeccable streets, some in sugary pastel colors, others built in the white stone that Paris was so famous for. There were flower shops, cafes and bookstores all along the way: plenty of places for Regina to get inspiration for her work.

She had worked for a fashion magazine back in New York, and while she had to resign from her former position as one of the editors of the print edition, her employer generously let her take over some online editorial responsibilities and even asked her to write a column and several fashion features for their website about life in Paris. This allowed her to work from home - even though home was thousands of miles from New York, where the magazine was headquartered - with the exception of the few meetings and industry events she might have to attend in Paris from time to time.

Now that she and Henry were settled into their apartment, Regina was already planning trips to the various parts of the city - including the famous fashion boutiques and department stores: the she wanted to explore when Henry was at school, to get inspiration for her column.

By their second week in the apartment, all was well. Henry had had a good first day at the school he was going to, and Regina was starting to feel more comfortable with her new daily routine. She began plotting her outings to various parts of the city in the upcoming weeks. She wanted to go to the illustrious Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Boulevard Haussman's famous department stores, Avenue George V, and spend an afternoon in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

One day, when she returned home after having coffee and a little croissant as a mid-morning snack in a nearby café, she realized her refrigerator wasn't running. The smell of overly-ripe cheese and milk was a strong indication that something inside the small appliance was off, and when she checked the temperature, sure enough, it was several degrees warmer than it should be.

The fridge was one of the appliances that Robin had purchased (recently, apparently, as one of its stickers advertising its energy savings benefits was still attached). As soon as she checked everything she could think of (which was mainly whether it was still plugged in or not… it was,) and spent 10 minutes or so searching online for a suggestion, she gave up and texted Emma to ask her if she knew a repair man nearby who could take a look.

I should ask Robin. I think he bought that a month or two ago, it'll still be under warranty.

Don't, I'll figure it out, replied Regina.

A few moments passed. Then, another ping signalled an incoming message.

Too late. Says he'll be glad to help. On his way over. But, hey, I'll come by for your moral support and make sure the guy actually leaves, no worries.

..•..

The first thing Regina had set up in the apartment, besides the cozy room she'd put together for Henry in the study, was her desk. She liked to have everything in order for the work she would start doing that week: her laptop, second monitor, leather-bound notebooks where she jotted down notes and ideas for her articles, columns, and future pitches for her editor back in New York. An old mug that she used for pencils and pens, and of course, her metallic gold vase filled with a fresh bunch of flowers she'd bought on a postcard-perfect street corner.

If everything in her apartment, and especially on her desk, was clear and tidy, her mind felt clearer and tidier and her work flowed more smoothly.

Regina had just gotten to that point where everything in the apartment - even after only a few days in Paris - in her apartment looked settled and lived-in, clean, bright, wonderful-smelling thanks to the designer candle she burned during the hours she was home. The rugs had been swept, the art and black and white photographs she'd brought from New York hung tidily on the white walls, framed beautifully by the ornate Parisian wood paneling.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Emma was standing with Robin, her hands shoved in the pockets of her dark skinny jeans, an elegant but edgy grey motorcycle jacket on and a rather large bag slung over her shoulder.

Robin was slightly sloppily dressed… well, for a European. He still looked tidy compared to the men Regina had known back in the States. And he couldn't be a further cry from the men in her family back in Maine, with their flannel shirts, jeans, and quilted jackets. He had somewhat baggy olive green pants on, an oatmeal thermal long sleeved shirt and a thin grey scarf tossed around his neck.

"Hello again. Robin Du Bois, refrigerator repairman, at your service," Robin said, raising his eyebrows expectantly at her from the hall and holding out his hand as a proper greeting.

She shook it.

"May I enter, and see if I can help?"

His voice. Despite the fact that she disliked him, it was smooth and kind, and conveyed a strength and certain degree of genuineness.

Regina stood up straight and as tall as she could, though she was still several inches shorter than both Robin and Emma and pursed her lips.

"Come in."

Robin threw a nervous glance at Emma, but didn't say anything, and went into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Emma meandered in. "Wow. This place looks amazing. I've lived in my apartment for three years and it doesn't look half this lived-in. Or smell half this good."

"Thank you, dear. Please, sit down."

While Emma made herself comfortable on one of the Regina's antique chairs near the windows, Regina went to the kitchen to oversee Robin's handiwork. He'd moved the fridge out from the tiled wall to check it was plugged in, and then opened the door. His arm and head were in the fridge for a minute, fiddling with something in the back.

"Well that was an easy fix," he said, emerging a few moments later. "Your temperature setting had been knocked down too low. I never really kept food in here, so I suppose I might have never had it running at the proper temperature. That, and the temperature outside has been warming up. I raised it. It should work fine."

"Oh," Regina said, somewhat flustered. "I should have thought of that."

He shrugged. "Not a problem."

He turned to the sink and tested the water.

"Ah. The water pressure is good…" he opened the small cabinet under the sink and glanced inside. "There'd been some problems with the pipes, but I'd fixed them a few weeks back."

Regina gritted her teeth. "Thank you. I suppose."

"Everything else in this place in good shape? Robin is good with his hands, if you need anything else fixed…" Emma said from the living room.

Regina brushed her hair behind her ear. "Ah, no. No, Emma, thank you."

"Well, now that all's well, what about a little housewarming gift?" Emma suddenly pulled a bottle of wine out of her purse.

"Isn't it a bit early?" Regina asked.

Emma shrugged. "It's three, we're all here, everything's fixed, I think it's time we properly welcomed you to Paris."

Regina sighed, and shook her head. "If you insist," she said, trying to be polite, but throwing a glance over at her computer and her desk. She really did need to get started on some articles for the week, and she was way behind on her emails. Calculating the time in New York, she realized it was only around 9 am. The day was just beginning, what if she needed to make a call to her boss or colleagues…

"Come on, one glass," Emma prodded, already hunting around her kitchen for wine glasses.

Fortunately, Regina had bought some that past weekend, and pulled them off the open shelf over the sink.

"Corkscrew?" she called from the kitchen.

"In the drawer," Regina replied.

Meanwhile, Robin had settled down at the small antique cherry table Regina had just purchased at an antiques market the day before.

"So. Mr. Du Bois. Have you found another place to stay, or have you made yourself comfortable in another unsuspecting homeowner's residence?" Regina asked, joining him at the table.

He gritted his teeth for a moment, then smiled. "You will be pleased to know that I have rented a room in an apartment, temporarily, nearby. Legally."

"He has. I had a friend who needed someone to sublet her place for a few weeks while she does a program in London," Emma vouched.

"Oh. Well, congratulations, Mr. Du Bois, we should toast to you, too, and to your more moral choices."

"Please, darling, it's 'Robin.'"

Regina gritted her teeth and nodded once. "Well then, congratulations, Robin."

Right on cue, Emma brought out their wine glasses and passed them around. "To new homes," she said diplomatically, as they toasted.

They sipped the wine - red, dark, a hint of oak, a hint of fruit, and something deeper, richer. It was delicious.

"You have good taste in wine," Regina commented.

"I'm glad you like it. Honestly, for being French, I should probably have better grasp of these things, but I tend to just drink whatever Jean-Pierre at the little shop down the street pushes on me each week," laughed Emma.

They all grinned at that, and sipped again.

"So what do you do for work that would allow you to come over in the middle of a weekday and repair refrigerators, Robin?" asked Regina.

"I'm a software engineer for a large company. I work odd hours… sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes during the day, depending on what they need me to do and when. I happen to be free today."

"Oh. How nice for you to have that flexibility," said Regina.

"I hope we're not keeping you from some work," Robin said, looking at Regina's desk where a word processor was clearly open on her computer, along with her email and a few scattered notebooks. On screen, a window was blinking, indicating that someone had messaged her.

"Oh. Well, you are to be honest, but it's all right. It's the beginning of the day in New York - I suppose I'll catch up later, perhaps when Henry settles down with his books or his video games this evening before their day is over."

"You're still working for someone back in New York? What is it you do?" asked Emma.

"I am an editor for a fashion magazine."

"Whoa, you came to the right city for that," said Emma.

Regina nodded. "That's probably why my editor let me keep my job, fortunately."

"So you write about clothes, and shoes, and things?" Robin said, clearly not overly enthusiastic about the topic, but attempting to be polite.

"And 'things,' yes."

"That must be a difficult job to land," said Emma.

"Well, I did have a lot of different internships and freelance work for many years in New York before finally landing a staff position. Having a master's degree and a few connections from my university days didn't hurt, either."

Robin's attention seemed to pique at that. "You have a master's degree to write about fashion?"

He didn't say it in an overly surprised tone, but Regina still answered defensively.

"I do. Like writing about any business, it takes a certain amount of knowledge and skill set to do a satisfactory job." She took another sip of her wine.

He raised his eyebrows.

"And what is it that you do, exactly, as a software engineer?" Regina asked him.

"I work as a cyber and network security engineer. Basically, to prevent critical data from being stolen or left vulnerable."

"So you prevent people from breaking into virtual spaces. How ironic, since you are a clearly a master of breaking into physical spaces in your free time."

Robin didn't say anything to that, merely taking another sip of the wine. He glanced over at Emma, and smiled at her. "You know, this is good wine - thank you, Emma - but I must admit I'm far more fond of whiskey. I'm half Irish, perhaps that's why. Next time, I'll bring that. It would be a little more up to the task of helping me weather some of Regina's remarks."

"Really? I haven't even said half of what I could say on this matter," said Regina defensively. "How sad you need whiskey to help you along when I am merely speaking the truth."

"Okay, okay," Emma said, standing up. "I think we need some food to go with this wine. I'm going to run downstairs and pick something up - if I can leave you two alone for two seconds and expect you two to both be here when I get back?"

"I'll go," Robin volunteered, touching her arm to tell her to sit back down. "I'll get something for you two to have - then I'll be on my way."

"No," Emma protested, but Robin insisted.

"Clearly, I'll never be able to atone for my choice of apartments to crash in," he said, his eyes meeting Regina's. "The least I can do is get you two a late lunch, and then I'll leave you both alone."

"Hot blooded Irishman, that one," Emma said, rolling her eyes as soon as he stepped out of the door, and taking a sip of her wine.

Regina pursed her lips. "I see."

The conversation became easy, and pleasant when it was just the two of them. Emma told her about how she's in her last year of law school at the moment - she'd taken a few years off to travel through the United States and Asia, which explained her solid command of English - and was glad to finally be graduating after years of wandering. As promised, Robin returned in less than a half hour, and simply delivered a brown paper bag to Emma at the door containing a fresh baguette, two kinds of cheeses, some thin slices of meat, grapes and oranges, and two delicious individual bowls of cold gazpacho, then left with a goodbye to Emma.

"This confirms that I did the right thing by moving here," Regina concluded as they finished nibbling their way through the mid-afternoon meal. Before long, it was time to pick up Henry from school, and Emma said she had to get back to studying. Regina promised to have her over for dinner sometime soon.

..•..

Regina eventually did settle into a new work routine, and found it was much simpler, especially once she made sure to not drink any wine until the workday in New York was over. This meant she often worked well into the night, while Henry was doing homework, reading, or once he'd gone to bed.

She always started her day with a walk through the beautiful neighbourhood of Montmartre, sometimes a challenge with the steep hills and endless steps. On the days when she was more ambitious, she would walk along the winding streets all the way to Sacre-Coeur, which stood atop a grand hill overlooking the endless cityscape of Paris. Other days, especially on rainy spring days, she stayed closer to home, sometimes taking her laptop with her to a cafe and indulging in a rich, creamy cup of cafe au lait as she dug into her writing.

On one such day the next week, she returned home after working at a cafe to a very unwelcome sight: Robin, outside of her building, buzzing up to Emma's apartment. A small bag was in his hand.

"Hello," Regina said cautiously as she approached the building.

"Hi," he said, turning around, surprised.

"You do seem to like this building, don't you?"

"I was here to deliver something to Emma."

"Oh. Isn't she home?"

"It appears not," she said, looking at the button one last time and checking his phone.

"I can give her the - whatever it is - if you'd like me to," Regina said, eyeing the bag.

"Ah… that's the thing. It's kind of funny. This is actually a gift I was going to leave for you."

"For me?"

He nodded sheepishly. "I didn't mean to see you again - you know, I don't want to bother you - but I picked up this."

He lifted a large, brand-new bottle of Irish whiskey from the bag, then set it back.

"And these."

He showed her what appeared to be lowball glasses wrapped in paper. Then, he put them back in the bag and reached in one more time.

"…And this."

It was a plain white envelope. This he handed to Regina, and she took it. She glanced inside. Several hundred Euro bills were placed in the envelope.

"For the rent."

"Robin, I-"

"I'm a man of honor. I truly did not mean to inconvenience you. And you could have - and perhaps should have - completely called the police on me, and you did not."

"I wasn't going to. You're a friend of Emma's. It seemed like an honest enough… mistake. And you did replace some appliances in there, so, we can call it even." She handed the envelope back.

"No. Please, keep it. Buy something for the apartment, or your boy… Paris is an expensive city to raise a child in."

"I can't."

"I'm not taking it back."

"It's too much."

"I'm not going to argue with you-" He paused as someone walked past them and opened the door to the building, and they both smiled at the person nervously.

Regina bit her bottom lip. "Fine. But I don't need all of that whiskey, that's for sure."

"You do. You seem… stressed."

Regina raised her eyebrows. "Stressed?"

"Ah, from the move?" He asked, biting his bottom lip and looking at her expectantly, laughter in his eyes.

Despite herself, she laughed. "I suppose I was a bit sharp the other day. You're right - some days - I am not sure what to make of all of this. You know, new city. New people. New home. Same job, but new kinds of stress…"

He laughed, then held out the brown bag to her.

"Here. Enjoy. My treat. And I do promise I will stay out of your way from now on," he said, his deep blue eyes meeting hers, and she knew he meant it.

She took the bag. 'Thank you."

He smiled one last kind smile, nodded at her, and walked down the sidewalk, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Regina's hand wrapped around the cool skeleton keys that she'd just pulled out of her purse. Before she could think it through logically, she turned towards him, watching him walk away.

"Robin?" She called out.

He stopped on the sidewalk and turned.

She held up the bag. "I'm not one for drinking alone - or day drinking, actually - but I'm up for a small glass. Would you mind joining me for one?"