A/N: I had a goal to upload the next chapter last weekend, and didn't quite make it, but that's because I've gone back and fourth on a few details in it and edited it several times. I think I'm finally satisfied with where everything is! I am also working on the rest of the chapters in this work at the same time (only 2-3 more chapters remain) so I want to make sure everything fits nicely together and wraps up the way I want it to.
It really is a pleasure to have so many of you reading along. I had no idea when posting my first fanfic in ages what the reception would be. Thank you again! I do have more stories planned in the future. Regina is such a perfect character to write for because she's so multifaceted, and I've already been working on the concept for my next fic for this character. But first thing is first, we need to settle our "Saturday Mornings in Paris" Regina! (Who will, by the way, be quite a Jetsetter in these final chapters). So, onwards!
The next morning, she woke before he did. Regina tiptoed into his kitchen, opening the window to let the morning breeze in, and set about making coffee. She ran downstairs, to the tiny grocer in the neighboring building, and fifteen minutes later returned with the ingredients for a big omelette: brown eggs, mushrooms and peppers, tomatoes and spinach, and toast made of the lovely brioche from the next-door bakery. As the delicious scents wafted through the apartment, Robin woke up, and padded in, and wrapped his arm around her waist.
"Mmm. Good morning," he said, gently squeezing her from behind.
"Hello," she said, flushed, turning around, smiling at his attention, as he studied her face, scanning her expression lazily. "What did I do to earn all of this?"
"I think you know what you did," Regina replied saucily.
"Hmm, I do have some recollection, although you might have to remind me."
"Mmmm, 'Remind' you? Really? Is your memory that bad? Or was I that forgettable?" she teased.
"Neither. I am just being selfish," he said, watching her turn back to the stove and continue her work.
He clearly didn't want to let her slip through his arms, and so he followed her to the stove.
"Now, this omelette smells and looks delicious, but you look the most delightful, darling…" he nuzzled her neck "…and I might need you to provide me that reminder right over here, on the couch."
She laughed softly, but allowed him to walk her out of the kitchen (she first clicked off the stove, and the omelette perched there, fully cooked, waiting for them), as they landed on the couch in the living room and promptly forgot all about food.
..•..
They spent every moment when they weren't at work together that next week. The went for long, lazy walks, took time dwelling over bottles of floral and fragrant white wines around dusk at outdoor cafes in the cheerful summer ambiance, and finally visited the Louvre, where Regina hadn't been since she'd been an art student. They spent a long day there, walking and walking through the endless galleries until their feet hurt and they decided to call it a day.
Paris was starting to feel startlingly like home to Regina. In between her excursions with Robin, at home, as she worked on her computer in the silent apartment, her words flowed with ease again. Although she knew it helped that she was back to galavanting around the city with Robin by her side, which kept her mind and outlook refreshed, she actually found herself thinking back to Emma's words more than his. Like Emma said, she wasn't really writing about their relationship, after all. She was capturing a time, a place, an essence, a feeling in her writing. A feeling of transition and rebirth. That is what her articles and blog entries were really about.
..•..
On Thursday night, after a long dinner lingering over seafood: mussels in a delicate tomato and wine sauce, a bottle of wine, lemon gelato, Regina and Robin walked back home via several sets of stairs in Montmartre, which were lit by the streetlights in the dark, heavy summer night.
"Look at that view," breathed Regina after they'd climbed another set of stairs and found themselves high above much of the city, gazing around at the twinkling yellow lights before them.
"I am," said Robin, and Regina turned and saw him and noticed he wasn't looking at the view at all; he was looking at her.
She smiled. "You… you," she said, laughing, coming up with no words.
He smiled back, and silenced her with a kiss.
As they approached her street, Regina turned to Robin and kissed him this time.
"Come up to my apartment tonight," she said a beat later, her nose touching his, their bodies wedged closely together.
"Really?" he asked, pulling back just slightly to study her face. "Your apartment, at night? Such an honor, or a privilege… I feel like I'm being invited into royal quarters," he teased softly.
"Ha, ha," she said quietly. "You know why. I have never brought men home when Henry is around."
She pushed open the old, creaky wood door of her building, and they started to climb the quiet, cool stairs to her apartment.
It was somewhat of a relief when Robin followed her into her apartment that night. It had been too lonely all week when she was here on her own with Henry away at camp. Robin seemed to fill the space, bring it life.
"So it's a special occasion, while Henry is at camp?" he asked, stepping tentatively into her small bedroom, gazing around, eyeing the white linen bedspread and skimming the pictures on the wall, her glass dressing table with the vintage perfume bottles and shiny glass jewelry boxes. It was anything but a masculine sort of room. She might have to rethink a few things if Robin were to become a mainstay.
Regina grinned, slightly mischievously, sitting on the bed and crossing her legs enticingly. "Perhaps if you are good, we can start to discuss how you might spend more time in our household in the future, even after he comes home."
"Oh? And what, exactly, do I need to do to prove myself to you, darling?" he said, moving in between her legs, which she spread for him. She wrapped her ankles behind his calves, and he leaned in for a kiss.
She kissed him deeply. "Just keep being yourself," she breathed.
…
It was Friday early afternoon when she received the email.
At first she was so surprised she had to read and then re-read it two or three more times before its contents sunk in and the words even began to make sense to her.
The email had been sent by the Editor-in-Chief of NORA magazine, one of the biggest fashion magazines in North America - or in the world, for that matter.
We are impressed by your unique gift for prose… have been following your column and articles for your current publication… you have panache for capturing the spirit of French and European fashion in print… embodying what it is to experience a city on a human level…
Even after the message began to sink in, Regina read the words several times.
At the end of the email, there was a number and an email address to contact the office of the publications' Editor-in-Chief to arrange a meeting for a potential job opening as an editor. The position, according to the email, was based in New York, and the editorial staff at the magazine were eager to fill it as soon as possible…
If this was real - and it certainly looked very official - it was a dream come true. One of the world's top Editor-in-Chiefs of a top magazine was inviting her to come in for a meeting. And such a direct letter, well, it was practically a job offer - Regina knew how these things worked in the industry.
Slightly breathless, Regina called back, and, after speaking with the executive assistant for the Editor-in-Chief, arranged to meet her in New York on Monday.
..•..
Regina didn't know what to say to Robin when he arrived at her apartment for dinner that night. She was still jittery, elated at this sudden turn of events. She could soon be writing for one of the top fashion magazines in the world. She couldn't let that idea go.
On the other hand, she'd be writing for them in New York, apparently.
The thought of going back there was strange. Surreal, even. And she'd only been away for a few months.
Regina's eased Robin into the news, saying that some urgent business in New York had come up and she needed to fly out there on Sunday.
"What kind of business? It seems rather last minute," he asked, spreading a bit of pâté on a fresh, crusty piece of bread before popping it into his mouth.
They were sitting on her balcony that evening, at the tiny bistro table, a bottle of wine and various food - cheese, meats, pâtés, a few different kinds of crusty breads, fruit and vegetables - spread before them, enjoying a light, makeshift dinner appropriate for the relatively hot evening.
"I received an email this afternoon, and I called back…" she sighed, taking a nervous sip from her glass. "It's for a big magazine. One of the biggest fashion publications in the world, actually. The Editor in Chief emailed me and wants to offer me an editorial position based in New York."
There was a brief pause as a certain look fell over his face - realization, perhaps, about what all of that implied for Regina, for them, but then Robin recovered quickly. "That's incredible. They must be a good publication indeed to recognize such talent," he said, raising a glass to her.
She smiled. His eyes were so blue, so kind… how did she luck out with him, really? And why had she wasted all of that time being upset at him?
She raised her glass and tapped his.
"I'm just going to have the meeting," she explained cooly. "I only want to find out what they have to say, nothing more."
He nodded. "Of course. You need to go. You mustn't just shrug off something like this."
Regina popped a fresh strawberry into her mouth. "Yes, exactly. And then… well, I'll take it one step at a time," she shrugged.
She looked over at the view before them, which was really just the cream-colored neighboring buildings, endless rows of windows and walls, but they had become so charming to her, emblematic of her adopted city. The sun, sinking lower on the horizon, was a fiery red and orange, and the light color of the buildings picked up on that.
"I really love this place, you know," she sighed.
"I know."
"I like what I have here," she said firmly.
He studied her. Did he believe her? That she really was as torn as she was?
"I can tell," he finally replied.
"And…" her deep eyes met his, "I like this… this thing we have."
Her last words came out surprisingly trembly. She didn't mean to sound so emotional about it.
"I know. I do, too," he took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "But you should go. You have worked hard for so long, you're so talented, you more than deserve an opportunity like this."
She smiled. "Thank you. But…"
Ugh, she didn't want to ask this question. Not at all. But she had to.
She took a deep breath. "What about you? You wouldn't leave Paris, would you."
It was a statement, not a question, for she knew the answer. Roland was here, and therefore, Robin's life was here.
"Probably not," he sighed. "At least, I wouldn't go far from here."
"I understand," she said, nodding. "I really do."
"Let's not make this night so melancholy, darling," he said softly, clearing his throat, and standing up to retrieve more meat and cheese from inside, from the kitchen. "Eat, drink, let's celebrate, for we have a lot to be glad for, wouldn't you say?"
..•..
New York had changed.
She touched down at around 4pm on Sunday afternoon. She got off her flight tired and hot and thankful she only had a small carry-on bag so she didn't have to wait at the impossibly hectic baggage claim area at JFK.
It felt odd to be going to a hotel in the city where she'd once lived, but as soon as she checked in, she was grateful to be able to arrive in the cool, calm, air conditioned bliss of the sleek boutique hotel (decorated in black, white, grey and lots of mirrors, perfectly her style, which she would appreciate if she weren't so tired.) She slipped off her shoes, exchanging them for a simple pair of sandals she'd dutifully packed with her pumps and suits (it was too hot in New York to mess with anything fancier until she had to).
She hadn't told any of her old friends or acquaintances she was arriving. She had let her editor know, making up the excuse that she'd had a family issue come up and she'd be available for meetings on Monday afternoon in Manhattan if need be.
The city was hot, and smelled (in all fairness, Paris smelled, too, it was just a city thing in the middle of the dog days of summer), but it was more pungent than Regina had recalled. New York was bigger, faster, more adrenaline-inducing than she had remembered, too. All of the signs written in familiar English, the bright yellow taxi cabs, the smell of pizza and coffee and bagels and pretzels, things that she used to take for granted and used to fade into the background now stood out to her and caused her to stare or take longer to look at them, to soak them in, to appreciate their familiarity.
She had pizza that night in New York, an unusual indulgence but she'd been craving it. Then returned to the hotel early, exhausted because of the time difference, and fell asleep.
Coffee the next morning was her usual at some up-and-coming coffee shop, but she found herself grumpy as she waited for the mustached and flannel-clad barista to serve it to her, missing her cafe au lait served by the sleek Parisian baristas dressed in all black with their crisp white aprons.
This is ridiculous, Regina, she told herself as she tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the barista to make her latte as he fussed over the temperature of the milk.
I shouldn't miss my cafe au laits when I'll be back there on Wednesday, she reminded herself.
As odd as it was to be visiting "home," she kept reminding herself that this trip to New York was just temporary. She was strangely comforted by that.
..•..
While New York had left her with mixed messages thus far, it was stepping into the cool, sleek offices of NORA magazine, on the 50th floor of one of New York's most exclusive buildings, when all of her expectations for the trip were suddenly surpassed and she grew extremely excited about the opportunity that had been laid out before her.
"Ms. Mills."
She was first greeted by the magazine's fashion editor, who welcomed her warmly and gave her a tour of the storied offices of the publication. Although Regina never had an issue when she worked in her current magazine's offices, strolling through the NORA headquarters seemed like she'd been transported to a completely different world. Everything was impeccably organized, tastefully and minimally decorated with the most modern furniture and sleekest, most up-to-date technology. The employees were, obviously, impeccably dressed, but also seemed calmer and more well-organized and collected than her current colleagues. Many of them greeted her warmly (Regina, who almost never lost her composure in professional situations, nearly did when she met a photographer she'd admired for years and had even written a term paper on once. She noticed her hand was shaking when she reached out to greet the woman, and hoped the photographer didn't notice…)
The Editor-in-Chief then met with her in her office. Regina sat down in an armchair that was covered in designer fabric facing a beautiful Georgian style desk, which stood in the middle of a simple, elegant room. Everything was worthy of a Queen. The entire room smelled of expensive vanilla and roses, and was decorated simply with bookshelves holding books and a few pictures, and a giant window behind the desk that overlooked the entirety of Manhattan. It was more than a million dollar view, and it left the normally composed Regina slightly disoriented and breathless.
But the interview went well, as Regina was as well-spoken as she was articulate on the page. She left that office with her head high, her designer heels tapping on the sleek marble floors, and a job offer. NORA would need her answer by the end of the week, and she would need to begin in exactly two weeks.
In New York.
"How did the interview go?" Robin asked that evening on Skype, as Regina sat in the hotel lobby on her phone, sipping a red wine.
"It was great, actually," Regina said.
"And? Did they offer you a job."
She took a deep breath. "They did. A position as an editor, a full staff of writers, my own columns, assignments around the world. It really is… well, my dream job, Robin."
"Congratulations!" His voice was filled with genuine enthusiasm for her success, and Regina was touched that he could be so excited for her, even though the news meant that he would be losing her.
"I'll have to talk to you about it when I get home-I mean, when I get back," Regina said to him, quietly.
He nodded. Sure. Of course. He encouraged her to get some rest.
"Are you doing anything before you leave?"
"I have to stop at my current publication's offices for a few meetings tomorrow, and am meeting an old friend for lunch."
..•..
The next day, Regina left her old magazine's far less impressive offices after a morning of work, and took the train a few stops to Chelsea, to a redecorated retro diner-turned-chic lunch location. The day was muggy and hot, and the air conditioning on the train was minimal at best. Needless to say, it was a relief to step into the cool, grey-and-white interior of the diner. She smoothed out her white shift dress and sat down and ordered an iced tea, a few minutes early.
"Camille," she said, standing up and greeting Daniel's mother warmly.
The woman looked very elegant, and she beamed at Regina, studying her for a moment before she said, "you look so good, dear."
"So do you," said Regina.
"How is my dear grandson?"
"Wonderful. Learning archery at a French summer camp. Reading, learning French, making friends… growing up too fast."
"I bet. How do you feel about it?"
"It's hard," Regina admitted, "In more ways than one."
"Do you love Paris as much as you used to?"
"Of course," Regina sighed. "A part of me feels like I belong there. And the apartment… it really is perfect for us. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you."
"You never need to. I am glad that you and Henry have had these opportunities to experience life there. Just like Daniel wanted for both of you."
"You know… I feel him, in that apartment. I dreamed of him a lot when I first arrived, though I don't as much any more," Regina admitted.
Camille just smiled wistfully, and took a sip of her tea. "It's okay to move on."
They paused to order, and then Regina hesitated. "I did meet someone there. In Paris."
"Oh?"
"I met him… ah, in the building. When I first moved in. I befriended a nice woman downstairs, Emma, I believe she's the granddaughter of someone you knew? Anyways, she had this friend and, well, I began seeing him. Henry really liked him. Maybe more than I expected him to."
"It's good for you to meet new people, Regina. I worry you spend so much time just thinking about Henry and work… balance is a good thing."
"Well, perhaps. But my writing is doing well now. That's the real reason I'm in town: I got a job offer for NORA magazine."
"My, Regina. That's incredible."
Regina smiled, pleased at the woman's approval.
"I'm excited. And flattered. But truthfully? I don't know what to do. I don't know if it's right to take Henry back to New York so soon, just as he is really settling in. And we've really made a nice little life there," she admitted.
"That is worth something."
"It is."
"What do you want?"
"Well, I've always…"
"Not what you always wanted, because things change, dreams change. What do you want now?"
"That is a good question, isn't it?" Regina sighed.
..•..
Regina left New York that night, her suitcase heavier than before because of a bit of shopping and several gifts that Camille had sent back for Henry. She rode a taxi to LaGuardia to catch her overnight flight to Paris. As she watched the spectacular Manhattan skyline receded into the night, she already longed to be back at her apartment in Paris, counting the hours until she would be. She thought back to how two days ago when she'd first arrived she thought New York had changed. It hadn't. Not really.
It was Regina who had changed.
..•..
Robin met her at Charles de Gaulle the next morning at 6:30 am on the dot.
"You absolutely did not have to do this," she said as she walked into the arrivals area and saw him holding a bouquet of six soft pink roses.
"I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else right now," he said, kissing her.
She took the bouquet and inhaled the green scent of the flowers. "I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad I didn't walk past you."
"I wouldn't have let you," he assured her.
Robin took her to a car parked in the temporary parking.
"You brought a car?" Regina asked, surprised.
He nodded. "I rented one for a week."
"What's the occasion?" Regina asked.
"You," he said. "You mentioned you had very little work the rest of this week since your office thinks you are off on some family business?"
Regina nodded. "Yes," she admitted. "And it's a down time. So many people are on vacation right now."
"Well. Regina Mills, if I recall, never takes vacation, at least since I have known you. I call this the closest opportunity to have a vacation you've gotten since you first arrived in France months ago, and I was wondering if you'd like to celebrate this time off by going with me outside of the city?"
"Oh?" Regina was caught off guard by this idea, and her early-morning, just got off a red-eye flight bleariness, was not helping.
"I also should remind you - I know you are tired - that this weekend is family day at Henry's camp, so we could go someplace in that general region Thursday and Friday, stay at a cozy little inn or whatever you would prefer, and then we'll drive over to Henry's camp on Saturday to visit."
"I cannot believe I nearly forgot about Henry's family day," Regina gasped, grabbing for her phone so she could look at her calendar, her heart sinking with the realization that she'd forgotten and Robin had been the one to remember.
"It's okay," he said soothingly. "You have had enough on your plate."
"Well, normally I'd push back on something like this, to be completely honest with you. But this week, the answer is yes," she said gratefully. "Yes, I'd like that very much. And I also appreciate the reminder about Henry's family day very, very much."
Regina fell asleep right after she got home and had showered, and Robin headed out to work, promising her he'd be back that evening, packed and ready to leave Thursday morning for the central part of the country.
By the time Robin returned from work, Regina was rested, had managed to scrape together some time to check and reply to emails and do a bit of work of her own (she couldn't stand the thought of going somewhere for the rest of the week without clearing out her inbox the best she could), and shopping for ingredients for a simple dinner. Keeping in motion and keeping busy kept her from spending too much time dwelling on her big career dilemma.
…
The next day took them south. France was a relatively small country, so after driving a few hours they were already in a completely different region.
"Our first stop, my darling, is wine country," announced Robin, as they parked in the gravel drive of a winery that said it was open to the public.
"This winery is located in a castle. It seemed like something you might appreciate?" Robin asked, as they got out of the car and began walking down a path past endless rows of bright green grape vines.
"Wine and beautiful places. You know me well, Mr. Locksley." Regina said.
They toured the castle, and then the cave aux vins, or the wine cellar, where an endless amount of barrels and bottles were stored. Regina was genuinely impressed by his choice of a sightseeing stop, especially when they could partake in a little tasting afterwards.
They drove around the rest of the day, not to any more wineries (lest they be rendered physically incapable of driving), but to a few historical castles and sights, a few villages where Regina visited the markets and little shops, and finally, their final stop, a small, quaint inn at the top of a hill.
Or at least they thought it was quaint, until it began to rain that evening and the roof leaked straight down the wall and onto Regina's pillow.
"Well this adds to the charm," she said sarcastically, standing with Robin in nothing but her short satin slip, barefoot on the rough wooden floorboards, Robin next to her in nothing but a pair of boxers, his muscles flexing as he pushed the bed away from the wall (that was a fortunate side effect of having to be pulled out of bed in the middle of the night, Regina figured).
There was actually a small tin bucket in the bathroom (had this happened before?) and so after moving the bed, they put the bucket under the leak and decided it would be best left until the morning. They climbed into bed (Regina switched out her wet pillow for another that she found in the wardrobe) and lay awake, listening to the rain outside and the surprising soothing sound of the water gently trickling into the pail.
"Are you enjoying your time?" Robin whispered, sounding a bit worried.
"I am." Regina turned to him, putting her hands under her cheek and staring at the shape of his body in the night, lying in bed next to her, facing her.
"You've been quiet," Robin said.
"I've been… thinking."
He reached out and stroked her temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know."
"I don't know what to do."
"You think very deeply. I know you well enough to know that is true. But you need to forget about overanalyzing every detail, and simply do what is right - feels right - for you."
"Just as I got used to things here, something I always thought I wanted comes along back in New York…" she said, the worry coming through in her voice.
"At some point, you need to simply decide. Do what you want, not what you think you should do."
He sounded like Camille. And Regina knew they were right. But she first had to admit to herself what, exactly, it was that she wanted.
..•..
She had been counting the hours until she could see Henry, and so it was a great relief when, the next, day, Robin drove her down a country lane that looked a bit like the winding roads that go over hills and under bridges illustrated in a children's book. They reached the camp, set in a heavily forested area. Henry still looked like a boy as he waved and galloped towards Regina as soon as he spotted her, coming down a hill to meet her at the common area where they would have lunch. After the meal (which was impressive for camp, consisting of fresh fish, roasted potatoes, greens and a variety of fruit tarts,) Henry showed them both how he'd learned archery (Robin complemented him on his excellent form), and introduced them to his friends. They all played a game on the yard that Regina wasn't familiar with (it was a traditional local game, apparently), and then they finished the perfect, idyllic afternoon with a play that was put on by Henry's group of campers.
"I'm so proud of you, Henry," Regina said as she hugged him at the end of the day (he reluctantly let her).
"I can't wait for you to be back home next weekend," she added.
"Me, too."
"You're okay here for another week?" she asked, concern crossing her face as she looked down at him (albeit looking down at him was not quite the distance it once had been).
Henry glanced at both Robin and Regina and nodded enthusiastically. "Yup! But I'm looking forward to going home, too."
Regina gave him a last hug, and he even let Robin gave him a quick hug and a pat on the back, before he waved them goodbye.
..•..
"I wonder which Henry would prefer. He spent so long adjusting to France, and now he's making friends at camp and just another normal kid around here," Regina said to Robin as soon as they arrived back in Paris that night.
When they'd arrived at her apartment, she had no food on hand, so they went to a little bar down the street where they could order drinks and sandwiches to nibble on. The night was hot and heavy, and neither one of them had much of an appetite after all of the traveling.
"You won't make a wrong decision on where to live with him. He'll be fine, no matter what, because he has a good mother with him and that's all that matters to a kid," Robin said to her.
"I hope that's true," she laughed, shaking her head and raising her glass to her lips.
"If you're happy, I'm sure it will make all the difference to him. See, you're overthinking it again. How about this: what do you, Regina, want?"
...
...
You, she thought to herself automatically.
Really? Did she?
Yes.
If she just told Robin she wanted to stay, that she liked this, this thing they had, her job she already had, the life they all could have as a family: Robin, Henry, Roland… well, then, it would all be over. And she could enjoy the rest of her weekend with Robin, a rare break from her work, instead of fretting the entire time.
Months ago, it would have been so simple if she'd just stayed in New York and never attempted to move across an ocean. Now, it would be so simple if she just decided to stay put here.
She opened her mouth to speak, but just then, Robin's cell phone went off.
He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then looked up at her guiltily.
"Do you need to answer?" she asked. She knew it was sometimes work, and even though Robin hated taking calls after-hours and would probably gladly refuse to answer if she asked him not to, she didn't mind.
"It's actually my mother. She rarely calls."
"Well, answer, then," Regina urged him.
He answered the call with a hello, but whispered "sorry" to Regina, he stood up and wandered out of the restaurant and into the nearby sidewalk.
Regina glanced up every so often to see him pacing outside along the sidewalk, and Robin came back in a few minutes later.
"Everything all right?" Regina asked, concerned when she saw the look on his face.
He nodded. "Well, yes and no. It's not the end of the world, but it seems my father had a bit of a problem today… some sort of heart problem. They're keeping him in hospital after doing a little surgery."
"Is there anything you should do?" asked Regina.
He hesitated. "I suppose I should go up there. My mom seemed shaken up, and with my dad in hospital, she could probably use an extra hand…"
"How hard is it for you to get there at the last minute like this?"
"I could actually just take the train into London, then jump on a train the rest of the way to my parent's town." He took a long sip of his beer. "I suppose our weekend is over."
"Well, all good things do come to an end. Although with my schedule this week, I don't actually have to be at home or in Paris. I could go with you. Might give me something new to write about, after all."
"Really?"
"If you want me to. I know it's a family matter."
"Of course I want you to come." He looked relieved at the suggestion.
"Then it's settled. England tomorrow?"
"England tomorrow," he agreed, raising his glass to her, although concern for the news about his father was still evident in his expression.