He ran into the room, his heart pounding, and his clothes soaking wet. He was breathing heavily. I turned round from folding the laundry and looked at him quizzically. "What's wrong, Stefan?" It wasn't like him to run for a bus. It was so out of character. "Damn, thugs," he said and plonked himself into the nearest chair. "Stole my phone, my Ipod and my wallet." I dropped the shirt I was folding and went to him, enfolding him in my arms. His accent still had the power to make me weak at the knees. He hadn't been in the country two months and something like this happens. My heart went out to him. "Let's phone the police," I said, and planted a delicate kiss on his red cheek. "No, Anna, let's wait a while." "But... time is of the essence, isn't it?" He smiled and nodded. I picked up the phone and gave a woman the details, before passing the phone to Stefan, whose English seemed mangled in his panic and confusion. "There," I said when he'd replaced the receiver. "Now we can get on with our evening. Wine?" I picked up the bottle of Merlot from the dresser. He nodded and took off his wet clothes, peeling them off layer by layer until he was naked. The wine forgotten we lay in front of the roaring fire and pretended we were back in Poland.