Malcolm laughed and took hold of her hand.

“Here we go. I’ll keep you from temptation.”

They spent the next hour and a half—George always had been a softy—walking around the exhibit, reading about everything there, and making quiet fun of some of the ugliest of the jewels.

“Some people really do have more money than sense,” Vivian said. “Why would you do that to those poor jewels?”

Malcolm laughed.

“Can you imagine actually wearing that thing? It would frighten children on the street!”

Vivian chuckled again. He loved that throaty laugh of hers—it seemed to bubble up out of nowhere and was so full of joy that it always made him laugh, too.

“On the other hand, that tiara is just majestic. It looks really heavy, but it’s gorgeous.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. They stood there like that for a while, until she turned toward him.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” she whispered, her hand on his cheek.

“Thank you for letting me do this for you,” he whispered back. And then he kissed her. He didn’t care that George would be back any second, or that video cameras were definitely on them, or that the security guard in the corner was watching them; all he cared about was her lips on his, her body against his, her breath melding with his.

Finally, they broke apart. He almost felt ridiculous about how much he was smiling, but he was too happy to do anything else. He reached for her hand.

“We ought to go soon; George has given us far more time than I asked for, and now I feel guilty about keeping him at work this late the week after Christmas.”

“No need to feel guilty!” George bounced over to them. “I’m going on holiday for three weeks in January; I needed to stay late anyway to get all of my work in order. Lost track of time tonight, but I’m sure you two made good use of it.”

Vivian looked around the room as they left it, almost like she was bidding the jewels farewell.

“We did. This exhibit is wonderful, and I can’t thank you enough for giving us this time with it. I enjoyed it so much.” She glanced from side to side as they walked out into the hallway. “I’m only upset we didn’t get a chance to see anything else in the museum. If this exhibit is here, I can only imagine what other surprises this place has in store.”

How did Vivian always know the exact right thing to say to everyone? George almost embraced her. He loved this museum so much, bless him.

“Would you like to see some of them? We have time for . . .” George looked at his watch, and his face fell. “Oh no, I’m supposed to meet my wife at nine, and it’s twenty to. Well, we have time to just walk through one of my favorite exhibits here.”

He took off at a trot. Malcolm hid his grin as they hurried to catch up with George. Good thing he’d made their dinner reservation for half past nine, even though their appointment with George was at seven. He knew George far too well to think he wouldn’t get distracted by his museum. He was certain George’s wife wasn’t counting on him meeting her at nine, either.

Finally, after a jaunt through exhibits about mosaics, glass, and dollhouses (all surprisingly fascinating), George waved good-bye to them at the door.

“Ms. Forest—Vivian—it’s been a real pleasure. I certainly hope you make it back to London for a proper visit to the V&A. And Malcolm, it was lovely to see you again.”

Vivian reached for his hand.

“George, thank you so much for everything. This was wonderful. I enjoyed myself so much.”

He pumped her hand with both of his and held on for so long that Malcolm wondered if he should be jealous.

“It was truly my honor,” George said. “See you again, I hope.”

She slipped her arm into Malcolm’s as they waited for a taxi, and he pulled her close.

“Oh, Malcolm,” she said, “that may have been the best surprise I’ve ever had in my life.” She sighed, a smile still on her lips. “I know I keep saying it, but thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me; that smile on your face is all the thanks I need,” he said. He opened the taxi door for her. “Now, let’s see if we make our half past nine dinner reservation before the restaurant gives up on us.”

Luckily, they only ended up about ten minutes late, and after profuse apologies, the host seated them.

“I don’t think there’s going to be the same kind of show tonight as there was last night,” Malcolm said. “This place isn’t known for its spicy food, but it is very well known for its Israeli food, and it’s delicious.”

She looked down at the menu.

“I think Maddie’s boyfriend has one of the cookbooks from this place. Everything in it looks delicious and very complicated to make.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad someone else is making it for me.”

He was so happy with how their day had gone, and so hungry from how late it was, that he ordered half the menu.

“I didn’t want to rush you out of the museum, but my stomach was starting to rumble by the end there,” he said when their wine arrived.

She laughed.

“Mine did, too, but I was having so much fun with George, I didn’t want to leave!” She lifted her glass of wine. “To George, the first person in a long time who has made me forget how hungry I was!”

He touched his glass to hers.

“To George!”

“I love museums, and I never go enough,” she said. “Whenever I travel anywhere, I visit a ton of museums, but I go to maybe one every two years at home, which makes no sense. We have so many wonderful museums in the Bay Area, but between work and everything else it never occurs to me to go when I’m at home.”

He nodded.

“I used to go a lot with Miles—Sarah has never really cared about art, and I was the one who introduced him to the work of a lot of his favorite painters.” He sighed. “Which is one of the many reasons why Sarah is so angry at me because of this. Mind you, I’m also the one who got him excited about going to Oxford, too, but that doesn’t really matter now.”

Vivian put her hand on his.

“You haven’t heard from him?”

Malcolm shook his head. Not a text, not a phone call.

“Have you reached out to him?”

He shook his head again and sighed. He’d managed to put the whole mess with Miles out of his mind for most of the day.

“I’m still just so angry. At him, at his ridiculous instructor who put these dreams into his head and told him to apply to art school of all things instead of going to Oxford, at myself. I should have done a better job, throughout the years, teaching him the realities of life. How important it is to get certain credentials, how—especially for people who look like us—it smooths out so much and opens so many doors for the rest of your life.” He sighed. “I suppose at some point I should reach out to him and try to talk sense into him again. You may have a point.”

She sipped her wine.

“I wasn’t making a point. I was just asking a question.”

His eyebrows went up.

“You can’t trick me with that ‘I was just asking a question’ social worker move, Ms. Forest. I’ve been working in and around government far too long for that; I know pointed questions from pointed questions.”