“I do,” I say with a smile. “I love art. I love that it’s free. I love that today we’re sharing this space with so many different people whose only similarity is that they love it too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around.” I grab his arm and turn him. “That family over there is showing their children the pictures they love. Their kids will probably do the same one day for their own children. Then there’s the old couple sitting on that bench together looking at a picture that they’ve probably seen many times over the years. And there are the students who sit on the floor and sketch the pictures. This experience will be part of the story they’ll tell when they’re older and settled.” I shrug. “Everyone’s different here, but they share the experience of art. It’s nice.”

He throws his arm over my shoulder. “Okay, show me,” he demands.

I swallow. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me that just the simple act of his arm over my shoulder is making me hot. He’s done it thousands of times since we were little and it never made me feel like my skin is too tight for my body.

“Show you what?” I croak.

“Show me all of it,” he says in a very doom-laden voice.

I move out from under his arm, clasping his hand to soften the gesture. “You really mean it, Misha?”

He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “I really mean it.”

“Okay, but don’t say you weren’t warned,” I say, spinning and dragging him after me.

“Wait,” he says from behind me. “Nobody issued a warning. What do you need to warn me about?”

I wink at him. “Hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.”

“I want a cake after this,” he says darkly. “In fact, I want five cakes and a pint. No, I want ten cakes and at least seven pints.”

“I think you might be what some people call a snowflake.”

He laughs and follows me. Of course he does. We always follow each other. It’s understood and always abided by.

The gallery is busy, but there’s space to move around, and he shadows me like some sort of expensive-looking stray dog, stopping when I stop and moving when I do. I wander through the different rooms looking happily at the artwork and smiling inwardly because Misha is far more interested in the architecture of the building than he is in the pictures. However, he’s as patient as he always is with me, never rushing me and seeming to derive the same happiness in my company as I do with his. It’s an ease that I’ve never found with another person.

“What do you think?” I finally say.