“We’re sneaking out like teenagers so we don’t wake my dog.” She got in the car and turned to him as he settled himself into the passenger seat. The dim overhead light bathed his already golden features in a warm glow. His hair was disheveled and somehow all the more appealing for it. He looked ridiculous in his shoes, which she would call “fancy European man-sandals” paired with her father’s sweatpants. “Are you up for a minor adventure?”

“Always,” he said, vehemently and immediately. His voice was low and sleep-scratchy.

“Don’t get too excited. ‘Adventure’ might actually be overstating it. First stop is McDonald’s.”

“You know, I’ve never had McDonald’s.”

“Really? Well, I was going to feel bad about feeding you McDonald’s, but we’re in a hurry and it’s the only place around here that’s open this early. But now I feel it’s my duty to take you down a few pegs and feed you the fast food of the masses.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were eating McMuffins on a beach on the eastern edge of a spit of land that extended out into Long Island Sound, which her dad had said would give them a prime view of the sunrise. It was that time just before dawn when the sun was not yet up, but the sky had lightened enough to look more blue than black, like a harbinger of good things to come.

“Oh my god,” Max said after his first bite of McMuffin. “Where has this been all my life?”

“Yeah, I know New Yorkers are supposed to be all about bodega egg-and-cheese sandwiches, but I’ve always found McMuffins to be a guilty pleasure.”

“Whoever came up with the notion that one should feel guilty about things that bring one pleasure should be shot.”

She smiled. That was a very Max-like way of looking at the world.

“Your family is great,” he said.

“They really are.”

“You look so happy when you talk about them.”

“I’m . . . at home with them.”

“What does that mean? Isn’t everyone at home with their family?” He made a face. “Everyone who isn’t me?”

She wondered how much to say but decided to just go for it. They’d had such a great couple of days. It was starting to feel like Max really knew her. Or, in the few ways he didn’t, like he wanted to.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be mixed-race. Which isn’t a criticism. You can’t know.”

He nodded. “You talked about feeling like you’re the diversity hire at work.”