I took my pink trench coat and handbag in case Wil wanted to go for coffee.

My new friend was standing by the staircase, wearing slim jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black wool reefer jacket. His hands were in his pockets, and his long streaked hair was wet and brushed straight back. He grinned when he saw me.

“You do realize that it’s the middle of the night for me,” I said. “You look as fresh as a daisy.”

“I’ve come to take you to breakfast.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I took the day off,” he said as we went outside. “I was worried that you might get trapped in one of those dull bus tours. ‘Here is where prisoners were hung from the infamous Tyburn Tree! To your left you will see a statue of beloved Peter Pan!’”

Laughing, I said, “But I want to see the sights.”

“I’ll give you a proper tour,” he promised. “Do you mind walking?”

“It’s one of my favorite things.”

Wil did give me a proper tour, pointing out historical and architectural sites. We had breakfast at a bright, light-filled restaurant on the edge of an ancient market by the Thames. The waiter recognized Wil, who didn’t look at the menu. “Give us the special and something to take the edge off, would you?”

“I’ll expedite your order, sir,” the waiter said.

Looking around at the hip clientele, I said, “I thought you were going to drag me to another basement.”

Smiling, he said, “Our people could survive underground for years if things go all to shit. One hopes they won’t. We’ve adapted very well within this city, which is why so many of us live here.” He tipped his chin toward the glass wall. “These windowpanes filter out UV rays.”

“Now you sound like the somber person I expected to meet,” I said. “Wil, it was so sweet of you to take me out last night, but I hate to drag you away from your important obligations.”

He reached out and twined his slim fingers between mine. I didn’t pull away until the waiter returned with tall red drinks.

“Bloody Marys,” the waiter said, and in a lower voice, he added, “Brown Cow organic beef.”

When he’d left, Wil lifted his drink to me and said, “To our friendship, Mil.”

“May it last long,” I said, and we both sipped our spicy, salty drinks.

His hand went to mine again. “I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I heard about you. Bonus that you’re an exhibitionist.”

“I’m not!” I said, and then remembered incidents that might be seen as exhibitionistic if taken out of context. “Not usually.”

“I like it,” he said. “Lucky Ducharme.”