They ascended the stone staircase. The punishing heat of the day had broken, and a cool breeze tickled their cheeks. The scent of lemon trees and a musky mix of women’s and men’s colognes hung in the air. The tuxedoed man eyed them as they approached, and Emma sucked in her stomach. Was he ticking off his mental list of invitees? Could he tell they were high school students?

“Act naturally,” Ethan murmured to Emma, apparently noticing how stiff she’d become. “The opposite of how you acted when you stole that handbag.”

“Very funny.” When Emma reached Mr. Tuxedo, she shot him the most carefree smile she could muster. “Good evening,” the man said, opening the door for them.

“See?” she whispered when they were safely in the lobby. “I totally played it cool. I’m not as big a loser as you think I am.”

Ethan looked at her sideways. “I most definitely don’t think you’re a loser.” Then he touched the back of Emma’s arm to guide her inside the exhibit. For a moment, all sounds and sights dulled, and Emma felt like she and Ethan were the only ones in the universe. When he let go at the end of the lobby, she adjusted the strap of Sutton’s silky dress and tried to breathe normally.

The museum was dark and smelled like fresh flowers. Guests mingled around the wide, terra-cotta-tiled space, some gazing at the black-and-white photos on the walls, some chatting with one another, others scoping out the crowd. Everyone wore sleek gowns, chic party dresses, and dapper suits. There were clusters of people surrounding three awestruck guys who looked like they were in their twenties, probably the artists. A jazz band played an Ella Fitzgerald song, and waitresses in simple black sheaths swirled around with trays of canapés and drinks. A couple of guests glanced at Emma and Ethan curiously, but Emma tried to stand as straight and confidently as she could.

“Stuffed shrimp?” a waitress asked as she floated past. Emma and Ethan each took a treat.

A second waitress materialized, offering them flutes of champagne. “Of course,” Ethan said, taking two glasses and handing one to Emma. The crystal sparkled, and the bubbles rose to the top of the glass.

Champagne. How I wished I could have one tiny, beyond-the-grave sip.

“Cheers,” Ethan said, offering his glass in a toast.

Emma clinked her champagne flute to his. “How did you know about this?”

A slight flush crawled up Ethan’s neck. “Oh, I just came across it online.”

Warmth spread through Emma’s chest as she imagined Ethan sitting at his computer, scrolling through events they could attend together.