“Believe me.” He shot me a sidelong glance. “There are plenty of impulses I’m controlling.”

That made me go warm. “You’re like some wild creature.”

“Wild? Creature?” he scoffed, leading us idly into the great glass sunroom housing the Temple of Dendur. “I’m gonna choose to believe that isn’t an unconscious racial signifier . . .”

I stopped walking. “Are we seriously talking semiotics right now? That’s something that’s happening?”

“Oh, it’s happening.” He strolled backward along the reflecting pond, grinning shamelessly at me. “Nice pivot.”

I shook my head, smiling back like a goon. “I solemnly swear it was not a comment on your—”

“I mean, you live in New York, you’re way above that, right? You must know two or three black people already. Maybe four.”

“I know a lot of black people!” And all the blood drained from my face at the sound of my voice echoing through the hall. I kept walking, straight into the temple itself, like I could entomb myself here to escape mortification.

Oscar stepped in beside me. “You’re listing them, aren’t you? In your head. That’s how many black friends you have, you can list them in your head.”

“Stop!” I fought not to laugh. “Okay, just so you’ll shut up—Walter, Bernice, Darian, Maya, Erika, Lenox, Jacie. Seven current black friends.”

He considered, nodding. “Not bad. Better than I expected.”

I put my face in my hands. “I feel dirty right now.”

“As well you should.” His voice was soft.

He reached up to gently unfold my hands from my eyes. When I blinked up at him, his face held a wholly new expression. Not teasing. Just open—so himself that it made everything in my body go perfectly quiet.

“I like you, Ruby. More than I probably should.”

I suddenly felt terrified to look at him. I let my eyes drift to neatly etched graffiti on the temple wall, AMATO, left by some continental tourist centuries before we were born . . .

“I’ve known you for a weekend, but I like you,” he said. “I like how hard you try to be serious and how bad you are at it. I like that you know what semiotics means.”

I let out a whispery laugh, daring myself to glance up at him. His eyes found mine and locked into place.

“I like that you’re the one touching the art right now,” he said—and I realized I actually was. I’d been tracing AMATO without realizing.

I started to draw my hand back, but he laid his own on top of mine instead. Breath held, I lifted my fingers to let him slip his own in between. I felt every edge where our skin met, heat racing up my arm, along my spine.

That’s us, I marveled, staring at our hands as he leaned closer.

I looked up. “I like you t—”