But she hadn’t said one word about this career opportunity to him. Not even to connect it to this museum visit that she could obviously still find useful.

Her omission left a bitter taste in his mouth as they walked back to the car and began the long trip back to Rhode Island.

Their silence wasn’t nearly as companionable as it had been the day before. And about halfway through the ride, Dawn pressed a finger into the console’s touch screen to turn the radio on again.

This time the radio station she chose was doing a “You Aught To Know” weekend, featuring a playlist of songs from the “the first decade of the millennium.”

Stiff and quiet in the front seat, they listened to songs from their youth. Neither of them enjoyed the “throwback” experience as much as the DJ seemed to think they would.

But then, a heavily synthesized clapping drum beat filled up the car. One Victor vaguely recognized, even though he rarely listened to American rap.

Was that…yes, it was. It was the same song that was playing overhead the first time he saw Dawn. At the Red Diamond nightclub in Roppongi.

And just in case, he thought he might be mistaken about that, Dawn yelled, “J-KWOOOOOONNNNNN!!!! I used to love this song. Yessssss! ‘Tipsy!’”

They had no alcohol. Nor were they in “the club.” But somehow, they both ended up seat-dancing to “Tipsy” for the next four minutes.

They fell out laughing when the song finally let them go. And Dawn clapped her hands excitedly when the DJ promised to play “Feels Good Inc.” by the Gorillaz when he returned from the commercial break.

“I loved that song too,” Dawn said with a fond laugh.

She leaned her head back against her seat and rolled it over to regard Victor, the look in her eyes as fond as the sound of her laughter. “I know you can’t answer because you’re driving, but this is exactly what I needed. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy and relaxed before a presentation. So, thank you. Seriously, thank you.”

No, he couldn’t answer her. But a little bit of the ice that had encased Victor’s heart at the National African-American History Museum melted.

When the station came back from commercial break, he bopped his head to the Brit-pop classic as Dawn rapped and sang along with the lyrics, which unlike the ones to “Tipsy,” were much more appropriate to say out loud.

After that, another song started playing, and this one lit up Dawn’s face even more than the other two. “Oh, my God, it’s ‘Happy Ending’ by Mika! Byron used to love this guy!”

She tapped the touch screen, turning up the music.