She was right about the pierogi. That was one thing to remember, if he ever thought he knew more about food than she did just because he could show up for the tasting lunch at Luc with no reservations. The diner in Harlem, as promised, served them the best pierogi he’d ever had, and a number of other things too, which they ate until he groaned and pushed his plate away.

“That’s one thing about your fancy restaurants,” she said, smirking.

“What?”

“They only just feed you enough. Polish grandmothers?” She pointed to the woman working in the open kitchen, who did indeed appear to be somebody’s Polish granny. “They feed you till you have to be rolled home.”

He laughed. “Let’s settle up and roll us off to the A train instead, yes? You’ve still things to show me.”

“I sure do,” she said, and grabbed the check, sprung up to pay at the cash register. “You sit right there, Mr. Moneybags, this one’s on me.”

They took the subway to 190^th Street, and it was a short enough distance from there that when Lily suggested they walk the rest of the way, he agreed wholeheartedly. The clouds still covered the sun, but it was warm and humid, making him glad he’d worn a lightweight suit. That thought made him smile, as he considered whether Lily’s idea of a poverty date included a suit that ran to five figures.

She swung their hands between them as a child would, which he found incredibly endearing, and occasionally rested her head against his upper arm, which made the walking slow but incredibly sweet.

They checked in using her Met membership, and she suggested they start outside. So they strolled through the gardens while she pointed out the different types of plants and explained they were planted according to descriptions from Medieval art and manuscripts.

“It’s like stepping back in time,” she said.

“Indeed it is.” He paused a moment, looked around him carefully. “I had no idea all this was here—or, I suppose I knew it was here, but I had no idea it was so purposeful.”

“I’d have a garden like this, if I could,” she said. “Instead, I’ve got a few plants that can live in the pitiful light that comes in between other buildings for five minutes in the morning.”

“You’ve said you like your apartment,” he said.

She nodded. “I do. But the city—it can suffocate you, you know?”

He didn’t know, not really. He loved it, loved the life and the intensity of it, and had never thought to seek out stillness like what she was showing him here.

He made a mental note to look into acquiring some green growing things for his apartment, something that would draw her there regularly to care for it. The entire south side of his apartment was windows, and he figured there was enough light to indulge her in just about any horticultural fantasy she might have.

“Let’s go back inside,” she said. “There are two galleries I love best, and one of them has this statue of an angel … I come up here sometimes and just sit until I lose track of time, looking at it.”

That was intriguing indeed, so he let her lead him back in past where they’d checked in, through reclaimed and repurposed doorways, until they came to the room she was talking about. The statue, titled “Angel of the Annunciation,” was fine enough, though he didn’t see why it in particular should draw her when there was so much else to look at. He made polite noises, then left her looking at it while he wandered the room, looking at a series of painted and gilded panels and an impressive wool tapestry depicting some episodes in the life of Christ.

Lily came to join him, looked at the tapestry for a moment, solemnly. “Man’s Redeemer,” she said.

“So I hear,” he said.

She nudged him with her elbow. “It’s still a good story,” she said. “Be nice.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been told to be nice by someone who knows as well as you do that it’s not really in my nature,” he said.

“Oh, baloney.” She took his hand, leaned her head on him again as she had while they were walking. “Anyone would say the same, at this moment, looking at this beautiful thing and hearing you take potshots at the story behind it.”

He laughed a little then, because she was right. He should enjoy it for what it was.

“I seriously had no idea all of this was here,” he said. “I’m sure I’ve paid for some of it; they fundraise like champions and I know I’ve been to several galas where what I paid for a plate would buy any of these pieces. But I don’t visit. Not like this.”

“The Cloisters?” she asked. “Or the Met in general?”

“The Met in general, actually,” he said. “I show up when I need to be seen, or accept some recognition—all those fundraisers, after all—but I haven’t had an interest in seeing any of it.”

“You haven’t?” she said, and looked appalled. “But … there’s so much. You’re missing so much. Will you go with me, another day?”

“Of course.” He would go anywhere with her, he realized. He wanted to see whatever she wanted to show him—more, he wanted to see it through her eyes, from her perspective. This woman he hadn’t known a week ago had already changed him, had already become a part of him. At this point, he wasn’t sure what he would do without her.

And he wasn’t sure he minded as much as he should.