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“That is a lot to manage. Do you ever see yourself not working in architecture?”

“I never could.” There was no sentimentality in his answer. Only certainty. “The Hall takes most of my time now, but every year, I choose one or two projects that interest me enough to keep me drawing.”

“What kinds of projects interest you?”

“Mostly ones that preserve history.”

He told me about a renovation in Lisbon that had become more complicated than the original scope had considered. Most of the architects wanted to focus on restoring the façade, but Alexander believed that the building’s history lived in the spaces hidden between the walls. He had spent many days walking through the building before settling on an approach that gave equal attention to preserving the exterior and renovating the interior. He was enthusiastic as he spoke about it.

“I would love to see it someday. The way you describe the work sounds a lot like what you have done here at Blackwood.”

“Yes, my approach was the same.”

We changed subjects and he asked me about the most recent developments on Project Aurora. I told him about the new data, how exciting it was, but how I still needed to temper my excitement until we had even more confirmation. He asked questions about the mechanism, and the specificity of them suggested that he had been reading about Aurora more carefully than our conversations in the lab implied. I told him that Aurora had required a particular kind of patience I’d needed to learn.

“You make it look natural now.”

“It’s difficult to be patient when you’re excited about something. I’ve had to learn not to react too quickly, especially when the decision matters.”

“I know.” He picked up his wine. “I’ve watched you wait when I knew you wanted to move.”

There was something in the quiet intimacy of those words that I couldn’t immediately answer. He hadn’t said he’d watched Aurora. He said he’d watched me.

“How?”

“From your presentations, your work, your grant submission. The decisions you made when the easier choice would have been to move faster.”

“Did you read my application for the Blackwood Hall Residency program?”

“I did.”

“In its entirety?”

“More than once.”

We cleared the table and headed into the living room. We settled on his couch, the lights dimmed around us. The music softened. Winston relocated to the hearthrug.

Alexander looked down at his wineglass. “May I ask you something?”

“You may ask me anything.”

His eyes met mine. “What makes you happiest when you’re with someone?”

I considered his question for a moment. I assumed it was directed toward romantic relationships.

“Being able to remain myself. Not performing. Not wondering whether I’m too much or too ambitious or too quiet on a particular day. Just…being myself.”

He nodded once, as if he had expected this answer.

“And you?”

“Peace.”

I leaned in closer as he continued. “The kind that allows silence to be comfortable. The feeling that neither person has to become smaller. Knowing neither person has stopped being curious about the other.”

I liked the way he described it.

He paused before speaking again. “And what makes you unhappy?”