It was an art gallery, white walls and blond timber flooring and wonderfully ambient temperature. And not just any art gallery—a collection of things I recognized, and not because they were renowned. They were from local painters residing in France. I knew some of them. I'd undoubtedly seen some of their stuff. A enormous painting hung on the far wall, sparkling and undulating with layers upon layers of dazzling jewel-toned paint and jagged bits of aluminum cans.

“What... what is this?” I said. “Did you know me before we met?”

His hand encircling mine pressed closer. “I wouldn't say that,” he replied. “But I had heard your name before.” He...