Our first coffee date turned into a four-hour conversation at a hole-in-the-wall café in the West Village. Our second date was a walk through the High Line that lasted until the park closed. By the third date, dinner at a small Italian restaurant where Ethan knew the owner, I was beginning to suspect I was in trouble.

“So let me get this straight,” Ethan said, gesturing with his fork.

“You’ve been living in New York for six years and you’ve never been to MoMA?”

“I’ve been busy,” I protested, smiling despite myself. “Architecture is demanding.”

“Everything is demanding if you let it be.” He leaned back in his chair, studying...