The Museum Docent's Discovery
"Marguerite gives tours at the DuSable Museum. When a retired art professor keeps showing up to hear her lectures, she discovers some exhibits are worth exploring twice."
The DuSable Museum is Black history incarnate.
I've been a docent here for twelve years, sharing our story with anyone who'll listen. I'm Marguerite—sixty-one, former teacher, now professional storyteller.
"That was extraordinary."
The man approaches after my tour. Distinguished, silver beard, notebook full of notes.
"Thank you. Do you have questions?"
"A thousand." He smiles. "When's your next tour?"
He comes back.
Every tour I give, he's there. Front row, attentive, asking questions that make me think harder.
"You're becoming a regular," I note after his fifth appearance.
"You're an excellent teacher." He extends his hand. "Marcus Webb. Art history, retired."
"You're a professor."
"Was. Now I'm just a student. Your student, if you'll have me."
We fall into conversation.
Between tours, after hours, wherever we can steal time. He knows art; I know history. Together, we could lecture for days.
"Why keep coming?" I ask. "You could read about this online."
"Online doesn't have you." He moves closer. "Your passion. Your voice. The way you make history feel alive."
"Professor Webb—"
"Marcus." He touches my hand. "And I know this is forward. But I've been widowed for seven years, and you're the first person who's made me feel curious about life again."
"Curious about life?"
"Curious about you." His eyes hold mine. "Can we explore that?"
Exploring starts with dinner.
Then concerts, gallery openings, the shared passions of two academics who found each other late.
"My children think I've lost my mind," he admits.
"Why?"
"Dating a museum docent at sixty-five." He laughs. "They expected me to die in my study."
"And what do you expect?"
"To live. Finally." He takes my hand. "With you."
We end up at his place.
Books everywhere, art on every wall. He guides me through like it's his own museum.
"Collected over sixty-five years," he says.
"Any favorites?"
"Yes." He pulls me close. "She's standing right here."
His mouth finds mine.
Not hesitant—confident. A man who knows what he wants and is finally taking it.
"The bedroom?" I ask.
"Unless you want a lecture first."
"I've had enough lectures. Show me something new."
He undresses me surrounded by art.
Each piece a witness, each frame a silent observer.
"Beautiful," he breathes.
"The Basquiat?"
"You." He kneels before me. "Only you."
His mouth between my legs is scholarly.
Methodical, researched, applying everything he's learned about what women like.
"Marcus—"
"The key is attention to detail." He looks up, smiling. "Would you like me to continue?"
"Yes."
When he enters me, we're both discovering.
New territories, new sensations. Moving together like we're collaborating on something important.
"So good," he groans.
"Don't stop. There's more to explore."
Afterward, in his bed, he holds me.
"Move in with me."
"Your children—"
"Will adjust." He pulls me closer. "I've spent seven years in this apartment alone. I don't want to be alone anymore."
"Marcus..."
"What do you say, Professor?" He kisses my forehead. "Ready to co-curate a life?"
The museums of Chicago gain a power couple.
Marguerite and Marcus, seen at every opening, every lecture, every event that matters.
"You two are goals," a younger docent says.
"We're just passionate," I reply.
"About art?"
"About living."
The wedding is at the DuSable.
Surrounded by history, witnessed by the ancestors.
"To discoveries," Marcus toasts.
"To exploring together," I counter.
We kiss while our story joins the collection.
Some love stories happen in youth.
Some happen in galleries.
And some museum docents find that the best exhibits are the ones you experience with someone who sees the same beauty you do.
Tour guide and professor.
Learning together.
For the rest of our lives.