It was early 2012 when Liz Axelrod met James Olson at a Manhattan bar near the New School, where both were getting Master of Fine Arts degrees; she in poetry, he in fiction. She thought he was cute. He thought she was pretty. They saw each other a few more times, after their Wednesday night class. Finally they talked. And talked. And talked.

“We went from one bar to another and ended up at Around the Clock diner talking about everything until 3 a.m.,” said Ms. Axelrod, an adjunct English professor and grant manager. “It was like kismet. We just connected. He was good friends with two of my best guy friends, so I felt really safe. It just felt right.”

Ms. Axelrod was going to Florida the next day, so the two kissed good night outside the diner, and she went to Pennsylvania Station to catch the 3:19 a.m. train home to Long Island.

These were some of the conversation highlights: She was divorced; he had never married. At the time, her daughter was 17; he had no children. She lived in Port Washington, N.Y.; he resided in Brooklyn. She was from New York; he was raised in Denver. She was 47; he was 20 years younger. Both liked punk rock, Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, among other things.