Laura looked. “The pink one with a bad attitude?”

“I think that’s just the way its face is glued on,” said Bob, “but yes, that one.” He rubbed his hands on his legs, checked the timer, and moved the claw. In one movement he dropped, grabbed, and raised the claw, dragged the cat out of the pile of toys, and dropped it into the chute.

Laura goggled. Literally. Stood there with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

“No freaking way,” she breathed.

Bob laughed and handed her the cat. “Your turn.”

•   •   •

When they sat back down at the table to eat, Laura was down four dollars and was pretty vexed about it.

Bob reached for the ketchup. “Look, you did your best.”

“It’s rigged,” she insisted, the cat still clutched under one arm. “It works some of the time and you got lucky.”

“Me and the teenage ninja turtles?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, pouring syrup onto her pancakes. “Every so often it’s set to win like that so everyone gets excited and plays.”

“For, like, eight turns in a row?”

She laughed, and again there was that . . . something . . . between them. Less than an open declaration of attraction, more than a one-sided fancy. A silent acknowledgment they could leave unsaid, at least for now.

As Laura watched Bob eat, she realized she liked him more and more; he didn’t ask her challenging questions, he didn’t dominate the conversation, and he didn’t make her feel nervous. He was simply very present. Plus he was ready to drop everything and play the claw machine at a moment’s notice, and who didn’t love that?

Bob cleared his throat, and Laura looked up at him. “So,” he said, having spent a few minutes formulating this conversational nugget, “are you looking forward to grad school?”

Laura nodded. “Yeah, I am. Did you go?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I wanted to, kind of, but you know . . .”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Money? Time? The whole complicated process.” He colored slightly. “I’m not a big fan of paperwork.”

Laura smiled at him. “It’s not that hard once you get started. What would you do at grad school?”

“Flunk, probably,” he said, looking away, out of the window. Laura frowned; had she said something wrong? She surreptitiously checked her phone. No messages. For a second she felt sorry for herself; when she’d been with Nick, she always had something to do. He loved to organize their time together, and she’d let him. Now that she was trying to build her own life, she realized she’d need more tools and materials than she’d thought.