“Get some sleep, baby,” he said, moving quickly before she could snap at him. “Lovely to meet you all, see you tomorrow.” He disappeared out of the door, micro-pausing to get a full look at Polly, who returned the favor.

As the front door closed, a frowning Asher turned to Laura. “Who was that?”

“Yeah,” said Polly, “who was that very tall, very handsome man?” She pointed at Bob, who was still standing in his doorway. “You left the bar with this guy. Did you kidnap the other one on the way home, or did Bob have him pre-stashed in the trunk?”

Laura shook her head. “That was Nick, my ex, and he was here when we got back.” She held up her hand. “No, I have no idea what he was doing here, and I’d love it if he went back to New York on the first flight tomorrow.” She looked at Bob. “I’m going to sleep, it’s been a long day. Sorry, Bob.”

Bob smiled at her, not ready to admit he’d been standing in his room listening to the rise and fall of her conversation with Nick, replaying the kiss in the car and wondering if it was ever going to happen again.

“No worries,” he said, and this time he closed his door and Laura did the same. Both of them paused and sighed deeply, but for very different reasons.

Polly headed into the kitchen with the rest of the gang in tow.

“Who wants herbal tea?” she said brightly. She enjoyed a three-second period of self-reflection, appreciating the growth it had taken to become an herbal tea drinker. It hadn’t been that long ago that the kind of choices she faced at midnight weren’t as benign as that.

Libby groaned. “I don’t feel so good, I think I’m going to bed.”

Anna patted his hand for the second time. “I’ll tuck you in,” she said. “We have a tournament on Sunday, I need you fully recovered by then.”

“You’re too good to me,” he muttered as Anna led him away.

“Probably,” she replied.

Left alone, Asher watched Polly reach into the cabinet for chamomile tea and then change her mind and take mint instead. He found her so attractive, and not only for her cute, idiosyncratic appearance. She was unfiltered, a pure distillate of Polly-ness, and she gave the overwhelming impression that if you didn’t like her, she could 100 percent live with that. Asher felt himself sobering up by the second and decided to coast to success on the remains of his inebriation.

“Polly, will you go out with me?” he said. “I think we’d have fun.”

Polly was silent, and as the kettle clicked loudly, she went very pink. “Thanks,” she said, “but no.”

“No? Just . . . no?” said Asher. “No, you don’t think we’d have fun, or no, you won’t go out with me?”