“You’re a lovely guy, Bob,” she’d said, “but that poor girl walked away convinced you’re not interested in her, and seeing as you are interested in her, your best bet is to keep it to yourself for the time being.” Her voice softened. “Let your actions speak louder than words. Take your time.”

Now, as Bob threw Laura the ball and she immediately lofted it into the net, he decided to take his sister’s advice. He lacked the confidence to just tackle it head-on: Hey, you know how I clumsily made it sound like I didn’t even mean to kiss you in the first place, and would definitely not want to do it again, well, that was a mistake, and although this explanation is already going on a really long time, I want you to know that I would definitely want to kiss you again, you know, if you ever wanted to do that, too, not that I’m assuming that you would, obviously, because that would be, probably, not great, although if you did want that, then that would be great, of course. He shuddered just thinking of how many different ways he could screw up a speech like that. He could barely even think it straight.

Fortunately, Laura needed to get something off her chest.

“Uh, Bob?”

He caught the ball, threw it, missed, and said, “Yup?”

“Polly told me what happened after I left the other night. I mean, at dinner.”

He looked at her briefly, and threw and missed again. “Dammit.” He stopped, and bounced the ball, looking at his feet. “You know,” he began, “it isn’t anyone’s business . . .”

“I wanted to thank you for standing up for me,” she said. “You didn’t have to.”

Another quick look, then back to his feet. “Your boyfriend . . .”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

He smiled. “Yes, ex-boyfriend. Anyway, he didn’t deserve to be thrown out, probably, but he was pissing me off.”

Laura smiled, stepped closer, and stole the ball. “He didn’t use to be such a pill, but being on the tenure track is going to his head.”

Bob frowned. “Not entirely sure what that means, but whatever, he was being a dick and I lost my temper a bit.”

“Well”—Laura turned on one heel and arced a beautiful shot off the wall and into the net, the ball dropping through without touching a string—“I used to think I never needed anyone’s help, but I’m starting to realize I was wrong.” She caught the ball and stepped closer to Bob, reaching up a little and kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, snatching the ball and leaping surprisingly high, dropping a fairly creditable dunk.

“Wow,” said Laura. “You have been practicing.”

Bob nodded, although he suspected the surprising kiss was what really put wings on his heels.

“So,” he said, “did you already eat? I was thinking of ordering a pizza.”