Laura nodded, not being able to come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t. She didn’t dig very deeply, to be honest; if two consenting adults like park benches, there’s no reason they shouldn’t share one. He sat down and unwrapped his own lunch.

“Nina at the bookstore told me about the park.” Laura kept eating her sandwich as Bob started his. She couldn’t tell what he’d ordered, and was that too personal a question to ask?

“I got the vegetarian,” he said, having swallowed the first bite and apparently developed telepathy. “I’m not a vegetarian, but I love roasted peppers and goat cheese.”

“I’ll get that next time,” said Laura, who was enjoying her prosciutto. “Ooh, they gave me some of those tiny little pickles, I’ve never had one.” She blushed, realizing she sounded like a country bumpkin rather than a suave Manhattanite. They’d had plenty of pickles at home, but not these bumpy little babies.

“Cornichons,” said Bob. “I’m scared of them, they’re very . . .”

Laura made a face at him and bit into one. Immediately her face screwed up, and Bob laughed. “Sour.”

“I thought you were going to say ‘hot’ for some reason, and I like spicy.” Laura had swallowed the tiny, puckersome gherkin, and regarded the one that was left with some respect.

Bob looked at her. “What did you end up deciding to do?”

“Study,” said Laura, feeling a breeze stir her hair for the first time that day. “It’s pretty much my default setting. Studying, working out, watching sports, that’s pretty much me in a nutshell.”

Bob smiled at her, and Laura couldn’t help smiling back; there was something so appealing about his face. It was as handsome as ever, but it was now him, and every interaction made him less overwhelming and more . . . Bob. They ate their sandwiches in silence, watching the kids and dogs making enough noise for both of them.

Once they were done eating, Bob rolled his sandwich wrapper into a tight ball and overhanded it a pretty good distance into a trash can. He crowed as it sailed in, and made the noise of a roaring crowd. Laura laughed and crumpled hers, taking time to get it evenly dense. Then she stood, said, “Off the tree, three pointer,” and lobbed it easily, banking off a nearby tree and into the trash. She whirled around. “Knicks take Lakers, no contest.”

Bob laughed. “In an imaginary contest, sure.” He looked at her. “I don’t suppose you shoot hoops, do you?”

Laura laughed. “Thanks for phrasing that as a question. Most people look at me and assume I play basketball, or volleyball. I can shoot hoops, but I’m more of a swimmer.”

Bob grinned. “Well, I can barely swim, but I would definitely love having someone to shoot hoops with. No one else is interested.” He shrugged. “If you’d like to.”