I choked on my indignation, thumping my chest twice to get it all out.

“Excuse me. I bagged you and your cousin,” I countered. “Sure, we were eleven, but we kissed with tongues and everything. Sort of.”

“And yet you want to kiss me again, but you came to my birthday without even bringing a present?” Ruby pretended to fan herself like ladies of yore.

“I did too get you a present,” I said, hopping off the bed. “Hold on a second.”

With the paltry contents of an old pen pot and a ripped sheet of paper from a file pad on the desk, I got to work. After hastily scribbling for a couple of seconds, I beckoned her over to the window that looked out on the back garden. I thought I saw our cat creeping along the wall in the dark. My hand rested in the curve of her lower back, the left side of her body pressed against me. I handed her the sheet of paper.

I’d drawn a squiggly swirling border in blue marker, and with the black pen I’d written:

This hereby declares that “that star right there” is named after Ruby Quinn. Signed: Brian Cox, Owner of Stars.

Ruby giggled. “Which one is it?”

“That star right there.” I pointed vaguely at the sky. “It says so on the certificate, Ruby.”

“I’ll treasure it forever.” She wiped a fake tear away. Then she gave me a once-over, a look I can only describe as appraising.

“What is it?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re going to like this,” she said, feigning a sort of theatrical sigh, “but you should know that is my favorite part of the romantic comedy.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the grand gesture where the guy buys the girl a star because it’s way more meaningful than, like, a necklace or a bunch of flowers.”

“I’m no expert, but I don’t think this is the grand gesture,” I said, and Ruby turned slightly so my hand was now resting on her waist. She was looking directly me at me now and it was almost too close to bear.

“You gave me a star. How is that not a grand gesture?”

“The grand gesture comes after the fight, doesn’t it? We haven’t had the fight.” I tried to sound relaxed, though I felt like I might melt into a puddle.

“You’re right, actually,” Ruby admitted. “Like Hugh and Andie, or John Cusack holding up the stereo outside Ione Skye’s bedroom window.” Ruby poked me in the chest and narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that if you don’t watch them? Are you sure you aren’t a secret rom-com fan?”

“I don’t need to be, that’s my point; once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. They meet in some quirky way like bumping into each other—”

“The meet cute.”