Page 22 of The Dating Contract

“I should probably go,” she said. “You can draw it up from what we talked about and my notes?”

The notes. Of course. The rather large red binder that now sat on his kitchen counter. “Probably,” he said. “And if I have any questions I should…”

“Email,” she said, the word flying as she reached for her bag.

“If you want me to draw it up, you know, you have to sign it.”

“I do,” she said, probably knowing he was grasping for straws. “And we have to walk into my boss’s apartment together.”

“That we do, right.”

“So,” she continued as if he hadn’t said anything or at least stated anything that made an impact, “you’ll email me when you’ve finished and if you have any questions.”

“And you’ll email me as soon as you have the information. Maybe we can sign just before we go?”

She nodded. “I can do that.”

“But of course, feel free to contact me if you want to share your favorite gefilte fish defenses.”

He waited for her reaction; they’d bonded over a shared love of gefilte fish as kids in Sunday school.

“You only need one,” she said, her eyes sparkling in ways that warmed his toes. “Horseradish delivery vehicle. Why do people hate on the joy of gefilte when there are other fishy things in other cultures?”

He nodded. “Like kamaboko, those Japanese fish cakes with the pink outsides?”

“Those are good,” she said. “I love them. But why not gefilte?”

“I mean,” he said with a laugh. “So many reasons why not. But I’ll settle for the texture problem.”

“Kamaboko is gelatinous,” she said. “Gefilte is like…what’s that thing…I don’t know. What do they call it? It’s breaded or fried on the outside and has fish on the inside?”

He snorted. “You mean a fish cake? How can you compare gefilte to afish cake?”

“Gefilte is like the raw bar offish cake, or likefish cake tartare.”

“Why would you eat afish cakeif it wasn’t fully cooked, or like smashed to oblivion and artfully arranged like tartare anyway?”

“Because people make all sorts of reasons to avoid gefilte or think it’s weird. But then eat a whole bunch of stuff that’s just as weird and say it’s more special or more relatable than gefilte depending on the context.” She shook her head and he could see the transformation in her. “Speaking of the context, I have to go. Leaving the bagels with you. Keep me posted, ’kay?”

He nodded, stood up and escorted her to the door. “I can do that.”

And for just a moment he wanted to close the space between them.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let her go, let her leave. He had time.

All the time in the world to take them through the bumps and brambles and kiss her for real.

Chapter Seven

Samuel’s mind wasrunning all over the place. He’d thrown a bunch of deadlines into turmoil because he needed to finish their ketubah in one shot; it was a process. And by the time he was done, he was running short on time.

Which was, of course, when she texted him with the time he was supposed to meet her to head over to the cocktail party.

In the city?he’d replied.

Which was the weirdest thing to say. But she texted back.

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