Page 5 of The Dating Contract

And suddenly, the line was shorter, presumably leaving only the people who were there for Samuel’s art, not his face.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Judith talking with Aaron.

“Do you want me to do your sister’s ketubah? I’m assuming that’s why she’s talking to Aaron?”

His voice broke the silence she was trying to create. Not to mention the way his voice still did things to her all those years later was still a large problem. But she was used to wearing masks of indifference. “Why would I care?” she asked. “Exactly?”

“I figured that, you know, because you’re here, that your opinions matter.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think she wants one of your ketubahs?”

“Because she and my brother seem to be negotiating one.”

Which was a detail she should have paid attention to, except she hadn’t. But in the end, the only opinion that mattered was her sister’s. And if she needed to educate Samuel she would. “It doesn’t matter. She’s the bride.”

And as her sister negotiated a ketubah with Aaron, she was stuck there. Playing public girlfriend for Samuel, one bad decision leading to another.

And now she was stuck.

Dammit.

*

One minute Samuelwas navigating through the process of talking to people and autographing posters, the next he’d turned toward the sound of his brother’s voice only to see Judith Nachman’s profile.

Which meant that the blue eyes staring at him could only belong to one person. The familiar shade of blue he’d tried to duplicate in ink, the very particular brown of her hair he saw in every single calligraphy brush he used.

Leah.

Her features had come to life with age as if she’d escaped from a cryogenic container. She was beautiful; she’d always been, but now? Now she was perfect. She was just as transfixed as he was, it seemed, until the moment he watched her draw herself inwards, as if she’d flipped a switch.

Which meant he was now in…of all things…a staring contest?

Samuel wasn’t sure, but what he did see was movement, anticipation in the eyes of at least the first person on line in front of him. Which meant the noise he’d started to hear were whispers of questions that got louder and louder.

And yet despite all of that, all he could see was Leah. Standing there. And whether it was panic, delusion or hope, he wasn’t sure. All the same, he blurted out the first answer to the question that came to his mind.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

And now Leah Nachman stood next to him, watching the now much smaller line clear out.

“Fine,” she’d said, answering his question about whether she minded if he made her sister’s ketubah. “It’s my sister’s ketubah, not mine. Your business, your choice.”

“So again,” he said, realizing he’d pulled her into drama she didn’t want, “does it bother you?”

“I’m not the one in the market for a ketubah,” she snapped, before pausing as if she’d realized he wasn’t trying to cause trouble. “Or a boyfriend. You need better crowd control.”

He’d never been more confused, but he’d take it. “Okay?”

“I’m serious,” she said, shaking her head as if she was judging his performance. “If you’re doing thishot soferthing, you need better crowd control.”

That again. That idea, marketing plan, whatever it was. Aaron’s not so brilliant idea had gotten him publicity and more commissions, but not the kind of attention he wanted. It had, in fact, become a nightmare.

But for some reason he felt it was important to make it clear to Leah that the title ofhot soferwasn’t something he wanted. Not that she’d change her opinion of him so easily. But he felt she needed to know. “I’m notdoingit. Not my idea. It just is.”

“Whatever,” Leah said, as if she was closing a door. Of course his thoughts didn’t matter to her.

“Whosever idea it was,” she continued, “it was a marketing choice that creates crowds. You need todealwith crowds.”

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