Page 37 of The Dreidl Disaster

If she was bolder, braver, she’d tell him to come now, when she was staring at her crystal cabinet, sitting under a blanket on the couch and holding her phone.

Instead, she typed,See you then.

And tried not to think too much about what it would feel like to have him there with her, in the cozy night, in her town house, sitting next to her on the couch, his warmth keeping her warm, his voice calming her…

Instead, she forced herself to think about the chamber of commerce’s motives.

What did the chamber want? What was their concern?

She needed to figure out their agenda before the meeting. God forbid it was their attempt to act like a governmental chaperone.

Literally. Not figuratively.

The very last thing she needed was to be confronted with the business owners of Briarwood reminding her that her reputation was their reputation and that both needed to be clean.

In front of Artur. Who stirred feelings in her, a man who made her wish for a second she didn’t have to lock the doors of her personal life, and hide away in front of anybody and everybody who may have known who she was. Someone who was in Briarwood to fix the mess that had been made of a gift she wanted to give the town.

So instead of an invitation to her place where she could give him something personal, the next morning she brought him sour cream…to go along with bagels and coffee and other associated spreads.

For professional reasons.

And resisted the urge to call and check on him, simply got dressed, organized and headed into the office to prep for the meeting.

When he arrived, she could barely keep her jaw off the desk. “Take it easy,” she said half to him and half to herself, as he came in the room. “Let’s have coffee; you can have sour cream; we’ll have bagels and spreads and then we’ll hash it out.”

“Already with the calming?”

She smiled, gesturing to the spread. “Can’t help it apparently. Providing breakfast turns me into, well, someone who hovers.”

“You got me sour cream,” he said. “That is enough, more than enough.”

The look on his face, slightly lost, slightly excited was enough to knock her over. “People don’t remember? Don’t indulge you?”

“My friends get it,” he admitted. “Way too many people think it’s weird.”

“Where did it…” she began before deciding it was probably a bad idea to ask him this here, now. “Never mind.”

“Memories,” he said, answering the question she didn’t want to ask. “It’s always been comforting. Grandmother’s cooking, and when we moved to Rivertown, it wasn’t weird to ask for it. I kept asking.”

She nodded, taking her coffee into her hands. “I get it,” she said. Because she did. “My sister could always find pickles in the fridge growing up, and she made sure they were in the fridge wherever she went. It made me feel better to make sure she had them.”

Around the bagel he’d covered in cream cheese, he nodded. “You’re a good sister.”

“Sometimes,” she said with a laugh. “Siblings are hard. Do you have any?”

“Friends,” he said. “Friends that act like siblings.”

She nodded. “Rivertown, Shabbas?”

“That’s the one,” he said. “Friend I was with at Levitan’s when we bumped into each other. Another knows the guy at the Pasta Station.”

Connections to local businesses…

And the chamber of commerce.

“I wonder,” she said, beginning to voice her concern. “If that has something to do with the meeting and the agenda. Connections that have the chamber of commerce wondering about connections and crossing and interests.”

He nodded. “And where mine lie?”

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