Page 62 of The Dreidl Disaster

“Either way,” he said. “How has it been going?”

“Good,” she said, being entirely unable to keep from smiling at him. “I’ve met some interesting and cool people, who seem really nice and also great business contacts.”

He nodded. “My intention exactly.”

And then she realized something. This was his best friend’s house, and he seemed, from afar at least, comfortable with everybody in a way that she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

He’d pulled this together, giving her reasons she could come, and created a safe space for her to do so, riding that fine line between business and pleasure in a way she could rationalize.

With people he could trust.

“You have a very, very cool inner circle,” she said. “Thank you for letting me in.”

He blinked, the rest of the surprise transforming his face as it did every time she said something he didn’t expect or went somewhere he didn’t expect her to.

“You’re welcome,” he finally said, making it clear the leap of logic was welcome. “And I’m so very lucky to know them…and you.”

The pause, the slight tremble in his voice.

He wasn’t the only one who was nervous. She could see it now as he stood within touching distance. There was a bottle of wine and two glasses he must have snuck into the sukkah before she’d found him.

“Do you want a drink?

She shook her head. “Later,” she said unable to keep the tremble out of her own voice. “We…we… I think we have to talk first.”

He nodded, but that nervous energy was visible in every move he made. His hand shook slightly when he reached out. Dear God she wanted to hug him. This cool, confident man was nervous.

And she was responsible.

Liv actually thought he was going to reach for the glass, but his hand went right past it, grabbing for the display of vegetables that were on the table behind her.

What…

“Broccoli.”

Now it was her turn to blink in surprise, shock.

What the heck was he doing holding the leafy green vegetable, or at least a pretty good facsimile of it? The vegetable sat in his hands, long fingers flashing greenery in her face. “What?”

“A tradition,” he said. “In certain Eastern European countries, the broccoli is a symbol of love and romance.”

Aaah.

“I see,” she said, the amusement at his line of conversation overpowering the fear that sat in the pit of her stomach.

Not fear of him, exactly. But fear of the situation and what she might…no. Not might.

What she was going to do.

Where this was going to lead, and how powerless she was to stop it.

“So,” she managed, trying to take the situation seriously. “What do you do with it? Put it under your pillow?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer to her, closing the distance between them.

Yep. She was in trouble.

Deep trouble, because any resolve she’d managed to pull together was gone and showing no signs of return.

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