Page 9 of The Dreidl Disaster

Of course he didn’t. “I’ll repeat myself. What kind city-slick fixer are you?”

“Most important parts of my youth were spent in Rivertown.”

She couldn’t keep her mouth closed even if she’d wanted to. Of all the answers he could have given her, that one was the most shocking, if not surprising. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Bar Mitzvah at Rivertown Hebrew, went to Rivertown High, all of that lovely stuff.”

There were no words. None. Anything she wanted to say or could have crashed against each other, spilling random noises and letters just around her tongue. “I just…I don’t…”

“Say it,” he said with a smile. “Go ahead.”

As if she needed his permission.

But for whatever reason, his statement shoved her phrases together, allowing her to find coherence in the space. “You’re from three towns over and you’re a fixer who can’t figure out the mistake of walking into a town and poking a bruise?”

“Only HeartPix movies forget that small towns like Briarwood and Rivertown aren’t cut from the same cloth.”

And now the man who had an answer for everything was back, which was a good thing despite the fact that the response she wanted to give to this phrase was sharp and unprofessional. Instead, she shoved the stampeding letters back down her throat and went with the question that acted like a dagger. “What?!”

“To them,” he began, presumably including her in the group he was separating out, “I mean writers of HeartPix movies and people who wish to see them as real.”

“Okay?”

“Tothosepeople,” he said, “small towns are all the same. But growing up in this area,weknow that Briarwood isn’t Hollowville or Rivertown or even Crystal Springs. They’re all small towns in arm’s distance of the big city, which is also not evil.”

Aside from having answers for everything, he had words that blew way past any topic she was thinking about discussing. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He blinked, as if she’d taken him by surprise. “Not for nothing,” he finally said, “but you live in Briarwood. You can’t assume that the lessons you learn during your misspent youth in one Westchester town are going to help you understand another three towns over. For all that I knew, I’d run into a town gossip absolutely and utterly willing to tell a stranger about the debacle that was the initial Hanukkah presentation.”

Which, after she thought about it for a bit, did make sense. She’d ask him about the misspent youth part later. “Fine,” she said. “You’re a local bumbler who should know better.”

“So, what kind of meeting am I being dropped into?”

Back to the meeting, of course. “A special session where you get to listen to the residents tell you what’s wrong, and the questions they have will be the sum total of that agenda.”

“Right,” he said. “Okay. So after yesterday, heck during the depths of this conversation, it’s even more obvious that I’m going to need introductions to people, especially the ones whose toes Flaire stepped on the most in the process of creating this festival. And the toes I inadvertently stepped on further by trying to get more information.”

“It’s not a festival,” she said, knowing that it wasn’t the answer to the question he wanted, but something she needed to make clear from the very beginning. “This is not Hollowville. We don’t have festivals here. We’re Briarwood. This is an opening, an installation, showing the beauty of art in Briarwood at Hanukkah time.”

“Noted.”

“So,” she continued, driving the conversation back to his question. “You need introductions from me before you to confront them all at the meeting.”

“I’m not confronting anybody,” he said.

His tone sounded as if he’d been offended by the concept of confrontation. Which was interesting to her. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’m not going in with my sword drawn. I’m prepared to be marinara.”

She blinked; it was all she could manage because she was almost blindsided by his language. Not what hemeant, but what he said.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding tired. “If they bring tomatoes, I’m prepared to be hit.”

Which is what she figured; did he sound tired because he was done explaining? So she gave him something. “Falling on a sword instead of going on the attack?”

It was his turn to blink. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Better use of my time and the town’s. Why defend something I know is wrong? Again. Making things better, not worse.”

She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”

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