Page 25 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

Had she finished the first so quickly?

It had gone down so easy, she couldn’t recall.

She might have been more concerned about that had his wholesome story not still been playing in her mind—the heartwarming indulgence of it, the togetherness, the normalcy lulling her guard down.

Each detail reached through time, their compulsion even more powerful than the voices inside that cautioned her not to get too comfortable around this powerful man.

She remembered family moments like that, Christmases with the whole group of them crammed together and piled on top of one another—eating, singing, laughing, bickering, sharing love via a myriad of warm gestures and sweets. Easter egg hunts with cousins from across town, birthdays and celebrations, all of that had been not just present but at times overwhelming in her life growing up. Any excuse to gather had been taken, and closeness had been the result.

Her family had been what motivated her to succeed growing up—to make them proud—and what she had looked forward to in order to refresh and recharge her system when succeeding wore her down.

Of course, that had all been before college—before she had converted, and everyone got awkward about the fact that they tended to gather around religious holidays.

They continued to love her and would never think of disowning her, of course; they just didn’t know how to fit her into the picture any longer.

She missed having a place held for herself. She missed the open, easy feeling of belonging. Thank goodness for their Fourth of July and Labor Day barbecue traditions.

She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Mr. Silver, not merely to have had his relationships strained and altered by time but taken away altogether.

Taking a decadent bite of Boston cream, she banished the creeping melancholy and made her own sound of enjoyment. “That’s a really sweet story. I bet she really loved that you guys did that.”

“She complained that we were the reason she couldn’t fit into her old jeans with every bite, but I think she did. We loved to make her smile like that, and thankfully, it was easy. Hanukkah was always her favorite. She was a kid at heart.”

Hearing him talk about his mother was making it harder to hold on to the image of disapproving taskmaster that she had mentally assigned him, but Miri was high enough on doughnuts and good wine and sweet stories to not care for the moment.

She could remember who he was, and who she was, and who he was to her, when she got back to LA.

Tonight, they were the shared parts of something bigger.

And as such, she wanted to break out of the professional box she’d put herself into, too.

“I don’t have any sweet family Hanukkah stories like that, but the year of my joining, the group of us got together to celebrate each night of the holiday. We were all still undergrads at this time, before any of us had husbands or kids or careers, so it was easy to spend that much time together. That first year we actually made sufganiyot from scratch, with all the oil stains and burns and sticky jelly and sugar you can imagine would be involved in the process. We learned how to cook something different each night of Hanukkah that year. Sufganiyot, latkes, brisket, kugel, roast chicken, matzo ball soup...we even made gelt. There were seven of us who joined that year, all undergrads, and a lot of wine that was much, much, much cheaper than this—” she held up her glass “—so it was chaos, but it was also really fun and kicked off our annual tradition. I’m sure none of us could fit into our pants after, either.”

In telling the story, Miri realized she hadn’t shared it with anyone before. That year had started a tradition and been the seed of what had become her family of friendship.

It was important to her, life path–defining even, but she had never had anyone to share it with before.

And oddly enough, sitting here drinking wine and eating doughnuts that somebody else had made with the boss she barely knew, no pan full of hot grease or bottle of cheap wine in sight, there was a hint of the same kind of warmth.

As if she were missing it, but not missing out completely.

That could just have been the result of the fire, though.

And the really good wine.

Or maybe it was a Hanukkah miracle, lighting up something inside.

It’s just the wine, she assured herself.

It really was amazing wine.

Because it couldn’t possibly be the company.

A half smile on his face, he tipped his glass to her. “I’m impressed. I was born a Jew and I’ve only ever made half of those things.”

Snorting, Miri waved the statement away. “You had a mom to cook it all for you. We were all just a bunch of orphans bouncing around together. The blind leading the blind, if not for our fearless mother hen of a rabbi.”

“You were all orphans?” he asked, his face more serious than it had been a moment before.

---