Her saving grace was that she had learned how to throw grenades in her own path.
“We’ll discuss as many of the external challenges you named as possible over the course of the seminar, but for tonight, I want you to focus on yourself. I want you to answer two questions. What kind of relationship do you really want? And how are you sabotaging yourself from getting it? There are notecards in front of each of you. Your challenge is to get as specific as possible.”
She held up a hand as attendees’ eyebrows rose and mouths pursed to protest. “Before you ask, no, I’m not going to collect your answers or make you read them aloud. You can burn them when you get home if you want.”
For a tense moment, Naomi waited, half expecting a rebellion, but though it took a few moments, with people looking at their neighbors to make sure they weren’t the only ones participating, eventually the room went quiet again as every hand began to write.
After the group completed the silent exercise, Naomi spent the next half hour outlining common dating pitfalls. She knew from experience that nothing broke down barriers and forged camaraderie like bad blind date stories. The anecdotes naturally built off one another, providing their own patterns and making common weaknesses easy to spot.
“Sometimes you don’t realize how bad a date was until it’s over,” Naomi said, wiping away tears of laughter as the young man who’d hollered at her earlier, Craig, recounted an exchange that ended with him dipping his entire hand into a fondue pot.
“I’m just saying, do they really need to make the cheese that hot?”
Ethan had to stand up and tell everyone they were being kicked out of the room when the discussion ran long. The authoritative voice he put on to project across the buzzing classroom made Naomi lick her lips.
“Thanks for showing up tonight,” she said as the meager audience packed up. “If you had fun talking about recipes for dating disaster, chances are you’ll appreciate the rest of the seven-week series.”
She realized belatedly that she should have confirmed with Ethan that he considered this evening a success before committing to more. It had just felt so good. The energy, the hope born out of the weary resignation she’d seen walk in with so many of these people.
“Let me know if you have any questions on your way out.”
When Ethan climbed down the stairs with a grin on his face, something traitorous inside her diaphragm purred.
“You were great.”
Naomi blamed the adrenaline in her veins for making her loose and giddy. Her body wanted her to do something stupid, something reckless. Something carnal.
“Thanks,” she said, turning away from him to remove the temptation. “It was fun.” She threw her crumpled notes in the trash can. Naomi wanted to tell him to put his guard up, to hide the surprise and gratitude already coloring his face. Didn’t he know that he was making this harder by leaving himself open?
“Wait.” Ethan caught her hand, urging her to look at him, oblivious to the danger. “I’m serious. That lecture. The way you got everyone to relax and laugh together. It was more than I was hoping for our first time.”
The praise coupled with double entendre sank into her skin until it lit her up from the inside. “Jeez, if you liked that performance, you should watch one of my movies.” The comment was out of her mouth before she could stop it, a runaway train—and like a train, she watched as it plowed right through him. Shit.
He shook his head, but he didn’t glower or faint, the way she half expected him to. No, after a moment, Rabbi Ethan Cohen laughed. And it wasn’t one of those tarted-up laughs full of awkwardness and tension. It was a real laugh, from his belly, like she’d pleased him almost as much by mentioning her unmentionable past as she had by leading the lecture.
She wanted to ask him what he thought he was doing, acting like he wasn’t afraid of her, but she didn’t get the chance before one of the participants stole his attention to ask a question.
Naomi went to push in the empty chairs.
She wanted to set a good example for these people. And if that meant showing a little restraint for once in her life? Well, surely she could hold out longer than Josh and Clara.
Chapter Six
NAOMI DROPPED BYthe synagogue on her way home from work and found Ethan bleeding blue ink. She held herself in the doorway while he stood behind his desk glaring at his assailant, a ballpoint that seemed to have exploded in the pocket of his oxford shirt.
She rapped her knuckles against the inside of the wooden door frame to draw his attention.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
He threw the leaking pen away from him, uttering a little yip, and they both watched as it skidded across several stacks of important-looking documents.
Ethan closed his eyes for a long moment before giving his head a shake and gesturing for her to come in.
“No, I’m good. I’ve just been dealing with some unexpected appointments, and then there was a...” His eyes dropped forlornly to the Rorschach test on his front. “... pen situation.”
“Looks dire.” She pinned her lips together to stifle her amusement. Her life would be a lot easier if Ethan Cohen could find a way to be less endearing.
He wiped at the ink uselessly with a handful of tissues, spreadingthe stain around. The button-down was nice: crisp and white and soft-looking, like he was one of those rare men who actually use fabric softener. It didn’t deserve this extended abuse.