“Well, guess we’re back to odd numbers,” Naomi said.
“Oh, shoot. Sorry.” His shoulders relaxed a little now that Naomi wouldn’t have to participate.
“Wait, actually”—she snapped her fingers—“why don’t we both try? It’ll help round out the small group, and we’ll get better data about the attendees and the model firsthand. That way we can see if we need to tweak it for next time.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Ethan said, which, he credited himself, was nicer than his initial reaction ofAre you nuts?He had to admit, though, the scientist in him had perked up at her quick-thinking proposal for collecting data.
“Why not?” Naomi raised a bare shoulder.
Ethan tried not to think about kissing said shoulder.
“You said you’re single.”
“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” he said, blindly groping for an out. The truth was, he didn’t date, especially not potential members of his congregation. It wouldn’t be appropriate.
To be fair, if he’d known he was going to be roped into participating, he would have changed into something more casual. He was wearing his work clothes. Dress pants and a button-down and leather shoes with tassels.
Not that a T-shirt would have made this situation any less anxiety-inducing, but still. The majority of the participants were under thirty and wearing street clothes. In comparison, he looked like someone’s dad.
“I’m sure no one wants to sit across from—”
“From a hot, smart, compassionate, eligible man. Oh, no, you’re right. What a burden.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Relax. No one’s asking you to get married.” Naomi reached out and straightened his collar, her fingertips barely brushing the back of his neck. “This is supposed to be fun, remember?”
The interaction lasted only a few seconds, but Ethan still found himself breathless.
“I can’t in good conscience speed-date my sister,” he said, voice slightly strangled.
Naomi’s mouth curled into something dangerous. “Even I’m not that kinky.”
Ethan worried she could see his heartbeat through his clothes.
“I’ll make sure the Cohens don’t end up on opposite sides of thesame table, okay? You can issue a broad disclaimer about your lack of eligibility to everyone else. Come on. All you need is something to grease the wheels a bit, you know.”
“Right. That’s a good idea.” He could handle that much.
“What’s your go-to question on a first date?”
“My...? I’m not sure I have...” Ethan hadn’t dated in years. Mostly because he’d been busy with study and service, but also because he wasn’t ready to settle down, and the nature of his position made any attempts at dating feel, at least to him, inherently serious.
“Come on. Everyone has a conversational standby. Even rabbis.”
He ran his thumb across his forehead. “I suppose I’d ask someone what matters to them. Why they get out of bed in the morning?”
Naomi pursed her lips. “Most people ask about jobs or hometowns.”
“Sorry. I don’t have to use it if you think it’s weird.”
“No. I like it.” She nodded decisively. “So, why do you get out of bed in the morning?”
Something about the intensity of her voice when she asked pulled the truth out of him.
“There’s a moment, when you’re speaking to someone, and you’re listening to something they said, or actually”—it didn’t even require conversation—“maybe not, maybe you’re just giving them your attention, holding a door open at the deli, and something shifts behind their eyes and you know that they feel seen.”
He lowered his chin, feeling goofy. “Not just seen but acknowledged in some way. They know they matter. That they’re not alone. And when that happens, I think about all the times someone has done that for me. The way that interaction saved me, shored me up against a thousand invisible aches I didn’t realize I was carrying.”
Naomi’s face gave nothing away when he met her eyes.
“It’s, uh... why I always come back to that Einstein quote I told you about. I guess I get out of bed because I think about the connection that we all have, this fragile humanity, each of us insignificant and at thesame time precious. A continuation of a species that is recklessly unique. I remember that life is a finite gift, and I’d be an asshole to waste it.”