“You have to love all of it,” he said, “at least a little, because it’s created by your hand.”
“Oh, all right.” She crossed her legs. “I’ll love my garbage if you and God think it’s so important. I’ll be Oscar the fucking Grouch.”
Ethan’s eyes warmed. “Can I borrow that analogy for a sermon?”
“Okay,” she said, leaning forward, tipping her head just slightly, asking without words to be kissed. “But I’ll expect payment in lieu of attribution.”
“I’m afraid we’re low on funds at the moment,” he said, gaze going from warm to hot and hungry. “You know, maybe we should just... go.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to take me home and let me have my wicked way with you?”
Ethan put a bunch of bills on the table before standing up and offering her his hand. “Only one way to find out.”
Chapter Twenty-One
ETHAN HAD HOSTEDwomen in his house before.Beforebeing the operative word.
Before he was a rabbi. Before he’d met Naomi. Before he started craving a future that felt both like kismet and infinitely complicated.
His house, tucked away in the hills of Santa Monica, wasn’t a typical bachelor pad. He didn’t have a wet bar or a stereo system that cost more than his car. Books took up the majority of nonessential living space. In fact, his entire life seemed to revolve around words on the page. Textbooks from his teaching days, tractates of Mishnah and Torah interpretations, nonfiction guides for community organization, memoirs from people he admired, sci-fi novels that provided his favorite escape.
As Naomi wandered around his living room, taking in his couch and his coffee table, his lack of art that wasn’t crayon masterpieces from last week’s Sunday school class tacked to the hanging corkboard that he used to plan his sermons, he grew concerned his library would topple her in an avalanche.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, thanks.” Naomi had perched herself on a stool that tucked under the island in his kitchen as if she were a judge on a cookingcompetition show preparing to watch contestants, or in this case Ethan, vie for her approval.
“I’ll take a water, though,” she said, moving to the cabinets and waiting for him to nod at the one that contained glasses. She did seem more relaxed now, her sway languid as she helped herself to water from his fridge.
Ethan wanted to ask her how she moved like that, every inch of her dripping seduction. Was it practiced or innate? Did everyone react this way, tongue too big for their mouth and hands sweating, or just him?
“This place looks like you,” she said, eyes warm and sparkling as she took in his kitchen.
“Haphazard?”
“Satisfying,” Naomi corrected, taking a sip of her drink.
Ethan made himself stop watching her throat work and opened the fridge under the premise of looking for something to prepare. Hopefully, the blast of cool air would stop the sweat forming at his temples. He lingered over the vegetable drawer.
What was sexy food? The shelves were full of Tupperware containers of kasha and bow ties and apple cake. Somehow, serving Naomi Grant the leftovers foisted on him when he’d performed a bris last week didn’t seem very romantic.
The freezer was a last resort but also somehow his best option.
“How do you feel about Bagel Bites?” He didn’t have a ton of time to cook and stocked the comfort food for emergencies.
She tipped her head back and laughed. “Good. I feel good about them.”
What had his life come to that in his midthirties the best he could offer a date was frozen pizza... on a bagel? Maybe bringing her here hadn’t been the best idea. After they’d run into her ex at the restaurant, his main priority had been making sure she wasn’t so spooked by the encounter that she tried to bolt.
It had been a struggle not to smile as Naomi attempted to convincehim she wasn’t marriage material. As if a single one of the paltry flaws she’d presented could even hold a candle to how vibrant, how determined, she was. He never worried about her convincing him to beg off, but he had grown concerned, the longer they’d sat in that disastrous hipster haven, that she’d talk herself out of giving him a chance.
Ethan ripped open the cardboard box with a flourish. “This is all a part of my grand plan to seduce you.”
“Is it?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yep.” He put on the checkered apron his mother had given him as a housewarming gift. “The beauty of the plan is how clumsy and deceptively mediocre it appears.”
“I see.” She stepped behind him to secure the strings, letting the backs of her fingers rest against the base of his spine for a moment before returning to her perch. “I’m looking forward to seeing how the rest of this plan plays out.”