The synagogue was flourishing; attendance was up ten percent in the last four weeks already. And yeah, he had to work longer hours, barely managed to sleep between serving the needs of his expanding congregation and spending time with her, but that was fine.
He hardly even noticed. Only yawned twice during evening prayers.
His hand closed around his third—no, fourth cup of coffee.
Everything was fine. No. Everything was great.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever been happier, and that was sort of terrifying if he looked straight at it.
He’d started studying again last week, without really thinking about it. At first, he’d thought he was looking for things to spice up his sermons. To expand the aperture of his philosophy and help find fresh connections and ideas to appeal to the new members brought in by the potent combination of Clara’s PR and the rising popularity of their seminars.
But then this morning he’d found himself lingering over passages about love. And then reaching for cross-reference texts. Calling Mira, who recommended books by mystics Ethan had never heard of, heavy ones that weighted down his bag and spilled off his desk. At least he was learning. He wasn’t exactly trying to predict the pattern of his feelings for Naomi. To give them a name. Ethan wasn’t afraid of love. The problem was that love didn’t seem big enough, wide enough, for the way he felt about her.
He started in his chair when she showed up at his office door. Like he’d dreamed her up. She wore loose pants and a T-shirt, her hair pulled up and away from her face. She looked softer, the apples of her cheeks almost impossibly round.
Ethan’s heart shot into his throat. He had to cut himself off from staring at her when he started admiring the tiny curl of her ears. That was a new low, even for him.
“Just when you thought dating me couldn’t get any better,” she smirked, and Ethan wished he could capture that irresistible quirk of her lips and keep it in his pocket to run his fingers over when he felt nervous, “I come bearing Chinese food.” She raised the take-out bag like a trophy over her head.
“I’m already batting way out of my league.” Ethan went to smile ather only to realize he was already grinning, that he had been since she’d walked into the room. He got to his feet and tried to clear off a space for her to put down the parcels. “Quit showing off.”
“What can I say?” Naomi leaned across the desk and captured his mouth for a quick kiss that still shot all the way down to his toes. “I’m trying to keep you eager to please.”
“Trust me,” he said, making himself pull back, voice a little rough, “you’ve got nothing to worry about in that regard.”
Her gaze snagged on his mouth, and he had to remind himself to cool it. He was in shul, for crying out loud. “I thought you had that Shameless screening tonight downtown?”
“Oh yeah. Josh and Clara said they could cover.” She handed him a take-out container before removing one for herself.
A double dose of guilt slid down his spine. Her commitment to him, both personal and professional, was definitely to blame for tearing her away from the things she cared about, from the life and business she’d worked so hard to build.
It was one thing for him to run himself ragged, but he didn’t want to inconvenience Naomi. He definitely didn’t want her to come to resent all the time she spent with him, in his spaces, more than half of it working at a job that didn’t pay her enough to cover gas. She shouldn’t be bringing him dinner. Ethan should be cooking for her. He winced. Something better than Bagel Bites.
He had flourished since he’d met her, but could she say the same?
She tore the plastic wrapper off a fork with her teeth. “Oh, I saw Morey on my way in. Gave him your spring roll—sorry. Did you know he has a new lady friend?”
Ethan reached for a handful of napkins from the bag. “What?”
“Yeah.” She stabbed a piece of broccoli. “Met her at Molly’s last mixer. Apparently those things took off without us, by the way. She might be better at matchmaking than I am.” Naomi tilted her head, considering. “Certainly better than you. Anyway, Morey showed me apicture. Dashing dame in her late sixties. Lives over in Venice. Beachfront.”
“Wow.” He blinked slowly, taking it all in. “Good for Mo.” Opening a new container released fried-onion-scented steam. Naomi ordered as well as she did everything else.
“I didn’t even know he was serious about dating again.” Guilt climbed up his throat. Apparently, Ethan’s new schedule also meant missing major milestones in his friends’ lives.
“Me neither.” She helped herself to a bite of his vegetable lo mein. “I mean, obviously he was married to Gertie for fifty years, so he probably didn’t get to do much exploring, you know?”
“Right.” Ethan poked at his scallion pancake with a chopstick to have something to do with his hands. Taking a step back from work or Naomi, just when things seemed on an upward trajectory, when he was so happy and fulfilled... he wasn’t sure he even could.
“Hey, can we stay at your place tonight?” Naomi pulled out the flask she kept her water in and took a swig. “I wanna finish reading your copy ofThe Puttermesser Papers.”
“I’m actually staying here overnight, but I can get it for you tomorrow.” He finally popped some food in his mouth, the aroma getting to him. The flavors burst on his tongue, salty and rich—perfect.
“You’re sleeping here?” Naomi frowned and lowered her fork.
“Yeah,” he said once he’d finished chewing. “Sorry, I should have told you sooner.”
He was so bad at texting. Had stopped taking his phone out of his bag back when the bubbes had turned it into a dating hotline.