Page 98
Rez glances at me, a hint of admiration in his expression. “Sounds like a formidable woman.”
“You have no idea.” But you are about to.
I don't tell him what else she said. That she hopes one day I'll be afforded the same opportunity. She sees something in me I haven't quite found the courage to claim for myself, and the more time I spend with her, the more I learn why this land is so important, and the more I want to protect it too.
He slows as the house comes into view.
“Anna,” he says quietly.
I look at him.
He glances from the house to me, clearly trying to work out where I've brought him.
I lace my fingers through his on the center console.
I tell him softly. “You're about to meet someone very important to me.”
He shakes his head, but there's a hint of a smile on his mouth as he gets out and comes around to open my door. I take the coffee carrier from him, and we climb the front steps together.
The moment I open the door, warmth and the familiar scent of beeswax polish and woodsmoke greet me. I hear voices somewhere deeper in the house, followed by the soft clatter of something being set down.
Then Leah calls out.
“Good, you're here! I need you to see what that darling future granddaughter of mine has sent along.”
I stop just inside the entrance.
Beside me, Rez goes very still.
I look at him, but his attention has shifted toward the voice, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and the realization that whatever he thought he was walking into, it wasn't quite this.
I bite back a smile and whisper, “You're about to meet Oma.”
Leah turns to us, and a small smile twists her lips.
“Oma, this is—”
Leah appears at the far end of the hall, already smiling, her attention fixed on the man standing beside me.
Her expression changes. Her eyes travel over Rez, taking in his broad shoulders and handsome face, and then she switches to Hebrew.
“Now I understand why you disappeared for six days,” she says. “My goodness. He's absolutely stunning.”
“Oma!”
She waves me off, entirely unrepentant.
Rez watches our exchange, his brows lifting slightly as he smiles and says, “Thank you very much.” In Hebrew!
Her face lights up, and she switches to English. “You speak Hebrew?”
“A little; my birth mother was Jewish, which made me curious.” He answers in English too. “Enough to say thank you for the generous compliment.”
“Then we'll have to teach you more,” she says, looking at me, eyes smiling.
“I'd like that.”
We spend over an hour with Oma, who invites us to dinner on Friday, another tradition she is intent on bringing back from her childhood.