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Why was she even torturing herself by reading Beck’s texts? Things seemed pretty cut and dry, no explanation needed. He had come to town to cut Britesmith’s staff in half. Mission accomplished. He and his uncle could go toast themselves in the hotel bar, or jump off the roof for all she cared. At least he was leaving tomorrow, leaving whatever mess behind.
After Christmas, she would reach out to each employee and see if she could help with job placement. Not as a superior, but as a friend. They’d be sure to get snatched up in a heartbeat by any number of Britesmith’s competitors, given their training. Maybe she would even offer herself up to one of those companies, too, once her non-compete clause was through.
Or maybe it was time for a re-invention.
Her fingers, achy from their sewing marathon, throbbed. But in a good way; as if to remind her there was more to life than Britesmith.
“Why has every night of Hanukkah involved copious amounts of alcohol?” Avi blew in, dark hair down and disheveled from the wind. When he shed his leather coat, a wave of tequila came off him.
“Why is this night different from all other nights?” Jonah injected a bit of Passover humor. “Ma Nishtana, my friend.” He gratefully accepted the mug Nora handed him; dwarfed in his hands despite its oversize, then proceeded to hemorrhage half the honey bear into his tea.
“Take.” Avi handed her the paper bag of requested ingredients.
“Where’s Sylvie?”
Nora swore his pupils dilated at the mention of her name, but he merely shrugged, kicking off his shoes.
“Think it’s just us, Talia and Jay were doing a thing today,” Jonah supplied.
“I take it neither of you will Drink Your Feelings with me?”
“Maybe a sip. Hair of the dog. Asher’s Bar crushed us last night.” Avi made himself right at home, helping himself to a big glass of water from the built-in on the Rubens’ fancy fridge.
What a thousand adoring fans wouldn’t give to see their idol like this: standing in the kitchen with a hole in his sock, and chewing crushed ice. Nora couldn’t help thinking she was the luckiest girl in the world. But that wasn’t the reason why.
Avi proceeded to raid her parent’s china cabinet while she fetched the bourbon from the liquor cabinet. “Candles?”
He held her childhood Winnie the Pooh menorah aloft.
That’s right. It was still Hanukkah. Only the fourth night.
And no one should light the candles alone.
* * *
Alex stood under the giant menorah in Central Park, but his head and heart were miles away.
Actually, just blocks away.
His texts to Nora had gone unanswered. Phone calls, straight to voicemail. He’d even gone to her apartment, but she didn’t answer the buzzer. Defeated, he headed back to Britesmith’s office, where at least he could bury himself in work.
As much as Marty’s arrival had complicated things, Alex was glad his uncle was there, and finally acting like a mentor. Ever since he had opened that letter, the man seemed more humbled and at peace. They’d gone to the candle-lighting together; Alex leading the way this time, no longer feeling so much like a tourist in this town.
Like the lay-off list of the New York 27 he’d carried earlier, Grandpa My’s written response to Nora’s report of Hedstrom’s misdeeds burned a hole in his pocket, unread by him. Whatever it said, it was Nora’s to read first. Or perhaps they could read it together.
Meet me at the menorah?
A memory flashed as he texted her again, her voice echoing in his ear. The excitement, the chase, the tease, the promise of that night on the boat.
Back when all they had bargained for was one night.
He’d written, and he had waited. Now, he stood apart as the crowd cheered the fourth candle being lit. His own words from this morning in the elevator echoing back:
Imagine what we could do in double that time?
He wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
I’ll be here waiting every night till the 8th night, Nora. Please say you’ll come. I have something for you.
