His furrowed brow rumpled into a blank look, prompting her to add, “Gellman. The youngest? Not a twin.”
“Not ringing a bell.”
Okay, now she wished a pothole would open up in front ofher…or a portal to another dimension where this humiliation didn’t exist.
He hobbled to the car and yanked open the passenger door.
“Why does it smell like the inside of a Five Guys in here?”
The wave of stale latke grease hit her when she got in, too. “I deliver Meals on Wheels some days. And had a few dozen latkes to deliver for a party to a senior complex yesterday.”
Both truths. But worded so it didn’t sound like her entire social life revolved around a 55+ community.
She cranked the key in the ignition, snorting. “And like you’ve eaten at a Five Guys. Hardly kosher.”
“I live on the road two hundred days a year,” Avi informed her, peeling off his sock and wringing it out before closing the car door.Gross.Leah wondered if there was a Law of Motion for pulling a wet sock back onto an equally wet foot. “I do what I have to do.”
Interesting.
“Hey, wait. Your oil light’s on.”
Leah waved his concern away. “Been like that for ages. Must be a light malfunction.”
“Pop the hood, and I’ll check the oil.” He ignored her diagnosis. “When’s the last time you changed it?”
“Within a hundred miles of when the sticker told me to.” Why whywhywere they still in the parking lot? And why did the sight of Avi Wolfson pulling tissues from the box in the center console make her feel strangely guilty and relieved at the same time? She was not a damsel in distress. “Seriously,” she called after him as he was out the door once more. “Car runs like a champ!”
Through the windshield, she watched him lean in and do all the oil-checking things with care and precision. If the man was touring half the year, whose oil was he changing to keep him so practiced? That feeling of relief glimmered again. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have company on the road, someone who knew what they were doing. Although why did that someone have to be Avi Wolfson?
He left the hood up and jogged (in sandals and a sock and a half) back into the building. From her vantage point, she could see him sweet-talking the cashier in the mini-mart about something.Like candy from a baby, she murmured to herself. Out he popped once again, a quart of oil in his hand. And a twisted rope of red licorice in between his teeth.
Unbelievable.
That candy had better keep him for a while since she hadn’t planned for a food stop – or paying for a meal for two – any time soon.
“I just topped ‘er off.” He leaned across the console to check the light as he buckled himself in. “Damn.”
“Told you.”
“So we are just gonna go with the whole Hanukkah miracle thing?”
He was still leaning–did this guy not understand personal space?
“It’s worked okay for two thousand years already,” she grumbled. “Can’t we just move on?”
With an exaggerated inhale, he fell back into his bucket seat. “Your hair smells like –”
“Yes, a stale french fry. I’ve been made aware.”
Says the guy who just brushed his teeth with a Twizzler.
“No, your hair…it’s something…sweet.” The snap of his fingers now was like a lightbulb moment. “We sat next to each other on the middle school bus once, right?”
“Yes. Quit sniffing me.”
“Just trying to place the scent. It’s…like a memory of something.”
Leah avoided looking at him as she accelerated out of the lot. She had a feeling whatever it was, he was determined to figure it out before they hit the next mile marker.
