Leah crept into her room. Her bed was empty but a bit more mussed than she had left it after her futile attempt to fall asleep. The pillow that had felt like a block of ice under her head last night was now pliable and warm to the touch.
She resisted the urge to crawl into the bed like some depraved Goldilocks and sniff the sheets for signs of Avi.
If he’d moved in here after she fell asleep, maybe he hadn’t witnessed her slumbering striptease. Leah didn’t know if she should feel embarrassed…or insulted.
Mortification and rejection weighed her scales fairly equally.
Whatever, she huffed, stalking into the bathroom. She contemplated her messy top knot, half of which had come loose in the night, and opted for the disposable shower cap among the hotel’s toiletries. She could get one more day out of her straightened hair before dealing with curly girl problems.
Avi still hadn’t returned after her long, luxurious shower. Leah surveyed the room as she dressed quickly. He hadn’t absconded with the chocolate rugelach, and her phone was still on the charger.
But the menorah was missing.
The Bit O’ Honey’s lobby was a different animal in daylight. A hidden speaker played soft classical music, and a table Leah hadn’t noticed last night sat fireside, laden with fruit and pastries. She smelled coffee before she saw it: two large, steaming carafes of liquid comfort.
Scrapes and shouts emanated from outside, then a buzz that sounded like a chainsaw.
“They’ve been out there all morning. Can you believe it?” Mrs. Bittner appeared, an egg casserole in her hands. “Your Saul is a wiz with the snowblower.”
It took Leah a minute to realize “her Saul” was Avi Wolfson. And his Grammy-winning guitar-playing hands, probably insured by Sotheby’s, shouldn’t be anywhere near heavy machinery.
“Everyone should have a Saul,” she replied gamely. “May I?” That coffee was calling her name.
“Oh yes, help yourself. The boys already did.”
Leah prepared a steaming cup with just the right amount of cream to cool it and walked to the lobby door. Mr. Bittner was bundled up, using a push-broom to clear snow off his van. Another man was shoveling closer to the street. And sure enough, Avi was out there in that silly fur coat, his mall band hat, and oversized borrowed gloves, pushing a small, very loud machine. It threw an arc of powdered snow in its wake, cutting a neat path and leaving a wall a foot high on either side.
“The city of Buffalo is still getting snow. Our sheriff plans to lift the driving ban any minute. Now we just have to wait for the street plows.”
“And my car, from the mechanic.” Leah glanced at the clock over the desk, noticing the menorah was back in its place. Not a trace of wax on it.
“12:15? I can’t believe I slept so late!”
Mrs. Bittner smiled. “The sign of a comfy bed. And the ions.” She winked.
The “boys” burst in, stomping snow on the carpet runner and draping gloves across the heat vent.
“Sure we can’t keep him?” Mr. Bittner boomed, patting Avi’s shoulder.
Avi swiped his beanie off, leaving behind an adorable case of hathead. Sweat and static left him with a fauxhawk as he pushed his fingers through it by habit, grinning.
“Morning, Gellman.”
“Avi Wolfson is a morning guy?”
“No, but Saul Horowitz is.” He took a bite out of her Danish and widened his eyes. Leah laughed, thinking of how the real Saul would always be the first in line at the buffet on Coffee & Cabaret days. They’d get on well.
The shovel guy, it turned out, was their mechanic, Big Al – he had walked over from his shop. “Your car is all set, so I thought I’d help clear a path while waiting for the driving ban to lift.”
Leah sent a silent thanks up that they hadn’t attempted to keep going last night. However, she’d prefer it not to come with the price of two new tires. At least Big Al didn’t try to upsell them anything, although he did comment on the oil light.
“If you have five or six hours to spare, I could remove and inspect your oil pump,” he offered.
“Let’s chalk it up to a Hanukkah miracle,” Avi finally agreed, “and leave it at that.”
It was mid-afternoon by the time the town plows had finally scraped and salted the road out front. They’d passed the time with Leah teaching the Bittners and Avi some basic Mahjong moves with the set she’d brought inside.
“And you made all of these?” Mrs. Bittner marveled, clicking her nails against Leah’s hand-painted tiles. “I had no idea it was so popular. Or, popular again.” She turned to her husband. “Did you?”
