“How do you always arrange for the perfect weather?” she murmured, lips just shy of his ear, before pulling back.
“Trade secret.” He gave a low laugh. Successfully charmed. “And where is your usual plus-one tonight?”
“My bodyguard?” She turned left and right. “He should be here, somewhere.” Seriously, though. She saw no sign of the big dude who’d waved to her from the deck not ten minutes ago. Kara hadn’t been kidding when she said these guys knew how to be unobtrusive.
Jay cocked his head, his smile conveying one thing but his quizzical brow implying another. Duh. Of course he meant Shel. Not her security detail.
“Oh…that plus-one.” Tzipi pretended to laugh off her own joke. “Preparing for a Doctors without Borders mission.” Technically not a lie. “To Zambia. There’s a pediatric outreach clinic there for mothers and children that need him.”
The mastermind behind the Matzo Baller gave an impressed whistle. “Could the guy be any more of a mensch?”
“I know, right? Shel was sorry he couldn’t make it tonight. He leaves soon, so things are a little…hectic on his end.”
Bring on the polygraph test, Tzipi thought triumphantly. I would pass with flying colors.
“Well, tell him he was missed. And that he’s making the rest of us look bad.”
The laugh that left her lips was surprisingly Kara-like. Perhaps this was going to be easier than she’d thought.
“Who looks bad?” A curvy redhead in a dazzling sequined gown sidled over, two champagne flutes in her hand. She elbow-checked him without spilling a drop. “Speak for yourself, bro.”
“Hey, I didn’t know they made chef’s whites in sequins.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha, leave the roasts to me…or to Jonah, please.” To Tzipi, she shyly offered a smile. And a glass. “Hi, Kara. Pre-departure toast?”
Okay, really…where the hell was Max? Shouldn’t he be assessing the situation? Making sure drinks from well-meaning strangers weren’t actually roofied by stalker fans?
Although this woman didn’t seem like a stalker…or even a stranger.
Steady hands, the mention of chef’s whites, a teasing “bro”…
“Thanks…Talia, right?”
A blush to rival those red curls crept across cheeks, and Tzipi knew her calculated guess was on the money. Maybe this would not only be easy, but dare she say…fun?
Jay took the other glass from his sister, and clinked it against Kara’s before handing it back. “I appreciate you being here. And, as always, for your amazing auction item. Four weeks this year, times two? You’ve outdone yourself.”
And…shit. Kara had mentioned she donated to the Baller charity every year, but she’d failed to say what.
“Seriously,” Talia chimed in. “I would’ve killed to go there as a kid! Even for a week.”
“But then you wouldn’t have met the love of your life,” her brother gently reminded.
Tzipi sipped her champagne and waited for more clues. She had a feeling a lot of the night might involve that.
“True, Ner Tamid had Asher.” Talia bit a smile back. “But it didn’t have indoor and outdoor cooking like Ramah.”
Ah, mystery solved. Their childhood sleepaway camp in the Ojai Valley was pretty coveted, and Kara must’ve donated its hefty enrollment fees for two lucky campers, for an entire summer. Jewish kids came from across the country and even Canada to attend. It had a culinary program, and – of course – the Al HaBamah performing arts intensive that her twin had dominated year after year. Kara’s fond memories were all friendship bracelets with fellow cast members and pacing the cabin floorboards practicing lines, while Tzipi tried to avoid being eaten alive by mosquitos or hit in the face by a gaga ball.
“I’m sure your machane was great, too.” She smiled, relieved to be clued back in to the conversation.
“Please. I did a New York theater camp,” Jay supplied. “Camp Ramah is the Yale Drama of theater camps in comparison. I know parents or even grandparents will be trying to outbid one another for your contribution, so thank you. And enjoy the night, let us know if you need anything.”
“More champagne, food, anything!” Talia reiterated, as her brother hooked an arm through hers to drag her away. “I’m officially off-duty, but the kitchen has strict orders to keep the kugel ravioli flowing.”
“Oh, and speaking of menschen…” Jay called over his shoulder. “My buddy you rescued last year promised to be on his best behavior tonight. Permission to swab the deck with that clown – and make him walk the plank – if he’s not.”
Rescued? Tzipi raised her glass in acknowledgement as the Katz siblings wound their way through the throngs of happy revelers. Mental note to ask Kara what happened last year…and to avoid any clowns until then.
