“Where’s her handler?”
“Handler? She’s not a zoo animal, Doris.”
Jonah cut the line while the gawking bystanders were too busy to notice, grabbed a plate of his own and followed her down the buffet table from the opposite side. She smiled as she helped an older gentleman wrangle a particularly stubborn piece of asparagus onto his plate, and helpfully pointed out the signage to someone inquiring about the kashrut status of a stuffed mushroom.
He skipped the pedestrian (Talia would kill him if he ever said that out loud) Hanukkah standards and went right for the promised latke sliders. Eyes trailing Kara.
She was so busy working her way down the table that she didn’t notice the veritable photo shoot that had assembled at the end of the buffet. Hell, it was half the banquet hall. Diners with their cameras at the ready, waiting for her to turn so they could ask for a photo with her. Some skipping that formality altogether, their video flashes unapologetically blinding as they livestreamed her attempt to balance a full plate in one hand and a fresh glass of champagne in the other.
Jonah saw it the second before it happened – a ripple in the crowd.
A crowd whose first round of holiday cocktails on empty stomachs had probably just
kicked in. Like sharks sensing blood in the water, the entire room was now aware of a celebrity, too far from her designated bubble.
He didn’t even think – just scooped the slider up in one quick bite, dumped his plate on a nearly ledge, and lunged. Angling his body between her and the oncoming crush of fans. His broad torso turned just enough to block someone’s outstretched selfie arm, but not so much as to freak her out.
“Give her space, people. Please, step back.” People instinctively obeyed. “No photos while Ms. Koff is eating.”
He took her plate in one hand, his other gingerly bracing her back. Eyes scanning for a quieter corner, the closest employee hallway…hell, even a lifeboat would do in a pinch.
“What took you so long?”
Her voice was…brighter than he remembered from last year. Less smoke, more shimmer. She sounded grateful and annoyed at the same time, yet…not wholly surprised that the winking weirdo had been the one to rescue her.
She actually sounded a bit like…Rosie Bloom.
It threw him to the point where he answered her question with a question.
“What possessed you to go in there, with them?”
She didn’t reply, just looked at the plate in his hand like…duh. Yeah, he’d probably risk life and limb for a few of Talia’s kugel ravioli, too. He supposed even if he became a world-famous comedian someday, his taste buds would still be the same.
He set her food down on a high top table tucked into an alcove on the deck. It was probably a holding place for waitstaff to stash empty glasses while waiting for a busser to make their rounds, but it had a lovely view of the Manhattan skyline. And would do for now.
“Where’s Dr. Ackerman?”
Her date last year had not only been glued to her side all night, the lucky bastard, but he had taken the time to make sure Jonah wasn’t concussed after his fall. And never billed him. Hard to hate a guy like that.
Her heavily-made up eyes rolled in a dramatic, why does everyone keeping asking me that? fashion. “Can I at least eat some of this before it gets cold?”
He glanced down at her overflowing plate. It was…ambitious. But things had shifted in the scuffle, and sauces mingled with things they shouldn’t. Fried bits were now soggy; a smear of something creamy clinging to something no longer crispy. “Hold that thought.”
He loped back into the ballroom, just in time to see Seth, one of Talia’s loyal crew, with two fresh, steaming trays of The Jewish Grandma’s most coveted duos. One bound the milk table, and one for the meat.
Hella respect for Jewish dietary laws, but Jonah’s stomach loved both simultaneously and unconditionally.
Seth noticed Jonah too, giving him a friendly, hands-full head-nod. Jonah slipped through the stanchions to Seth’s side of the table, grabbing a clean plate on the way. “Hit me up, four of each?”
“You got it, man.”
Miraculously, Kara was still in the tucked away spot, sipping her champagne and poking at something wilted on her plate. Jonah took the liberty of whisking the entire sad potluck away and replacing it with his dish.
Her face lit up, recognizing the kugel ravioli the way it was supposed to look. She picked up his other score: a latke slider, freshly assembled.
“The rest of the apps, they’re just the opening act,” Jonah explained. “The items people expect to see at a Hanukkah all-you-can-nosh. But these, these are the headliners.”
He watched as she daintily nipped the top “bun” of the slider: a perfect, silver-dollar-sized potato disc made of grated Yukon gold and a hint of yam. Then she went all in, devouring the layered perfection in two bites. “Orrmeegrrrd!” She hummed as she chewed, rocking back on her spike heels.
