“Brisket sliders,” he narrated. Talia braised that meat in Manischewitz until it was melt-in-your mouth, and the sweet wine caramelized the shredded tips. There were fried shallots for a texture bomb, microgreens for a pop of color and – in keeping with the latke theme – the secret sauce on top was an apple mostarda.
Witnessing Kara Koff eat was better than watching her from the best seat in a movie theater. Who needed IMAX when you were close enough to see her tongue dart to capture the tangy mostarda left over on her lip? And Dolby Surround sound had nothing on the little happy noises she made as she devoured a second one, elbows on the table.
He’d been drunk and seeing double the last time he’d been this close to the famed actress. It reminded him of his original mission tonight.
“Look. I just want to apologize for – ”
She shook her head, waving his words away. “Let’s never speak of it again. We’re even.”
Holy shit-balls. Even? In what universe?
Gesturing to the plate, she invited him to help himself. “Your finders’ fee, good sir.”
He grinned, sheepish. “Hoping you’d say that.” But first, he speared a perfectly fried ravioli with Kara’s fork. The homemade pasta squares were like tiny pillows overstuffed with the most nostalgic parts of your favorite aunt’s kugel. Which was exactly how he described it to her. “Ladies first, though.”
Her eyes seemed to get greener as they widened under thick, black lashes. He couldn’t tell if she was eying him, or the fork. Leaning in, then hesitating. Still staring. Jonah quickly added, “Only if you mix milk and meat. My parents always had this magical twenty minute rule, you know, like how long you had to wait to swim after eating? Same with hamburgers and ice cream.”
She slowly took the fork from him. Bit, chewed. Her bee-stung lips pressed together before parting with a single, puffed sigh. She set the cutlery down carefully. “Excuse me…ladies’ room.”
Jonah watched her strut away…only breaking her stride once to pause, pull off her shoe and regard the bottom of it before slipping it back on and continuing on her way.
Chapter Seven
Kara’s shoe map pointed Tzipi right to a spacious lounge and restroom where she could get her bearings. She had almost let him feed her. Feed her. Right off the fork like it was a first date, and not a deception.
The bodyguard was charming. She wasn’t prepared for charming. Tolerating a silent, looming presence always six paces behind? Yes. But not remotely ready for banter about kugels and parents and twenty-minute rules. More first date stuff.
The way his warm hand had spanned her back? And that wall of his chest, shielding her from the onslaught of camera clicks and prying questions? Way closer than six paces.
And also apologizing, right off the bat, for winking earlier. Chutzpah was one thing. Knowing when to cop to it was another. Cheeky. Sexy. Manly.
Max.
She popped the metal clasp of her evening bag. It really was doll-size, able to hold no more than the magical plumping lip gloss, a pack of tissues, and her – well, technically, Kara’s – phone.
On loan for the weekend.
While it would freak most people out to part with their phone for even an hour, the sisters had decided to fully commit to their roles and swap. Kara had wanted a real break, no temptation to post wedding photos in a Bridezilla moment.
Tzipi just wanted to get through Lorne’s birthday tomorrow, without having to deal with all the “thinking of you” messages that came with it.
Having fooled the FaceIDs and set the same breakthrough contacts, they had silenced the devices before they went their separate ways. A mutual digital detox.
With shaking hands, she re-applied the bold lip color. It figured the first guy she was remotely attracted to since losing Lorne was under her sister’s employ – while she was pretending to be her sister.
You’re not a romcom heroine, she chastised herself. Flirting with Max was the exact opposite of Kara’s intentions, sending her on this cruise.
Speak of the devil, as the phone chimed to life. A first class photo, two arms intertwined and clinking matching 35K Altitude cocktails.
We have arrived.
Tzipi breathed a sigh of relief. Kara and Shel were one step closer to their elopement, which meant she was one step closer to getting back to her life.
She wound her way back the way she came, although the sights were shifting. The boat was turning away from the glittery skyline and headed out into the bay. But there was Max, still at the little table and guarding her plate like it was his job.
It is, dummy. It is his job. Payroll. Cha-ching.
He’d procured a drink, ginger ale by the fizzy look of it. And was staring at that last kugel ravioli like it was going to walk away. Until he glanced up, a look of stunned delight brightening his handsome face.
