Accepting the cake-like cookie covered in chocolate icing on one side and vanilla on the other, she smiles. “Thank you. How’s your bubbe?”
“Wait, how do you know about his grandma?” I ask. “And how come she gets a cookie and I don’t?” I cock a brow at Mark, feigning offense.
He pulls another cookie from the display case and winks as he passes it over.
With a shit-eating grin, I accept the treat. “Thank you. But yes, how’s your bubbe?”
“She’s bossing us around, so I’d say she’s made a full recovery,” he huffs, pulling on a new pair of plastic gloves. “She says to say thank you for the flowers and the puzzle.”
Peering up at me, Joey laces her fingers with mine and squeezes. I squeeze once in response and shoot her a smile.
“What’ll it be?” Mark inquires.
She steps closer to the counter. “I’ll have half a pastrami on rye.”
“With extra pickles?” he assumes correctly. “What else?” He looks at me, then back at her.
“Two potato pancakes and a side of fruit. Oh! And a Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry.”
“Make that two cherry sodas, six potato pancakes, and abowlof fruit,” I pipe up. “Plus, a corned beef sandwich and an assortment ofrugelach.” I love the flaky pastries. Especially the ones with dates and cinnamon.
I guide Joey to the side, hands still intertwined, while Mark puts together our order. “How do you know Mark so well?”
“Sounds like you know his grandmother pretty well,” she says, bumping my shoulder.
“This is my go-to place for comfort food.”
She arches a brow. “Jewish food is your comfort food?”
“It is,” I laugh. “Ezra’s Jewish. Did you know that?”
She shakes her head.
“I’ve spent a lot of time at his mom’s house. She loves to cook.”
“Huh.” She shrugs. “My dad was Jewish. Millie is too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. My mom is Christian, so I grew up both and neither at the same time, I guess. But we celebrated all the holidays,” she says. “Mark and his wife live in my building.” Dropping my hand, she leans in and loops her arm around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “They bring us food all the time, so I don’t come into the deli often. They’re like our surrogate parents, I guess.” The smile that lifts her cheeks is bright and full of genuine adoration. It makes me want to kiss the soft flesh.
Mark spots us in the crowd that’s forming and motions for us to meet him at the checkout counter.
Joey reaches for the large brown paper bag just as I reach for my wallet.
“So what’s happening here?” Mark questions, waggling a finger between the two of us.
“It’s our first date,” I say, lifting my chin and maintaining eye contact.
“You don’t say.” He beams. “Well, then, my friends, it’s on the house.”
“What?” I look at Joey, who’s biting back a smile. “No?—”
He shoves two extra black-and-white cookies in the bag and announces, “Next!” effectively dismissing me.
“Thank you,” we say in unison.
He puts his hands over his heart, and when we’re halfway to the door, he calls out her name. He points to me. “He’s one of the good ones!”
