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What I expected based on my past experiences with him: him to smile big, nod like he’d just downed a glass full of sugar (which he had), and gush about how helping people gave him such a high he’d never even thought about taking drugs.

What I got: a keen glint in those hazel eyes, a cock of his head like he was considering pushing me off my stool, and his arms crossing over his chest.

I was immediately intrigued. When he spoke, the intrigue rose even higher. Also the annoyance, but that tended to rise whenever anybody spoke, honestly. “It’ll cost you more than free coffee.”

“I don’t have any money,” I said. I had a sense that wasn’t what he was talking about, but I wanted to get it out of the way anyway. “And I own nothing of consequence, unless you want a collection of vintage fast-food glasses I’ve accumulated at yard sales or a bunch of half-dead plants. And honestly, you can take the plants. They’re too much commitment for me.”

“I mean, I’ll take your plants. I’m a great plant dad,” he said. “But I meant more a price of your time, and also maybe your sanity.”

“That would scare me if I had any sanity left after sitting here with you for an hour.”

He pointed at me. “See? That’s what I need. Say that around my mom and she’ll love you forever. She loves it when people take the piss out of me.”

I blinked. Maybe that explained why he kept coming back to the café and trying to befriend me no matter how many times I rebuffed him: he was used to snark meaning love. “Why would I be talking to your mom?”

He folded his arms on the bar and leaned into them, almost knocking over his nearly empty glass. “Because if you want me to help you create the Hanukkah festival of your dreams, you’ll be coming home with me for Hanukkah.”

I laughed. When he didn’t, my own laugh fell off my face. “Are you joking?”

I already knew he wasn’t, but he confirmed. “No. Hanukkah starts next week, and I’m supposed to spend it in New York with my family. I want you to come home with me and pretend that we’re dating.”

Okay, this time I couldn’t hold the laughter back. “That we’re dating?”

He cast his eyes down at the bar and traced a crack there with his index finger. “You don’t have to remind me that you find the thought of it so hilarious.”

“I…” He was right. I was kind of being a dick. But it wasn’t even the thought of me dating him that I found so hilarious—it was the thought of him wanting to date me. Me, whose own family had cast her out. Me, who was barely even Jewish. Me, who was hanging on to her café and her place here in the community by a thread. I said, “That wasn’t what I meant. I was just surprised.”

His shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Okay. I get that. So, are you in?”

“I still have so many questions,” I said. “Why do you want me, of all people, to be your fake girlfriend? Why do you need a fake girlfriend in the first place?”

He answered me with a question of his own. “Why do you think I was on that app at all?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “My parents don’t love that I moved so far away from them.”

“You’re not that far,” I said. “You don’t even have to fly to get down there.”

“I know, right?” he said, shaking his head. “I could be living across the ocean or something. And they’re worried about me being all alone in a Jewless land. When I say worried, I mean there are weeks where my mom calls me crying every day about how she’s devastated I’m so far away from my family and my community and my people. So if I can bring home a Nice Jewish Girlfriend I met up here who’s keeping me connected, she’ll stop stressing out so much.”

“Aw, you’re a mama’s boy,” I teased. It was maybe the least surprising thing I’d learned about him.

He grumbled, “If I was that much of a mama’s boy, I wouldn’t have moved so far away from her.” He perked up. “So what do you say?”

“Still not done with the questions,” I said. Behind me, a group of guys burst into a rousing chorus of “Jingle Bells.” I sipped my cocktail quietly, waiting for them to finish in a round of cheers, before continuing on. “Obviously, we’re not really dating. Won’t people pick up on that? Like, no offense, but I don’t really want to cuddle up each night in your childhood twin bed.”

“My bed at home is actually a full, thank you very much,” said Seth. “And you don’t have to worry about that. My parents might be Jewish, but they’re pretty WASPy Jews as far as things like PDA go. Nobody’s going to be expecting us to cuddle or kiss. And as far as bed sharing goes, my parents have a rule that under their roof you can’t sleep in the same room unless you’re married. Used to drive my ex crazy that one of us had to take the couch.”

“You’re taking the couch,” I said. “I want the bed.” The words had barely come out of my mouth before I realized what they were. A confirmation. I was…actually considering doing this?

I could ask Maggie, the retiree, to come back in for a week and take care of the café—she already knew what she was doing, and I trusted her. I’d be out the money I had to pay her, but I’d basically be breaking even, which I could survive for a week. And if I could put on the absolute best Hanukkah festival that would already be pricking the ears of all these New Yorkers jonesing for a winter-break getaway…well, I’d be repaid many times over. Like investing in the stock market. Or so I imagined. I didn’t have enough money to invest in the stock market.

“You can have the bed,” Seth said. “Are you in?”

It didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world, but something stayed my tongue. It seemed too rash to agree to something that big on the spur of the moment. I was more prudent than that. “I need some time to think about it.”

“No worries,” Seth said. “Just let me know. Last minute is fine. I think the whole thing is actually more fun if I don’t even warn my parents you’re coming.”

I choked on the last sip of my cranberry drink. It went down the wrong pipe, making my lungs way too festive. “Please don’t make me surprise anyone. What if they say they have no room? Or that they don’t want me there?”

“One, having no room at the inn was how Jesus was born, so maybe that’s how we finally get the Messiah,” Seth said. I snorted back my laugh this time so that I wouldn’t drown in merriment. “And two, you clearly haven’t met my parents, who are maybe the most welcoming people in the world. My mom would rather choke on a ham sandwich than tell a guest she doesn’t have space for them. She’d put you in her bed and sleep on the floor if she had to.” He stopped and considered for a moment. “You’d have to sleep next to my dad, though. And he snores.”