Chapter 17
Noa
I wake before my alarm, guilt gnawing at me as I realize I never remembered to text Brian. My phone, fully charged on the nightstand, displays three missed calls and two text messages from him, the last one sent just before midnight:
Let me know you're safe. Worried about you in this weather.
I groan, pressing the phone to my forehead. I disappeared on him. After everything—after he told me he was considering moving to Pittsburgh, after the night we shared, after the way he looked at me like I was something precious—I vanished without a word.
Not intentionally, but does that matter? The result is the same.
I type out an apology, delete it, try again. Nothing seems adequate to explain my absence without sounding like I'm making excuses. Finally, I settle on simplicity:
I'm so sorry. Family dinner ran late. Can we talk today?
The response comes almost immediately:
I'll be on Butler Street this morning.
Not exactly warm, but at least he's willing to see me.
I rush through my morning routine, throw on a cream sweater and my favorite jeans, and try to tame my curls into something presentable.
The image in the mirror looks like me, but somehow different—brighter eyes, flushed cheeks, a certain energy I haven't seen in myself for a long time.
Downstairs, I flip on the shop lights and begin my opening ritual. Cash in the register, books straightened on display tables, computer system booted up. Through the front windows, I can see the street coming to life—morning commuters hurry past, and coffee shops across the way are already busy.
As I unlock the door to spin the sign to OPEN, a familiar figure appears on the sidewalk. Brian, in a charcoal suit that fits his shoulders perfectly, looks slightly more rumpled than his usual pressed perfection. Has he been waiting nearby? The thought makes my heart skip.
"Hi," I say, holding the door open.
He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets. "You're okay."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes. I'm so sorry about yesterday. My phone died, and then I was late for family dinner, and—"
"I was worried." His voice is carefully controlled, but I can see the tension in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes. "Your shop was dark, your apartment too."
"I know. I'm sorry." I step back, gesture inside. "Come in? I was about to make bean water."
He grins at the reference to Legends and Lattes and follows me in, looking around the shop as if seeing it for the first time. I busy myself with the small coffee station in the corner, giving my hands something to do besides fidgeting.
"How was your family dinner?" he asks, the politeness slightly forced.
"Chaotic. My niece is in a school play, and all she wanted to talk about was her costume.
My nephew demonstrated karate moves dangerously close to the fireplace.
My dad made chicken." I hand him a mug of coffee.
"They saved the candle lighting until I arrived, which made me feel even worse about being late. "
His posture relaxes slightly. "Family waits for family."
"Yeah." I take a deep breath. "I really am sorry, Brian." I quickly explain about the dead phone and unsent message.
He nods, accepts the apology. "So, you weren't avoiding me?"
"No! God, no. I was actually excited to tell you about—" I cut myself off, suddenly aware of how domestic it sounds to share details of my family dinner with a man I've known for less than a week.
"Tell me what?"
I smile sheepishly and peel off my scarf now that the shop has warmed up. "They loved your challah. My dad kept asking where I got it."
Something brightens in his expression. "You took it to dinner?"
"I did. Said a customer gave it to me."
He sets his coffee down on the nearest shelf, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. "I have news, too."
"Oh?"
"I rented a storefront." He rolls his lips between his teeth, and his eyes turn hesitant. “What started as exploring possibilities became... well, a three-year commitment."
"That's great! Where—"
"Two doors down." He gestures vaguely in the direction of the vacant shops near mine. "1875 Butler."
I blink, processing the information. "You... you rented space on this block? Next to my shop?"
"It made sense," he says quickly. "My primary clients are here, it's a convenient location, good visibility—"
"Brian." I step closer to him. "You rented space next to my bookshop."
He holds my gaze, vulnerability replacing his professional mask. "Is that okay?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with unspoken implications. Is it okay that he's putting down roots here? Is it alright that he'll be a constant presence in my carefully ordered life? Is it okay that he's making choices that would intertwine our futures, even though we barely know each other?
A week ago, I would have run from this intensity, from the speed and scale of whatever is developing between us. But standing here now, looking at this complicated man who makes challah bread, closes million-dollar deals, and treats my bookshop like a sacred space, I feel something inside me shift.
"Yes," I say, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. "It's more than okay."
The tension visibly leaves his body. "I was worried you'd think it was too much. Too fast."
"It probably is," I admit. "But somehow, it also feels right."
He closes the distance between us, and his strong hands come up to cup my face. "I couldn't stop thinking about you yesterday. All day. When I couldn't reach you, I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."
"About us? There's an us?"
His thumb traces my cheekbone. "I'd like there to be. If you want that, too."
Instead of answering, I rise on tiptoes and press my lips to his. He responds immediately, pulls me closer, his kiss conveying relief and desire in equal measure. When we part, I'm breathless.
"Is that a yes?" he murmurs against my lips.
The bell above the door chimes, and we spring apart like guilty teenagers as an older woman enters the shop. I smooth my sweater, cheeks burning.
"Good morning, Mrs. Goldstein. How are you today?"
"Cold," she announces, unwinding a scarf from her neck. "Much too cold for December. Is that new book in yet? The one about the woman who poisoned her husband?"
I slip into bookseller mode and guide her toward the mystery section while Brian hangs back, watching with undisguised interest. After helping Mrs. Goldstein find her murder mystery, more customers arrive, and Brian settles into an armchair near the register, answering emails on his phone while I work.
The morning passes in a comfortable rhythm, him occasionally catching my eye and smiling, me drifting over to refill his coffee when I have a free moment.
It's strange how natural it feels to have him in my space—not an intrusion but an enhancement.
During a lull, I approach him with a question that's been forming in my mind since his revelation about the office space.
"Tonight is the seventh night of Hanukkah," I say, fidgeting with a bookmark display.
He looks up from his phone. "It is."
"I was wondering if maybe... if you didn't have plans already..." I take a deep breath. "Would you want to come to my sister's house? For dinner?"
I brace myself for hesitation, for the panic that typically crosses men's faces when invited to meet family too soon. Instead, his expression brightens.
"You want me to meet your family?"
"Is that bananas? It's probably bananas." I'm rambling now. "We barely know each other, and meeting family is a big step, and you don't have to if it feels—"
"Noa." He stands, taking my hands in his. "I'd love to meet your family."
"Really?"
"Really." He kisses me lightly. "I should warn you, though—I make a terrible first impression on parents. I'm too intense."
"My dad will love you," I assure him. "Especially when he finds out you made the bread."
Brian smiles, but there's a hint of nervousness in his eyes now. "What time should I pick you up?"
"Six? I'll close the shop a little early."
"Perfect." He glances at his watch. "I should get going. I have a few calls to make, and I need to check on the office space."
"Will your car be okay this time?" I ask, only half-joking. "I'd hate for another battery incident."
He laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "Actually, the lease includes the parking lot out back. I'm having a charging station installed this week."
"You're really doing this," I say, the reality sinking in. "Setting up a permanent office here."
"I am." His gaze is steady. "I'm all in, Noa."
The declaration should terrify me. Instead, a warm certainty spreads through my chest—the same feeling I had three years ago when I decided to buy this bookshop, when I knew in my bones it was the right choice despite all logical arguments against it. He’s changing his life for me, for us.
"I'll see you at six," I tell him as he heads for the door.
He pauses, turns back with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "I'll be the one with the fully charged car."
After he leaves, I lean against the counter, trying to make sense of everything. Brian Klein is opening an office two doors down from my shop. He's meeting my family tonight. He's "all in."
And somehow, impossibly, I'm ready to be all in, too.
Mrs. Goldstein approaches the register with her book and a knowing smile. "Nice-looking man, your friend. Jewish?"
I laugh, scanning her purchase. "Yes, Mrs. Goldstein. He's a nice Jewish boy."
"Hmm, that man had Jaddy vibes." She nods approvingly.
My eyes fly wide. "Jaddy?"
My elderly customer wags a finger at me. "You know what I mean, dear. Your man is a Jewish zaddy. Very sexy."
I sputter and clutch a stack of books to my chest. "Mrs. Goldstein…I…"
She pats my arm. "Hold onto that one. Men who look at women the way he looks at you are rare."
As she leaves, I glance out the window to see Brian on the sidewalk, phone to his ear, gesturing emphatically as he talks. Mrs. Goldstein is right about his Jaddy status…I bite my lip.
Tonight, he'll meet my family. Tomorrow, who knows?