Chapter 12
Jonny
Growing up, I spent a lot of time watching my parents together.
They’re both practical people, not ones for big romantic gestures, but they were always doing little things for each other: Mom making Dad’s favorite meal when he’d had a long day, him coming home with flowers for no reason at all, the way they constantly hold hands when they’re walking.
I soaked it all in, the importance of those quiet acts of kindness.
That’s the stuff that sticks, I know that.
But every once in a while, you have to throw subtlety out the window, crank the volume to eleven, and make a scene. Go big or go home.
Tonight, that’s what I did. And I don’t regret it for a second.
More people than I ever expected showed up, a testament to how beloved my parents and siblings are in this town—they invited everyone they know.
People of all ages came to mingle, eat, and laugh, learning about a tradition they knew little about.
And yes, I love that. But from where I’m standing, it’s just one person that matters.
Just her smile, soft and amazed, and the way she keeps glancing at me like she can’t believe this is happening.
Right now, she’s standing at a folding table with my oldest three nieces and nephews and a handful of other kids, showing them how to spin the dreidel.
Bianca volunteered to drive all the way into Dallas to pick some up, along with a bunch of other Hanukkah decorations.
I lean against a streetlamp, trying to be casual, but really I’m just drinking in the sight of her: the sparkle in her eyes as she coaches Jake through a spin, her smile when he scoops up all the chocolate coins like he’s struck gold.
I drift closer, catching her voice as she explains how the Maccabees fought to take back their temple, “which is like a church but for Jewish people,” Shira says. The kids lean in, eyes big, chocolate smudges at the corners of their mouths.
“So they were like superheroes?” Jake asks.
“Kind of,” she says with a laugh. “Except no capes.”
Maggie pipes up. “But how’d the oil last so long?”
“That’s the miracle,” she tells her. “Sometimes it’s right when everything seems the most hopeless that something unexpected happens.”
She glances over at me, and my chest gives a weird twinge, like there’s a string tied around my ribs and she’s tugging on it.
“Well done, son,” my mom says, coming up next to me, patting my back.
“I appreciate everyone’s help,” I say. “It’s good for this town to be exposed to other traditions.”
She nods. “I agree. But is that why you did this? For the town?”
I shift my weight. “Like I told Dad, no one should feel alone on a holiday.”
“So, there’s nothing special about this particular someone?” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice.
Oh, there’s something special about her. And after tonight, it feels like I’m finally ready to admit that to myself. “Maybe,” I say.
Mom laughs softly. “Maybe,” she repeats, nodding. “Okay.”
Eventually, everyone disperses and goes their separate ways. I help my mom clean up the leftover latkes, then load the tables in Isaac’s truck before heading back to find Shira. She’s standing about ten yards from the big menorah, her arms folded, staring up at it.
“This must’ve taken you hours to build,” she says quietly, as I come up next to her.
“It wasn’t just me,” I say. “My dad helped with the design. Isaac helped gather all the materials. My brother-in-law Chad’s an electrician, so he did the wiring.”
“But you’re the one who came up with the idea, right? You’re the one who planned everything? You’re the one who actually built it?”
I hesitate for a bit, then nod.
“Why?”
“I…came by your place on Sunday evening. Watched you lighting your candles in the window. Not in a creepy way,” I add quickly. “I wanted to check on you. You said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she whispers.
I take her hand, tugging her so she’s facing me. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t someone you felt comfortable sharing this with. I’m sorry that I didn’t pay enough attention. I feel awful—”
“It’s not your fault,” she says, and my shoulders relax. “I didn’t know what to expect, coming here. I didn’t know how people would react. It felt easier to…”
“Keep this part of yourself private?” I say, and she nods. “But—why were you crying?”
She exhales, her gaze falling from mine. “I guess I didn’t realize it would be so hard, being away from family and friends for Hanukkah. Being surrounded by so much Christmas and not having anyone or anything Jewish around.”
“I can imagine. It’s a lot.” She’s spending every day in a damn Christmas market, for God’s sake.
A small, rueful smile tugs at her mouth.
“I don’t have anything against Christmas.
I actually love a lot of the traditions—growing up, I was so jealous of kids who believed in Santa Claus.
When I was in third grade, I rode my bike to the mall and used my allowance to sit on his lap and get a picture. ”
I grin, imagining a tiny version of Shira climbing on Santa’s lap, beaming at the camera.
“But as I got older,” she goes on, “I learned to love my own traditions—the candles, the food, the way it feels to be part of something that goes back generations. It’s beautiful. It’s ours.” She swallows. “This year, though, with no one to share it with…I didn’t expect to feel so alone.”
Her voice catches, and I pull her into a hug. She melts against me, her arms wrapping around my waist and her face pressing into my chest.
“I hate that you’ve felt lonely,” I murmur, my hand sliding up and down her back.
She tilts her chin up, her eyes shining as they meet mine. “I don’t feel so lonely now.”
“Good.” I dip my head, and she rises on her toes like she’s been waiting for this all night.
When our lips meet, a sigh of relief rushes out of me.
I hadn’t realized until this moment how nervous I’ve been about this—if I could pull it off, if it would all come together in time, and most of all, how she’d react.
Now all I want to do is wrap my arms tighter around her, kiss her soft and slow, let her know I see her, that she matters.
“There’s something else I want to show you tonight,” I say when we part, my voice a little rough.
She presses her hips closer, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Finally.”
I bark out a laugh as heat sparks up my spine. “Not that, you perv. It’s a place I want to show you.”
She gives an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I’ll have to keep waiting and wondering.”
I shake my head, grinning. “You’re trouble.”
“The town troublemaker himself is calling me trouble?”
“Well, I like trouble.” Before I can stop myself, I lean in to steal another quick kiss.
But she reaches up and cups my face, holding me there, and the kiss tilts—deeper, slower, her hands sliding into my hair.
My brain fogs. I forget the truck, the menorah, the plans, everything but the taste of her.
My mouth drifts to the corner of her jaw, down her neck, chasing the soft sound she makes.
Slow down, I remind myself. But that’s feeling like a tall order right at this moment.
“I thought you wanted to go somewhere,” she murmurs.
“Never mind,” I say, between kisses. “It’s…not that important a place.”
Pulling away, she smirks up at me. “No, no, you’ve piqued my interest. Can’t back out now.”
I blow out a breath, running a hand through my hair. “You kiss me like that and expect me to operate a motor vehicle in a responsible manner?”
“Who said anything about being responsible?” she shoots back. “Come on. Take me, Jonny.”
Her voice is low and teasing, so damn sexy, and in a heartbeat, I’m ready to slide back into my old rhythm, give her exactly what she’s asking for.
Leaning down, I put my mouth right next to her ear. “You want me to take you? Tell me where, when, and how.”
“My bedroom. Ten minutes from now. Fast and hard.”
“Fuck,” I mutter as heat sparks through me. “Have you always been this naughty, Ms. Student Council President? Or is it my bad influence?”
“It’s definitely you.”
Groaning, I blink hard and force myself to refocus. “Knock it off, Trouble. I’ve been planning this for days, and it’s not something we can do just any night.”
“What isn’t?”
“This…thing I want to do with you.”
She laughs. “You’re really good at making everything sound dirty.”
“I think that’s just your dirty mind.” I deliberately take a giant step back and try to adjust myself discreetly. She definitely notices, and a tiny smile creeps over her as she bites her lower lip.
“All right, no need to look so smug,” I warn, teasing. Then, in a lower voice, I say, “In all seriousness, though, do you want to come with me? Because I’d really love to share it with you.”
I find myself holding my breath, hoping she hears what I’m actually asking. Something I’m not sure I even understand myself.
Her smile fades away as she looks up at me, her eyes big and brown and luminous. “I think I might go anywhere with you, Jonny McKay.”
My stomach does a slow somersault. “Well, then. Let’s go.”
I drive up to the slight rise on the southwest corner of my parents’ property, a spot that overlooks the alfalfa fields rolling out toward the tree line and the lights of Azalea beyond.
It’s a clear night, the kind where the stars feel so close we could almost reach up and scoop them out of the sky with our hands.
“Don’t move,” I tell her as I park, and she lifts her hands in mock-surrender.
Getting out of the truck, I circle around and open her door. I reach over her, unbuckling her seat belt while she watches, confused. Then I scoop her up in my arms.
“Jonny!” she squeals, kicking her legs.
“Yes, darlin’?”
“I can walk!”
“Sure you can, but you don’t need to.” With her in my arms, I shut the door with my hip, then carry her around to the bed of the truck. I set her on the edge and keep hold of her with one arm while I pull back the tarp with the other.