Chapter 19
Shira
The market is usually closed on Sundays, but since Christmas is just around the corner, it’s opening today at noon. For most of the town of Azalea, that translates to “after church,” but for Jonny and me, it means after a brunch date.
We’re at Minnie’s, a local diner that’s surprisingly packed. Jonny’s sitting across from me in the booth, his back straight and shoulders squared. It’s not the body language of a man who is apologetic for taking up space in this town, who is constantly aware of the way people see and judge him.
“Earth to Shira,” Jonny says, nudging his foot against mine. “Where’d you drift off to?”
“I’m here,” I say. “Just thinking.”
“About…”
“So nosy,” I tease. “If you must know, I was thinking about you.”
“Exactly which part of me are you thinking about?” he says with a sly grin.
“My favorite part.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “My smile? I bet it’s my radiant smile.”
Laughing, I roll my eyes. “Close. It does have something to do with your mouth.”
“Which part of my mouth, exactly?” He leans in, voice dropping low. “Lips? Tongue? Teeth?”
I put a hand to my chest, gasping like I’m scandalized. “Excuse me, sir! I meant having a conversation with you.”
He lets out a dark laugh. “Right.”
“And everything else that mouth can do,” I add in a whisper, grinning.
He grins back, eyebrows dancing as he cuts into his giant stack of blueberry pancakes. “So, are you sad that Hanukkah is going to be over after tonight?”
“Not at all,” I say without hesitation.
Jonny looks surprised. “If I could get seven days and eight nights of Christmas…” He pauses to think. “I’d probably be exhausted.”
I laugh. “The first few days are always exciting, but the novelty usually wears off by night six. And then it starts to feel repetitive, which it is.” I hesitate, not sure how to explain the deeper significance and weight of the holiday, how the “fun” and excitement are just a tiny part of it.
“But…”
I smile, grateful for Jonny’s genuine curiosity and desire to learn; it’s been such a wonderful gift. All the orgasms aside, I’ve really appreciated how open he’s been to letting me share something that means so much to me.
And this isn’t stuff I talk about. But with him, I feel okay to share, even if it reveals a side of me that’s a little dark and morbid.
“But when I start to get that ‘ugh, again,’ feeling, I try to remind myself of everything my ancestors went through, what they lived and died for, and I realize it’s an honor and a privilege to be able to celebrate our holidays openly, and I shouldn’t take that freedom for granted.”
I think back to when I first arrived in Azalea, and how my instinct was to hide that part of myself. If I’d kept it hidden, a secret, I would have missed out on so much connection with this incredible community.
“But the last night, that goes back to being exciting and fun, right?” he says.
“It does,” I admit. “It’s kind of like the climax. And with every candle lit, the menorah is at its brightest, like the light and the miracle are at completion. Plus, when I was a kid, that was the night I’d usually get the biggest gift.”
“Ahhh,” Jonny says. “So, I should get you a big gift for tonight?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head for emphasis. “You already gave me the only gift I wanted—at the market, in bed, in the shower…and it was a big gift.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Jonny says, mock-serious as he reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. “I wonder if all your bookstore fans know what a dirty mind you have?”
“Who, me?” I tease, playfully batting my eyes as I calculate how many hours I have to wait to jump his bones again.
We take our time finishing our breakfast, neither of us in a rush to go our separate ways.
“Tell me about Christmas Eve at the McKay house,” I ask, hoping, but not assuming, that I’ll be invited to experience it myself.
Jonny leans back in the booth, a fond smile on his face, the evidence of many happy memories. “There’s always a big feast—usually tamales. And then, there’s a tractor parade down Main Street.”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. Everyone decorates their tractors with tinsel and lights, and then we drive ‘em down the center of town. Lots of people ride their horses, too. It’s super country.” He grins, then nudges my foot with his boot. “How about you? Tell me how Shira Schwartz celebrates Christmas Eve.”
“Well, the last few years, my friends and I have gone to the Matzo Ball.”
“Like the soup?”
“No, like a ball. A dance. We get all dressed up, there’s a DJ, and usually an open bar.”
“All the ranch waters you can drink,” Jonny teases.
“I’m usually more of a vodka soda girl,” I tell him, and it strikes me just how much I’ve changed since coming down here. For the first time, I’m worried if I’ll still fit in back home with my friends, the one place I’ve always felt like I belonged.
“I’m sorry you’re missing it,” Jonny says.
“It’s okay—I’ll be home in time for the best part.”
“Right. Your Chinese food and a movie tradition.” He’s focused on his pancakes again, his expression unreadable as he takes another bite.
With the exception of the other night, Jonny hasn’t flat-out asked me to stay—and things said in the middle of mind-blowing sex don’t count.
Besides, he could have just been asking me to stay there with him that night.
In that moment, on the edge of an orgasm that had been weeks in the making, I wasn’t about to stop and ask him to clarify.
And as amazing as this month away has been, I know this isn’t real life—for either one of us. This was always meant to be temporary. I have a job to get back to, and most importantly, my friends. As much as we’ve tried to stay connected while I’ve been here, it isn’t the same.
Our group chat has been pretty quiet lately, and I can’t help the nagging voice in my head, reminding me that this is exactly how it started with Anya.
It wasn’t anyone’s intention or fault, just a slow, quiet drifting apart.
I don’t want that to happen with me—another reason I need to get back home where I belong.
I look up from my plate to Jonny, who’s watching me.
“We should probably get going,” he says, clearing his throat. “We don’t want another angry mob at the store.”
He raises his hand, signaling for the check.
I reach for my purse. “Let me get this one.”
“Absolutely not,” Jonny says, putting his wallet on the table. “Millionaire, remember.”
I playfully roll my eyes. “Fine, then thank you.” He pulls a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and sets it on the table.
“You know, I still wanted to bang you back when I thought you were the broke handyman.”
Jonny laughs. “Thank you?”
“I’m just saying, your money is the least interesting thing about you. And I want you to know that’s not why I’m here with you.”
“Why are you here with me?” His expression turns serious, and I get the feeling we’re not playing around anymore. But even though I’ve been flirting with the idea of trying to find a way to make this work after my time here is up, I’m not ready for such a serious conversation.
Rather, I’m not ready for how this specific serious conversation might go. As far as I know, the last few weeks have just been a game for Jonny. Something to keep him entertained while he’s stuck in town. And if that’s the case, I don’t want to know.
“Well,” I say, “I’m here because you make me laugh. You make me think. And you make me come like no other.”
Jonny laughs, a single note that’s void of any humor. My face falls, and I hate myself a little for turning this into a joke. Especially when the first two things are so true and mean so much.
We walk out of the diner, quiet and lost in our own thoughts, when I hear someone call my name.
I turn to see Miguel, who has become one of my best customers, purchasing bilingual books as fast as I can get them in stock.
“Hi, Miguel,” I say, hugging him. “So good to see you—are you going to breakfast?” I nod toward the diner.
“No, mija, our restaurant is next door.” He nods over toward the taqueria where I ordered my Thanksgiving dinner. The night I first met Jonny.
“Morning, Miguel,” Jonny calls. “I’ve got to get our girl to the bookstore. Give Rosa my love.”
Miguel tips an imaginary hat toward Jonny and gives me a wave before heading into the taqueria.
Once we’re in the truck and Jonny is backing out of the parking lot, I say, “All these weeks, I had no idea Miguel was connected to the taqueria.”
“He’s been in the bookshop?” Jonny asks.
“Oh yeah,” I tell him. “A few times, getting books in English and Spanish for his grandkids.”
Jonny steals a glance at me, his eyebrow arched in curiosity. “Rosa and Miguel don’t have any kids. No grandkids, either.”
“Huh,” I say, thinking back to our exchanges. “He bought all these books for early readers, and—oh.”
The truth hits me like a slap in the face, and I curse myself for making assumptions. Through all our conversations, I never once thought the books might be for Miguel himself.
“I didn’t even consider—he speaks English so well.”
Jonny nods. “Learning how to speak a language is a whole different thing than learning to read it. My Granddad McKay didn’t read past about a third-grade level. Miguel was actually his right-hand man on the farm when I was growing up.”
“But…he runs the restaurant?”
“Now, he does,” Jonny says. “He and Rosa opened the taqueria about ten years back. But they’re still like part of our family.”
“That’s why you were there on Thanksgiving,” I say, “bringing them a plate.”
“Yup,” Jonny says. “It’s a family tradition. Every year, Mom invites them to join us, and every year they thank her, but say somebody’s got to stay open for people who don’t have anywhere to go. Like a pretty bookseller who stumbled into town.”
“Huh,” I say again. I’m still wrapping my head around the whole thing when Jonny pulls up in front of the market. He puts the car in park, then wraps his arm around my waist and slides me toward him on the bench seat.
“Hi,” he says.