Chapter 7 #2
She raised her voice. “I brought enough cookies for everyone to decorate two. One for eating and one for a keepsake you can put right back into the box, if you want. I have examples over on my table to give you ideas, but feel free to improvise. You’re welcome to put your name on a box and leave it here until we dock, if you don’t want to carry it around all night.
Rabbi Micah will offer tech support while I frost a few more cookies for the next group.
Have fun, everyone!” She fled back to her table to cool off, where she sank into a chair, winded, and watched him work the crowd.
Holy Hanukkah, Batman. He was even better with the cookie crowd than Jay had been last year, and that was saying something.
Swiftly, she frosted cookies and set them carefully in boxes to dry, looking up every so often to watch Micah. He was generous with his attention, missing no one. Guests sat at the tables smiling, laughing, and munching cookies.
Mindlessly, she filled boxes with frosting bags, non-pareils, and colored sprinkles, and then stacked them neatly before beginning the process again.
In between tasks, she demolished the plate of snacks and the bottle of water Micah had given her.
When she was almost finished packing boxes, Jonah sidled up and reduced her inventory by one box, gave her a shifty excuse about there not being enough room at the tables, and vanished again.
Finally, her supplies were depleted, all the boxes were filled, and the fried food had soaked up the alcohol in her system.
They still had another thirty minutes to decorate. Most of the first group had finished and sought other entertainment, while a steady stream of guests grabbed kits and took spots at the table. Micah was everywhere, cleaning debris and keeping the supplies organized and the tables neat.
During a lull, he approached her table. “Can I have a few more cookies, please? They don’t need to be frosted.
I have an idea.” His gaze held an intensity she recognized from Palm Beach.
His muse was whispering to him. But this was not the time or the place for scandalous designs.
“If you’re imagining naked dreidels and sexy menor-ah-trois, you better dial that back, Rabbi. ”
He blinked hard, shuttering the hot caramel in his gaze. “I would never.” His full lips quirked. “Well, I would, but not here and not now, although the icing is giving me ideas.” He bent to whisper into her ear. “It’s non-toxic. Safe for skin. Delicious.”
She shivered. It’s giving me ideas now, too.
He straightened. “Is it okay with you if I decorate cookies for ten minutes? While you watch the crowd?” His gaze gleamed, bursting with sweetness.
“Sure,” she croaked, shoving several cookie kits into his hands. “I’m all done here and can handle the crowd. Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Can we talk as soon as we’re done? I would very much appreciate the chance to explain.”
She nodded, hoping he couldn’t see the flicker of excitement that shot through her at the thought of spending time with him again.
“Thank you,” he said, returning to the tables.
She watched him do one more sweep, bestowing praise and encouragement. Eventually, he sat at the center table near the seat the redhead had saved for him, although she was long gone.
Micah twisted the bag just like she’d shown him.
A zing shot through her. Those hands—ugh.
He touched the tip of the piping bag to a cookie, moving it back and forth swiftly but with control, wringing another shiver from her.
He wasn’t using the slow, controlled motions she’d demonstrated. He was piping as fast as a pro.
He tossed the bag to the table and picked up another, using a pair of scissors to do something to the tip. He set it aside. What was he doing now? Mixing colors in a sprinkle cup?
The crowd shifted, obscuring her line of sight.
She stood and approached his table, drawn by a desire so sharp it made her hold her breath. She peered through the crowd, but she couldn’t get close enough to see what he was doing.
You’re supposed to be working, she reminded herself.
She backed away from the table and was immediately drawn into a group of women who wanted piping advice and some extra sprinkles.
The next half-hour passed as slowly as honey rolling down the sides of an empty jug.
Libby forced herself to focus on the guests and not on what Micah was doing.
They weren’t in Palm Beach. He wasn’t Mike.
Nothing he’d say would change the fact that he’d lied to her.
But she really wanted to know how M. Waterman would decorate cookies.
Purely professional curiosity. It’s not like she wanted to sit down next to him and play for the next several hours, riffing on each other’s designs, sharing ideas, and pushing Hanukkah cut-outs to the next level.
She didn’t want to know how he smelled with the scent of vanilla frosting rising from his skin or share sweet, frosting-flavored kisses with him.
Girl, you are losing it. A week ago, you didn’t know this man existed, and you were just fine.
But was that really true? Had she been fine?
Not exactly.
She’d been a burned-out wreck flying away from the city like her tail was on fire, hoping a week at the beach would give her the strength to muscle through the rest of the holiday season.
And now?
Now she had over a hundred cake designs she couldn’t wait to show to clients. Her skin hurt, and she knew exactly what would make her feel better: tucking herself into Micah’s arms and putting her head on his broad chest.
That ache she couldn’t seem to escape tonight? It was desire. Longing. She didn’t want to sever their connection. She wanted to strengthen it.
When she thought about the next few months filled with holiday weddings, a January lull, and then Valentine’s Day celebrations, she mentally slotted him into the free hours in her calendar.
She couldn’t remember ever doing that with another man.
Usually, she felt irritation with demands placed on her time that interfered with work.
For the first time in a very long time, her desire to get to know someone was stronger than her need to protect her time.
And that was scary as hell, considering he’d lied about his name and then denied knowing her.
He’d said he felt bad about it, but words were cheap.
Micah’s actions painted a picture of a man she couldn’t trust. What possible reason could he have for lying?
“Hey.”
His strong voice made every inch of her skin come to life. An instant smile of greeting bloomed on her lips. She pressed them into a polite line before she turned to face him.
He was holding a box of cookies out to her like an offering.
Slowly, she lifted the lid.
Her breath caught. They were the most exquisite dreidel cookies she’d ever seen. “They’re gorgeous,” she said, taking in every detail.
Flowers twined around carefully piped dark-blue Hebrew letters.
He must have notched the tip of a bag to create a leaf shape, although she had no idea where he’d learned that trick.
He’d mixed the yellow and blue frosting she’d provided in the kits to make green, and he’d lightened the blue and yellow frosting to make several new shades.
Some of the flower petals were piped in frosting while others were embedded with non-pareils and sprinkles to create an intricate mosaic effect.
His decorating style was unique, gorgeous, and distinctive.
After seeing his dazzling dreidels, her fingers itched to pipe flowers on cookies, to twine them around a menorah, to festoon a Jewish star with colorful blooms. “Absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you.” Micah smiled, and his eyes crinkled. “Something for us to snack on while we talk.”
“Over my dead body.” She carefully shut the box. “These are too pretty to eat.”
He scoffed. “So are yours, but that’s not going to stop me. We’re done, right?” He pointed at her demo cookies. “I can eat these now?”
At her nod, he shoved an entire cookie into his mouth. “I’m starving,” he said around the crumbs. “Any snacks left?”
“Nope—I ate every crumb, but you’re in luck. There are at least four buffets, countless food stations, and a dozen servers with full trays of Jewish Grandma hors d’oeuvres on every level.” She tucked his gorgeous cookies under the table where no one else would see them.
She’d recognize his style anywhere. If Rebecca or any other member of the Manhattan art community saw those cookies and had ever seen a Waterman canvas, they’d also make the connection.
She felt a moment’s guilt for hiding them when Rebecca would lose her shit over those gorgeous designs.
Her gaze flitted back to Micah with a new understanding of how easy it was to lie when you were protecting something—or someone—that mattered.
She wondered if any of the guests snapped photos of him working on his cookies.
How often did you see a hot rabbi with his lower lip caught between his teeth and his curls flopping over his forehead, kippah askew, big, rough hands delicately holding a piping bag while he decorated gorgeous cut-out cookies?
She’d been tempted to take a picture, herself.
Had she seen anyone with a camera? She couldn’t recall.
Familiar chords blared, and several of the guests stood, quickly boxed their handiwork, scrawled their names on their boxes, and rushed toward the music. Libby hurried to stack the cookie boxes left behind for later pick-up and clean up the tables for the next activity.
“What’s going on?” Micah asked.
“Not what—who. It sounds like Avi has taken the main stage. He always does a few songs, but not usually this early in the evening.” Had something else gone wrong? She pulled her phone out of her pocket to make a note on Rebecca’s spreadsheet. Cookies are a wrap.