Chapter 9 #2
They’d host Shabbat dinners where the challah rose in perfect golden braids and his art hung proudly on the walls. Her mind sketched the image as vividly as one of his drawings: a life brimming with color, chaos, and connection. Her heart beat faster at the thought.
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
They’d worked together seamlessly tonight, totally in sync.
Her friends had instantly accepted him, and it felt right to share this celebration with him.
As a rabbi at Jay and Talia’s temple, would Micah be the one to marry them under the chuppah?
It was so easy to imagine him as part of her life.
The thought scared her—and thrilled her.
She shivered.
He moved closer. “You cold?” he asked softly, putting his arm around her.
“Not anymore.” She smiled up at him, snuggling closer.
All around them, her friends were kissing, hugging, and toasting the newly engaged couple.
She’d spent a good chunk of her career creating celebration cakes for people who made each other shine.
Was it her turn? She could see it so clearly, Micah standing as a beacon of hope for those who didn’t fit neatly into a conventional box while stoking the coals of her creativity with his artistic genius.
It could be perfect.
The first drone shot skyward, launching from the top of the crow’s nest.
A soft gasp rippled through the crowd. Dozens more drones lit the sky, each a pinpoint of light zipping into the darkness above the boat. Within seconds, the night sky was alive with blue, silver, and gold lights forming a perfect, glowing Star of David.
The crowd cheered.
The drones shifted, and a golden menorah took shape, flames appearing on the candles, one by one.
The deck erupted with applause. Her friends tightened their circle, making room as partiers streamed out on deck to catch the show.
“Incredible,” Micah murmured beside her.
“Truly.” She looked skyward just as the menorah burst apart in a flurry of animated dreidels.
It was an incredible display, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the man who had planned it.
Fucking Eli. Sending drones as if they could possibly make up for his absence.
Next year, he’d be on this boat if she had to drag him out of whatever boardroom, island bar, or bed he was currently occupying.
Micah took her hand, squeezing gently.
She pushed Eli out of her mind. She wasn’t going to focus on what was missing when she was surrounded by people she loved, with the man she couldn’t stop thinking about standing right beside her.
This was enough.
She didn’t need to worry about next year—or even tomorrow. Whether or not Micah chose to share his art publicly with the world was not her business. He was the architect of his life, just as she was the architect of hers.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his company.
One way or another, he was leaving the boat with her.
Tonight, they were going to burn—together.
Micah’s chest tightened as he watched Libby’s face glow under the light of the dreidels dancing in the midnight sky.
Around them, her friends whooped, and another champagne cork popped. They had welcomed him with open arms, and he’d never wanted so badly to belong. But his secret stood between them, making him feel like an imposter. He wasn’t the man they thought he was—not quite.
Libby leaned against the railing. “Did you catch the drag show?” she asked, as if reading his thoughts.
He nodded. “She was incredible.”
“Food for thought?”
“Absolutely.” Matzo Belle had stunned him with her revelation.
Accountant in a suit by day, drag queen in a dress by night?
He was considering booking her for his taxes, just so he could learn more about how she balanced her life, her selves, and public opinion.
She wasn’t expected to be a spiritual leader, but she might have valuable input for his own inner tug-of-war.
You can put me in a cubicle, but you cannot contain my multitudes.
He was containing his own multitudes just fine. Sort of. Most of the time. But her words had sunk deep, finding a place in him that was restless, tired of hiding. What would it be like to share his whole self with his family, community, and the world? Was it even possible?
His nerves cranked tight. It was too much to think about right now. “Your friends are full of surprises.” He changed the subject.
“No shit. It’s been a wild night. Nora told us she’s pregnant.” Her smile was tremulous, her gaze luminous. “There’s going to be another little Matzo Baller next year.”
“Mazel tov! So much to celebrate tonight.” But he wasn’t talking about her friends. “I’m so happy to see you again.”
He tucked an escaped curl behind her ear, brushing her soft cheek with his fingers. She caught his hand, gazing up at him while she slowly ran her thumb back and forth over the callus on his finger.
His body electrified.
He nearly pulled her into his arms, right there on deck, desperate to get closer to her. Instead, he tugged her away from the center of the crowd toward the less populated side of the boat into a screened alcove the servers were using to store dirty dishes.
The air was cold, biting his cheeks, but he barely felt it.
She melted into him, the space between them dissolving.
Their kiss started slow—sweet and reverent—but deepened quickly, hunger blooming between them.
She pressed closer, her hands sliding into his hair, her lips parting beneath his.
His world narrowed until there was only her, plastered against him.
When they finally came up for air, she was smiling, breathless. “I don’t want this night to end.”
“It doesn’t have to.” Her legs were on either side of his, and it was easy to wrap his arm around her waist and haul her forward until she was riding his thigh. “Your place or mine?”
“Rabbi, I’m shocked.” Her hips undulated against his thigh, her hipbone bumping against his erection in a slow, rhythmic tease that reminded him of how well they fit together.
“No, you’re not.” He bent to nuzzle her neck and get an intoxicating hit of her sweet perfume straight from the source. “Are you going to fall asleep on me this time?“
“Probably. I’ve been up since dawn pulling together cookie supplies, and I’ve been drinking since we launched. You’ll have to be pretty persuasive to keep me awake.”
“Count on it,” he promised.
“In that case—” Her hand stole between them, stroking him, stealing every thought from his mind except getting her alone, naked, and all to himself. “I’m in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“I’m on West End Avenue,” he managed to say.
“My place. It’s closer,” she decided. “We dock in less than an hour. Do you have to catch up with your work people? Or are you mine for the rest of the night?”
“We already said our goodbyes. I’m all yours.” He thrust against her hand.
“And I know just what to do with you.” Her gaze glowed, hot and inviting, making him forget about the crowd on the other side of the canvas screens. “First, we’re going to hit the matzo ball soup station—hard.” She rubbed the length of his cock through his pants, making him see stars.
He was so focused on not embarrassing himself, it took him a second to make sense of her words.
“Then I want meat,” she continued in a sexy whisper.
“Brisket, specifically. Possibly pastrami, too. After that, I want to suck…down another one of those popsicle drinks.” She had him by the balls now, literally and metaphorically.
“After that—dessert. Sound like a plan?“
“Am I dessert?” His voice was hoarse.
She giggled. “Oh Rabbi, don’t worry. I’m going to make a meal out of you.” She settled back on her heels, grinning up at him.
He chuckled, sweating, delighted by her playfulness. “You are too much.”
She stiffened.
Her smile vanished, and her gaze skittered away from his. She twisted out of his grip and edged around him. “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to put someone in charge of handing out cookie boxes and drawings.”
He caught her arm. “What just happened there?” He seriously doubted Rebecca expected her to be in charge of anything else after all she’d done tonight. Libby was clearly running away from him, and he needed to know why. “Did I say something wrong?”
Her mouth opened, then shut with a soft click.
She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together, like she was trying to hold something back. That wasn’t going to fly.
He threaded their fingers together. “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what I said to upset you. I know it was something.” He mentally replayed their conversation but came up empty. “Please tell me.”
He squeezed her fingers gently, waiting.
Finally, she sighed. “I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way, but most guys think I’m too much, so when you said that, it hit me wrong.”
That made no sense to him. “Too much what?”
She shrugged. “Too much everything, I guess. I work too much. Travel too much. I don’t spend enough time with them. I put my career first, and I don’t prioritize relationships.”
He frowned. What a load of bullshit. Her ex-boyfriends sounded like insecure losers threatened by her success.
She deserved better. “I don’t want to make any assumptions when I don’t know anything about the circumstances or the relationships, but I hate that anyone made you feel like you should spend less time doing what makes you happy.
You are not too much. You are perfect. You are exactly who you’re meant to be. ”
One side of her mouth curved. “Thank you.”
He shook his head, still offended on her behalf. “Don’t thank me for saying what should be a given.”
Her head tilted, and her gaze narrowed. “Is that right? I’m perfect as I am? Exactly who I’m meant to be?” Her voice held a challenge, like he’d somehow stepped in it again.
“Absolutely.” He was standing by his words.
She tapped the center of his chest with a none-too-gentle finger. “Then so are you, Rabbi. I don’t see you doing more of what makes you happy. I see you jamming a year’s worth of happiness into a two-week vacation and hiding the evidence from everyone you love.”
“Touché.” He felt that jab right in his heart.
“But for the record, I didn’t say I was perfect.
” Far from it. But he’d been happy enough until he’d met her.
Being a rabbi had filled every corner of his soul except one tiny nook, which he filled during days off and vacations.
Now, that nook was growing into a howling black hole in his center and threatening to destroy his life. “I’m still a work in progress.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Rabbi.”
He followed her back to the cookie station, falling more under her spell with every step. With her, he could be himself. His whole self. It was addictive. Hiding his paintings didn’t seem like a great solution anymore. But he didn’t see a way out of this mess yet—not tonight, at least.
Several women crowded around Rebecca at the cookie tables.
“Hey, Libby. Rabbi,” Rebecca greeted them.
“We were organizing the cookies for pick up and found these incredible dreidels.” She held up his box of dreidel cookies, each one a miniature, holy version of his profane art, intended for Libby’s eyes only.
Micah’s stomach dropped. Oh no.
“These are your demos, right, Lib?” Rebecca asked. “There’s no name.”
“I’d love to buy them, Chef Libby,” one of the women offered. “They’d make a great Hanukkah gift.”
“Sophia, not fair. I saw them first. If anyone is buying them, I am,” another woman proclaimed.
“Breathtaking,” a third woman piped up. “I want them, too.”
“Ladies, ladies, play nice,” Rebecca warned, a gleam in her eyes. “If it’s all right with Chef Libby, we’ll put them in the auction and give everyone a chance.”
The women were buzzing, snapping photos of the cookies and bickering about who saw them first.
“Is that all right, Chef? Can I put them in the silent auction?” Rebecca addressed Libby, but she was watching him as if she knew exactly who made those cookies.
Libby looked at him, her eyes wide as saucers.
If they could make a few more bucks for The Trevor Project, he was all for it. Clearly, Rebecca wasn’t going to out him as the decorator, or she would have done it already. No one would know they were his if they were listed as Libby’s work.
He shrugged, heart thudding.
“Sure, go ahead,” Libby said easily.
Rebecca typed into her phone. “There you go, ladies. Now everyone has a fair chance to buy limited-edition Hanukkah cookies made by celebrity pastry chef Libby Sugarman.”
Libby’s gaze met his with a faint grimace of apology, like he might be upset she was taking credit for his work. He smirked, far more concerned with how fast they could get off this boat and to her place.
The women already had their phones in their hands, app open, placing bids.
“Do you need help with anything? Cookies? Handing out drawings?” Libby asked Rebecca.
“All taken care of—thank you for everything tonight.” Rebecca glanced at her phone and grinned. “Your cookies already hit three figures.”
He caught Libby’s hand and winked. “I think we should celebrate by having dessert first.”
She waved at Rebecca and tugged him toward the matzo ball soup station. “Stick to the plan, Rabbi.”
Anticipation surged through him. Their plan tonight ended in her bed, which was amazing. But his plan for them went much further.
He just needed to find the courage to make it happen.