Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Kara’s shoe map pointed Tzipi right to a spacious lounge and restroom where she could get her bearings. She had almost let him feed her. Feed her. Right off the fork like it was a first date, and not a deception.
The bodyguard was charming. She wasn’t prepared for charming. Tolerating a silent, looming presence always six paces behind? Yes. But not remotely ready for banter about kugels and parents and twenty-minute rules. More first date stuff.
The way his warm hand had spanned her back? And that wall of his chest, shielding her from the onslaught of camera clicks and prying questions? Way closer than six paces.
And also apologizing, right off the bat, for winking earlier. Chutzpah was one thing. Knowing when to cop to it was another. Cheeky. Sexy. Manly.
Max.
She popped the metal clasp of her evening bag. It really was doll-size, able to hold no more than the magical plumping lip gloss, a pack of tissues, and her – well, technically, Kara’s – phone.
On loan for the weekend.
While it would freak most people out to part with their phone for even an hour, the sisters had decided to fully commit to their roles and swap. Kara had wanted a real break, no temptation to post wedding photos in a Bridezilla moment.
Tzipi just wanted to get through Lorne’s birthday tomorrow, without having to deal with all the “thinking of you” messages that came with it.
Having fooled the FaceIDs and set the same breakthrough contacts, they had silenced the devices before they went their separate ways. A mutual digital detox.
With shaking hands, she re-applied the bold lip color. It figured the first guy she was remotely attracted to since losing Lorne was under her sister’s employ – while she was pretending to be her sister.
You’re not a romcom heroine, she chastised herself. Flirting with Max was the exact opposite of Kara’s intentions, sending her on this cruise.
Speak of the devil, as the phone chimed to life. A first class photo, two arms intertwined and clinking matching 35K Altitude cocktails.
We have arrived.
Tzipi breathed a sigh of relief. Kara and Shel were one step closer to their elopement, which meant she was one step closer to getting back to her life.
She wound her way back the way she came, although the sights were shifting. The boat was turning away from the glittery skyline and headed out into the bay. But there was Max, still at the little table and guarding her plate like it was his job.
It is, dummy. It is his job. Payroll. Cha-ching.
He’d procured a drink, ginger ale by the fizzy look of it. And was staring at that last kugel ravioli like it was going to walk away. Until he glanced up, a look of stunned delight brightening his handsome face.
Like he was surprised – and pleased – all over again, to see her. Like on the deck, pre-cheeky wink.
Not even trying to play it cool.
His eyebrows raised above stylish hornrims – had he been wearing glasses this whole time? – and he blurted, “You’re back!”
“And you’re still here,” she teased him. Nodding to the perfectly intact kugel ravioli.
“With some serious willpower.”
“I’ve had my two, that one’s yours. Otherwise, I’d owe you again. We’d be stuck in this vicious circle of you being awesome, and me having to wait a year to…”
She speared the crispy golden ravioli, rotating the fork tantalizingly. “…to come to my rescue?”
Max’s eyes were no longer trailing the ravioli, but were trained on her mouth. “Something like that.”
His chuckle was warm and deep. And the latkes she had just demolished felt like they were re-assembling themselves so they could flip over in her belly.
“Well, you know what they say about vicious circles…”
“They’re only vicious until you break the first cog in the wheel.”
Wow. So Max was a Vanta Blackmore fan. Able to finish her sentence and quote one of her sister’s more famous taglines without blinking an eye.
No wonder he was acting so chummy. Every guy wanted to have a kick-ass, lethal weapon-toting side-piece like Vanta to pal around with.
Roll in the sheets with. Save the universe with.
Enamored with the illusion.
And Tzipi herself was just a watered-down imitation tonight.
Oh, you jerk. Quoting a movie line to the actual actor who said it? So uncool. It was up there with Chris Farley’s famous “that was awesome” bit – same level of awkwardness, with none of the hilarity.
Luckily, Kara’s attention was pulled elsewhere. That, or she chose to politely ignore his fanboy outburst.
“Where is everyone hurrying off to?”
“I’m guessing either someone fell overboard…or it’s time for the menorah lighting.” Jonah stabbed at the rocks in his glass with his stirrer. “Given that our people are big on tradition, I’m gonna venture it’s the latter.”
Especially as the ladder was being rolled out.
Shit, he had been so wrapped up in Kara, he had completely lost all sense of time. That meant Jay and his mic were not far behind. And expected his OG Baller crew to be front and center for the official kickoff of the night.
“Oh! Oh yeah, that tracks.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Kara craned her neck, a look of uncertainty on her face.
It occurred to him she’d probably never ventured into “gen pop,” as Avi liked to call it, to get a close enough look. Even the VIP deck got too crowded with B-listers for someone of Kara’s stature.
Sylvie sprang to mind. His photographer friend was always finding spots on the boat with unobstructed views.
A place to watch, but not be watched by those below.
Two years ago, she’d found one such perch to take an amazing stealth photo from high above of the rest of them, gathered around the menorah.
“I actually know a spot, this way. Follow me.”
Miraculously, Kara did. Down the walkway on the starboard side, up a short flight of stairs, until they hit a crowd that was churning sideways like a school of fish toward the sound of an amplified voice.
Then he tucked her in front of him, steering with the push of his broad shoulder so they could get to stairwell that led to the captain’s bridge.
She was tantalizingly close. Her hair tickled against his chin as they maneuvered, its botanical scent daring him to bury his nose in it.
“Off limits,” she proclaimed, and for a moment he thought she was scolding him.
Until he realized she was pointing toward the sign that hung on a heavy chain across a door, barring access to the command deck.
“Not for us.”
Well, me. Luckily, Jay’s hierarchy of wristbands ensured his closest friends could move freely anywhere on the ship, simply by flashing their black fabric RFID bands.
Gone were the days of sticky paper bracelets and rubber stamps to the back of the hand.
Technology for crowd control, just like the Baller each year, had grown more sophisticated.
VIPs like Kara had an iridescent blue one, embedded with the same microchip, but re-programmed slightly.
It wouldn’t work on the door Jonah was able to open using the scanner above the door handle.
He unclipped the chain and ushered her through, then set it back on its hook behind him before letting the door swing closed.
The small deck was perched just outside the captain’s bridge, where officers were monitoring glowing screens.
Its light was just enough to guide them to the railing’s edge, overlooking the ceremony that was about to begin.
His throat thickened with overwhelm, as it always did at this point in the festivities, but tonight it carried the tiniest twinge of guilt for ducking out on the annual ritual with his closest friends. They’d understand…maybe.
His phone gave a ping, deep in his pocket. Then another.
It’s nowhere near sundown where I am …but thinking you might be doing the bracha in a bit.
Leave it to Sylvie. His friend had almost comedic timing. Under normal circumstances, he might even entertain the notion of livestreaming the ceremony, or bringing her up on FaceTime so she could be with them in digital spirit.
Sneaking up to the captain’s deck with Kara Koff was absolutely not normal circumstances.
Miss you…but this does not suck.
The second text was followed by an image of a beach, illuminating his screen in the dark.
Its colors almost too saturated to be believed, but he knew Sylvie avoided filters.
White surf, blue water, and glittery, exotic black sand.
He was glad she had found somewhere beautiful to be, if she couldn’t be with them just yet.
Jonah quickly hearted the photo so she’d know he had seen it, then silenced and pocketed his phone.
He felt Kara’s breath hitch beside him before he heard it, and knew he had chosen the perfect spot.
But everything else was wrong.
For one thing, Jay wasn’t the one climbing the ladder.
It was some dude Jonah had never seen before, wearing a gold kippah and looking back down at the crowd.
No, back down at Libby – the only one of their crew Jonah could spot from his vantage point.
She looked impeccable, as always, in a knockout short red dress.
The expression on her face was a swirl of emotion, but Jonah knew her subtle tells. Something had thrown her for a loop.
“Shabbat shalom!” The guy boomed into the mic, and the crowd – Kara included – greeted him back. Jonah mumbled absently, a beat behind.
Where the hell was Jay…or Avi, Nora, and Talia for that matter? Were they wondering the same about him? He scanned the outskirts of the crowd below for Asher, for Beck. Leah and Rebecca should’ve been close by, too. Nada.
So much for tradition.
And here he thought a Baller without Sylvie would feel strange. This was downright fucking weird.
He tried to concentrate on what was being said, on the important accolades of The Trevor Project as this year’s charity of choice.
And on the sheer luck of having the entire top deck to themselves, with Kara’s perfumed shoulder brushing up against him as she leaned to take everything in.
The skyline glittered in her irises, she was that close.
He checked his phone. No group text, no nothing. Just as his thumb was hovering over the keys, the prayer began…and he didn’t want to be that asshole, texting through it.
“Baruch atah Adonai…”
At least one tradition hadn’t changed. As a crowd, they chanted. Except for Kara. For Jonah, her audience of one, Kara sang. And the lilting melody blew him right back to his childhood.
Back to the Room to Bloom holiday special, each year.
She sang the entire prayer, just like Rosie used to.
Well, duh. Watch the end credits much, Captain Obvious? That role was her life for like, years.
Yeah, but a lot has changed since then.
At the moment, it didn’t feel like it. Watching her gaze as the lamps illuminated one by one until five were twinkling across the harbor, Jonah saw the delight of the girl who used to light up his living room in primetime.
She clasped her hands to her chest, letting those long lashes close against her rosy cheeks.
Rosie Fucking Bloom.
With not a trace of Vanta Blackmore.
“Worth the price of admission,” she breathed. His low chuckle agreed. “Thanks for finding this spot.”
“Stick with me, kid.” His attempt at Roaring Twenties-era gangster was pretty pathetic, but his Jersey accent helped. “We’ll go places.”
She grinned. “How about a place with more of those kugel ravioli?”
“Oh, first stop, for sure.”
“But first…” She held out her hand, palm up. “Phone, please.” She wiggled her fingers impatiently. “Can’t exactly stick with you if we get separated and I can’t find you in this floating city.”
He pulled it from his inner jacket pocket, unlocked it and handed it over. She immediately started typing, thumbs flying across the screen.
“There.” She handed it back. “Now you can text me if you find more secret spots. Or if the ravioli supply runs low. Life and death situations only.”
Jonah looked at his screen. A new contact: Kara, with the little purple menorah emoji next to it. As if he had any other Kara or famous actresses in his phone that needed that reminder.
“You coming, or am I going to have to get my fry on, all by myself?”
He sent her a text so she’d have his number, too. The frying pan emoji.
“That’s our mission,” he said, deadpan. “Should we choose to accept it.”