Chapter Sixteen
S amuel wondered who made the rules about ties. He absolutely hated them, everything about them, but for some reason, he wasn’t the sort of person who could pull off a suit or blazer or whatever without one. Which was fine.
Sort of. As long as he didn’t pull it so tight that he’d choke. But the suit was fantastic. Mottel the tailor was as good, if not better than promised.
“I like this location,” Liam said.
And it was ready for a party. The chaos they’d seen before while the two of them had been organizing in different capacities had fallen away to reveal the best of what an event space could be. The high ceilings, Grecian columns, and the gorgeous floors were decked out in the colors of the organization, even before they stepped inside the ballroom where the gala was being held.
Just outside the ballroom itself, their logo appeared in large banners, the largest he’d ever seen his work displayed.
“It is nice,” he said.
“You better get used to this kind of praise,” Liam said laughing. “You’re impressing everybody, including some execs. Pencil some space for me in the next few days, hm?”
He was already over the place but at the same time, he could barely decipher what Liam said. “What?”
“You’re catching everybody’s attention,” Liam said. “Everybody in the art and print world at least. Apparently you’re the ketubah writer for comic art people.”
“Which is news to me,” he managed, knowing that a conversation thanking his brother for separating him from knowledge of his ketubah and mezuzah clients specifically would absolutely need to be forthcoming. But Liam didn’t need to know that. “I think you could have knocked me over with a feather when Isaac told me.”
“And you impressed Evan Lefkowitz, and Bryce Emerson is collaborating with you. All you needed was confidence,” Liam said. “And maybe a direction.”
“And a good mentor,” he said to Liam.
“Who,” Liam replied, “now believes you’re ready for the next phase of your career, and you need to pencil some time for me in your schedule either the end of this week or anytime next, for me to guide you into it.”
There were very few words he could think of, things he wanted to say but didn’t have the words for, standing in his suit and tie. But thank you worked no matter what. “Thank you,” he managed.
Liam nodded. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now let’s go.”
And as they headed inside, he wasn’t sure whether it was anticipation or dread that filled him more.
*
The valet parking was the perfect option for Shayna’s purposes. “Last thing I want to worry about tonight, with,” her sister-in-law said as she pointed to the excited little girl who wanted to get out of her car seat, “is where I put my car.”
Which made a lot of sense. “And the parking ticket?”
“Goes right into the bag with everything else I don’t have to worry about until it’s necessary.”
Which also made a lot of sense. But more importantly, her sister-in-law looked fantastic, as did little Ramona, who’d probably incorporated more than a little bit of glitter into her nail polish, and her dress.
Yep, she thought as she grinned at her niece. Adorable.
This was going to be a good night.
But when she looked up, she could see the Tzedakah Exchange banners and the logos hanging from the top of the building.
“Unicorn!” Ramona said as she pointed up at the banners.
And yes. The banners had unicorn hoofprints, and the letters themselves, if you looked close enough, were microcalligraphy, except the foundations of the letters were…unicorn horns.
This was what Samuel had been working on at Carly’s with Bryce, what he’d come up with after going to practice.
Genius.
“You there?”
Leah nodded. “Yeah. Just admiring the art.” And thinking about the artist, but she wasn’t telling her sister-in-law that.
“Tell him,” Shayna said before she turned sharply toward Ramona who had started to make her way toward one of the larger banners. “You will hold my hand or we will go home. You will stay with me. Is that understood?”
Ramona, suitably chastened, nodded her head. “Yes, Ima. I’ll stay.”
“Good.” Shayna grinned. “Now that’s settled, where were we? Ah yes. You will tell that man how you feel. And enjoy this night; this isn’t just work, even though I know it is for you.”
Which was the best advice she could consider.
“You ready to go in, take this place by storm?”
She laughed. “I don’t know about storm, but I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”
“Good,” Shayna said as she took out her phone. “I need to get Ramona to an entrance in about ten minutes, so I have to head in. Are you going to be okay?”
Leah nodded. “I’ve got business too, so I’ll see who’s here? Check the lay of the land? Schmooze for the agency, keep the balls in the air and all of that good stuff?”
“Sounds good,” Shayna replied. “Keep in touch if there’s something happening that I need to know.”
“Will do,” she said. And as Shayna headed into the gala to try and bring Ramona to where her hockey team was gathering, Leah found her way into the room. She could mingle with the best of them; it was her job, of course. Part of it at least. She also had been to enough events in these overlapping circles of Jewish charities and organizations to know at least some of the players.
As she walked through the room she thought about the possibility of asking the Empires for a crisis PR rep on call, so that they could handle whatever issues came up with social media and any other sports angle when Carly made the move.
Which was something else she could think about as she searched for Samuel. Just as she arrived at the auction space, she saw a very familiar pair of cocoa brown eyes, a soft yet firm jawline, and dark hair that had the beginnings of gray.
The scariest part was that she didn’t have to remind herself she liked the way Samuel looked in the suit he’d been fitted for alongside her that night in Westchester. She just did . A sudden heat rose up from her toes and through her veins as if it was a reflex.
Samuel Levine was gorgeous.
And she was in even deeper trouble.
*
Liam had seen someone he needed to talk to, and so he’d gone off, leaving Samuel by himself.
Which was okay as this was how it was supposed to go; he wasn’t supposed to be the baby chick idling behind his mentor’s wing. He looked at the map of the room they’d printed before heading toward the area that had been reserved for the auction items.
A set of tables in rows of two were lined up across the back corner of the room. As he headed toward them, he could see the large Isaac Lieberman sculpture that he’d helped to move in.
He stopped, gazing in awe at the mask Bryce Emerson had made using the ideas and inspiration they’d all shared. And felt so proud, so excited. But as he turned to walk down the aisle containing some of the signed books and experience items, he looked up into a very familiar pair of blue eyes.
Leah.
His reaction was instantaneous and unstoppable, as if his entire body took notice of the way the dress she wore fitted her curves perfectly. He couldn’t help but stare.
Her hair was long and glossy, and her eyes sparkled.
“Hi,” she said.
It took him a second for him to register she’d spoken, as if once again he’d gotten lost in the lines of her body. “Hello,” he finally replied.
She bit her lip; Leah Nachman never bit her lip in front of him, not when they were young, and not any time since. She was never nervous in front of him and he wondered if this was the moment they were letting their guards down.
His first impulse was to blow out a breath, but he held it in and spoke his mind. “You’re gorgeous,” he said.
“Strategic tailoring,” she replied with a laugh.
He remembered how that tailoring had happened; how they’d shared a moment in that shop in Westchester. “No,” he said.
She glanced at him for a moment and that look hit him deep. Blue eyes bearing down, seeing right through him. “You find what you’re looking for?”
This was where it got confusing, this dance they were doing. “I’d say I did,” he replied, “but then you’d look for the wrappers or the string.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”
Not a bad thing, just confusion, thankfully. “Cheese,” he replied. “Maybe I’m layering on the cheese a little too thick.”
She shrugged, the lines of her shoulders fluid and soft. “Maybe, but not tonight.” She paused and he wondered where she was going, what she was thinking.
What she thought of him.
No.
Not that far, not yet at least.
“You came with your mentor?”
He nodded. “Yeah. He headed off, something about people in the crowd. You?”
“My sister-in-law,” she said with a laugh. “There’s nothing like coming to a late-night event during the summer with an excited four-year-old.”
“Sugar?”
“A lot of it,” she replied. And then she paused. “I saw the signs. The logo, the lettering is gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” he said, trying to keep himself together at the praise. “I had fun watching them practice, so I tried to put their energy into the logo. Do you want to see something?”
She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she thought he was deflecting. “Sure…”
He nodded, took the hand she reached out, hoping he wasn’t sweating through his palms, and walked her back down the display area to the mask Bryce had made.
He loved looking at it, loved seeing the microcalligraphy and the paint.
“This is beautiful,” she managed. “This is what he was working on?”
He nodded. “Yep. That’s what he was working on the day you did me the favor of driving me to the mechanic.”
She laughed quickly but composed herself. “I see the touches in the lettering,” she said, her fingers resting inches from the glass display case. “I can see the synergy with the logo. Deliberate?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Very much so.”
“So,” she asked, making him slightly nervous. “Did you find your place card?”
He shook his head. “No. I haven’t.” Which was probably the safest statement he could make, but he wasn’t sure.
She nodded. “Let’s go figure this out,” she said.
And what made him more excited, was that she didn’t let his hand go. Just continued to hold on to it as they left the auction space, fingers entwined.
Bashert.
*
Of course, it turned out that Leah was sitting at a table with Samuel; she wasn’t going to complain—they were supposed to be sitting together for many reasons, but primarily because they were ‘dating.’
Rumors traveled fast, and people knew too many people for her to believe otherwise. And the conversation that naturally sprung up about industries and strange collaborations they both remembered was fun. One in particular that tied hockey and comics together ignited memories that were inspirations in the good times, like the way she was letting this one be.
“Do you remember that collaboration?” he asked her, his fingers clearly tight against his fork, his knuckles the pale white of toothpaste.
So she nodded, brushing a finger against his, allowing herself to remember what they’d been when the collaboration took place—dating. Because it had happened back when they were in high school. “I do,” she said, remembering the package in the closet.
He smiled, and she’d never been immune to Samuel’s smile. “I was excited about it.”
She remembered.
“I remember how you told me how historic this collaboration was,” she said.
Luckily his comment wasn’t picked up by the rest of the group, because the last thing she wanted was to follow him down memory lane and rehash her private memories…in public.
But as the music changed, some of the group, headed toward the dance floor. She debated going to the bar for a drink; instead she stayed in her seat. So did Samuel.
Right next to her.
He wasn’t close enough for his pants to touch her dress, but she was thinking of it, moving just slightly to…
Something pulled her out of whatever trance was going on in her head, and when she met Samuel’s beautiful brown eyes, she saw a question there.
Yet she didn’t know this version of him well enough to figure out what he wanted. So she just sat there, looking at him.
“Do you want to go?”
Go.
What? Leave…
No. It was too early and he couldn’t be asking that, especially before the auction.
Which meant the realization of what he was actually asking her hit her hard. Dance. She was being asked to join the group who’d gone to the dance floor. “Do you dance?”
He laughed, and she tried not to laugh along with him. His laughs had always been contagious and clearly that hadn’t changed either.
“Not well,” he said, answering her question and letting his drop. “But well enough to dance to a string quartet.”
A string quartet that had just finished playing a song about lost love, and the hope that when a relationship ended, one partner would remember the other in their best moments. That wasn’t a song she wanted to dance to. She didn’t want to glorify hope of being remembered.
But the music changed again, the first notes of a song she loved, about strength. About how love couldn’t hurt the singer anymore because they’d encased themselves in a metal shield. She’d stopped being surprised about the ability of string quartets to turn the most powerful songs into softer ones, all the while keeping their essence.
“Let’s,” she said. “Let’s go.”
He offered his hand then. She took it without questioning, letting her fingers get as tangled up in his as she was getting in him, and let him take her to the floor.
There were people around but she didn’t look to see who she knew; where her sister or sister-in-law or niece or future brother-in-law were. She just followed him. And when they arrived at a spot on the floor, he bowed.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that; was it honesty or was it just following the protocols of the waltz they were about to mangle? She threw the concern out of her head as they slowly moved into the dance, sliding back and forth, his arms encasing her, his warmth filling her.
Leah held Samuel’s hands, those long fingers, as they twirled with everybody else in the crowd, his motions matching hers, even as she moved back and forth to a dance that required clasped hands to one that encouraged her hips to shake.
She didn’t care who watched her, didn’t care who saw what was happening. She just…was.
And they melded, merged, his hand was there to dip her when it was time, his fingers grasping hers as he took her into a twirl. Being lost with him in the center of the floor and the music…
When she realized it was over, there was only one thing she could do.
She drew her fingers along his cheekbones, feeling the immense power of his stare upon her. “Do you…wish?”
“I do…I mean you may…” He shook his head and leaned toward her, pressed his lips to hers and simply blew her mind. His lips, the way his mouth fell against hers, was overpowering in the best of ways. The way his hands followed the path of her shoulders as if he hadn’t forgotten her…
Then she remembered, as if cold water had burned the fire of memory. “We can’t do this,” she said.
“Tell me why,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“This is business…you have too many contacts,” she managed, “I have too many contacts, too many people…I just can’t.”
He nodded. “I’m not going to push,” he said, fully aware of the need to let a conversation thread drop. “But they all know we’re dating at this point.”
“Mauling you in public at a gala like this isn’t right though.”
“Right,” he said.
She led him off the floor, doing her best to keep up appearances; she wore the professional mask, even though she once again held his hand, her fingers tangled in his. She looked like she’d been kissed; that was fine, but practically removing his clothes on the dance floor like she was going to would not have been fine in any way shape or form, no matter how many people knew they were together.
And yet at the very same time, she found herself upset that she couldn’t kiss him more. Kissing him would be dangerous.
This time, she’d almost lost her mind.
Hopefully the change of scenery, the jolt in her brain, would be enough to keep her from forgetting why dating him for real was a horrible idea.