Chapter Fifteen
Early the next morning, Jason rolled over, kissed Naomi and said one of the most important words he could think of. “Bagels?”
“Yes please,” she said with a grin.
“I’ll take a run and grab some. Stay in bed. Stay warm and then do what you need to, and I’ll be back.”
Fueled by excitement and a desire to see Naomi eat bagels in his kitchen, Jason took a quick shower, threw on sweats, a T-shirt he’d picked up on his trip and his favorite running sneakers and headed out.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to go far; one of the benefits of his address was very easy access to his favorite bagel shop.
People looked down on the famous bagel place on the Lower East Side, complaining that it had leaned into the tourism culture. However, as someone who spent his life surrounded by the ebbing nature of Ashkenazi heritage food, the fact that this huge, historic bagel shop still existed blew his mind.
And that the flagship was still in the store’s original space? Blew it even more.
He opened the door to Baum’s heritage shop, and he was suddenly enveloped with the smell of bagels: the flavors, the dough, all of everything.
He’d also set off the very traditional bell attached to the door.
Which meant a quick run for bagels was turned into a few hours behind the counter, and a very quick text to Naomi, telling her he’d be much later than he’d planned.
I’ll wait for you and for bagels, her text read.
He laughed, but not too much when it turned out Lev’s girlfriend had been responsible for him being pulled up behind the counter as, no less, a celebrity bagel maker.
“Ixnay on the celebrity,” he’d told her with a laugh. The very last thing he wanted was more people trading on a reputation that he was trying to fix. Or at least manage.
Not to mention, the meeting with the New York family was growing ever closer.
But Lev’s girlfriend, Baum’s social media queen, grinned at him. “You’ve been in the papers. How could I not?”
He didn’t have the energy before coffee to debate with her; it had been one paper, and it wasn’t even one of the good ones. Whatever that meant these days.
Instead of a rant, or a dispute, he rolled his eyes, took a few orders and then grabbed his bagels as he was heading out of the store. Only to hear a very familiar voice.
Artur Rabinovitch looked way too slick and important for this hour. Granted it was a Tuesday and Jason’s schedule hadn’t been dictated by alarms for a while, the way Artur’s had.
“Jason,” Artur said. “Good to see you.”
“Hi,” he replied. “Good to see you too. Looking forward to tonight.”
“Yeah,” Artur said with a grin. Before the man’s expression changed. “I have to talk to you.”
He raised an eyebrow; the man was in crisis management, and he’d never seen anybody more able to slide into a conversation and drop bombshells without blinking. “Yes?”
“Walk with me.”
And once again, deciding that simply following the man was the better part of valor, he did.
They walked into a tiny coffee shop, an old-school one that verged on diner territory without stepping in it. It smelled like it had been serving coffee and pastries for at least a century, holding court in the same spot.
Black coffee in old ceramic cups were dropped in front of them; the strong smell of the coffee wafted upwards, mixed with the steam from either the cup or the coffee itself.
It was Jason’s idea of coffee paradise, though he’d never seen this place before.
“Where has this place been all of my life? I owe you.”
Artur grinned. “Don’t get too comfortable. Although I’m glad I pegged you as the right kind of old-school coffee guy.”
“If they have the right black and whites, I will lose my goddamn mind right here on the spot.”
“Haven’t had the pastries, so I can’t vouch for those.”
Jason smiled. “Well, we’ll see what happens.”
Shortly thereafter, as if he’d been summoned, an older gentleman dropped off a black and white, the likes of which he’d only seen in his dreams. “I…wow.”
“I take it that artifact of New York history meets with your approval?”
Jason nodded. “I think I’ve gone to the height of pastry.”
Artur laughed, which was something Jason hadn’t expected. “Good to hear.”
But Jason wasn’t going to just look at the pastry on his plate; he was going to have some before listening to whatever bombshell Artur dropped on top of his head.
Because only a bombshell from this man would bring them to a place like this, a bag of fresh bagels in tow, early in the day on a weekday. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been running interference.”
And that was interesting. Clearly Artur was performing some kind of verbal keep-away with someone on Jason’s behalf. But what and with whom?
“What kind of interference?”
“With Asher,” the other man replied, as if he’d not been bothered. “Poker night and a few other things. Samuel’s been helping but you know he’s got a very loose sense of privacy.”
Loose sense of privacy.
Right. Loose lips? Sinking ships. And privacy of course. Which was Artur’s way of saying Samuel had zero sense of privacy.
Jason tried not to visibly react to the mental gymnastics routine he’d put himself through to understand the comment.
Namely, the interference had been run to hide what he and Naomi were doing to keep the wedding afloat, creating new contracts where Ida’s awful business practices had destroyed everything.
“You here?”
“Yes. Sorry,” he said, trying to figure out an explanation for how long he’d taken before speaking. “Brain got a little dizzy. But thank you. I appreciate it.”
He shook his head. “Not a problem. Are things progressing?”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. We’ve got signed contracts for the sofer, the designer and the photographer.”
“I bet,” Artur continued, after the other man took a long drink of his coffee, “we can convince our dinner host to cater.”
Artur betting on his best friend was tantamount to saying he’d managed to convince the other man to agree to the job. But all he said was: “Really?”
Artur nodded. “Yep. He likes your girlfriend’s cousin, and he likes Liv. So.”
Jason wasn’t going to let Artur goad him into a conversation about the situation happening with Naomi. At least not yet. He owed the man, but not that much and not…for now.
But hadn’t he just discussed the possibility of looking forlorn and approaching Abe to cater the wedding? Hadn’t he just had this conversation with Naomi while waiting for chicken rice at Jimmys?
He had.
They’d also discussed what they’d add to sweeten the deal when making the offer.
So, what could be the harm of actively testing out the offer he’d suggested to Naomi? But not without doing a little research. “Anything you think we can sweeten the deal with?”
“Not having to associate with Ida is one of the things, but you’ve already got that.”
Which was the first thing he’d discussed with Naomi.
She’d be thrilled to have their theory confirmed—that Abe’s previous reluctance came from the fact that unlike the b’nai mitzvah, the wedding had suddenly been swooped up and put under Ida’s auspices.
But Artur didn’t have to know about the discussion. All he had to say was: “That we do.”
“But also,” said the other man, accompanied by a very significant look in his direction, “maybe some particular assistance might be needed.”
The meaning of that stare wasn’t lost on Jason.
And, considering this was the balloon of an offer he’d tested on Naomi, he’d have no problems actually following through…
despite his earlier misgivings on involving his fingers in the catering for his best friend’s wedding.
“I can get my hands involved,” he said, “if Abe needed some help. I’ve got a skill set I can share for sure. ”
“Good.”
And that was as good as done, the offer made as clear as it could be to someone who could keep secrets. “I haven’t heard anything about the bachelor party,” Artur continued, as if the conversation about the catering hadn’t happened, “but I think that’s Lev’s territory?”
Jason nodded. Having two very close friends gave Ash a pretty big amount of leeway when it came to the duties that would be given to the best man. “There’s other stuff he wanted, so I’ve got the rest of it in a planner. If I need a sounding board, do you want in?”
“Absolutely,” the other man replied. “Count me as your sounding board in chief.”
“Glad to hear that,” Jason replied. “I appreciate that as much as I will absolutely savor this piece of pastry art.”
Artur laughed. “Glad my choice of venue has excellent pastries. But of course, the other stuff?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “What other stuff?”
“The stuff we talked about a few months ago. When I saved you from Samuel? Someone. Lev, probably. When I told you about being on the same page?”
And there they were, having the conversation about the progress of his relationship with Naomi.
Artur never came at anything directly; he hadn’t known the man long, but there were always long and winding roads that brought him to the place where that fundamental question would be asked.
“I remember,” he replied. “And I’m happy to report we’re on the same page, though if you use the ‘g’ word in front of her, I will personally ensure that there will be a worldwide shortage of sour cream. ”
The other man blinked; the threat had been sufficient.
“Message received. Ixnay on the formal relationship terms.”
“Good,” Jason replied with a grin. “Anyway, the whole thing is that we’re trying to figure out where we are in our story.”
“Just be careful,” the other man replied. “Make sure you’re clear, otherwise you two are going to be diving right into that black moment.”
Jason nodded. “We’re focused; we’re trying to save the wedding. And I think that will help us get to the right words to define what’s happening with us, or at least acknowledge them when we’re both feeling ready to use them.”
“Hope so,” he said. “I hope for both of you.”