“This works for you, doesn’t it?” she asked, waving a hand up and down between us. “The charm and the smile and the honesty. It’s your thing.”

  “Full disclosure, Sarai? I haven’t asked any woman out in a long-ass time, and I haven’t even been interested in anyone but you since we met.”

  She looked at me for a long time without replying. When she finally spoke, I wanted to punch the air in celebration.

  “Breakfast,” she said, tilting her chin up.

  “Breakfast it is,” I said, smiling happily. “What time should I pick you up?”

  “Ten,” she said as she unlocked her door. She opened it and stepped inside, then turned back to me.

  “You’re not invited in,” she said, her lips tipped up in a small grin.

  “I didn’t think I was,” I replied, my own lips curving upward.

  “Good night, Alex.”

  “Good night, Sarai.”

  She closed the door, and I couldn’t help myself. I spun in a circle, fist pumped a couple of times, and punched the air as if I were hitting a speed bag. A knocking sound interrupted me, and I froze, then slowly turned my head toward Sarai’s apartment. She was standing in the window next to the door, laughing hysterically.

  I ran a hand over my face and shrugged in embarrassment. Then, since I loved the look on her face, I punched the air a couple of times more, waved one arm like Arsenio Hall, and moonwalked out of her sight.

  As soon as I reached the parking lot again, I pulled out my phone.

  “I will kill you,” Ani answered.

  “I have a date tomorrow,” I said before she went into detail about exactly how she planned on killing me. “Breakfast.”

  “Friend zone,” she said flatly. “You called me at ten o’clock to tell me you’d been friend zoned.”

  “I’m not friend zoned,” I argued, climbing into my truck.

  “You’re totally friend zoned.”

  “She agreed to a date,” I said, pausing with my keys in the ignition.

  “She agreed to breakfast.”

  “So?”

  “Breakfast isn’t an actual date unless she slept over,” Ani said drily. Bram said something in the background that I couldn’t hear.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “He said even he knew that breakfast isn’t a date.”

  “It’s a date,” I ground out.

  “It really isn’t.”

  “Shit.” I turned the truck on and dropped my phone on the passenger seat as the Bluetooth clicked on. “Are you sure?”

  “Jesus, Alex,” Ani said with a snicker. “Breakfast is even worse than lunch. At least with lunch, it could turn into dinner. Breakfast is like, Let me get this out of the way before I get on with my plans for the day.”

  “She likes me,” I replied stubbornly.

  “She may like you, but she’s not interested.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “We’ll see,” Ani joked.

  “I have to go,” I mumbled. “I’m driving.”

  “You’re echoing, so I know I’m on Bluetooth and you can still talk to me,” Ani called out as I hung up on her.

  “Dammit,” I said under my breath as I pulled out of the parking lot.

  Ani was wrong. I was almost sure of it. Sarai wouldn’t have made any plans with me at all if she was trying to blow me off. She’d had no problem turning me down before.

  I really hoped Sarai wasn’t putting me in the damn friend zone. I wanted to be more than friends. That sounded sappy and ridiculous, but it was true. I wanted to know her better than I knew my friends. I wanted to know what made her tick, what made her work so hard, what made her laugh and cry. I wanted to watch stupid chick flicks with her and then bitch to my brother about it. I wanted to see her naked. God, did I want to see her naked. I wanted to map every inch of her skin with my mouth, find every mole and dimple.

  With another curse, I scrolled through my contacts. Whenever I was in need of advice, I went to two people—Ani, who was a complete cynic, and my sister, Kate, a self-proclaimed romantic. I usually took their advice, smashed it together, and went with something in between.

  Kate answered her phone on the first ring. “Breakfast isn’t a date.”

  “How the hell did she get to you so fast?” I asked in annoyance.

  “She sent a text,” Kate said, laughing.

  “You both suck.”

  “I love you,” she said as I hung up on her, too.

  They were wrong. Sarai was beginning to warm to me. I could feel it.

  Chapter 4

  SARAI

  I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling Sunday morning, my stomach in knots. Agreeing to a breakfast date with Alex had seemed like such a good idea when he was standing there with that infectious smile on his face, but now I was worrying that maybe I’d started something that I didn’t exactly have the time for and wasn’t really ready for. It was eight o’clock already, and I still had so much homework and laundry to do that I was going to be up super late trying to finish it all. My days were always full; that was why I’d been avoiding relationships while I was still in school. After I was done—with my degree in hand and a sweet job waiting for me—would be the perfect time to start dating again.

  I’d spent the last ten years planning ahead and scheduling everything. If I said I was going to be somewhere, I went. If I didn’t have time for something, I didn’t overschedule and try to do it anyway. I knew from experience that things went sideways when I deviated from the plans I’d made, so I didn’t do it, and when I did, my anxiety went through the roof.

  But there was no way I could have planned for Alex.

  I crawled out of bed and headed to the shower, my shoulders sore from how tense they’d been the night before. The party that Hailey had been so excited about had ended in disaster. I couldn’t believe how Sean had behaved as if it had been Hailey’s fault that all his friends had bailed. What a jerk.

  I really hoped that he had a hell of a hangover when he woke up this morning, though it wouldn’t be enough to pay him back for the way he’d treated Hailey. I’d hated leaving her there with him, but I hadn’t been able to change her mind about coming home with me.

  Men like Sean, who treated their girlfriends like crap from the very beginning, only got worse with time. They pushed and pushed, knowing that the deeper they got into the relationship, the worse they could act without repercussions. I’d seen it happen to friends in high school, and unfortunately, I’d see it again. It made me sick to watch.

  I’d been lucky enough to grow up in two households where the men treated their wives like queens. My uncle worshipped the ground my aunt walked on, and was openly affectionate. My father, on the other hand, had been more reserved and quiet, but his adoration for my mother had been apparent in every look and gesture.

  I knew that type of relationship was possible, so it always drove me crazy when a friend stayed with someone who didn’t treat them like they mattered.

  I ignored the impulse to call Hailey and make sure she was okay as I got ready for breakfast with Alex. If she needed me, she’d call me. There was only so much you could do for someone when they didn’t want your help, and alienating the best friend I had because I didn’t like her boyfriend seemed counterproductive.

  I took my time getting dressed and braiding my hair, but I didn’t bother with much makeup. As soon as I was ready, I sat down at my laptop and worked steadily until there was a knock on my door. Alex was right on time.

  I opened the door and said “Hey” as I slid on my coat.

  “Hey yourself,” he replied, reaching out to fix the hood that had caught on the inside of my jacket. “Ready for breakfast?”

  “I’m starving,” I said, grabbing my purse. “Do you care if I pick the place?”

  “Not at all.” He reached out, palm up, and my belly fluttered as I placed my hand in his. He must have just showered, because his hair was still damp, and as we walked toward his truck, I realized he smelled really good, too. He was wearing a nice pair of jeans and a button-down shirt under his coat, and I had to admit that I was flattered that he’d spruced up a little for our date, considering that we were just getting breakfast.

  “There’s a place that I used to go with my parents years ago that’s really good,” I told him once we were inside the warm cab of his truck. “The owners are in their eighties now, and the wife still cooks, and the husband still greets everyone at the door.”

  “That’s awesome,” Alex said, grinning.

  “It is,” I agreed. “Their kids are still around, and pretty much all of them work there, but the parents are the heart of the place.”

  “That’s how it is with my dad and uncle,” he said, nodding. “I mean, they’re not in their eighties yet, obviously.”

  “Your family owns a restaurant?” I asked in surprise. I was a little nervous now. The food where we were going was good, but it wasn’t fancy. If his family was in the food business, he might not be very impressed.

  “No,” he said with a little laugh. “Sorry, I should have clarified. My dad and uncle own a logging business. They’ve handed it off to my brother and cousin, but they’re still a huge part of what makes the company what it is. I’m pretty sure that they’ll still be puttering around the office when they’re in their eighties.”

  “Logging, huh?” I asked. “Take a right at the stop sign. It’s in the little strip mall with the dollar store.”

  “Okay. I know that place.” He rolled to a stop and turned to look at me. “And yeah, logging’s a pretty big business back home.”

  “Where are you from?” I asked. I hadn’t even thought about where his family was, even though I should have. I knew he was in the Army, so it made sense that he wasn’t from around here; I just hadn’t really connected the dots.

  “I’m from Oregon,” he said. “The land of Christmas trees and weed.”

  I let out a surprised laugh. “Well, those are interesting things to be known for.”

  “I know, right?” He smiled. “I think we’re the Christmas tree capital of the world or something like that. It’s only recently that people started owning up to the weed part.”

  “It’s legal there now, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex said, turning into the parking lot. “It’s legal. Most people still don’t do it, though. Some employers forbid it, so you might not get arrested, but you could still lose your job.”

  “That makes sense, I guess.”

  “I don’t know,” Alex said, shaking his head a little. “Employers don’t seem to have a problem with alcohol. Seems a bit hypocritical to me.”

  He put the truck in park and got out, and I laughed as he practically ran around to my side so he could open my door.

  “But don’t you think drugs are a little more serious than a glass of wine?” I asked, curious about his stance. I’d never really had a conversation about the ethical arguments of marijuana usage, and I couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by the way he spoke about it. Marijuana was still very taboo in the circles I was a part of.

  “Not really,” he said with a shrug. He closed my door and set his hand on the small of my back as we walked toward the restaurant. “I know a lot of people back home who don’t smoke to get wasted. A couple hits at the end of the day to relax is pretty similar to having a glass of wine. Plus, there are a lot of pain-relieving properties that people choose to ignore because of the stigma attached to marijuana.”

  “You seem passionate about it,” I murmured as he opened the restaurant door for me.

  “Eh, I wouldn’t say passionate, exactly,” he said quietly. “Just probably more educated on the subject than most people around here.” He shrugged. “My dad has a bad back—hell, bad hips and shoulders, too. Weed’s the only thing that gives him some relief. Hard not to support that.”

  I nodded in understanding as we stepped into the restaurant. The tone in his voice as he spoke about his dad left me feeling all warm and fuzzy. It was rare to hear men talk about their family with that type of love in their voice, especially on the first date.

  “Sarai Levy!” Mr. Krakowski called as soon as he spotted me. He always said my full name like that, even though I’d been in to see him and his wife hundreds of times since I’d moved back. I suddenly realized that I probably shouldn’t have brought Alex to this particular place if I wanted to keep our meal simple.

  “Hi, Mr. K,” I said as he kissed me on the cheek and hugged me hard. “How’ve you been?”

  “These old bones are still holding me up,” he joked, a huge smile on his face. “I can’t complain.” He looked at Alex beside me and stood up a little straighter. “Hello, young man.”

  Oh, crap. Choosing this place had been a terrible idea.

  “Hello, sir,” Alex said, reaching out a hand for Mr. Krakowski to shake. “I’m Alex.”

  “Malachi Krakowski,” Mr. K replied. “Welcome to my restaurant.”

  I smiled lamely as Mr. K looked Alex over. Usually, he would have seated me at a table by the window by now, especially on a Sunday morning when they were busy.

  “Is Mrs. K cooking today?” I asked just to break the silence.

  “No, no,” Mr. K said, finally turning to look at me again. “She’s got the girls in there today, trying to teach them. I think it’s a lost cause.”

  I laughed like I was supposed to and put my arm through his, leading him to the table I wanted to sit at. “Will this work for us?”

  “Well, sure,” he said, giving my hand a little squeeze. “Enjoy.”

  As soon as he’d walked away and we’d sat down, Alex started to snicker.

  “He loves you,” he said, unwrapping his napkin from his silverware and placing it on his lap.

  “How could you tell?” I asked drily. I took my coat off and hung it on the back of my chair. “Sorry about that. I’ve never brought a guy in here before.”

  “I’m your first?” he asked, grinning.

  I just rolled my eyes. “Mr. K and his wife have always been friends of my family. They kind of took my parents under their wing when they got here from New York and didn’t know anyone.”

  “That’s cool. Like surrogate grandparents.”

  “Sort of. I think they understood how isolating moving to a new place could be. They emigrated from Poland in the forties.” I smiled as our waitress, one of Mr. K’s actual granddaughters, poured us both some coffee. As soon as she moved away, I continued. “I lost touch with them when I moved, but as soon as I got back here, I stopped in. They pretty much treated me like they’d just seen me the week before.”

  “They must have missed you.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I missed them, too.” I’d missed Mr. and Mrs. K so much that I’d come into the restaurant within the first week of being back in Missouri. I was ashamed that I’d never tried to keep in contact with them when I’d moved to New York, but dealing with the loss of my parents had taken precedence over everything, even the old couple I thought of as family.

  “Do you come here a lot?” he asked as he grabbed a menu.

  “At least once a week,” I confessed, grinning sheepishly. “I don’t always eat, though. Sometimes I just stop for coffee on my way home from work.”

  I didn’t tell him that the Krakowskis were one of the biggest reasons that I hadn’t gone back to New York during those first two miserable years back in Missouri. Without them, I would have felt completely alone. We’d had a lot of friends when I’d lived here with my parents, but we’d known most of them from our synagogue, a place I avoided now.

  “You want your usual?” Mrs. Krakowski asked as she moved slowly toward us. “Papa says you brought a man friend!”

  “Hi, Mrs. K. This is Alex,” I said, standing up to give her a hug. According to the photo hanging in the entryway, Mrs. K had once been a tall, curvy woman with hair that reached her waist, but now she was petite and a little hunched over, with a short haircut that she back-combed religiously.

  “Hello, Alex,” she said, looking him over. “This one is handsome,” she said to me out of the side of her mouth.

  “And he knows it,” I said back the same way.

  Alex laughed and said hello.

  “Pancakes, yes?” Mrs. K asked as soon as I’d sat back down.

  “Yes, please.”

  She turned to Alex and waited.

  “Um.” He glanced down at his menu, his eyes wide.

  “I’ll get you pancakes, also,” Mrs. K said quickly with a nod. “Kosher?”

  “Excuse me?” Alex asked.

  “Kosher, yes?” She was looking at him like he had two heads.

  “Yes,” I replied for him.

  “Good.” She walked away slowly, smiling hello to the other patrons at their tables.

  “Was she asking me if I eat kosher?” Alex asked in confusion.

  “Yes.” I met his eyes.

  “Okay.” He looked in the direction Mrs. K had gone and then back at me. “Because you eat kosher?”

  “I try to, yes.”

  “You’re Jewish,” he said, smiling. “I’m so glad I didn’t pick the place to eat.”

  “I can find food anywhere,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m not exactly practicing. I haven’t been to temple in years.”

  “It sounds like there’s a story there,” Alex replied softly.

  “Not one I’m going to tell on our first date,” I said ruefully.

  “Fair enough,” Alex said easily. “The Krakowskis are Jewish, too?”

  “Yes.” I paused. “Though they aren’t practicing, either.”

  I’d never asked why Mr. and Mrs. Krakowski chose to leave the faith. I’d always been curious about it, but it wasn’t any of my business. When I’d come back to Missouri determined to never step foot in a synagogue again, I’d just been thankful for friends who wouldn’t say a word about my aversion. After my parents died, my uncle and aunt had to force me to attend services. I didn’t see the point of praying to someone who didn’t do a damn thing to stop a fourteen-year-old from losing her parents.

  “Is all of the restaurant food kosher?” Alex asked.