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The typing bubbles appeared again. This time words came after them. I am susceptible to bribery, he wrote. But I just had a better idea. Maybe we can help each other.

What do you mean?

Let’s talk in person.

I hated myself for thinking it, but, well: I was intrigued. I suggested meeting at the café to make things easy. He said that would be fine if that’s what worked best for me, but he’d really been wanting to check out this holiday pop-up bar a couple towns over. Maybe it could inspire your festival.

It was an interesting idea. And honestly, I wanted to get out of my café for a bit. So even though it meant an extra half hour of driving and the associated gas money, I agreed.

It couldn’t be that bad, right? What were the odds I could convince him to bring the dog?

5

As it turned out, the corgi wasn’t even his. Which means I’d basically agreed to this meeting under false pretenses. “I only agreed to come because of the possibility I might one day get to play with your fat corgi,” I said, then realized how that had sounded.

Fortunately, Seth either had a less dirty mind than me or was polite enough to snicker only on the inside. “Sorry. He’s my friend’s. So is the cute kid.”

That, at least, was a relief. I didn’t even know if I wanted kids, and I definitely wasn’t ready to be a stepmom.

Not that that had anything to do with anything right now. There was no chance of me being anyone’s stepmom. This was just a business meeting. A business meeting at a holiday pop-up bar.

By “holiday,” the bar of course meant Christmas. Christmas music was jingling over the speakers, and the warm wooden walls were strung with garlands of tinsel and twinkling multicolored lights; a tall Christmas tree glittered in one corner, and the bartender and servers were all decked out in Santa hats. The menu included such gems as the “Naughty but Nice” (lots of cinnamon and some chili pepper) and the neon Day-Glo green “Grinch” (melon liqueur and vodka). The one token Hanukkah cocktail was called the “Hebrew Hammer” and was not only a disconcerting shade of blue but consisted mostly of tequila. Hammer, indeed.

I went with a simple cranberry cordial, and Seth got an eggnog. “I’ve never really understood eggnog,” I said, grimacing at the thick white liquid in his crystal glass from where I sat beside him at the bar. “It’s just…like, milk and alcohol together. Gross.”

“You’re missing out.” He took a sip. “It’s like drinking cake.”

“Like I said, gross,” I said. “Though maybe it’s because I never really had it until I was older. It could be an acquired taste. Like gefilte fish.” I still remembered the time my cousin brought her non-Jewish boyfriend to the family Passover seder. He’d gamely eaten the matzah and the egg in salt water, but when she passed him the little paper plate of mushy gray fish cylinder topped with glistening globs of gelatinous slime, he’d quite literally gone green.

“Gefilte fish is delicious, though,” Seth said. “I like the stuff from the jar—classic—but have you had the fancy kind that comes in a loaf from a good deli? Fantastic.”

I shook my head. “I’m a jar girl all the way.” Though I hadn’t had it in so many years. They probably didn’t even carry it at the grocery stores up here.

It felt nice to talk to someone who didn’t just know what gefilte fish was, but didn’t gag at the thought of it, even if that someone was Seth. I took a sip of my cranberry cordial. Nice and sweet and tart enough to make me pucker up.

“I wouldn’t have pinned you for a jar girl,” Seth said with an easy smile. “I would’ve pinned you as a girl who goes to the river, catches her own carp, and bludgeons it to death in the bathtub.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Good.” I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Anyway, about why we’re here.” I’d already told him a bit about the Hanukkah festival in our messages, but now I elaborated, going into what Lorna had asked me, what I thought would make for a good Hanukkah festival, and my disastrous talks with the Christmas vendors. “So, I was really hoping that you might know…well, anything and anyone more than me. If you know anyone I should contact, especially if they can source kosher food or happen to own an enormous blow-up menorah, that would be amazing.”

He leaned into me, so close I could see a few crumbs of sugar from his drink rim clinging to his beard. They glittered like tiny snowflakes. I breathed in deep, trying not to think about it, but that only made me realize that he smelled like oranges and campfire. Which I really shouldn’t have been able to smell, considering the strong odor of mulling spices drifting my way from behind the bar. “Abby,” he said solemnly. “I can solve all of your problems.”

“You definitely cannot solve all of my problems. You don’t even know what all my problems are.” And I certainly wasn’t going to share them.

If I were him, I probably would have rolled my eyes. But he just grinned. “I mean all your problems related to the Hanukkah festival.” Dramatic pause.

Which I did not have patience for. “Spill it.”

“So I’m from New York,” Seth said. “And there’s a reason they call it Jew York City.”

“I’ve literally never heard anyone call it that,” I said. “Except maybe on 4chan. And those aren’t the people you want talking about the Jews.”

“You’re familiar with 4chan? I have so many questions. But anyway, I grew up in one of those Jewish families who knows everyone. Between my parents and my cousins and my Hebrew school friends and summer camp pals, I’m probably connected to every kosher food vendor or enormous blow-up menorah owner in the city, and that’s not even mentioning the theater players with a skit about the Hanukkah story and the Hanukkah craft ladies and the—”

“I got it,” I interrupted, solely because I was sick of hearing his voice and not at all because of the stab of jealousy that hit me upon hearing about his close-knit community and family. Or at least that’s what I told myself. “So you’ll help me? In exchange for all the free coffee and whipped cream you can drink?”