Page 48 of The Perfect Secret
Hannah put her arm around his waist and walked with him. When they’d picked out a few smaller pumpkins and gourds, as well as a bushel of apples for Hannah’s grandma, they headed toward the car.
“Dad, you can’t eat Hannah’s apples,” Tess said as she spied him sneaking one out of the basket. “They’re for her grandma’s pie.”
“It’s only one. I’m hungry.”
Tess took the basket away and looked at Hannah. “Can I trust you?”
The question, asked as a joke, stunned Hannah and her chest tightened. Because it seemed like more than a question about eating apples, at least to her.
“Yes.”
Tess handed her the basket. Hannah turned away and wiped her eyes.
“She likes you,” Dan whispered.
“Bubbe?” Hannah led Tess and Dan inside her apartment. “We have apples!”
Her grandmother greeted them, hands clasped. “Oh wonderful!”
She tried to take the bag from Hannah, but Dan intervened. “Here, let me.” He looped the bag on his arm and gave Hannah her pumpkin.
Bubbebeamed. “Thank you so much. Here, you can put them on the counter. You all must be hungry and thirsty after spending time at the farm. Can I get anyone anything? Tess?”
Tess shot an uncertain look toward her father. Putting down the pumpkin and the bag of gourds, Hannah walked over to her. She put her arm around her shoulders. “My grandmother loves to feed people. Don’t be shy.” She brought her into the kitchen with her grandmother, who offered her a soda.
With a smile, Tess took it and leaned against the counter. “Hannah says you make amazing apple pie.”
Bubbenodded. “It’s one of my specialties. Do you like it?”
“I’ve never had homemade.”
Bubbearched a brow at Tess and turned to Hannah. “Well, we’ll have to fix that right away. Want to help me make it?”
With a shy nod, Tess joinedBubbe.
Seeing Tess happily occupied, Hannah sidled up to Dan. “The living room is free, if you’d like to sit.”
As he sank into the sofa, Hannah couldn’t help notice his flicker of pain. “I’ll be right back.” She returned a moment later with a heat pack in one hand and an ice pack in another. “Pick one.”
He clenched the hand into a fist that had massaged his knee.
“It’s fine, Hannah. I’m fine.”
“Really? I could swear we’ve done this before. Okay, take both then.”
With a quick glance toward the kitchen to make sure her grandmother wouldn’t see her sitting on the table—a pet peeve of hers—she perched on the coffee table across from Dan and held both options, like Lady Justice balancing the scales. She waited.
Finally, as she was about to give up, he reached for the heat pack. Their fingers touched and heat zinged up her arm. His pupils widened, then narrowed. Their arms remained frozen, the heat pack suspended over his knee, fingers touching, until she lowered her hand. When she touched his knee, he flinched, but she didn’t know if it was from pain or surprise. With utmost gentleness, she slid her hand out from beneath the pack, but rather than move her hand toward his knee again and maybe cause more pain, she brushed her hand up his thigh. His jeans were soft, the muscles beneath them hard. He inhaled and his free hand covered hers, holding it in place. Heat from his skin warmed her, like her own private furnace. After a moment, he let go.
Dropping the ice pack onto the table, she turned and joined him on the sofa. When she’d gotten herself settled, he reached for her hand. She squeezed and he rested against the sofa.
She sat there, quiet, and listened to the noises from the kitchen. Her grandmother’s voice was gentle as she instructed Tess on how to make the perfect piecrust. Hannah smiled.
“My memories of Jewish holidays are all tied to food. I remember arriving at my grandmother’s house early on Rosh Hashanah and rushing into the kitchen to ‘help’ cook. No matter how much food she’d already prepared, she always left something for me to make with her. And my brothers and I would crowd around the table as she passed aroundhamentaschenon Purim. Those were Jeff’s favorite cookies. Idon’t know if they still are.” She swallowed at the idea of not knowing her own brother anymore. Maybe tomorrow would change her understanding of him.
Dan’s body relaxed next to her. She leaned against his shoulder and she continued. “And whenever I spent a weekend at her house, I’d always arrive early enough on Friday to help her braid challah for Shabbat.”
“My grandfather used to make a big deal over our Passoverseder,” Dan said. “As the only grandchild, he asked me to read the Four Questions in Hebrew every year during our celebration and his chest would puff up with pride as I chanted them.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Sounds like they’re enjoying themselves in there.”