The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,114

Intimacy email list. I figured we ought to give them the opportunity to experience the lecture series for themselves, since they were so up in arms over it.”

“But . . .” Ethan sputtered. “How did you know anyone would come? After everything, it was such a shot in the dark.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why Judaism complements reason with faith, right? So that they might compensate for one another’s limitations.”

Naomi pushed his slightly gaping mouth closed with two fingers on his chin.

“Ethan,” Ira said, finally having broken free of the thirsty patrons. “That was quite the speech—almost a sermon, one might say.”

“Thank you, Ira.” Shock had stolen most of Ethan’s vocabulary.

“May I take that little declaration at the end to mean you’ve changed your mind about resigning? We haven’t had a chance to fill your position just yet.”

Ethan’s heartbeat kicked into overdrive, but he needed to make something clear. To Ira and Naomi both.

“The seminar series may be over for now, but I’m not going to stop trying to bring people to Beth Elohim in nontraditional ways, not least because we know it works.”

Ira nodded. “I understand. I wish I could tell you that the board has reversed their vote on the Modern Intimacy series, but I can’t.”

Ethan lowered his eyes. He hadn’t really expected to hear differently, but the news still hurt.

“The reason I can’t,” Ira said carefully, “is that Jonathan resigned from his position in protest when I proposed we reexamine the issue. We couldn’t vote without a full board.”

“Jonathan resigned?” After almost thirty years as a member of the shul and fifteen on the board?

“Yes,” Ira confirmed, looking grave.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ethan said honestly. For all they didn’t see eye to eye, Jonathan had contributed a lot to Beth Elohim over the years.

“We won’t be able to reinstate you until we appoint a new board member. But Ethan—”

“Yes?”

“We want you back. And not just the remaining board members. The congregation started a petition calling for your return. It’s got over two thousand signatures.” Ira smiled. “Before we hired you, we didn’t even have that many members.”

Ethan let out a surprised burst of laughter—of joy. “I’d be honored to return as your rabbi.”

“Good. Good.” Ira patted his arm. “I’m glad. You know, I kind of like the idea of us being the wacky, nontraditional Reform shul. It’s certainly better than being the shul no one goes to.”

“Yeah,” Ethan answered. “It certainly is.”

Ira bid them good-bye, promising to call with more news on the board appointment before shuffling off to get his own drink.

Ethan turned to Naomi. “Well, what about you? Still committed to sticking around, even if I go back to working eighty-hour weeks for a synagogue that tried to censure us?”

“Are you kidding? I told you, proving people wrong is my favorite pastime. Besides, I’ve got a lot of new ideas for recruitment.”

Ethan tilted his head. “What kind of ideas?”

He had a feeling he should sit down, but Naomi grabbed his hand and led him toward where Morey and Leah stood waving glasses of what he was sure was the bar’s most expensive champagne.

Naomi shot him a wink, and he went up in smoke.

“You’ll see.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

NINE MONTHS LATER . . .

NAOMI GRANT HATED weddings. She had long believed things worked out better for everyone involved if she simply sent a big fat check along with well-wishes in her stead. But this was Clara and Josh’s wedding, she reasoned as Ethan pulled up in front of their Sonoma Airbnb. These were her best friends, and over the years they’d supported her through a lot worse than exchanging vows.

The little house off the vineyard was surprisingly lovely—even when taking the hefty price tag into consideration—with a balcony off the bedroom. She rested her elbows atop the wrought-iron railing and let the wind blow her hair off her face. The setting sun bathed the groves in embers of orange.

After a while, she wandered back inside, leaving the door open, inviting in the heady scent of grapes a breath from ripeness. A bit more investigating around the space revealed a claw-foot tub big enough for two.

Downstairs in the living room, she found Ethan puttering around, working to build a fire in the stone fireplace—more for ambiance, she assumed, than warmth. She poured them both big glasses of Cabernet—a thoughtful gift from their hosts—and reclined on the sofa to work on her maid of honor speech.

Okay, so she was mostly admiring Ethan while thinking vaguely about writing her speech—but to be fair,