The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,4

If her name made headlines, she’d dictate what they said.

He stopped dead in his tracks so that the two of them were now creating a blatant traffic jam in the stifling hallway. “Of course not. I would never—”

“Or a charity case.” Naomi had no interest in “rehabilitating her image.” No desire to let her life become the before in some motivational recruitment video. The last thing she needed was saving.

“Naomi . . . erm . . . Ms. Grant . . . You’d be doing me the favor. If anyone’s a charity case, I am. Me and my crumbling synagogue. Seriously, our attendance numbers are so low we can barely fill the first ten rows.”

“Trust me, I’m not the answer to your prayers.” He obviously didn’t understand who she was or what she did. “Look me up, you’ll see what I mean.” Naomi didn’t regret any of her actions, but she also wasn’t naive about their consequences.

“With all due respect, I know who you are,” he said, and to his credit, he didn’t smirk. “My sister was an early adopter of your company’s subscription platform.” He did lower his eyes at that, but only for a moment. “She’s a big advocate of the work you’re doing to build an inclusive online community. She went so far as to send me your profile in Forbes.”

And there, finally, was a blush. A poppy shade, high and bright on his cheeks.

“I believe they called you ‘Alfred Kinsey in stilettos.’”

Naomi wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure they meant well.”

“I think you’re very impressive,” he said, his voice deliciously deep.

“You’re not a Shameless subscriber, are you?”

Reform Judaism might be relatively chill, but it wasn’t that chill. At least, not the last time she’d checked.

“No. I mean, not yet. If that’s important to you, I’ll certainly look further into it.”

Naomi’s heart stuttered, and she had to remind herself again that he was persona non grata. It had been a long time since she’d received a proposition that wasn’t carnal.

“Ms. Grant.” He opened the door for her as they got to the end of the hallway. “I’m offering you a classroom because I believe in your capabilities as an educator. I’m trying to rebuild a community of my own. To appeal to younger people. To show them that Judaism and their lifestyles are complementary rather than at odds. If I can’t make Judaism relevant, if its practice can’t accommodate what intimacy looks like today, what’s left of my congregation is going to get rid of me well before I show them what I’m capable of.”

Naomi was shocked that the hallway full of conference attendees hadn’t stopped to clap at that little speech. She had to get out of there before she did something reckless.

“I’m not the person you’re looking for. It was nice meeting you.” Sort of. “Good luck saving your synagogue.”

“Wait. Just one more moment. I promise to stop bothering you after this.” He had no idea how much he was bothering her. “But is there any chance you could recommend someone else from your company who might consider the opportunity?”

Naomi slowed her stride. “Are you married?”

The question landed like a piano between them. “Uh . . . no.”

“Engaged or otherwise romantically attached?”

“I’m not.” He shook his head for good measure.

“Then I’ve got nothing to offer you.”

“Kol hat’chalot kashot,” Ethan said under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he said, offering her a smile. “It’s an old Hebrew adage. It means ‘All beginnings are difficult.’ I have to confess. I’ve lost the thread of this conversation. Are you still rejecting my job offer?”

“I haven’t stepped foot in a synagogue since my bat mitzvah,” Naomi said, which wasn’t exactly an answer, but he’d leaned toward her and she’d caught a whiff of spicy aftershave, and now she didn’t remember where she was supposed to be walking.

“Oh.” Ethan’s breath caught on the word. His pupils went wide. “You’re Jewish.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She’d imagined this entire interaction going a lot differently a few minutes ago.

“Right. Okay. Sorry. I’m not trying to hassle you. If you change your mind, I’m at Beth Elohim in Pasadena almost every day of the week.” He passed her a card.

Naomi opened the door to a new classroom but didn’t enter. Instead she moved to stop his progress with an extended arm. “You’re sure you’re a rabbi?”

He gave her a last smile, probably relieved he knew how to answer this question.

“Very sure.”

“Just my luck,” Naomi muttered under her breath, crumpling the business card in her fist as she