The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2) - Rosie Danan Page 0,53
focus more attention on damage control, on keeping the peace, but on the other hand, he knew that through words, he’d never convince those with concerns that this new direction benefited the congregation. They needed to see the impact of the new initiatives for themselves. Tonight was a perfect example. Still, something sank in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that sooner or later, he’d have to choose between making everyone feel welcome and making certain people comfortable.
Chapter Sixteen
NAOMI HAD BEEN secretly attending services at Endmore Boulevard for a few weeks.
It was all very innocent, if incognito, at first. She’d run through her podcasts on Judaism quickly and wanted to learn more. Turning up for services or classes at Beth Elohim wasn’t an option.
Not when it was all she could do to keep from grabbing Ethan and kissing him every time they got within ten feet of each other, not to mention that she didn’t want him thinking her interest in religion had anything to do with interest in him, even if he had been the catalyst for her reeducation.
Endmore Boulevard was nice, friendly, and fancy, but not in an exclusionary way. She’d first visited because Cassidy was a member and had recommended it, but then she’d kept coming back.
Following her heart-to-heart with Ethan after this week’s seminar, when she’d decided to pursue matchmaking for him in earnest even though it felt like sliding bamboo under her fingernails, it just made sense to scope out the female membership over here.
A quick glance at the upcoming events roster conveyed that her best chance of finding Ethan an eligible bachelorette from among the synagogue’s congregants was either Shabbat meal prep or Israeli dance. Since dancing didn’t lend itself to interrogation, she found herself in the synagogue kitchen after work on Friday, her hands covered in flour, trying to braid challah without looking completely incompetent.
She told herself it wasn’t a betrayal. Not even a lie. It wasn’t as if she told Ethan everywhere she went when they weren’t together.
The air was hot and thick with the smell of roasting meats. Congregants, mostly women young and old, took their places at different stations, chopping, mixing, carving, cleaning—almost a dance in and of itself—all while maintaining a steady stream of gossip. Many removed their wedding rings to cook, placing them in a colorful ceramic plate by the door, making Naomi’s scouting mission a little more challenging. She was going for incognito, though she might be the only one here who hadn’t brought her own apron.
Despite Naomi’s longstanding unease with her Jewish identity, she never felt more Jewish than when she was eating. She might not know all the prayers or remember every custom associated with some of the minor holidays, but she knew exactly how brisket melted across her tongue. Knew the way a good latke should be dark brown and crispy on the outside and soft, almost creamy, on the inside. She even loved gefilte fish. Unfortunately, eating and cooking were two very different activities.
“Your plaits are too loose,” said a voice from behind her.
“I know. I think I’m ruining it.” Naomi raised her dough-covered hands like a convict. “Is it supposed to be this sticky?”
She turned to find a familiar face. “Oh. Hey. You’re Ethan’s sister. I mean, Rabbi Cohen’s sister.” She corrected herself hastily when a pair of women a few feet over shot her an inquiring look.
No doubt the local, eligible rabbi was a frequent topic of conversation at these types of gatherings. Naomi needed to watch what she said or risk adding fire to the flames of speculation about his extracurricular activities by sounding overly familiar.
“Leah,” the petite woman supplied. “And yeah, you probably shouldn’t try to bake that. You’ve worked the dough to death.”
Naomi frowned at her handiwork. “I don’t really cook . . . or I guess technically this is baking, right? I thought challah would be easy, but I might be hopeless.”
Leah gathered a handful of her ingredients and moved into the counter space on Naomi’s left. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. Craft services have ruined me. The only reason I’m here is because my mother likes the apple cake.” Leah leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “She sent me to steal the recipe.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman.” It was easy enough to detect the inherent tension between Ethan’s devout practice and the rest of his family’s apparent religious ambivalence. Did that make him more or less likely to accept a romantic partner with