Dating Kosher (13 page)

“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the leather seat. Nice. I placed my purse on the floor and pulled the seatbelt across my chest. By the time I was snugly buckled in, Nate was sitting beside me behind the wheel. “So where are we going?”

He looked over at me. “I hope you like the water,” was all he said before he turned the key in the ignition.

“Well I didn’t bring a bathing suit, if that’s what you mean,” I said.

Nate smiled but changed the subject. “Do you like Italian?” He pulled the car away from the building.

“Men?” I teased.

He laughed. “No, food.”

“Ah then, yes,” I nodded.

“But not Italian men?”

“Not generally,” I looked out the window so he couldn’t see my face. I didn’t like where this was going. I didn’t want to offend him if he was Italian (he had one of those nondescript faces that couldn’t be traced to any specific ethnicity) because if I offended him, goodbye wedding date. But neither did I want to lead him on.

“Good thing I’m Irish,” he laughed. I turned and looked at him and he took his eyes off the road long enough to wink at me. Stopping myself, mid-grin, I looked back out the window. Dangerously clever, this Nate.

He changed the subject again, thankfully to a topic I could easily handle. “So tell me how you got to work at the spa.”

I told him the completely boring story of my employment, which although lame, somehow lasted as long as the drive. He was a good listener and asked lots of questions, seeming to be actually interested. That was a first.

When he finally pulled into the marina, my mind raced at the possibilities. I didn’t ask, knowing if he was going to tell me where we were going, he would have by now.

“Ready?” he asked, taking the keys out of the ignition.

I nodded. We simultaneously got out of the car and I followed his lead toward the yacht club—the same one my parents used to belong to. I hadn’t eaten there in a while but savored the treat. Dad used to bring us here sometimes on weekends to have brunch and look at the boats coming and going. That was before the divorce and his subsequent penchant for greasy spoons.

But instead of turning toward the door of the club, Nate led me around the back of the building toward the boats.

We approached the docks, a cool breeze coming off the water, blowing my (until now) perfect hair behind me, but I didn’t care; I’d always liked being near the water, though I was very thankful for my sweater, which I draped over my shoulders.

“Be careful of your heels, there are gaps in the dock,” Nate nodded toward the wooden slats of the dock as he gestured for me to precede him. Very considerate of him, I observed. Not that it mattered in the long run since this relationship wasn’t going anywhere, but nice just the same.

“Just up here, on the left,” he pointed from slightly behind me to a twenty-five-foot cruiser. Her name was
The Branwyn
, as indicated by the gold lettering on her stern.

“Is this yours?” I asked, taking his hand as I stepped into the boat.

He shook his head as he followed me onto the deck. “No, my uncle’s, but she’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

I nodded, standing in the middle of the deck, not sure what to do.

“Have a seat. I guess I should have asked if you get seasick, but I didn’t want to give away the surprise.” He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a packet of pills. “So I brought some Bonine, just in case.”

Wishing I had worn flip flops for a bit more traction on the rolling deck, I sat on the side bench. “I’ll be fine,” I assured him as I pushed an errant chunk of hair behind my ear.

“Great. Be right back.” He disappeared into the cabin, reappearing a moment later with a cooler. He put it down on the deck and opened it up. I craned my neck. Was it too much to ask that he have some premixed martinis?

He must have read my mind and gave me an apologetic look. “I hope you weren’t hoping for booze. I don’t drink on the water, but I did bring some soda and fruit punch.”

Forcing my face not to communicate my disappointment I shook my head. “That’s fine, I’ll have some punch.”

He opened the can and poured it into a big plastic glass before handing it to me. “Okay, you’re all set. I’ll get us moving.”

He moved to the captain’s chair and started up the boat. Well, you could hardly call her a boat. More like a mini yacht. I had been on one like it, albeit a bit larger, a few summers back when one of the partners at my dad’s firm had invited us touring for the day. Mom and Dad had already been discussing divorce at that time but had set their differences aside so we could enjoy the day.

The boat’s motor was a bit noisy, preventing a lot of conversation while we were moving, but it was okay, it was a beautiful evening and I was enjoying myself just being on the water.

When we finally came to a stop and Nate turned off the engine, the silence was at first deafening. But then the calming sounds of the water lapping at the side, in time with the gentle rocking of the boat filled my ears. Nate had anchored at a seemingly arbitrary spot off the shore where we could look back and see the city sprawled out on the horizon. It was a beautiful view on a perfect evening. The breeze whipped at my hair, and I struggled to push it behind my ears, to no avail: in seconds, it would be nudged loose again.

“How’s your drink?” Nate asked.

“Just fine, thanks,” I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it.

“Great, I’ll be right back.” He stepped toward the cabin, then stopped and turned back. “Um, there is a head—a bathroom—down here if you need it.”

Smiling, I nodded. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

A few moments later Nate emerged carrying a heavily-laden platter. He placed it down on the table beside me and I was astounded to see what looked like breaded veal with a side of fettuccine and garlic bread. Also, on the platter was a grater loaded with parmesan, and strangely, an unopened can of bean salad, and a can opener.

“Wow,” I said, very impressed. I was pretty sure he hadn’t cooked on the boat, but the food was steaming hot and looked great, so I had to give him top marks for presentation.

“Thanks,” he smiled, looking relieved.

I looked up at him. “What’s with the beans?”

He shrugged, “I was hoping you weren’t vegetarian, but just in case…”

I laughed out loud. “I’m glad I’m not!”

He got another fruit punch out of the cooler for me and poured himself a soda before sitting.

Raising his plastic cup, he looked into my eyes. I fought the urge to turn away and lifted my cup as well.

“To first dates. And the salty ocean air,” he touched his cup to mine and then closed his eyes as he filled his lungs.

I breathed in, but mostly I smelled fuel and the city. “Er, it doesn’t smell that great.”

He opened one eye and gave me a look. “You have to use your imagination.” He closed his eye again but continued talking. “I’m imagining us in the middle of the Mediterranean, bobbing on the sea just off the coast of Malta. Smell that air.”

I smelled. I’d never been to Malta nor did I even know where it is, but I’d been to Greece and had sunbathed there. It didn’t smell anything like this, but I humored him anyway, beginning to warm up to his quirkiness.

“Mmm, this sea air is lovely. It smells surprisingly of marinara sauce,” I said, eyeing the veal. It had been an extra busy day at the spa and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Nate opened his eyes and smiled at me. “Okay, I get it. Dig in.”

The dinner was delicious and after some prodding on my part, he finally admitted to buying it ready-made. He assured me he
could
cook, but under the circumstances it would have been difficult to prepare a full meal on the boat and he didn’t want to take the time away from our evening. I had to give him full marks for everything, though reluctantly—I really didn’t want to have such a good time with him, but he was making it very difficult.

By the time Nate cleared the dishes away, the sun was beginning to set, the sky aglow all orange and pink. I made the mistake of sighing just as he sat beside me.

“Nice isn’t it?” he looked at the sky.

“Mmm.”

“Shoshanna?”

I looked at him. “Yes?”

He looked down at his hands. “You seem like the kind of girl who always gets what she wants.”

I blinked, considering his words. Was he calling me spoiled? Where was he going with this?

Keeping silent, I allowed him to continue. “I know you agreed to go out with me tonight so I’d be your date at the wedding next weekend, but do you think you’d ever be into a guy like me?”

Ouch. I hadn’t expected this question. What could I possibly say?

“I don’t know, Nate. I mean we hardly know each other.” It was true. I hoped my answer would close the issue, at least for now.

I wasn’t getting off that easy. “Would you have gone out with me if I wasn’t going to the wedding with you?”

“You probably would have worn me down eventually,” I smiled sweetly to cover up the lie.

Apparently my evasive tactic worked. He grabbed my hand, squeezing it. Before I had a chance to protest, his hand had been retracted, so I didn’t say anything.

“We’d better head in.” He got up suddenly and settling himself into the captain’s chair. I pulled my sweater around me, bracing for the cool air that would intensify as soon as we were moving.

Amid the noise of the engine, I was relieved of having to make conversation. As I looked out over the water toward the disappearing horizon, I contemplated his question. He was the opposite of anything I’d ever looked for in a man, but the date was turning out much better than I could ever have expected.

I looked at him, undetected because I was out of his peripheral view, and took in his features. He was extraordinarily good looking, there was no denying that. And very sweet, I was coming to learn. But I just couldn’t get past everything else. And even if
I
could, my parents never would. I had seen my family fragmented enough of late; I wasn’t willing to add kindling to an already roaring bonfire of family dysfunction.

I turned back toward the water and sighed. It was a beautiful night and, determined to enjoy the rest of it, I pushed the difficult thoughts out of my head. Closing my eyes, I felt the sway of the boat as it motored over the water. Allowing the engine noise to fall to the background, I took a deep breath through my nose and somehow, even though I knew it was impossible, I smelled the faintest bit of the Mediterranean in the summer air.

* * *

It was obvious that Nate was angling for an invite in, or at the very least, a goodnight kiss. He had parked the car and walked me through the lobby, into the elevator and right up to my apartment. We stood in the hallway awkwardly under the unflattering fluorescent lights.

“Thanks very much, I really had a good night.” In spite of my previous reservations about going out with him, I was telling the truth.

“I’m glad,” he said, looking down at me. He hadn’t seemed so tall the few times he’d been at the spa. But it was nice. There was nothing worse than dancing with a short guy. And I was planning on doing a lot of dancing in a week’s time. Providing, of course, that Nate could dance.

“Well I’d let you in, but my place is a mess and I’m really tired.” My hand was on the doorknob, waiting.

He looked like he didn’t believe me, but didn’t say as much. “Okay. I had a good time too.”

To alleviate the pressure of what he should do next, I leaned forward and gave him a very dry kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again.” I said and turned toward the door. My message couldn’t have been clearer.

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” he said.      

I turned back to face him. “Thursday?”

“My massage.” He tilted his head, looking at me out of the corners of his eyes. “Unless you wanted to get together again before then.”

“I can wait,” I said, smiling to ease the sting of my words.

“Thursday it is.” He leaned in unexpectedly and kissed my cheek, although unlike my deliberately platonic kiss, his lingered just a moment longer than manners dictated. Before I could say anything, he pulled away, winked at me and turned, walking down the hall to the elevator. Not wanting to risk him turning and seeing me watching him, I scurried into my apartment and closed the door.

Sliding out of my shoes, I stepped over to the coffee table and grabbing the remote, turned on the TV. My phone buzzed in my purse, reminding me that it had gone off a few times on the date, but I’d been polite and had ignored it.

I pulled it out and hit the button for voicemail. The first message was my mother. If I was counting correctly, it was message number nineteen since I had ditched her on Tuesday night. I wasn’t taking her calls, nor returning her messages, having decided I wasn’t going to talk to her until after the wedding. I was planning on leaving her a message saying so, but I had to pick the best time when I knew I wouldn’t get her live. Until then, it was call-screen city for Shoshanna.

As I listened to Mom go on and on, practically begging, I wondered about the next message. It had to be Dad. I hadn’t spoken to him all week, but he usually called on Saturday nights to confirm Sunday brunch.

Wrong. It was Bev. “Hi Shosh, just calling to say hi, give me a call when you get a chance.” It was a painfully breezy message, deliberately vague just in case I was to listen to it with company beside me. But it was okay, I heard Bev’s hidden meaning: “Call me the second you can so you can fill me in on all the juicy details.”

Erasing her message, I wondered at my dad not calling. Was he still mad? Maybe I should have called him. I assumed we would still be going for brunch once he had cooled off after last week. Susan practically said he was over it, but why no call? I scrolled through the list to see if he had called and just didn’t leave a message, but nope, Bev’s was the last number.

Glancing at the clock, I cringed. It was almost midnight. Even though Nate and I had pulled into the dock by nine or so, we had gone for an espresso and a shared dessert. We had lingered in the café where I learned all about Nate Cooper the man, not just Nate Cooper, the air conditioning guy. Turns out he had a lot to talk about; his parents had been wildlife photographers and took him to shoots all over the world which meant he had some very cool and exotic stories to tell. I was even intrigued enough to want to see some of the pictures he promised me were in his townhouse. He never mentioned anything about skydiving, but I wasn’t about to bring up that I knew he had a tattoo. Bev could get in trouble for having told me; although we certainly weren’t doctors or lawyers, Rita took our clients’ confidentiality very seriously.