The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(47)
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 a lot to learn?
“My mother’s certainly lively.” Leah paused in chopping a bunch of cucumbers to gesture with her knife at Naomi. “Are you here recruiting for the seminar series?”
“No . . .” Wow. Definitely should have come up with an alibi beforehand. But this was Ethan’s sister. Maybe she could help. “I’m actually sort of casing the joint for single women to set up with your brother.”
Leah put down her knife. “You’re still playing matchmaker for Ethan?”
Only the sound of several oven timers going off at once saved them from the primed ears of their fellow cooks.
Still? Naomi slid closer to Leah, pretending to observe her knife skills. “You heard about my role as your brother’s personal matchmaker?”
Leah wiped her hands on her apron. “Yeah, he, um, might have mentioned asking for your help.”
“Oh,” Naomi said. “Well, yes, I’m still helping, but you can’t tell anyone.” The rumors around the rabbi dating were already overwhelming their programming, and poor Ethan had looked ready to faint over his pack of admirers loitering at the JCC.
Leah seemed to pick up on the need for discretion and casually resumed her prep. “Are you sure this is what Ethan wants?”
“Of course.” This was the last mission Naomi would ever undertake alone. “He asked me to. As a favor. I guess the seminar series or the singles mixers inspired him to get back into the dating game.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly where he found inspiration,” Leah said with a disconcerting glower.
Siblings were always tricky. That unique combination of protective and perceptive. Naomi forced herself to remain relaxed. The last thing she wanted to do was appear covetous.
“So, do you know any of these women?” She peeked over her shoulder. “I’m trying to get a sense for their personalities, but it’s difficult to distinguish anything over the noise in here.”
Naomi let her gaze continue traveling across the room. There were over twenty women crowded around the counter space, but probably only eight or so, Naomi and Leah included, that fell into the appropriate age range for Ethan.