Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  The first thing he realized was that the powdered sugar was flavored – it wasn’t just sweet, it was sharp with a citrusy tang. The donut practically melted in his mouth, and the cream?

  Rich, custardy, sweet and delicious. There was a bite to it, and a little bit of roughness too, like the sugar had crystalized. When Adam’s teeth bit down on the granules, they exploded with more lemon flavor in his mouth.

  “Wow,” said Adam, forgetting to swallow. He covered his mouth to make sure none fell out. Ben just smirked at him.

  “So where in Canada are you from?”

  “Montreal,” said Adam through a mouthful of pastry.

  “Oh. That explains the accent!”

  Adam frowned. “I don’t have an accent.”

  Ben chuckled as he went to wipe down the coffee station. “Yes, you do.”

  “I don’t!” insisted Adam. “I’ve spoken English since I was two.”

  “You do!” sang Ben over his shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Mr.... oh, Lordy. Now I’m ashamed, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Adam Bernard.”

  Ben smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bernard. I’m Ben Daniels.”

  “I know,” said Adam, because admitting he’d assumed otherwise probably wasn’t very kind. “It’s on your apron.”

  “Oh!” Ben’s mouth dropped open and he touched the embroidery as if it was a reminder. “Oh, gosh, I forgot all about that. Silly me. I’m always doing that; I walked down Mass Ave once and wondered why everyone was calling my name and saying hello, and wouldn’t you know, I’d left my nametag on?”

  The memory of people calling Adam’s name wasn’t nearly as pleasant, but Adam knew small talk when he heard it. His smile was somewhat shaky, but Ben was already turning back to the till.

  “So that’s one free lemon cream and your raspberry, right?” he said.

  “Plus the donuts from this morning,” said Adam through a mouthful of donut. “This is awful. Worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Mm-hmm,” said Ben, clearly humoring him. He started to ring Adam up. “One raspberry sufganiyot – sorry, sufganiyah, it is.”

  Adam swallowed past the warm flush Ben’s self-correction gave him. “And a coffee.”

  “Coffee’s on the house when you purchase a pastry. Store policy,” Ben called over his shoulder. “Help yourself, there’s carafes on the counter.”

  Adam wasn’t going to argue with that. Instead, he set the plate on an open table and finished the lemon donut as he poured himself a cup from one of the three carafes on the side table. He licked the rest of the sugar from his fingers, took a swig of the coffee, and sat down to start on the raspberry jelly, which was just as delicious. The jelly wasn’t too sweet, the donut cake was soft on the inside and perfectly fried on the outside. Ben had clearly stuck with the classic plain powdered sugar for a coating, which Adam appreciated. It tasted nearly as good as his mother’s; perhaps the jam was a bit too sweet, but otherwise, perfect.

  He was licking his fingers by the time Ben set his check down on the table. “Guess you liked them,” said Ben approvingly. “Or you’re starving.”

  “Both,” admitted Adam. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “I skipped lunch to come down here and pay you back.”

  Ben blushed. “Aw, you didn’t have to do that!”

  “Well, I wanted to make sure I got you,” explained Adam. “I know sometimes the guy who opens isn’t the guy who closes.”

  Ben laughed. “I’m the only guy there is most of the time, so you would have found me either way.”

  “Just you? I thought bakeries usually had a whole slew of people.”

  Ben shrugged. “Nope. Just me. Well, there’s a couple of high school kids who help out in the afternoons, and I’ve got someone who does all my bread, but that’s it.”

  “Wow. That takes a lot of dedication.”

  “Kinda helps that I don’t have much of a personal life,” said Ben.

  There was a snort from the computer guy again, and Ben rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” said Ben, pointedly, “I hope they didn’t get into trouble for the donuts before practice this morning.”

  “Huh? Oh. Nah, they’re fine,” said Adam. “Their first game isn’t until this afternoon. A little sugar never hurt anyone.”

  Ben smirked. “Wish my coaches were as nice as you.”

  The compliment was probably off-hand, but it made Adam feel good anyway. “What sport?”

  It was clearly the wrong thing to ask, given the way Ben straightened, his face tightening up like a snail scooting into its shell. “Skating,” said Ben shortly, right before he picked up Adam’s empty plate. “I’ll just clear this, you pay when you’re ready.”

  Sacrement, swore Adam to himself, wondering what happened. Skating could have meant anything, from roller skates to speed skates to figure skates. It should have been an easy in – but somehow, Adam had the idea that Ben wasn’t interested in pursuing that line of conversation.

  “Psst.”

  Adam twisted in his chair until he could see Computer Guy leaning over toward him. “Pardon?”

  “I will give you a thousand dollars if you take him on a date,” said Computer Guy.

  There was a crash from behind the counter. “Sheldon.”

  “Canadian,” clarified Computer Guy. “Or is American worth more? I can never remember.”

  “Sheldon Robert Smith!”

  “He thinks my middle name is going to chastise me,” Computer Guy – Sheldon – confided to Adam. “Which would work, if he was my mother.”

  “I can call your mother,” threatened Ben.

  “He could,” admitted Sheldon. “Except she’d agree with me.”

  “You know him?” Adam asked Ben.

  “Most of the time,” admitted Ben grudgingly. “He’s the local Harvard business school drop-out.”

  “Not true,” said Sheldon. “I am not the local Harvard business school drop-out, there are many local Harvard business school drop-outs. Also I never dropped out.”

  “You’re here an awful lot for someone supposedly in business school,” said Ben as he moved back to the counter. “Leave my customers alone. Especially the ones who like the lemon cream sufganiyot.”

  “He did not, I heard him say he hated them.”

  Ben snorted and shook his head. “You must have been looking at your computer. He was clearly lying so he could try to pay me for free donuts.”

  “I knew I liked you,” Sheldon told Adam. “Seriously. One date. A thousand bucks. Your choice of currency.”

  Ben popped up from behind the counter so fast, with a face so red and full of fury, it would have been funny if it hadn’t been for the way Sheldon absolutely melted at the sight.

  “I will call your mother, I am serious,” snapped Ben. “I told you before, I do not need dating help. Let it go.”

  Sheldon might have been abashed, but he seemed to give Ben a hard look anyway, for about two seconds, before slamming his computer shut and leaning over it. “Fine. So, Adam, what brings you to Boston?”

  “Hockey tournament,” said Adam.

  “As in ice hockey?”

  “Yes?”

  “Fantastic,” said Sheldon. “I propose ice skating on the Green. Great first date.”

  Ben let out a huff of breath and stomped back to the kitchen, where he proceeded to make a lot of noise banging things.

  Sheldon smirked and leaned back again. “Assuming you skate, at least.”

  “Um. Yeah,” said Adam, trying to focus on Sheldon, but getting distracted by the noise coming from the kitchen. “Played hockey all the way through minors.”

  There was a loud crash from the kitchen.

  “Um – shouldn’t we go check on him?” asked Adam, nervous.

  “Nah. He won’t break anything, it’s all industrial grade.” Sheldon leaned over his computer again. “Look, I’m mostly just pulling his leg about the dating thing. I’m serious about the ice, though. How long’s that tou
rney of yours?”

  “A week. No offense, but if Ben doesn’t want to skate, I don’t really understand why you think he should.”

  “Well, shit, Adam,” said Sheldon, leaning back again. The chair’s legs landed on the ground with a thump. “What kind of Hanukkah miracle are you, anyway? Can’t get that kid on the ice in seven days?”

  “Hanukkah’s eight days,” Adam pointed out.

  “Uh-huh,” said Sheldon. “First night of Hanukkah’s tonight, Adam-a-roosky. That leaves you seven days.”

  “That’s not how—”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing,” shouts Ben from the kitchen. “But you’d better stop it before I come in there.”

  “Just getting to know my new best friend!” Sheldon hollered back.

  Ben came out from the back. There was a smudge of flour on his cheek, a splatter of water on his apron, and a disgruntled look on his face. “Ain’t that sweet. No offense, boys, but get out of my bakery.”

  Sheldon rose and bowed. “As you wish.”

  He winked at Adam, tucked his computer under his arm, and left the bakery.

  Ben sighed the moment the door closed behind him. “I’m sorry about Sheldon. He just likes sticking his nose into other people’s business. Even the business I don’t pay him to do.”

  “It’s fine,” said Adam. “But I should probably go. First game’s this afternoon, I should probably be there.”

  “Since you’re the coach and all,” agreed Ben, amused. “Um. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but – I know it’s hard to be away from your family for the holidays. I make sufganiyot every day this week, all through Hanukkah. I’m happy to save you one of each flavor while you’re in town, if you like?”

  Adam shifted, not quite sure what to do with the grin on his face. “Um. Yeah. That’d... that’d be nice. Thanks.”

  Ben grinned at him, looking relieved. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” said Adam, already looking forward to it.

  “ADAM!” CALLED OUT HUGO Nilsson when Adam arrived back at the rink. “I was hoping for a word before the game this afternoon. You’ve got something on your coat.”

  “Sorry,” apologized Adam, wincing when he saw the powdered sugar. He quickly brushed it off. “Had to run back to the rooms for something.”

  “There’s a group of us going out tomorrow night,” said Nilsson. “Just a friendly little skate, nothing too serious. Love it if you came along.”

  Adam hesitated. Somehow he doubted the skate would be friendly for long, not if Nilsson was still determined to get him on board. “I don’t know, I should really stay in with the kids—”

  “Oh, they’ll be fine, lots of adults around to make sure they don’t burn down their rooms. Assuming they’re not exhausted.”

  “Maybe,” said Adam, already seeing Pierre running full tilt toward him.

  “Twenty-four hours to turn that maybe into a definitely,” said Hugo with a wink, walking away just as Pierre skidded to a stop.

  There was a determined look on Pierre’s face. “Did you go? Did you meet him?”

  “Yes, I paid for your ill-begotten donuts,” Adam told him. Which was true, if one considered payment to be twenty dollars shoved into the tip jar when Ben wasn’t looking.

  Pierre grinned. “Cute, huh?”

  “Twenty suicide sprints,” replied Adam, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to a twelve-year-old that the baker was adorable. “The team you’re up against has only lost once this season.”

  “He’s even Jewish,” said Pierre proudly before taking off on his skates.

  Well, thought Adam, rubbing his teeth with his tongue and catching some of the lemon tartness still lingering, sort of.

  “YOU ARE AWFUL,” BEN told Sheldon, his phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder as he locked up the doors at the end of the day. “Stop trying to set me up!”

  “It’s not like it’d be long-term, if he’s from out of town. What have you got to lose?”

  Ben snorted a laugh.

  “Fine, find your own,” said Sheldon, unrepentant. “How was today’s take?”

  “Great. Fantastic. Better than expected.” Even ignoring the two twenty-dollar tips Ben had found in his jar, he’d managed to scrape out the day in the black.

  Barely.

  “And how many things did you write off?”

  Ben frowned; the key was sticking in the lock again. Lord above, the last thing he needed was a reason to pay a locksmith.

  Sheldon’s sigh was pointed, even through the cell line. “Ben—”

  “It’s the first night, okay? It’ll pick up by the end of the week. No one’s going to want Hanukkah treats before the holiday’s even started.”

  “If you say so. He’s a hockey coach, you know. Maybe you could bring him to practice tomorrow night? The gang would love to meet him.”

  “No,” said Ben firmly, because practice was just another thing in the long list of Sheldon’s Issues with Ben, and he didn’t want to hear it anymore.

  “Ben—”

  Ben shoved the key into the lock and disconnected the call before Sheldon even finished saying his name.

  Chapter Two

  On the second night of Hanukkah...

  “Jimmies, jimmies, jimmies,” muttered Ben as he rummaged through his supply cabinet. There were holiday sprinkles of all types, edible silver-and-gold balls, paper umbrellas and toothpicks with pretty paper streamers on the end. There was a box of food dye for creating beautiful hues of frosting, boxes of toothpicks for creating his own decorations, and boxes of every color jimmie under the sun.

  Just not the ones he wanted.

  I’m not this distracted usually, he thought as he shoved aside jars of silver balls and decorative paper umbrellas.

  Then again, I’m usually only expecting Hank first thing. Adam’s a lot cuter than Hank.

  The bell from the front door rang merrily. Ben tried to calm his suddenly rapidly-beating heart.

  It’s only Hank. It’s only Hank.

  “Wow, Coach, regarde-ça!”

  Maybe Hank’s picked up French in the last day.

  “Hello?” called Adam.

  Ben’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Be right out!” he called just as he spied the jar of jimmies. He grabbed it and scrambled down from his step-stool, only to land on his foot wrong, which sent a familiar lightning bolt of pain straight up his leg to his knee. It took half a minute of biting his lip and rubbing frantically at his calf before he could even limp to the front of the store, which was jam-packed with pre-teens and one very tall, very handsome coach.

  “Lord have mercy,” he breathed, staring in wide-eyed wonder at everyone. “I think I might have overstepped my fire code.”

  There was a strange look to Adam’s eyes, as if he was trying to decide something. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Pierre wouldn’t stop talking about the donuts.”

  “Is that actual glitter on these cookies?” demanded one of the kids.

  The pain in his leg had subsided enough that Ben was fairly sure the remaining limp was unnoticeable. He leaned over and peered at the hanukkiah cookies. “Edible glitter. Neat, huh? I thought it’d be fun for the flames.”

  One of the boys said something to the kid in French, which resulted in a lot of laughter and jostling as they shoved each other back and forth. Ben didn’t remember much of his high school French – but he remembered being a pre-teen boy, so he had a pretty good idea what they were saying about what happens after eating glitter.

  What he didn’t remember was how sexy French could sound when a really cute older guy snapped an order in that language. At least, when Adam barked an order in French at the kids to knock it off, Ben was extremely grateful that he was already leaning on the glass counter, because otherwise he would have fallen down.

  “Sorry,” mumbled the boys in what was clearly a forced apology.

  “Can I have one?” added the first.

  “We’ve got Ame
rican money this time!”

  “Of course,” said Ben, reaching for the treat bags. “But those of you who are first-time international customers don’t have to pay.”

  “Yes, they do,” said Adam firmly. “I’m sure that rule wasn’t created with pee-wee hockey teams in mind.”

  “It absolutely was,” defended Ben, sliding cookies one by one into bags. “I’d be much more upset if any of you went away hungry this morning.”

  The boys made a serious dent in his cookie supply before he was done filling the bags. They were clearly energetic and rambunctious. They were quick to talk to each other in French, shoving and jostling to put in their orders, but perfectly polite in English to Ben, taking their treats with a Thank you that sounded extremely well-rehearsed.

  Ben lost himself in serving up the treats – apart from the baking, this was one of his favorite parts of running the store. It was easy, friendly busy-work, and he fell into the rhythm of it. He was so busy trying to figure out when he’d have time that afternoon for another batch of cookies, when instead of looking up to the next kid in line, he found himself staring right at Adam’s chest.

  “Up here,” said Adam, amused. Ben could feel the fire in his cheeks as he dragged his gaze upwards to Adam’s face.

  At least he won’t think I’m checking him out, not under that puffy jacket, thought Ben, which was the only saving grace in the entire moment.

  “Sorry,” said Ben a bit meekly.

  “Don’t think half of them aren’t planning on a return trip,” said Adam wryly. “I think the first of the cookies are already eaten.”

  Ben blushed. “Sorry about that. Cookies aren’t exactly a coach’s dream for a nutritious breakfast. I can make something with more protein tomorrow? Mini quiches, maybe?”

  “With ham!” shouted one of the kids through a mouthful of cookie.

  “It’s a Jewish bakery, you numbskull. He doesn’t eat ham, he’s gonna put something gross like spinach in there.”

  “And broccoli,” said Adam. About half the kids groaned, which made Ben chuckle in sympathy.