Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  Added to that was the cold, outdoor air in his lungs. Adam couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone pond-skating, in the crisp outdoors on a frigid winter day.

  He might have poked fun at the pop-up rinks before. He thought he understood the appeal now.

  Adam turned and held out a hand for Ben, still at the boards. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

  Ben didn’t move. He gripped either side of the opening, staring at the ice with one foot raised, ready to set down on the slick surface.

  Adam’s heart lurched, and not in a good way.

  “I—” began Ben, which was when Adam realized how pale Ben had become. His lips were nearly white, his eyes were so wide that they seemed ready to pop out of his face. “I—”

  Ben swallowed, clearly unable to say another word.

  Adam’s heart fell.

  “Ben?”

  Ben’s knuckles were white against the boards. He still didn’t move.

  Adam glided closer. The ice was slick, almost slush, here where it was tread the most often. Adam’s skin was singing, desperate to turn around and fly.

  Ben stood at the entrance, so frightened he couldn’t even take a step forward.

  He used to fly. My favorite thing was to watch him go past, just a blur.

  “Okay,” Adam heard himself say, as he stepped off the ice and led Ben back to a bench. “Okay.”

  THEY TOOK OFF THE SKATES, put their own shoes back on. They turned them in, bought hot chocolates from the tiny kiosk, and went to sit on the park benches overlooking the rink.

  The chocolate had only just cooled off enough for Adam to drink when Ben began to speak.

  “I was a speed skater.”

  Adam glanced at him, but Ben wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t even drinking the hot chocolate, which he still held in both hands, sitting on his lap. “I know.”

  Ben glanced at him quickly. “You do?”

  “You told the kids,” Adam reminded him. “And... I might have seen the pictures on your wall.” And Sheldon mentioned it, he didn’t say, because he wasn’t entirely sure how well that would go over. I was pretty pissed at Farida for divulging my personal information. And even if Sheldon did the same thing... he meant well.

  Maybe Farida did, too.

  “Oh,” said Ben. “Yeah. I forgot they’re up.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” said Adam.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I don’t know much about speed skating, except that it’s fast.”

  “Yeah.” Ben smiled. “That’s what I liked best about it. It was fast. I always wanted to go fast. I tried figure skating, and hated that every so often, you’d stop going fast in order to do something stupid, like spin in place or jump in the air. I couldn’t understand why people wanted to do anything but go fast.”

  Adam chuckled. “How old were you?”

  “Nine or ten. Old, really, for speed skating. Isn’t it crazy, how all sport demands you start before you even know how to read, practically? Anyway, I was lucky. The place where my mom finally got tenure, there was a fantastic training center. Not quite Salt Lake City level, but pretty close. Guess they saw something in me, as old as I was, and there was a coach who was willing to take me on.” Ben shrugged. “I loved it. I skated all the time. As much as I could.”

  Tread carefully, thought Adam.

  “Something happened,” he said quietly.

  Ben sat back with a sigh. “Have you ever watched speed skating?”

  “A little.”

  “There’s a lot of crashes. Most of the time, you get back up again. It’s the first thing you learn how to do, you know. How to fall, how to get back up, how to finish.” Ben paused. “I couldn’t get back up. I never finished.”

  “You were hurt.”

  Ben’s laugh was hollow. “You saw the scar. It goes all the way from the back of my ankle to my kneecap.” Ben lifted the hot chocolate to his face, but didn’t drink. “The whole time my leg was healing, I was itching to get back on the ice. But the first day I was cleared to skate again – I couldn’t do it. I don’t even really remember what happened, exactly, just that everything went haywire. It felt like I was having a heart attack, like someone had reached right into my ribcage. They weren’t just ripping everything out. They were squeezing and twisting and replacing all my blood with battery acid.”

  Adam winced. “Shit. And I made you—”

  “No.” Ben set down his hot chocolate and grabbed Adam’s hand, squeezing tight. “You didn’t make me do anything. It was three years ago. Time heals all wounds, right? When I tried to skate before, everyone was there. My teammates, my parents, my friends – it was such a big deal. I had everyone there ready to see me skate. The triumphant return, you know? I thought – maybe if I could go on the ice with you, who didn’t know what I’d been before, all that pressure would be lifted, right?”

  Ben’s hand was warm on the back of Adam’s. Adam turned his hand to hold Ben’s in return. “Makes sense. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

  “Yeah.” Ben’s smile was a bit shaky. “It would have been a nice way to end the date. I’m sorry about that.”

  Adam turned on the bench toward him. “We could try again. I mean – I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for,” he added quickly. “But if you want to try —”

  “That’s the thing,” said Ben. “I... I’m not sure I do.”

  Adam frowned, confused. “You just said—”

  “Taking a lap around the ice with you is one thing,” said Ben. “Skating again, like I did before? Competitively? I’m not sure I really want that anymore.”

  Adam didn’t understand. “But... you said you loved it. The speed...”

  Ben looked away. “I did. But even before the panic attack, I was never going to get back to a competitive level. And I’m not sure I’d want to skate again, knowing I lost my chance to be better than great.”

  Adam tried to wrap his head around the idea that he’d never step on the ice again, in any capacity. It was almost a physical blow. “So you’d rather just not skate at all?”

  Ben shrugged. “We can’t all do what you did and turn to coaching. You’re a better man than I am.”

  “I’m not sure I’d say that.”

  Ben laughed. Something in his face looked so much more relaxed than before. “You wanted to skate. I could see how happy you were, stepping out on the ice. And when I couldn’t? You came right back off it, you turned in the skates and didn’t say a word about how we didn’t even get our money back. Definitely a better man.”

  Adam shook his head. “A better man might understand why you don’t want to go back on the ice. Part of me still wants to drag you down there and make you try again.”

  “Over and over until I get it right?” Adam nodded. “That’s the coach in you.” Ben poked him in the chest. “That’s why you’re such a good coach.”

  It rang too close to what Nilsson had been saying all along. “You don’t know that. I could be the worst coach in the league.”

  “Doubtful.” Ben stood up, grabbed Adam’s hands, and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Coach. It’s freezing out here and our hot chocolate is mostly water. Let’s go home.”

  Adam chuckled. “Anything you want. Just don’t call me Coach again.”

  “And here I was hoping for kinky,” teased Ben.

  ONE-WEEK FLING SEX wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  But somehow, moving slowly against each other, lingering over every kiss and touch and whisper, seemed like the right thing to do. Ben stretched in Adam’s arm, muscles relaxed and warm, while Adam held him securely, fingers snug against Ben’s skin. Everything felt close and slow, every moment sent waves of pure pleasure through their bodies that rolled and twisted and left neither of them wanting.

  Except, perhaps, wanting that it wouldn’t end. Not yet.

  Later, Adam dozed next to Ben in the bed, arm stretched out below his head. Ben’s face was tucked into Adam’s chest,
close enough that Ben could smell the musk and sweat of him. It was a pleasant, salty sort of smell, cool like ice and richly dark like molasses and brown sugar. Ben breathed it in, eyes closed but not asleep. His skin still remembered Adam’s touch; everywhere Ben pressed close to Adam felt warm and relaxed and safe.

  For the first time in a very, very long time, Ben felt light.

  Maybe it’d been telling Adam about the accident. Catholics believed that the act of confession, of being forgiven, was meant to make one lighter, purer, closer to GD. Maybe there was something to that: relieving oneself of emotional burdens.

  Lord knew, Ben was tired of avoiding his own fears. He just wasn’t sure he was brave enough to stop.

  Adam’s chest moved as he breathed; Ben felt the skin rise and fall against his cheek.

  Adam faces them, though. Every day he’s coaching those kids on the ice, he’s forced to remember what it is he’s lost.

  What he gave up.

  I didn’t give up racing. I just... lost it.

  I’m not sure it makes much of a difference in the end, though. It’s not like either of us can go back. Does it really matter why?

  Adam’s phone began to beep softly; time to wake up and return to the hotel. Ben reached across him and fumbled for the phone, finally swiping his finger to set it to snooze.

  “Mmmm,” hummed Adam beneath him. Arms wrapped around Ben and held him in place, balanced on Adam’s broad chest. “You’re warm.”

  “You’re asleep,” said Ben, laying his cheek back down over Adam’s heart. It beat, slow and steady and unhurried.

  “Okay,” mumbled Adam. He went still – no doubt succumbing to slumber again.

  Ben shifted. It was harder to get a look at Adam’s face from this angle. In the dim light that poured in the window, Adam looked sharp and chiseled, like a cross between a comic-book superhero and a legend of nature. Even the stubble that formed on his chin and his cheeks was stoic and rugged.

  How do you do it? wondered Ben. How do you be so strong, so close to what you lost?

  How can I be the same?

  Chapter Five

  On the fifth night of Hanukkah...

  Adam’s entire body sang. Whether it was the dregs of sexual pleasure from the previous night, or anticipation for the game that afternoon, he had no idea.

  “Well, look who’s in a chipper mood today,” said Farida over the waffle-maker in the breakfast room. “Guess your date went well.”

  “No comment,” said Adam, far too conscious of the half dozen sets of ears perched on the other side of the freshly cut fruit display.

  “Good, nobody wants any of the gory details,” said Farida.

  “Ew,” chimed in Andreas.

  “Blech,” said Tom.

  Pierre’s eyes were wide. “They killed somebody?!?!”

  One of the kids started scolding Pierre in French as they dragged him back to the table.

  “I assume you’re stopping by his bakery this morning.” Farida’s voice was worryingly casual.

  “Yes,” said Adam cautiously.

  “You should invite him to tonight’s game.”

  Adam stared at Farida, who seemed completely non-plussed. “Why?”

  Farida rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve seen him in his place of employment, where he has no doubt shown off his mad baker skills. Maybe you could return the favor and show him how devastatingly dashing and debonair you are on the ice?”

  “I’m not on the ice, Farida,” Adam pointed out. “I’m next to the ice.”

  “Yeah, details.” Farida waved her hand dismissively. “You know there’s always time before the game.”

  Adam thought of Ben’s hesitation the night before. “Maybe. I’ll ask. He might not want to come.”

  “Teenage boys beating each other with sticks? I can’t see why anyone would want to miss that.” Farida picked up her bowl. “Anyway, could you get me a blueberry muffin? The ones here are free but terrible. I’m assuming your guy’s muffins bring all the boys to the yard.”

  “Speaking of terrible,” said Adam dryly.

  “Darn straight,” said Farida cheekily. “Or, you know. Not.”

  ADAM WASN’T USUALLY prone to silly grins. Somehow, one sprouted the moment he saw Ben behind the counter.

  It helped that Ben’s smile brightened the entire room. Even if Adam hadn’t been smiling, he would have wanted to smile in return.

  “You’re going to hate today’s sufganiyot,” said Ben cheerfully, as if this was good news. “Strawberry rhubarb and tequila lime cream.”

  “Dibs on the tequila,” said Andreas immediately.

  “Where do you come up with these?” wondered Adam.

  “I throw darts at a board,” said Ben seriously. “And failing that, I lie awake at night and wonder, ‘What flavor will annoy Adam the most?’”

  “Olive and tomato,” said Tom. “You should have seen him the time we forgot and ordered it on a pizza.”

  Ben had the audacity to look thoughtful, as if he was considering it. “Maybe in a savory scone? Or a cracker. But not in a donut. I’d have to adjust the dough recipe if I was going to make a savory donut.”

  “Could you even make a savory donut?” asked Pierre doubtfully.

  “Maybe?” Ben tapped his fingers on the counter. “I’d be willing to try one. I can see how it’d be good – like a mushroom pate?”

  Andreas began to gag; Adam almost wanted to join him.

  “Well, not for the bakery,” said Ben, still clearly thinking about it. “Anyway, it’d be a fun experiment, thanks for the suggestion!”

  Pierre brightened. “You’re welcome! Do I get a free treat for suggestions?”

  Tom cuffed him. “It was my suggestion, nitwit!”

  “It was both of you,” said Ben. “And yes. Store policy: excellent suggestions are definitely worthy of a free pastry.”

  “Awesome,” said Tom, pleased.

  The boys were cheerfully sitting at the tables, the chairs screeching as they wriggled and compared pastries, but Adam remained at the counter to talk to Ben.

  “You were all right after I left last night?” asked Adam, his voice low.

  “I was fine,” Ben assured him. “Slept better before you went, though.”

  Adam chuckled. “Bad enough they know we went out to eat. The chirping would be worse if I didn’t show up until breakfast.”

  “I know.” Ben rested his chin on his hand. “I don’t mean to make you feel guilty about leaving.”

  “Never underestimate the power of a guilt complex.”

  Ben chuckled.

  “So.” Adam swallowed, wondering why he was so nervous. “I was thinking about tonight—”

  “We don’t have to do anything special,” said Ben quickly. “And I’d like to cook for you again, if that’s all right. We didn’t really get a chance to even light candles yesterday.”

  Thomas thumped next to him on the counter. “Uh, Coach? Sorry. There’s a game tonight.”

  Adam closed his eyes and cursed. “Sacrement. I forgot.”

  The disappointment was clear on Ben’s face, but he rallied quickly. “It’s okay. It was a stupid thought – I can bake, but I’m a terrible cook. I could burn boiled water.”

  “You should come to our game,” piped up Pierre.

  “Yeah! You should come!”

  “Please come!”

  “You can bring cookies!”

  “Definitely bring cookies!”

  Ben’s mouth quirked, which made Adam’s heart race a little faster. “I don’t know. Are outside spectators allowed?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Adam. “I don’t think the cookies are necessary, though.”

  “Coach!”

  “Cookies are always necessary!”

  Pierre rose up on his toes and hooked his chin on the edge of the counter. “Please? It’d be fun to have someone in the stands rooting for us.”

  “I root for you,” said Adam.

  “You don’t count,”
said Pierre.

  “And you don’t bring cookies.”

  Ben was biting his lip, looking torn.

  He doesn’t want to go – I wonder why?

  “Boys, Ben might have other plans tonight,” said Adam. “It’s not fair to pressure him.”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Ben suddenly. “I can come, for a little while. If your coach says it’s really okay.”

  The boys let out a cheerful whoop.

  “It’s fine,” Adam assured him. “Dinner afterwards, maybe?”

  “Maybe,” allowed Ben. “I really do go to sleep very early.”

  “Maybe Coach could—” began Thomas, but Adam quickly slapped his hand over Thomas’s mouth to muffle the rest of whatever horribly suggestive thing he was sure to say.

  “In that case, we’ll take our leave and see you this evening,” said Adam firmly.

  Ben might have been laughing at him. His eyes were sparkling, anyway, even if he wasn’t laughing exactly. “I don’t know where to go.”

  “Tmmph hmmmph,” said Thomas through Adam’s hand. Adam released him, and Thomas said again, “Text him!”

  “I don’t have his number,” Ben told Thomas.

  “Wow, Coach,” said Thomas, turning to Adam. “Your game is terrible. No wonder you can’t get a date.”

  “I think he’s got one for tonight,” Ben said, smiling. Adam grinned back at him.

  Thomas scoffed. “That’s with us, not with him.”

  “A whole hockey team,” said Ben. “My mother would be very proud.”

  “She should be, we’re awesome,” said Thomas grandly.

  Adam cuffed Thomas lightly on the head. “Go outside and stop flirting,” he scolded him in French.

  “Coach is territorial,” Thomas told the others, who hooted loudly and followed him out the door.

  “Sorry about them,” Adam told Ben.

  “They’re fine,” Ben assured him, but he was still blushing a bit. “They’re a lot more confident than I was at fourteen, that’s for sure. I was a mess.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t.”

  Ben chuckled and folded his arms on the counter. “It’s really all right if I just show up?”

  “Yes,” said Adam, not caring if it wasn’t. “It’s not a big deal – just a game with one of the local junior league teams.”