He nodded. “I guess seeing someone ill is a trigger for me.”
“I understand,” she said. “It must be difficult when someone you love gets sick.”
“More than you can imagine.” He looked around, trying to change the subject to anything other than his dead wife. The leather ottoman still showed the imprints from the stacks of paper he’d noticed. “You’re serious about going through the foster parent application process?”
She glanced at the ottoman as if looking at something she left out in the open. Her face paled and then reddened, and it reminded him of her reaction in the Winter Village.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
She let out a deep breath. “No, I did. I shouldn’t have told you about my desire to foster a child. You’re a parent. I haven’t mentioned it to my principal, and it will require time off from work, and I don’t know how accommodating they’ll be and—” She paused to take a breath.
“There are a lot of things to consider,” he said. “Having a child is a huge responsibility, even when it’s your own.” The question of why she wanted to foster, rather than having a child, flitted through his head, but it wasn’t something he could ask her. “Taking on someone else’s, not knowing their background, and doing it yourself, well, I can understand why you’d be nervous.”
She nodded, her expression serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of research about it.”
“Do you know if you’ll continue teaching?” Jessie would be so disappointed if she left. And so would he.
“I’m still figuring things out. Like I said, I spoke prematurely, and—”
He held out a hand to stop her. “Relax.” He remembered their earlier conversation. “Please.”
She let out a puff of air.
“You don’t need to keep it a secret, but if you want to, I won’t be the one to tell anyone about it.”
“Thank you.” She brushed her hand against his and heat shot straight up his arm. He froze, staring at her pale hand. Long fingers, nails tipped with a deep red polish. He imagined those fingers stroking his skin. What the hell? He met her gaze. Her brown eyes darkened to black as her pupils dilated.
He wasn’t the only one with those thoughts.
Before he acted on them, she pulled her hand away. He longed for its return, for the warmth of human contact, the pull of sexual attraction. It had been more than three years, and for the first time, he realized how he missed it.
“Wait,” he whispered, leaning toward her.
Instead of meeting him, she pulled away.
“We can’t,” she said. She rose, and he followed as if led on a leash. “It wouldn’t be right.”
They couldn’t? It wouldn’t?
“Rachel…” His voice rasped, and he stretched out his hand.
She sighed. “Benjamin…”
He closed the distance between them until her breath feathered his cheek. He caressed her shoulder, and his fingers caught in her hair. It was softer and smoother than he’d imagined. Her lips parted, and he leaned forward, brushing his mouth against hers. She sighed and ran her hand over his shoulder and down his back, leaving a trail of heat in her wake.
“Benjamin,” she whispered against his lips. “You should go.”
He loved the sound of his name on her lips, and with reluctance, he pulled away. “I know.”
His voice sounded odd, like when he first woke in the morning. He took one last look around, and it was as if he awakened after a deep sleep. He was in the apartment of a beautiful woman. He was attracted to her, and her to him if his skills were still up to par. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, because despite her attraction, she didn’t think they should be together.
He strode to her door and opened it.
“Happy Hanukkah,” she said as he left.
“Happy Hanukkah.”
He needed Rachel, but to get her, he needed a Hanukkah miracle.
****
Rachel leaned against the door. Benjamin’s steps grew fainter as he walked to his mother’s apartment. The door opened and clicked shut.
And her heart squeezed.
She wanted him. She needed him.
When she’d touched his hand, electricity streaked up her arm straight to her heart. She didn’t mean to do it. His vow to protect her secret filled her with emotion and somehow, her hand ended up touching his. And once it was there, well, she didn’t want to remove it.
For the first time, she let herself think of him as a man, rather than her favorite student’s dad. His chest was hard, with sculpted muscles. His blue Henley emphasized his eye color. It spread across his shoulders, making her notice them. She never noticed shoulders on students’ dads. But when he’d leaned toward her, and his eyes darkened, he’d taken her breath away. Literally. And his kiss? It held the promise of much more. As she’d pulled away, spots appeared before her eyes, and it was all she could do to inhale oxygen.
Except he was her student’s father. How could she have feelings—and act on them—for someone who attended her parent/teacher conferences? Her dreams of being a foster parent? She needed a pristine record for recommendations if she wanted them to come true. And the people who approved or rejected her application might think dating a student’s father showed poor judgment. Besides, he hadn’t been exactly enthusiastic about her dream. If anything, he’d pointed out all the concerns already keeping her awake at night. Maybe he wouldn’t want to start a relationship with someone who wanted kids…or who couldn’t have her own. He was her neighbor’s son. If things went wrong, it would make life here awkward. She might even have to move. He was bossy. Well, he was working on it, which was great for the next woman he dated. Unfortunately, the woman couldn’t be her.
Chapter Four
“You’re sure you don’t want to take a chance with Benjamin?” Kate asked her at the gym the next day.
They cycled next to each other, facing the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. Sweat poured down Rachel’s face as she increased her speed and incline on the stationary bike.
“As much as I want to, I can’t risk it. Too many things could go wrong.”
Kate shook her head. “What a shame. What about your foster parent plan?”
“I signed up last night for an orientation session in January, and I’ve put together some of the legal documents I need.”
“Do you get to choose the age or background of the kids?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll find out more at the orientation.”
“What about adoption? Would that interest you?”
“Possibly. I know I usually live by the seat of my pants and rarely plan ahead, but I’ve wanted a child for a long time, and I want to get it right. This time, I’m taking it slow.”
Kate reached across and squeezed Rachel’s arm. “You’ll be a great mom. Your students adore you. You’re perfect.”
“I don’t know about perfect, but I know I can’t afford to do anything to mess it up.”
Including dating a student’s father.
She climbed off the bike, legs like jelly, showered, waved goodbye to Kate outside of the gym, and walked the few blocks to her apartment. A large envelope was taped to her door. With a frown, she pulled it off, unlocked her door and walked inside. Opening the envelope, she gasped.
It was another picture from Jessie. There was a large menorah with nine lit multi-colored candles. Pink dreidels surrounded the menorah. And in the background were three people—a man, a woman, and a child. From the hair color, Rachel could identify the people—Benjamin, Rachel, and Jessie. Across the top of the page, Jessie wrote Happy Hanukkah. Along the bottom, she’d written, “Love Jessie.”
She stared at the “and Benjamin” written beneath Jessie’s signature in a firm, masculine hand.
****
The next day, Benjamin checked his phone and frowned. Rachel still hadn’t called. He wasn’t sure what he expected. After all, Jessie drew the three of them all the time. His d
aughter loved her teacher, so it wasn’t unusual. But this was the first time he’d put his name on it, too.
When Jessie wanted to make Rachel a Hanukkah card, he’d thought it was a great idea.
“Daddy, you need to sign it, too.”
He’d paused. She’d written “love.” Maybe it was time to let her know he was interested if Rachel hadn’t gotten the hint from his kiss. But a kiss could be accidental. Was his an accident? He hadn’t thought about kissing her ahead of time. If anything, his thoughts were occupied with Rachel’s plans to foster a child, how her plans would change her life, and how those changes would affect his daughter. But desire overtook him, the kiss necessary and natural as breathing, at least to him. So what did it mean?
It meant he wanted to venture outside of the box he’d built for him and Jessie. He wanted to get to know Rachel better and see if she shared the same feelings. She loved kids. She was a great teacher and loved his daughter. Did she want to have children of her own someday? There were so many questions he needed to have answered. So he’d strategized how to get Rachel to fall for him. Throwing caution to the wind, for once in this new life of his, he’d gone ahead and signed his name.
He’d assumed she’d call, if only because his name was on it. Was he stupid? Presumptuous? He had no idea. But he wanted to convince Rachel she was wrong, that they could get to know each other outside of school, without worrying about consequences. He planned for the card to be an opening. She’d made it clear they couldn’t cross the line. He wanted her to see the line was negotiable.
He needed to make his message a little clearer.
“Jessie, come on. We’re going out.”
She walked out of her room. “Where?”
“To the donut shop.”
Her face flushed with glee. “Yay!” Jumping up and down, she made it difficult to get her coat on and the two of them out the door, but finally, they were outside. They walked the three blocks to the family-owned donut shop located on a side street, Jessie chattering about her favorite flavors and which one she should order.
Inside, the smell of fried dough and sugar assaulted his senses, and he took a deep breath. As usual, the place was packed, and while he waited, he considered his options. Hanukkah was traditionally a sufganiyah, or jelly-donuts, holiday. And Rachel had mentioned her love of donuts at The Winter Village.
“Jess, do you know what you want?”
She pressed her nose against the glass. “I want the pink one with sprinkles.”
Should he ask her? What did he have to lose?
“What do you think about getting donuts for Grandma and Ms. Schaecter?”
“I think it’s a great idea!”
“What flavors should we get?”
“Grandma likes jelly, right?”
“Raspberry jelly. What about Ms. Schaecter?”
“She likes chocolate.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she always has chocolate cookies for her snack in school.”
Thank goodness his daughter was observant. When they reached the counter, he placed his order. “I’ll take two raspberry jelly, one strawberry sprinkle, one chocolate glazed, and one Nutella donut, please.” He wasn’t sure which she’d like, so he’d give her options. “Can I have the chocolate ones in a separate box? Oh and one of the jelly donuts in its own box as well.”
The salesperson rolled his eyes, but Benjamin left the store with his donuts packaged the way he wanted. Now all he had to do was make his delivery.
****
Rachel yawned and glanced at the clock. Ten thirty in the morning? She jumped out of bed, unable to remember the last time she’d slept late. On weekends, she woke by eight at the latest. But this was winter break, and she’d left her days free. If her foster parenting plans worked, this might be her last break on her own, and she wanted to make the most of it. And she’d spent most of the night thinking about how Benjamin signed Jessie’s card. Why?
He was her student’s father. Lots of her students gave her holiday gifts and cards. Their parents even signed those cards. But never with “love.” He’d made it pretty clear he had reservations about her foster plans. Every time they were together, they got into an argument.
But then there was their kiss. And now the card. Did he care for her? And how exactly was a relationship between them supposed to work without jeopardizing her job? Did she even want one with him?
She needed to clear her head. Turning on her computer, she scanned her favorite New York City happenings website. An exhibit at the New York Historical Society interested her and would enable her to get out of her apartment, and her head, for a while. She’d stop at a coffee shop on her way. Once dressed in jeans and a cream sweater with her favorite pair of boots, she opened her door and paused in the doorway. A small shopping bag hung from her doorknob, a blue bow fastened to the bag’s handle. Did Harriet leave her something? Retreating into her apartment, she opened the bag. Inside was a note.
Jessie said you like chocolate. Maybe we’ll share sometime? ~Benjamin
She lifted out two chocolate donuts. Her stomach rumbled and her plan to stop at a coffee shop—or clear her head—changed. She took a bite of the chocolate glazed donut and closed her eyes in sheer bliss. Yum! In no time at all, she finished her treat. Benjamin had stepped up his game. Whether or not she was ready, she needed to call him and thank him.
Calling up her class list, she found the number listed and dialed. No answer. When his voice mail beeped, she left a message.
“Thanks for the donuts. And the drawing.”
She hung up and frowned. Her message was kind of abrupt. And she didn’t leave her name. Although he’d know who it was from. She called back.
“Hi, it’s Rachel. Again. I left you the last voice mail, too.” She clenched her fist at her awkwardness. “Anyway, my last message was kind of abrupt. I loved the donuts. Well, the chocolate glazed. I haven’t eaten the other one. But I will! And the picture was beautiful. Thanks, Jessie!”
She hung up and cringed. This message was ridiculous. And she only thanked Jessie! Should she risk one more phone call? She’d already made a fool of herself. What was one more time?
“Hi, it’s Rachel, again. Thank you, Benjamin. Really.”
This time, she hung up and hid her phone under a sofa cushion. She did not want to talk to him after he got those three messages. Was there a way to erase a voicemail you left for someone? There should be. Seriously. Out of all the technological advances made daily, someone invented a robotic vacuum, but no one could invent a way to delete a voicemail after you left it? Oy.
With a mental shake, she put the other donut away so it wouldn’t spoil and left for the Historical Society. After wandering through the Tiffany lamp exhibit, she checked out the gift shop before making her way outside. A cold breeze blew down Central Park West, but she was bundled well. The ritzy apartments facing the Park were festooned with wreaths and red ribbons, and every lobby window held an electric menorah. Holly hung from the street lamps. She took a brief walk along the winding paths in Central Park before returning home. She stopped at a hot dog vendor on the outskirts—dirty water dogs were her weakness. As she returned home, the bag of souvenirs she’d purchased banged against her leg. She loved the vibrant colors of the Tiffany lamps and bought notecards depicting some of her favorite ones. She could frame a few and hang them on the wall above her desk. As she exited the subway, she checked her phone to see if Benjamin had called. She missed his voice—gruff, deep, and bossy. What would it be like to be able to hear it all the time? Maybe she’d get used to his bossiness. And those electric charges each time they touched. Was it static electricity or something more? Ugh, it didn’t matter. No matter how much she liked him, she couldn’t pursue a relationship with him. There were too many strikes against them. Even if she wished she could.
As she heated a plate of leftovers for dinner, her phone rang.
“Hello, Rachel.” Benjamin’s deep voice sent shivers do
wn her spine. Dammit, she needed to raise the heat in her apartment. “I got your message. Or should I say, messages.”
The amusement in his voice rippled through her, and her face flushed in mortification.
“You had to say it, didn’t you?”
This time, he chuckled. The soft rumble made her insides tumble. The hot dog must not have agreed with her.
“I can’t help myself,” he said.
She sighed. “All right. Get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“Whatever teasing you’re going to do. Just do it and be done, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
“You’ve already accused me of being bossy. I’ll pass. Besides, it takes a certain amount of bravery to keep calling.”
“Bravery, huh? Okay, we’ll stick with that,” she said. “It’s a lot more positive than any description I could come up with.”
He laughed again, and she repeated her mantra to herself: he’s my student’s father.
“I’m glad you liked the donut and the card,” he said. “What did you do today?”
This was new. Their conversations usually had more of a purpose. She curled up on the sofa, dragged the afghan knitted with dreidel shapes her mother knitted onto her lap, and stared at the souvenirs she’d left on the ottoman.
“Well, after I ate your yummy donut, and made a fool of myself, I spent some time at the Historical Society.” She described the exhibit, and he expressed his interest in the history of the period. They talked for an hour—about fun things to do in New York City, his job, and her favorite books. They both enjoyed mysteries.
“Did you do any work on your foster application?” he asked.
Her stomach tightened. “Not today.”
“Can I ask what made you want to foster a child? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy. You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not.”
She stared out the window, her thoughts jumbling in her mind. Could she trust him with her dream? It was time to leap. “I’ve always loved children. It’s why I became a teacher. There are so many children who need homes, and I want to be able to provide a loving home for a child.”
Waiting for a Miracle Page 5
