Hanukkah at the Great Greenwich Ice Creamery: A heart-warming Christmas romance full of surprises

by Sharon Ibbotson

  ‘Happy Hanukkah, Ford.’

  And then he was gone, disappearing into the bowels of the Roberts-Canning LLC building, snapping at a lowly intern for bad posture on the way.

  Cohen was left with an overwhelming feeling of freedom and joy, as well as a new appreciation and respect for juice cleanses.

  True to Fowler’s word, an email arrived from Andrew Canning not long after. It was long-winded and laborious to read, but Cohen got to the crux of it quickly. His traitorous behaviour had, apparently, cut Canning in two. His contract was therefore terminated, and Canning was leaving the finer points of his departure to Fowler, and …

  And Cohen clicked delete, packed up his bag and left the building.

  His wasn’t sorry to go, and when he stepped outside into the chilly New York morning, he felt lighter than he had for years, a smile on his face.

  If he kept this up, he’d soon have smile lines too.

  He couldn’t think of anything better.

  Esther was furious when Cohen stopped by her house to say goodbye.

  ‘What? You’re leaving? But ... but you just got back. It’s Hanukkah. You’ve only been here, what, a week?’

  ‘I need to be with her, Mother,’ he said simply. ‘I miss her.’

  Esther frowned, her lips set into a tight line.

  ‘So, you’re just going to go, right now, like this?’

  Cohen nodded.

  ‘And when will you be back?’

  Cohen sighed. ‘I’ve applied for a tourist visa to the UK and been given a year. Of course, if River and I get married before then I’ll start the application to become a UK resident and—’

  But Esther sat down with a dejected sigh. ‘You’re not coming back, are you?’ she asked sadly.

  Cohen sat next to her, putting a long arm around her small shoulders. She was like a doll, his mother, and he wondered again how this frail-bodied woman ever birthed a man like him. But of course, Esther had a spine of steel and a heart of gold, so that probably helped.

  Cohen smiled down at her. ‘We’ll visit, you know we will.’

  ‘It won’t be the same.’

  ‘No,’ Cohen agreed. ‘No, it won’t.’

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ Esther confessed. ‘The other day ... it just ... it felt like you were finally coming home, Cohen. Like you were finally my Cohen again.’

  Cohen kissed her head. ‘I am your Cohen,’ he told Esther. ‘I’ll always be your Cohen, in a way. It’s just that now, with River ... the concept of home is a little different. I need to make my own now, you know. And I have a feeling that with River, we’ll make a good one.’

  Esther nodded. ‘I know. It’s just hard for a mother to see her child moving on.’ She sighed again, before looking up at him, her eyes sharp. ‘As soon as work allows, I’m coming to London to meet this River. And I don’t care if she is Rushi de Luca’s daughter.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘Alright, so I do care. But regardless, I don’t care if she’s deaf.’

  Cohen almost smiled. ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘Fine. So, I do care. But look, Rushi de Luca’s daughter, deaf, whatever ... she’s not getting an easy ride because of that. I need to make sure she’s good enough for you.’

  ‘I think you’ll find she’s too good for me.’ Cohen laughed.

  But Esther shook her head, her eyes soft. ‘No. No, please don’t sell yourself short like that. You always did, and I never told you before how much it bothered me to hear you put yourself down. You’re an amazing man, Cohen Ford. Don’t ever think otherwise.’

  Cohen stood, giving his mother another kiss.

  Esther looked up at him from behind lidded eyes. ‘And Cohen?’ she began, her voice light, almost wheedling.

  ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘Talk to River about the Jewish thing. I hear conversion is easy enough these days and apparently they’re always looking to increase the Jewish deaf community. I already spoke to the rabbi and …’

  And Cohen went, stepping again into the New York evening, a smile on his face.

  He got into a taxi. He went to the airport. He got on a plane.

  And in the morning, Tuesday morning, he woke in London.

  The Great Greenwich Ice Creamery was thriving that Tuesday morning. It was 11 a.m., but despite the chill in the air a crowd of people had gathered in the store, queueing for ice cream. Cohen stood with them, rubbing his hands together to warm his fingers, before rubbing the sleep and jet-lag from his eyes. He could see glimpses of blue gingham from his place in the line – blue gingham and chestnut hair – and his heart raced slightly as he pulled River’s scarf tighter around his neck.

  There were Christmas decorations up in the ice creamery now, and Cohen, who’d spent the last few nights lighting Hanukkah candles, was glad to see them. They were splashes of colour against the stone walls, reds and greens and golds and silvers to match the rainbow of ice cream behind the glass counters. River, Cohen realised, made a good home, bringing warmth and colour and light to wherever she was. Would he, even with her, ever think of London as home? He didn’t know, but in a way, suspected not. But then, was New York ever home? Cohen decided quickly that it wasn’t.

  Because home, Cohen had learnt, wasn’t a place or a building or city or a country. Home couldn’t be dictated by a passport or a visa or a job or a heritage.

  Home, Cohen knew now, was people. People made homes, not places. A building was just a building until you filled it with friends and family. A city was just a city unless you filled it with memories.

  Esther was his home, once upon a time, and then, in his wilderness years, Cohen tried unsuccessfully to make homes with Christine, and even Andrew Canning, heaven help him.

  He sent a quick prayer of thanks up to the gods that Christine left him, and that he could never quite mimic the cold loneliness of Canning’s existence.

  River was his home now, Cohen realised. And wherever she was, wherever they went ... that would be home. They’d make enough memories to fill a thousand cities.

  They’d have enough happiness for a thousand lifetimes.

  He smiled widely when he got to the front of the queue.

  Billy was helping River today, his eyes occasionally flickering to the corner of the ice creamery, where a woman sat with a small boy, signing to him. Billy’s wife and son, Cohen realised. Billy turned back to the queue and, on seeing Cohen, smiled widely.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, nodding at him. ‘It’s Cohen the strawberry. How are you?’

  But Cohen shook his head and started to sign. No, he replied with his hands. Like this now. And Billy’s grin got wider.

  Okay, Billy signed back. I’ll get River for you. I’m proud of you, Strawberry.

  Cohen didn’t follow it all, but he understood enough.

  Billy tapped River on the shoulder, pulling her away from the coffee machine. He signed at her quickly, and her face brightened immediately. She turned to face the queue, her face breaking into a smile on seeing Cohen across the counter.

  Hi, Cohen signed. I was told this was the best ice creamery in London.

  River bit her lip, staring at him and smiling.

  I had a few lessons in BSL in New York from a friend, Cohen continued. But I don’t know much. After Christmas I have my first lesson at the British Signing Institute though, so I’m hoping to get better and—

  And River reached over the counter, wrapping her arms around his chest and covering his mouth with her own. She kissed him, hard and fast, and Cohen lifted her, pulling her across the counter so that she was in his arms properly, without anything separating them.

  He was never going to be apart from her again.

  They carried on kissing, Cohen’s hands wrapped in the soft fabric of River’s skirt, when a loud sigh echoed across the shop.

  ‘This,’ Rushi intoned loudly, ‘is a family establishment, and I’ll ask you not to maul my staff – no, not to maul my daughter – while here.’

  Cohen and River
broke apart, both flushing guiltily. Rushi shook her head at him. ‘Your mother called me,’ she told Cohen sharply, signing her words so that River could understand.

  ‘Oh,’ is all Cohen could say.

  ‘Oh, yes. It was a fun conversation. Did you know how easy it was to convert to Judaism these days?’ Rushi rolled her eyes. ‘I should probably mention that she called me from JFK,’ Rushi continued, smiling at the shock that crossed Cohen’s face. ‘Yes, she’s on her way. You two have about, oh, I’d say about nine hours before she gets here. Your step-mother too.’

  Cohen’s mouth fell open.

  Rushi smiled wickedly. ‘So, what can you two do with nine hours? River’s meant to be working, but I’m happy to cover her shift, and—’

  And Cohen and River didn’t need to know anything else. Cohen was already pulling at River’s hand, intent on taking her out the door and towards the road to hail a black cab.

  ‘Hey!’ Rushi’s voice cut into his thoughts as well as his plans. ‘You didn’t order any ice cream.’

  ‘What?’ Cohen stuttered.

  ‘The ice cream,’ Rushi replied steadily. ‘River unveiled our new Christmas—sorry, sorry …’ Rushi paused, seeing the flurry of River’s hand movements. ‘I should say, she unveiled our new holiday flavours yesterday.’

  Cohen nodded, impatient to be gone, because once his mother and Marilyn arrived, it was unlikely he and River would get much time alone again. But River’s eyes were shining happily, and he realised she was proud of her work and wanted to share it with him.

  ‘Chocolate with hopeful stardust,’ he said suddenly, recalling the bitter chocolate ice cream from weeks before. ‘What are the other two?’

  Rushi signed for Cohen, and River flushed, leading him to the counter, pointing to the flavours within.

  The first was dark blue in colour with a silvery sheen to it. Christmas Nights was written beside it on a blue card coloured with silver stars. It reminded Cohen instantly of his blue glitter ink, and suddenly he saw the mischievous twinkle in River’s eyes and couldn’t help but blush.

  ‘How she’s been serving that blue ice cream all day without shame is beyond me,’ Rushi commented drily. ‘It’s spiced blueberry, in case you were wondering.’

  But Cohen wasn’t listening, caught as he was by the final flavour.

  Hanukkah Days was cream and pink in colour, swirled with raisins and velvety lumps of dough. Cohen stared at it, a lump in his throat, until he felt a spoon pushed into his fingers.

  ‘Try it,’ Billy suggested. ‘River worked for days on this, trying to get the flavour just right.’

  Cohen brought the spoon to his mouth, his tongue instantly tasting strawberry, underlaid with hints of freshly baked challah. It reminded him of his father and mother all at once, and he had to blink back unexpected tears.

  Instantly, he turned to River. It’s beautiful, he signed, and she smiled happily.

  Thank you, she replied. Now let’s get out of here.

  She led him through the door, stepping out into the cold Greenwich morning, and Cohen stopped in the crisp winter air to kiss her again, holding onto her face and smiling into her eyes. Finally, he released her, stepping back.

  Briefly, he thought of all the signs Fowler taught him. He thought of all the words he wanted to say to this woman. He thought of the signs for love, for marriage, for please. He thought of them all, and suddenly his heart was too full for any words, written, signed or spoken. Instead he gathered River to him, wrapping himself around her, kissing her once more, before pulling back, and signing the only thing he knew that counted in that moment.

  Thank you.

  River smiled, nodding her head. And then she was saying it too.

  It was a cold morning in London. It was a morning of snow, of sleet and grey skies. But Cohen would always remember it fondly.

  Because this was the day when his life truly began.

  And he’d never been more grateful for a woman with chestnut hair and gingham ribbons, standing with him on a cold, grey and snowy Tuesday.

  * The End *

  We would love to hear how you enjoyed Hanukkah at the Great Greenwich Ice Creamery. Please leave a review on the Kindle. Reviews on Amazon really do help the author. Thank you!

  Read more about the author including a preview of A Game of Desire ...

  Thank You

  from Sharon Ibbotson

  I was walking with my mother on the underground once, when a woman behind us – impatient to be on her way – pushed past us. ‘I asked you to move!’ she snarled at my mother. My reply was instant. ‘She’s deaf,’ I told her. ‘She can’t hear you.’ In that moment, the plot for this novella leapt into my mind. This story is deeply personal to me, littered with references to aspects of my own life, and I want to thank you, lovely reader, for indulging me by reading it. Thank you for taking the time to read about Hanukkah, about ice cream, about Tuesdays (my favourite day of the week), and about British Sign Language. Thank you for having an open mind and an open heart for this romance.

  If you have any thoughts or comments about this story, please do get in touch, either on social media (I’m on all the usual servers) or by leaving a review. Once more, thank you, todah, or, in BSL, my fingertips moving away from my chin. I’m very grateful for your time.

  Until the next time, much love, thanks and happy chance to all. Sharon.x

  Read about Sharon next ...

  About the Author

  Sharon is an Australian/Geordie writer who lives in London with her husband, son, daughter and two cats. She can be found child-wrangling by day, coffee in hand, or writing furiously by night, wine by her side. She is a voracious reader and a lover of anything romance.

  Read about Sharon's novels next including a preview of A Game of Desire ...

  For more information on Sharon visit:

  Twitter: @seibbotson

  Instagram: @sharonibbotson

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/seibbotson/

  Website: sharonibbotson.com

  More Choc Lit

  from

  Sharon Ibbotson

  The Marked Lord

  Like forbidden fruit, forbidden love is more sweet

  It’s 1803 and widowed aristocrat Sophy DeBrowarec must flee France after being exposed as an undercover British agent. Fearing for her life, she returns to Cornwall to seek help from the only living link to her past, Fitzwilliam ‘Fitz’ Ravensbourne.

  Lord Ravensbourne has suffered his own share of misfortune and it’s left its mark in more ways than one. He has become a near recluse at the Ravensbourne Estate, but still reluctantly accepts Sophy into his home.

  Sophy and Fitz’s relationship is strained and her return could bring danger to Ravensbourne – but there is something that prevents Fitz from casting her out, something almost forbidden …

  Purchase from:

  Kindle UK

  Kindle US

  Kindle AU

  Kindle CA

  Visit www.choc-lit.com for more details. Also available as an audiobook.

  A Game of Desire

  The Queen of Diamonds never loses …

  Felicity Fox is a rarity for a woman living in the early 1800s. Not only does she frequent the ‘gambling hells’ where most ladies would not dare to tread, she can also beat any man at his own game. It’s no wonder she’s gained notoriety as the ‘Queen of Diamonds’.

  Edward, Earl of Addington, despises gambling and is not exactly enamoured of Felicity Fox either, especially after she tried to swindle his family. Except now the Earl requires assistance from the Queen of Diamonds – and there’s everything to play for. But with Edward will Felicity find she’s involved in a more dangerous game than she’s ever played before?

  Read a preview here ...

  Or purchase from:

  Kindle UK

  Kindle US

  Kindle AU

  Kindle CA

  Visit www.choc-lit.com for more details. Also available as an audiobook.
r />   Read about Choc Lit next ...

  Introducing Choc Lit

  We’re an independent British publisher creating

  a delicious selection of fiction.

  Where heroes are like chocolate – irresistible!

  Quality stories with a romance at the heart.

  See our selection here:

  www.choc-lit.com

  We’d love to hear how you enjoyed Hanukkah at the Great Greenwich Ice Creamery. Please leave a review where you purchased the novel or visit www.choc-lit.com and give your feedback.

  Choc Lit novels are selected by genuine readers like yourself. We only publish stories our Tasting Panel want to see in print. Our reviews and awards speak for themselves.

  Could you be a Star Selector and join our Tasting Panel?

  Would you like to play a role in choosing which novels we decide to publish? Do you enjoy reading women’s fiction? Then you could be perfect for our Tasting Panel.

  Visit here for more details …

  Keep in touch:

  Sign up for our monthly newsletter Spread for all the latest news and offers: www.spread.choc-lit.com. Follow us on Twitter: @ChocLituk and Facebook: Choc Lit.

  Read a preview of A Game of Desire here ...

  Where heroes are like chocolate – irresistible!

  Dedication

  For my Mum, Lesley, who inspired this story, and hears me without always hearing me, encourages me without always understanding me, and loves me without always liking me. There’s no such thing as the perfect mother, but you come very, very close.

  Acknowledgements

  This is a story I never in a million years thought would be published. When I finished the original manuscript, I looked over it and thought ‘hmm, Jewish hero, deaf heroine, London-centric, copious mentions of ice-cream … no publisher will touch this story with a barge pole.’ But Choc Lit surprised me. They not only took on this story but encouraged me from submission through to publication. In Hebrew, the word for ‘thanks’ – todah – shares its origin with the word for ‘acknowledgement’ – hodayah. Choc Lit deserve both, especially ,my editor, who was my cheerleader from the beginning, and lovely to work with as well. So, to the whole Choc Lit team, please accept my sincere gratitude. This also extends to the Tasting Panel members who passed the story for publication: Elena B, Dimi E, Sophie F, Nikki M, Rachel M, Anne E, Carol D, Gill L and Joy B. You made my year with your kind comments and I’m beyond touched by them.