And despite myself, I found a smile on my face. He bumbled his way through the second verse, but he didn’t quit. And he didn’t take his eyes off me the whole time.
When he finished, the patrons rose and cheered. Louis clapped him on the back, and he jumped down, coming back toward me.
“How was that?”
I bit my bottom lip in mock concentration. “Well . . . vocal quality was a C, if I’m being generous. But you do get an A for the effort there.”
“So a B average?”
“If I’m being generous.”
“Do I get another date?”
I smiled again. “You get a continuation of this one. Let’s go get ice cream.”
He offered me his arm, and I took it.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
We got soft-serve cones at Avalon Freeze and then walked down to the boardwalk—a quiet one in Avalon, more for strolls than carnivals—where we sat on a bench, watching the moon reflecting in the rippling waves.
“I see why you don’t want to go home,” Dan said. “It’s peaceful here. You can hear yourself think.”
“Not like the Catskills or the Hamptons, where it’s all about impressing everyone.” Our families had spent several summers at the same Catskills resort when we were kids.
“No. Nothing like that.”
I laughed softly. “Were you there the summer that someone put a bunch of fish in the fountain in the lobby?” He grinned broadly. “What?”
“Who do you think put the fish in there?”
I smacked him lightly with the back of my hand. “You did not!”
He took my hand, and for a moment we both looked at each other. And I realized I wouldn’t be averse to him kissing me. We’d already done that much anyway. But he kissed my hand instead, then kept it in his. “I did. The rabbi was not pleased.”
“Is he ever?”
“Not with me lately, no.”
“Sorry about that.”
Dan’s eyes reflected the moonlight. “Nothing to be sorry about. Takes two to tango. Or destroy the ark at a synagogue.”
I looked back out over the water. “Why didn’t you just ask me out?”
“I did.”
“No. I mean instead of proposing.”
He was quiet for a moment. “If we hadn’t gotten caught, I would have.”
We both contemplated the alternate life that could have been. The me of two months ago would have gone on a date with him. Maybe more. But I wouldn’t have come to Ada, then.
“Did they ever replace the stained glass?”
Dan’s mouth twitched into a smile. “It’s a piece of plywood with some embroidery that my mother made over it. The synagogue board can’t decide if they should recommission the stained glass or if they should do something more solid.”
“In case I ever go back to shul?”
“Your name wasn’t specifically mentioned, but yes. I think they’d opt for reinforced steel if you were home this summer.”
I laughed. “What a mess.”
“And I’ve got the scar to prove it.” He held up his left hand, which did have an angry red mark.
I took his hand, examining it in the dimness of the boardwalk light, and running my thumb over it. “At least you’ll always remember me.”
He reached for my cheek with his right hand, his left still in mine. “I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” he said, our faces suddenly much closer as he leaned toward me.
“Then don’t try,” I whispered just before our lips met.
This was neither our first kiss, where he seemed to be asking if it was okay, nor the next ones, where we so hungrily devoured each other that we didn’t know what happened until the whole congregation was staring at us.
This was slower, as if we had all the time in the world, and the sensation of falling now was all inside of me.
He pulled back, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “I should get you home before it gets too late.”
“Ada doesn’t care. I’m surprised she didn’t shove a prophylactic in my purse.”
Dan threw his head back in laughter. “Did you really just say that?”
I shrugged. “I thought that was what you liked about me.”
He wrapped an arm around me. “It absolutely is. But I’m not rushing things this time.” He looked down at the beach. “How far of a walk would it be to get back from here?”
I did the math in my head. “Only about five blocks.”
“How does a moonlight walk on the beach sound?”
I stood up, still holding his hand. “Very romantic—like something the rabbi and my father would heartily disapprove of. Let’s do it.”
Ada had left the porch lights on, and the light of the television was visible through the den window. “She must have waited up for us. She goes to bed by nine thirty every night so she can get up and swim at six.”
“You really care about her, don’t you?”
I nodded. “She’s—she’s like me. She’s entirely who she is. And she lives exactly how she wants to.” I thought for a moment. “I don’t know that I want to be alone my whole life, but she’s taught me that I don’t have to be like everyone else.”
“I hope I get to know her better,” Dan said.
“Come for lunch before you go back to New York tomorrow. Ada would love to have you.”
“If you want me to, that’s all that matters.”
“I’m sorry I slammed the door in your face.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”
“Not even proposing?”
“Not even that. We wound up where we were supposed to be.”
He kissed me goodnight, walking me up the porch steps and waiting until I was inside before going back down them. We decided to go to the beach in the morning before lunch, and he would leave for the city after that.
I went inside, shutting the door behind me, and leaned on it, grinning from ear to ear until the noise of the television distracted me from my reverie. “Did you really wait up for me?” I asked, walking into the den.
Ada lay in her chair, her body completely slack, her mouth open. My heart stopped beating.
“No no no no no! Ada. ADA!” I ran to her, hands shaking.
She startled awake and swatted at me. “What’s the matter with you?”
I sat suddenly on the floor, breathing heavily. “I thought—you weren’t moving—I—you scared me!”
“I fell asleep because you stayed out so late. And besides, I thought I was too mean to die?”
“You absolutely are,” I said, shaking my head. “But can you not look so dead when you sleep? Jeepers creepers!”
“What’s the fun in that?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Now tell me all about your date.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Dan arrived at nine, dressed in a T-shirt and pair of trunks he had bought at Hoy’s—which I knew because the trunks still had a tag attached. I pulled it off for him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a suit?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to suggest something else.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want games or you trying to impress me like that. I want you to be who you are. And be honest.”