Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle Read online

  HELEN WAS LONG GONE by the time Hank greeted Ben as he opened the door.

  “You’re early,” said Hank approvingly. “The snow’s late.”

  “Couldn’t have my favorite customer waiting out in the cold,” said Ben. He didn’t want to admit that he’d really only come out to see if there was any sign of Adam or the kids coming down the road.

  There wasn’t any sign of them, though. Just Hank, and a few other stragglers in the early morning. Ben tried not to be too disappointed.

  He might be so angry he doesn’t let the boys come by, thought Ben. I can’t say I’d blame him, either.

  “What’s the donut flavors today?”

  “Maple brown sugar and strawberry rhubarb.” The maple brown sugar wasn’t an apology in donut form – though Ben had no doubt Adam would take it as such.

  And if he does – well, then. I won’t tell him I planned for that flavor weeks ago. Or that I’d really planned it for later in the week.

  “Hmph,” snorted Hank. “I’ll stick to my bagel and cream cheese, thanks.”

  “On its way,” said Ben.

  “Where’s the hockey player?” asked Hank, leaning on the counter as Ben worked on his bagel. “Thought he was making a habit of coming in.”

  “Two mornings in a row isn’t a habit, Hank. And they’re only here for the week anyway.”

  “Better get a move on him, then,” advised Hank. Ben dropped his knife with a clatter.

  “Hank.”

  “He’s a cute one,” said Hank. “Polite, too. Must be the Canadian genes.”

  “Being Canadian isn’t in a person’s DNA,” said Ben as he grabbed another knife. “There must be rude Canadians, too. Somewhere.”

  “Yeah, they probably ship them even further up north,” said Hank. “Keep ‘em away from the pleasanter folk.”

  Ben laughed and wrapped up the bagel. “Here you go, Hank. Two dollars.”

  “Yep. The missus wanted me to remind you about that fruitcake for Christmas.”

  Ben tried to keep his smile steady. “Soaking in rum and brandy since November, Hank. Not to worry.”

  “Right-o. Have a good ‘un.”

  “You too,” said Ben, catching sight of the group passing by the window.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  Hank held the door for the first boy to walk in, hockey gear slung over his shoulder. Just before Hank left, he shot a knowing grin and a salute at Ben, who decided to officially ignore him.

  “Did you make them!?!?” shouted the boy, rushing to the counter. He was followed by four more boys, each carrying a heavy bag undoubtedly loaded with gear. The bags banged against their thighs, but none of them really seemed to care that much.

  Ben tore his eyes away from the final figure, who stood outside the shop...

  ...talking to Hank.

  Oh Lordy.

  “You made them, right?” insisted the boy.

  “I made them,” Ben assured him, because reassuring customers was much better than worrying over what Hank was saying to Adam. He leaned over the counter. “Two flavors: plain cheese and onion, and a veggie version with spinach and broccoli.”

  “No mushrooms?” demanded another boy, wrinkling his nose.

  “Nope.”

  “One of each, please!”

  “Just cheese for me!”

  “Can I have three of the veggie?”

  “Roland, you pig.”

  “I’m hangry,” declared Roland. The boys laughed and jostled him back and forth.

  “That’s not what it means!”

  “Oh, go ski down a mountain!”

  “Les gas,” warned Adam from the door. The boys didn’t stop jostling, though they did lower their voices as they continued their sparring.

  “I told you he’d make them,” said one of the younger, smaller boys. “Even if he is mad at you.”

  Ben felt his cheeks flush. Adam looked embarrassed too. At least, Ben figured it was embarrassment that kept him speaking in French to the boys, who replied in a mix of French and English before trooping over to the tables, where they proceeded to make as much noise as possible as they rearranged the chairs and their hockey bags to their liking.

  “It was nice of you to make the quiches for them,” began Adam, so stiffly that Ben almost regretting the maple cinnamon sufganiyot.

  “A promise is a promise,” said Ben, hating how stiff he sounded in response. Oh, hang it, he thought crossly, and was about to apologize for everything wrong with the universe when Adam’s shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” said Adam.

  Every word flew right out of Ben’s head. “Are... are you apologizing to me?”

  “I shouldn’t have assumed you were using me to learn about your own religion,” said Adam. He still sounded stiff – as if the words had been rehearsed, or at least repeated a few times. But he leaned closer and lowered his voice, clearly trying to keep the conversation between the two of them, so that the boys couldn’t hear them over their own cacophony.

  Then again, thought Ben, it wasn’t as if the boys had been quite so loud on previous mornings. They probably all knew what Adam was saying, anyway.

  “I’m the one who should apologize,” said Ben, going up on his toes to lean closer. “I guess... I’m jealous. Sometimes I feel like I really missed out on a huge part of Jewish culture, growing up away from a community like I did. I’m really happy with the synagogue I’ve found here, but... sometimes I feel like I’m always doing something a little bit wrong, you know?”

  “How so?” asked Adam, folding his arms on the counter. “You didn’t bring bacon to an oneg, did you?”

  Ben laughed. “No, nothing that terrible. Just – their prayer books open the wrong way.”

  Adam frowned. “The wrong way?”

  “Like a regular book,” explained Ben. “The prayer books we used opened backwards, like how you read Hebrew.”

  “Ohhh,” said Adam, knowingly.

  “And once, during service, one of the doors on the Ark didn’t get closed properly and swung back open. I was the only one to stand up – everyone else stayed seated and just gave me this look.” Ben shrugged, but just remembering the incident – and the reassurance from the rabbi afterwards – was embarrassing.

  “Sounds like your congregation was more observant than your synagogue here,” said Adam.

  “Weird, huh?” said Ben with a smile. “You’d think I’d be the lax one. Not that they’re lax,” he added quickly. “They’re fantastic. They’ve taught me a ton, even though they keep saying there’s not much to teach me.”

  “They didn’t teach you about lemon cream sufganiyot,” said Adam, complete deadpan.

  Ben wrinkled his nose. “You’re teasing me. I think you’re teasing me.”

  “A little.”

  Which did make Ben feel a bit better – if Adam was teasing him, he couldn’t possibly still be holding a grudge.

  “Truth is”—Ben paused for courage—“I really did want to feed you latkes last night. Not just for your opinion, but because I know what it’s like to be away from your family during the holidays. Hanukkah was always my favorite holiday growing up, but my first year of college, it was super early, just like this year, and I couldn’t go home for any of it. I tried lighting candles in my dorm room – broke the rules to do it, even – but it hurt so badly that first night, I couldn’t manage the rest of the week. I didn’t like to think about you having to do the same, so. I thought—”

  “You’d give me a place to go,” said Adam. Ben nodded.

  “Yeah. And you know, feed you.” He laughed. “My mom always says I’ll be a fantastic Jewish grandma. I’m always trying to feed people.”

  “I did like them,” said Adam. “The latkes.”

  “Not the eggplant ones, though.”

  “Ben,” said Adam seriously, “not even Moses himself was going to like those eggplant latkes.”

  Ben grinned at him. “I don’t know. I thought of a way t
o make them better. If I use less eggplant and add in extra potato starch—”

  Adam groaned, reeling back from the counter for a moment. “Tabarnak, non,” he groaned. Ben burst into laughter.

  “Hey!” shouted one of the boys from the table. “We’re still hungry!”

  “All right!” Ben shouted back. He leaned down to pull out the mini quiches from the counter.

  “I don’t know what they ordered,” said Adam, “but one is plenty. The veggie version.”

  “Aw, Coach!”

  “But I’m hangry.”

  “Spinach makes me nauseous, Coach!”

  “You already ate breakfast,” Adam told them, “and Pierre, the only time spinach makes you nauseous is when you eat it before doing twenty suicide sprints.”

  “Does that mean I don’t have suicide sprints today?” asked Pierre hopefully.

  “It’s a long day,” Adam told him.

  Ben chuckled as he plated the quiches, careful to handle them so the phyllo shells didn’t break. He’d baked them in shallow five-inch tart pans, and the phyllo had browned up nicely, sharp edges giving them a fancy look. They were even still warm from the oven, though he’d probably warm them up for customers later in the day, if they wanted. Ben didn’t mind either way – they were good both warm and cold.

  “That’s it,” said Ben, handing out the last quiche. Adam looked hurt for a moment. “Oh, no, I’ve got something special for you this morning.”

  “Oooooooo,” chorused the boys, most of them through mouthfuls of quiche. Adam glared at them sharply, not that it deterred them one bit.

  Ben didn’t bother to fight the flush in his cheeks. He busied himself behind the counter for a moment before bringing the plate up to the counter and presenting it to Adam.

  “It’s a sufganiyah,” said Adam, giving it a careful look.

  “Yup,” said Ben, shifting from foot to foot, suddenly nervous. “Um. I didn’t use a traditional filling this time. It’s... um... maple brown sugar. Maple, for Canada. I hope that’s okay?”

  Adam’s eyes darted from the donut up to Ben’s face. The shock on his face was worth every penny Ben had spent on 100% actual maple syrup, as well as every batch of the creamy filling he’d had to dump out for not being quite right.

  Adam picked up the donut, powdered sugar raining down a bit on the plate. Ben watched as he lifted the donut to his mouth and took a rather substantial bite.

  Ben had come up with the idea for the donut months ago, but only put it into action the night before. The dough was the basic sufganiyot dough, except Ben had added cinnamon to give it a little more flavor. He’d also added a tiny amount of cinnamon to the powdered sugar, just enough to color the sugar a slight brown, instead of a powdery white.

  The real achievement was the cream inside: it’d taken several attempts at making a maple filling that hadn’t been too sweet or too heavy. In the end, Ben had liked a plain whipped cream instead of a pudding or icing, using both maple syrup and maple concentrate for sweetness and flavor. Between the two, it was a powerful punch of maple that didn’t sit heavy on the tongue.

  Ben didn’t care if it was authentically Jewish or not. He thought they were delicious. Given the way Adam’s eyes rolled back in his head, he didn’t care much either.

  “Good?” asked Ben, not that he needed verbal confirmation of what he was seeing.

  “Yes.”

  The word was garbled and thick through the cream and pastry, but Ben understood it well enough. It was nearly a moan, the way that Adam said it – deep and dark and full of heady anticipation. Something that would have been vaguely more appropriate to the darkened bedroom Ben had left that morning instead of the sunlit shop where they stood on opposite sides of the counter.

  Or maybe that was the way Adam’s mouth was coated in cinnamon-flavored sugar, with a drop of maple whipped cream on the corner.

  “You’ve got a bit of cream,” stammered Ben, his heart hammering in his chest. Adam reached up and wiped it away with a finger. He didn’t hesitate about licking it off, either, or taking another large bite of donut.

  Oh GD... thought Ben, his knees shaking. Adam’s mouth was huge, lips coated in cinnamon sugar. All Ben could think about was the way he’d smelled the night before when he’d kissed him goodnight, all sweat and soap. He’d taste of cinnamon and maple now. Ben stared at Adam’s mouth, unable to think of anything but the way he’d smelled, how he’d taste, the feel of Adam lowering his lips down to Ben’s...

  “You didn’t have to,” said Adam. “But as apologies go, this is my favorite.” He took the last bite, wiping his mouth of the cinnamon and sugar on a napkin.

  Ben laughed shakily. The words broke the spell – but only a little. “I’m glad you like them. More than the lemon cream, anyway.”

  “Definitely more,” Adam assured him after he swallowed. He leaned forward on the counter again. “I’m tempted to ask for another.”

  “Ask for as many as you like,” breathed Ben, leaning closer too, absolutely certain that Adam would back away.

  He didn’t. From here, Ben could still see a few grains of sugar clinging to Adam’s scruff.

  “Still have some sugar in your beard,” said Ben, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

  “Yeah, that happens,” said Adam. “Easier to wash it off than use a napkin.”

  I could lick it off for you, thought Ben.

  “I can see that,” he said instead. “So I’m forgiven?”

  Adam gave his head a tiny, almost imperceptible shake. “You never needed forgiveness.”

  “Didn’t I?” whispered Ben.

  “Come on, Coach, kiss him already!” shouted one of the kids.

  That broke the spell entirely. Adam straightened up so quickly he almost lost his balance and toppled over. Ben took a step back, trying desperately not to laugh, even as his stomach dropped down to his feet and his heart burst out of his chest.

  “Roland, tu es une crétin!” shouted one of the other boys. Everything was all in French, back and forth, between them for a moment, as Adam rounded on them and started pulling them up to their feet to shuffle them out the door.

  The giggles kept pouring out of Ben – giggles, followed by chuckles, followed by outright peals of laughter, as Adam and the boys alternately cursed and wriggled, shoving tables and chairs on the floor with obnoxious squeaks and shrieks. He laughed even harder when the last boy headed out the door, only to turn back around.

  “Coach! We have to pay.”

  “Sacrement,” swore Adam.

  “Later,” Ben stammered through the laughter. “You can pay me later!”

  “In kisses!” yelled Pierre from outside.

  Adam looked at Ben. His eyes were a dark promise that sent Ben’s stomach into a flurry.

  Oh, thought Ben.

  “Later,” said Adam. It was as much a promise for payment as it was a promise for... well, later.

  Ben tried to reply Okay – but the word didn’t make it past his laughter or his lips before the door slammed closed again, leaving him alone in the shop, his heart still pounding and his lips still aching for the kiss that hadn’t happened.

  Yet, Ben told himself. Yet.

  THE DAY DRAGGED IN minutes. Ben normally enjoyed the ebb and flow of working in the bakery. He liked the rushes of customers who always seemed to come in fours and fives, followed by twenty or thirty minutes when he’d time to ice the next batch of cookies, or research a new recipe, or some other mundane task that he’d nearly finish before another rush of customers came in to demand his time.

  Today, however: the customers were indecisive and chatty, demanding attention when he would have rather thought about the look in Adam’s eyes, the way he’d said Later, as if it was a promise he was making to both of them.

  In the in-between times, Ben thought about what Later might entail. Adam at the door, stepping into the dark shop. Taking him by the hand, while Ben’s heart pounded and his head spun. A kiss, followed by words, follo
wed by laughter, followed by...

  Ben didn’t want to presume. Ben wanted to wallow in presuming, in all the quiet moments he had that day.

  It was almost a pleasant way to pass the time. As long as Ben didn’t think about the last time he’d been in knots with giddy anticipation. The last skating competition, the one that would send him to South Korea or send him home...

  The one that had sent him to the hospital instead.

  This, though: knowing that Adam was coming back, knowing that whatever Ben had felt between them wasn’t imaginary. That it was real, it was reciprocated... it was enough to give Ben the confidence to trust that Adam would return. He had no doubt.

  When Sheldon appeared at the door just after lunch, Ben almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Because of course Sheldon would show up and try to convince Ben to leave the bakery and go somewhere with the old team. And the one night where Ben actually had a valid reason not to go – that was Sheldon’s doing too. Or at least Sheldon would see it that way.

  “No,” said Ben immediately.

  “I haven’t even asked,” complained Sheldon, spreading his arms.

  “But you’re going to,” sang Ben. He turned to head into the back, where the timer on the oven was blaring. “Don’t steal any cookies, I have to get this.”

  “Is it more cookies?”

  “Maybe!”

  Sheldon’s voice carried easily into the back room. “I’m not asking you to skate.”

  Of course Sheldon wouldn’t let it go. The man was worse than a woodland creature in a Disney cartoon. “Good. Because I’m not.”

  “They’re still your friends, you know.”

  Ben sighed as he set the tray down on the cooling rack. “I know.”

  “At least come out with us tonight. Just for dinner. The gang would love to see you. It’s been what, three years?”

  Ben closed his eyes, pressing his hands onto the counter. “About that, yeah.”

  “Ben.” Sheldon’s voice was quietly sympathetic. “I’m not asking you to get on the ice.”

  No, because he never did that.

  “I’m just asking you to come to dinner with us. We miss you. You’re part of the team.”

  “I’m not, actually,” said Ben. “I haven’t been part of the team in three years.”