Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

by Penelope Peters

  “Spinach and broccoli, I can do,” he said leaning on the glass counter. “Now. What can I get for you?”

  Adam rested his hands on the counter. He’d taken off his gloves and gripped them in one hand. His fingers were stocky and square, but they looked strong. Ben wondered what they’d feel like on this skin. They were inches from Ben’s, and Ben itched to scoot closer to them.

  “I was hoping for another raspberry sufganiyah,” admitted Adam. “I’ve been craving another since yesterday.”

  Maybe it was Ben’s imagination, but the way Adam was looking made Ben think that maybe raspberry donuts weren’t all that Adam had been craving.

  Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part, Ben told himself, even as his heart leaped in his chest. Adam’s smile was thin, and if Ben was any judge, clearly trying to put on a brave and cheerful front.

  Bad enough to not spend the holidays with family. Ben knew what that was like all too well. But in an unfamiliar city, out of a hotel room that probably didn’t even allow him to light candles?

  “You should come over tonight,” he blurted out. “I’m trying out some latke recipes, and I’d love for a second opinion.”

  The offer clearly startled Adam. “That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose—”

  “You wouldn’t be,” insisted Ben. “I always get a second opinion, but Sheldon’s busy tonight, and I really want some on my menu in the next day or so. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

  “Do it,” hissed the nearest boy under his breath, right before Adam shot him a glare that sent him scurrying back to the others. Ben tried not to laugh out loud at Adam’s face.

  “I’d like that,” said Adam.

  Ben wanted to do a tiny victory dance of joy. Maybe after Adam and his kids left. “Great,” he said, hoping he wasn’t blushing like mad. “Five-thirty okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Adam. Already the smile on his face was a bit more genuine. “So... those raspberry sufganiyot?”

  Ben’s joy was short-lived. “Oh. Gosh, I wish I could. I changed up the flavors for today, though. It’s blueberry and apple cinnamon compote.”

  Adam’s nose tweaked. “Sticking to more traditional flavors?”

  “The lemon cream was very popular, I’ll have you know,” said Ben in defense. “And if you’re going to be that way about it, you only get one.”

  Adam’s mouth quirked. “But what if I want two?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, let me elaborate. You get only one on the house.”

  Adam shook his head, but his smile was growing from ear to ear, right along with the warm feeling in Ben’s chest. “Nope. Sorry. I have to pay for both. I got my free donut yesterday, remember?”

  “Store policy. You get a free donut after bringing me ten new customers,” Ben said. His heart pounded as he put two of the sufganiyot into a bag. “Pretty sure you brought me a whole hockey team.”

  “Not the whole team,” piped up one of the kids through a mouthful of donut. “Coach Farida says she’s on a diet.”

  Even through a donut and a French accent, it was impossible to miss the boy’s poor opinion of diets. Ben laughed and leaned over the counter to look at him.

  “Well, tell Coach Farida that I can absolutely do a low-fat quiche for her tomorrow morning, if she’d like. I strive to cater to my customers’ needs.”

  The boy frowned. “You’re not going to flirt with her, too, are you?”

  Too?!? thought Ben with horror, which wasn’t helped by the way Adam blushed. Adam took the boy by the shoulders and gently shoved him back in the direction of the tables, muttering at him in French the whole time.

  The boys at the tables instantly converged on their friend, muttering excitedly in French, throwing suspicious glances at Ben.

  Suspicious... and worried?

  “Sorry,” apologized Adam. “They’re children. Their English is terrible. I know you’re not flirting, that you’re just being friendly.”

  “Oh,” said Ben, still somewhat bowled over by the brazen child. “I guess I’ll have to try harder, then.”

  Adam stared at him – which was even more distressing than being called out by a ten-year-old.

  “Or not!” said Ben, trying for levity and no doubt failing miserably. “So that’s four donuts, one cinnamon roll, and a brioche—”

  “Sorry, I—” stammered Adam.

  “—are you paying together – no, it’s fine,” said Ben, stumbling. “Stupid of me to assume that you’d want to – let’s just forget—”

  “Assume I’d want to what?” asked Adam.

  Ben paused. “Date someone like me.”

  “You mean someone who isn’t Jewish?” asked Adam.

  Which ouch, stung. Ben straightened.

  Again, levity. “I sort of meant American,” said Ben. “Seeing as I am Jewish.”

  “You’re Jewish?” blurted out Adam. “How can you be Jewish and not realize lemon cream doesn’t go in sufganiyot?”

  “About the same way I can talk to a Canadian and not realize he’s a total asshole,” said Ben sweetly, right before the kids who were listening in let out a low and appreciative oooooooo!

  Ben clamped his hand over his mouth. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You know what, store policy, everything’s on the house. I have to go take something out of the oven, have a really good day.”

  Ben fled into the kitchen, leaning against the counters as his heart pounded in his ears.

  Oh Lord, I just insulted a customer and his nationality to his face. I can’t believe I just did that, he thought, covering his face with his hands. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”

  He could hear the flurry of French in the store, not that he could understand a word of it. Then he heard the shuffling as half a dozen boys got to their feet, pushing chairs and tables on the linoleum as they headed for the door.

  The bell rang merrily in between the thump-thump-thump sound of people pushing the door open and closed, and then the shop was silent.

  They’re gone, thought Ben. The horror of what he’d said – and the shock on Adam’s face – was still fresh, and somehow, the idea that he was now alone to wallow in his guilt wasn’t exactly as much of a relief as he’d have thought.

  Assuming it was empty, anyway. Ben had the sudden, frightening thought that maybe, just maybe... Adam had stayed behind.

  Oh, stop it. You watch too many Hollywood rom-coms, Ben scolded himself. He straightened, shook the nerves out of his hands, and with a deep breath, turned back into the doorway to assess the damage.

  The store was empty. The chairs were pushed back to the tables, which had been cleared of all debris.

  On the counter, next to his register and the neatly stacked plates he’d given the boys for their treats... was a pile of money.

  THE KIDS WERE STILL hooting and laughing at Adam when they reached the rink. Adam gritted his teeth and bore it, because he knew the reaction he wanted to give them would only inspire more of the same.

  Besides... he probably deserved it.

  “That was such a wicked burn,” howled Andreas, a somewhat stocky Black boy with a Parisian-French accent. He was one of Adam’s older players at fourteen. “That guy has guts.”

  “Did you see his face, though?”

  “Oh, man, I thought he was going to bury himself under the floor.”

  “He totally has the hots for Coach,” said Andreas confidently.

  “Past tense,” muttered Adam. Which of course, because the universe hated him, Andreas heard.

  “No way,” said Andreas. “He full up admitted he was flirting with you.”

  “Still past tense.”

  “He still likes you,” said Andreas.

  “He blushed,” added Pierre. “That’s what people do when they like each other. You should see my sister when her boyfriend’s over.”

  “And you still like him,” added Andreas. “Or you wouldn’t have made us pay for the food.”

  “You paid for the food beca
use you owed it to him,” Adam reminded him. “Not because I may or may not like him.”

  “Next time you go there, you need to apologize,” said Andreas seriously.

  Adam stared at Andreas. “Apologize?”

  “You made assumptions, Coach. You know better than that. First time you met me, you assumed I couldn’t skate.”

  “You couldn’t skate.”

  Andreas laughed: a large, rolling laugh that harbored no ill-will. “Not the way you wanted, no. But you didn’t think I could play, either.”

  The boy was right – even if Adam had been damn sure never to let on what he’d originally thought on meeting him. Now Andreas was the second-best player on the team – and would be the best, if he could learn to hit his free shots more of the time.

  Adam sighed and held the rink door open as the boys filed in. “Suit up.”

  “Just apologize,” Andreas told him as he went in.

  “Yeah, Coach, apologize. He’ll be okay.”

  “It only hurts while you’re talking, Coach.”

  “He might give you a free muffin!”

  “He might give you a kiss!”

  “Be a man, Coach!”

  Adam held the door for a moment after the last kid went in, just so the cold air could help chill the embarrassment warming up his face.

  Be a man, he thought grimly. Funny advice from a twelve-year-old.

  He was just stepping inside when he heard the shout from the steps below.

  “Ah, Bernard!” called Nilsson. “Just the man I wanted to see. Given any more thought to joining us this evening?”

  No, thought Adam. But if I go, maybe I can convince you that I’m not interested, and then I don’t have to spend the rest of the week dodging you.

  But I can’t put the apology off, either, or I’ll never be able to go back.

  “There’s an errand I need to run tonight—" He followed Nilsson into the lobby, just in time to see the worried look on Pierre’s face. Pierre turned and began whispering urgently to his teammates.

  “Something you can do over lunch? Come on, Bernard! Whatever you have to do in Boston can wait! You’re here for a week.”

  Which is true. After a week, I don’t have to see Ben again, either. The thought was startlingly depressing.

  “Maybe I can do it during lunch instead,” said Adam. He wasn’t sure what the lurch in his stomach meant. Excitement to see Ben? Or the realization that he’d probably be skipping yet another lunch?

  “There’s a good man,” said Nilsson approvingly.

  “What time were you thinking to meet, sir?”

  “Six for dinner – there’s a great little restaurant just off the green, has really good calamari – oh, right, sorry, forgot. They’ve got tilapia and salmon, too. I had lunch there with Smith the other day, it should be okay. He’s Jewish, isn’t he?”

  Adam tried to suppress the grimace when he caught sight of Pierre running over.

  “Coach! Richard lost his contact lens!”

  It was easy to pretend exasperation when he was really just grateful for the interruption. “Why was he wearing his contacts?”

  “So he could see?” suggested Pierre.

  “Hope he can see the puck,” said Nilsson, amused.

  “He can’t even see it with his contacts, sir,” said the boy seriously. Which was true, not that Adam would have admitted it in public. Nilsson laughed and slapped his back again.

  “Better go help him,” he told Adam. “Looking forward to changing your mind, Bernard.”

  Adam stifled the sigh and followed Pierre to where the cadre of boys – both Adam’s team and others –were all down on their knees on the floor, studiously looking for something.

  “Richard,” said Adam wearily, “tell me you brought extra pairs.”

  “To Boston, yes,” said Richard, his voice muffled by the bench, under which he was searching what was probably one of the more disgusting floors in the city. “To the rink today, no.”

  Adam groaned. “Practice starts in three minutes. I’ve half a mind to send you back to the hotel to get them yourself.”

  Richard rose up so fast, his head banged on the bottom of the bench.

  “Ow!” he yelped. “I’m fine, Coach! I can play without them! That game against the Eagles, I wasn’t wearing them!”

  “You were oh-for-three,” Andreas reminded him.

  “You can get them at lunch,” piped up Pierre.

  That would work, thought Adam. I could get Richard’s extra contacts, and then stop in the bakery to apologize.

  “Fine,” said Adam. “Where did you put them?”

  “In my suitcase?” guessed Richard. “Or in the bathroom? Or maybe a drawer? I can’t remember. Better take me with you.”

  And have an audience for my humiliation. Great.

  “All right, boys, let’s go!” shouted someone from inside the rink. “Time’s a’wasting!”

  “You’ll come with me,” Adam told Richard. He didn’t think he heard Pierre whisper, “Yes!” but he wasn’t looking at Pierre so it was hard to be sure. “All right. Get on the ice. Remember: it’s not just about winning. You’re here to learn something. Pay attention to the other team, think about what they’re doing – and apply it to how you play them. Make all that work you put in to get here worth it, yeah?”

  The boys let out a series of hoots and hollers, moving as a collective horde toward the ice.

  “Good motivational speech, Coach,” said Farida, rising up to her feet and brushing off her knees.

  “Thanks,” said Adam grimly. “They can spend the morning working on their speed. I get to spend it thinking up an apology.”

  IN THE END, THERE WAS barely enough time to fetch Richard’s contacts before they had to return to the rink; Richard nearly upended his entire room trying to find them before realizing he’d had them in his workout bag the entire time. Adam, who had been growing increasingly more eager and nervous about seeing Ben again ended up swallowing his agitation in the rush to get back before the afternoon’s practice began.

  “Thanks, Coach,” said Richard on their walk back. He even sounded sincere – and Adam had no doubt he was. “I didn’t mean to mess up your lunch plans.”

  “Not important,” said Adam, glancing across Mass Ave to Ben’s shop. It looked fairly busy – there wasn’t a chance of being able to pop in for a quick minute. “It can wait until dinnertime.”

  “I mean, even if it is Hugo Nilsson, Coach. Not that it wouldn’t be cool, but I don’t think you’d be happy with him.”

  Adam’s attention snapped back to Richard. The kids knew about his past, sure – but he’d never mentioned about Nilsson trying to recruit him as a coach. “Sorry?”

  “I just think you should take the slower road, Coach,” said Richard cheerfully. “All that fame and celebrity stuff is overrated. That’s what my mom says, anyway.”

  “O-kay?” Adam racked his brain, trying to think of when the boys might have caught on. Had someone said something? Had there been gossip in the locker rooms?

  “Glad we had this talk, Coach,” said Richard, apparently satisfied with the answer. They walked in silence for a moment while Adam worried. Nilsson hadn’t actually asked the kids about him, had he?

  “Coach, can I ask you something?” Richard sounded hesitant. Adam’s heart lurched.

  “Anything, Richard, you know that.”

  “Do you mind much being here? I mean – I know it’s Hanukkah and all.”

  Adam’s chest warmed at the thought of his boys worrying about him. It was almost enough to override the guilt he did feel for being in Boston during the holiday, and not in Montreal with his dad. “I don’t mind. I promised you guys, if you earned the invite, you’d get to go. My own fault for not checking the calendar.”

  “Yeah, but – we feel kinda bad, you know? We can’t even light candles in the rooms.”

  If Richard hadn’t been prone to acute amounts of embarrassment, Adam might have been tempted to hug him hard
. “Which is too bad, I agree, but wanna know something? It was never about the candles to me.”

  “Presents,” said Richard knowingly.

  Adam laughed. “Nope. Not even those.”

  Richard wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. The potato pancakes?”

  Adam cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re going to think it’s corny. I liked being with my family the most. That was the best part, above the candles and the presents and the food.”

  “I guess you spent a lot of holidays away when you were in the Q, huh?”

  Adam shrugged. “I sort of lost track, though. Weird to think about, but – not being aware of the holiday made it easier to cope with not being home to celebrate them. Takes something away, when you’re the only one enjoying the light.”

  “That makes sense,” said Richard. “We’ve got a neighbor whose wife died over the summer. He says the same thing about putting up a Christmas tree.”

  Adam nodded. “Holidays aren’t the same when you’ve lost what makes it a home.”

  “But Coach,” continued Richard, “you wouldn’t be the only one enjoying it, if we lit candles here. We’d be with you.”

  The sudden pin-prick of tears made Adam blink again, along with the knot that formed in his throat. “Thanks,” he said gruffly, wondering how the hell he managed to get such a good group of kids.

  “Yeah, well,” said Richard, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden turn of conversation, “I hear there’s chocolate coins involved somewhere.”

  Adam barked out a laugh.

  “Sorry about your lunch date, though,” added Richard.

  Adam thought of Ben’s little shop, and the warmth he’d felt talking to him.

  There was an electric hanukkiah in the window, and it still had only one light on it. Maybe Adam could turn the second light on that evening. It wasn’t the same as lighting a candle, but it’d have to do.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

  IT WAS DARK BY THE time Adam left the rink after the afternoon’s practice, having extracted a promise from Farida to take the boys straight back to the hotel after finding dinner in whatever convenient pizza place they could scrounge up. The boys had likewise promised to give Farida the easiest of times and to head to bed early.