Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

And the Leopards weren’t playing, like they had two years ago. And neither of our families were celebrating out of town.

Which meant that Abe and I would both be in Burlingame, at Thanksgiving dinner, together.

I met him for lunch on Tuesday. It was the one day he had off from practice, and it was also the least busy of my week; deadline wasn’t yet upon us, and we’d caught up from the weekend work the day before. Well, at least in theory. In practice, this week was a little busier as so many of us would be out of the office.

Still, I stole away for half an hour with Abe.

We met at a Lenny’s nearby, and he graciously bought my bagel. I watched with a smile. “What a gentleman.”

He delivered it with a flourish. “I live to serve.”

I raised my brows and ran my foot up his leg, and was delighted when his eyes darkened.

But then he dealt me a firm, we-need-to-have-a-discussion look. “Okay. What are we going to do about our parents?”

I smeared the cream cheese across my poppy-seed halves. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I talked to my mom la

st night.”

“Yeah?”

“She wanted to set me up with Jenna Perlman’s cousin.”

“Jenna Perlman from schul? No way. She used to hog all the cookies.”

He sounded amused. “Well, it would be her cousin, not her.”

“If she’s anything like Jenna, you wouldn’t get along.” I noticed the pointed look he aimed my way. “What?”

“You have to tell your mom, or I’m telling mine.”

The idea of telling my mother hit me like an impossibility to be avoided at all costs. “Abe.”

“I know. But we have to.”

“We do not.”

He raised his brows. “We’re just never going to tell them?”

“Abraham. They will have the temple booked and the invitations out within the week. Worse, my mom is going to have opinions.”

He laughed down at me. “What does that mean?”

I waved a hand expressively. “You know. About how we interact. She’ll be like, ‘Well, Abe never empties the dishwasher, so be prepared to empty it for the rest of your life.’”

His brow scrunched up. “What does that even mean? I do too empty the dishwasher.”

“No.” I shook my head emphatically. “You don’t. Never have. I know it. Your mother knows it. My mother knows it.”

His eyes widened and flickered in thought. “I don’t believe you. I...do do the dishes.”

I placed an appeasing hand on his. “That is true. You simply don’t empty it. It’s okay, I don’t mind. Yet. I just mind hearing about it from my mother.”

He groaned. “Well, my mom’s going to want to know if you’re pregnant, so there’s that.”

“Mazel tov,” I muttered.