Page 89 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Okay, I take it back,” she said as she handed him her keys and forced him to open her front door while she began unwrapping her purloined treat. “You’re not so easy to forgive. These ones were mine, from my private stash. I can’t get these again until next year.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to make some of your own. Still love me?”
“I guess.”
He barked out a laugh and kissed her cheek. “My kind of miracle.”
Epilogue
October
* * *
Sal and Enzo’s pizza kitchen had been built to handle speed and efficiency, but even those seasoned pros were having a tricky time keeping up with the staggering number of orders flying at them from the packed restaurant. Not that Marisa doubted their prowess—she didn’t have a death wish or a desire to find a new apartment—but she’d also never seen the place so stuffed to the gills.
And though celebrating the start of the Rugby Sevens season at the pizzeria was her idea, she wasn’t exactly thrilled she had to get in line for her standard white cheese and broccoli slice.
At least she’d had the foresight to go back to hiding her full-sugar Dr. Browns from the customers. Marisa shuddered. She didn’t know what she’d do if she had to settle for the diet stuff.
Above the drink fridges, a large television was positioned at the optimal viewing angle, and everything was set for show time . . . Well, except for Eden angling her phone beneath the TV, trying to capture the QR code on the screen so they could log into Global Sports Matrix’s streaming app.
“Multifactor authentication can suck it. That’s all I’m going to say.” Eden finally lined up the code within the shaky colored lines on her screen and plugged in the info it asked for.
“You know what sucks worse than multifactor authentication? Identity theft.” Marisa swiped a garlic knot from her previously secured stash and offered it up to her friend in dutiful commiseration.
With Eden’s thumbs engaged in careful tapping, she kept her eyes on the screen as she leaned her mouth over to the proffered knot to take a bite. “Joke’s on them. I’ve got about a buck fifty in my checking account, a good twenty grand left in student loans, and an old Payless Shoes charge card I opened freshman year of college. Pretty sure I’m not worth the effort, but who am I to judge someone’s career choices? Yes, got it! Finally.” Eden took the rest of her knot as payment for her accomplishment, grabbed a few sodas from the fridge, and plunked them down on the table where Sid, Captain, and Manic were deeply engaged in the tiny screen before them.
Manic scratched the buzzed side of his head, careful not to mess up his mohawk, and squinted at the video footage of Alec’s final match with Great Britain he’d played back in May. “So, they’re not called touchdowns or goals. They’re called tries.”
“Correct,” Marisa said.
Sid bit into his Sicilian slice. “And when they kick a field goal?—”
“Conversion.”
“Right, when they go for a conversion, it’s how many points?”
“Five for the initial try, and two points for the conversion. Each chance at scoring gives them the opportunity to earn seven points total.”
Captain shook his head, his long braid swinging dangerously close to the toddler’s eager grasp in the high chair next to him. “They do all of this without passing the ball forward? Like, at all?”
“Yup. They can only throw it to a teammate who’s behind them.”
“With no gear,” Sid reminded all of them.
“They’re wearing mouth guards, but otherwise, nope.”
“Man,” Captain grumbled, “and I thought prison was tough.”
Their admiration was easy to love, especially when their eyes filled with wonder as they watched a replay of Alec flying through the air with the ball out in front of him and landing on his stomach to score the final try of the game and the final try of his on-pitch career. The conversion, however, and the glory of earning the two points that would secure Great Britain the win, he left to another teammate.
That had been her favorite part. Up until now, at least. In a few minutes, they’d be able to see Alec’s first on-air interview as the Chief Rugby Sevens Analyst for Global Sports Matrix. The match wasn’t happening for another hour, and that was just fine. That meant she got to watch Alec, decked out in an underwear-scorching suit, lean into the role he’d been working so hard to prepare for over the past few months. With a slate of player interviews and coaching questions, some of them prerecorded, he’d quickly found his stride in storytelling.
It made her heart squeeze all over again at how much she loved that man.
“Mom, can I go up and get more gummies?” Next to the toddler, who was again thwarted from nabbing Captain’s braid, the older brother was popping a final fistful of candies into his mouth and looking forlorn down at his empty napkin.
“Sure thing, honey. Here, buy another bag for all of us, will you?” The mother handed the kid some cash and gasped when her daughter’s chubby fingers found their mark on Captain’s braid. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Ellie, no!”
