Five Minutes to Love Read online

  Jacob shrugged. “Come on, he’s only a kid. What did you expect me to say? I can’t corrupt him this young.”

  “Good thing. I don’t think my brother would forgive me. I think he wants to do all the corrupting himself.”

  “Probably right. Well, I should leave the two of you alone to enjoy the rest of your weekend. It was nice to see you again.”

  “You too.”

  Jacob walked away. Just as she was about to follow Ben into the next room, Jacob paused. He clenched and unclenched his hands before walking back to her. “Should we listen to him?”

  Aviva swiveled her head from Ben to Jacob. “Listen to whom? My brother?”

  “No, your nephew. He suggested we go out on a date.”

  Her face heated. “Well, technically he asked if we were going to go out on a date. He didn’t actually suggest it.”

  Jacob’s eyes brightened. Aviva couldn’t turn away. They weren’t brown, they weren’t green. They were…the color of cognac. The noise of the people around them faded into the distance.

  “True, but it would be rude of us to not give him an answer.”

  “It would be a shame to disappoint a seven year old,” she said.

  “That’s right. He might go through his whole life feeling like he was missing something.”

  “That really wouldn’t be fair.”

  “So, what do you say—want to go out on a date?”

  “With you?”

  Jacob looked around for a moment. “Well, there’s a security guard over there, but I’m not sure he’s your type.”

  Aviva pretended to consider. “No, not really,” she said, without a glance at the guard. “Yes, I’d like to go out on a date with you.”

  Jacob expelled a breath. Once again, Aviva was drawn to his sweetness. He thrust his hands in his pockets before pulling out his phone. “Can you give me your number?”

  His smile was a little bashful. He had beautifully straight, white teeth. It was either good genetics or a great orthodontist.

  She nodded. His whole demeanor relaxed. He tapped the screen a few times. She recited her number. He repeated it.

  “Great. I hope you don’t mind if we wait until next weekend. My class schedule this week is crazy, but I’ll call you tomorrow to set something up.”

  “Oh, right, you’re a law student.” Her shoulders slumped. Law students were overworked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, fine. Call whenever you have time.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye, Ben!” He disappeared into the crowd.

  “Hey, Aunt Aviva, can we get ice cream? I’m hungry.”

  “Sure thing,” she said as Jacob disappeared into the distance.

  He probably won’t even call.

  ****

  At eight thirty the next morning, Jacob looked at his phone. He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t have time for a social life. He barely had time to breathe. One minute he told his mother he didn’t have time to date, the next he asked Aviva out. He should forget it. He had to study. With a yawn, he made himself a pot of coffee, sat at his desk, and opened his books.

  Two hours later, he pushed away with a groan. He’d told her he’d call. And he always kept his word. He’d enjoyed his conversation with her yesterday. Could he somehow find the time to make it work? Pulling up the calendar on his phone, he searched for time to spare. Classes, assignments, and study time left little room for anything else. He punched the Contacts button and searched for her number. Best to get this over with. Maybe if he got her out of his system, he’d be able to forget about her and concentrate. She answered on the third ring.

  “Aviva? Hi, it’s Jacob. From the Discovery Museum. And the speed-dating fiasco.”

  Aviva laughed, reminding him of a bowl of cherries in a sunlit kitchen—bright and genuine and full of flavor. “I don’t know if I’d call it a fiasco, technically. But I didn’t expect you to be this prompt.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Well, I told you I’d call. I’m on a break now and I won’t have time later. I thought you might be interested in dinner on Saturday night with a round of bowling at Bowl Rite in Jersey City afterward.”

  “You bowl? Somehow I don’t picture you bowling.”

  “Well, I don’t have a monogrammed bowling ball, but I always have fun. We can do something else if you’d rather.”

  “No, I’d love to go bowling. Saturday is good.”

  “Great. If you give me your address, I can pick you up. Unless you’d be more comfortable meeting me at the restaurant.”

  “No, you can come to my building.” She gave him the address.

  That night, while he studied at the library, Aviva texted him.

  —what do u think?—

  He frowned at the distraction but scrolled down and chortled out loud. She’d texted him a picture of a monogrammed bowling ball—bright pink, with the letters of her name engraved in sparkly silver writing. Hushes from fellow students stifled him.

  —didn’t know u were a “pink” person—he typed.

  —didn’t know U were into bowling—

  —guess we’re even now. Looking forward 2 learning more about u—

  The next day, he called his mom. “Can you take a picture of Dad’s old bowling shirt and text it to me?”

  “Jacob, I don’t text.”

  “Okay, could you email it to me?”

  “What do you need it for? Shouldn’t you be in class now?”

  Jacob moved the phone from his ear and took a deep breath. “It’s Monday, Ma, I don’t have class until eleven today. I want to show it to a friend.”

  “You know I’ll do anything for you. I have my mah jongg group in a half hour, so I’ll take the picture and send it to you when I get back.”

  “Thanks, Ma, love you.”

  “Love you too, dear.”

  That evening, when he checked his email, the picture waited in his inbox. The shirt looked to be straight out of the sixties, brown- and white-striped with the team logo on the back, his Dad’s name stitched in gold thread on the front pocket. He typed a quick text it to Aviva.

  —will u still go out w/me if I wear this?—

  A few moments later, he received her answer.

  —I was thinking of this 1. it goes w/my ball—

  The shirt was pink with Betty Boop on the pocket and rhinestones on the collar.

  —guess we’re good—

  Two days later, Jacob received another text from Aviva.

  —found the perfect shoes—

  “Holy—” He silenced himself as his classmates turned to look at him. She’d texted him a photo of bright pink bowling shoes with silver rhinestone stripes. As soon as class was over, he searched the web for vintage men’s bowling shoes. He shot her a text of a pair he found.

  —these r mine—

  —awesome—

  By Saturday afternoon, Jacob oscillated between hoping Aviva would show up in her bright pink bowling outfit and praying she wasn’t a poufy pink kind of girl. She’d seemed to be joking, but you could never be sure via text. He locked his apartment, whistled as he jogged down the stairs. Time for the moment of truth.

  Chapter Four

  From her trajectory as she exited the elevator in her apartment building, Aviva had the perfect vantage point without being seen. Through some architectural magic, she could see the expanse of the brightly lit lobby and Jacob, who drummed his fingers on his leg, his gaze focused out the window.

  He wasn’t wearing the ugly brown and orange vintage bowling shirt, thank goodness. Instead, he wore a dark red button-down shirt with gray slacks. She smoothed her hair, fingered her necklace, and walked forward.

  His face brightened. He held out his hand. “I thought you might like some ‘stinky’ flowers.” He held out a mixed bouquet of multicolored pink roses, daisies and yellow carnations.

  Ben would be proud. She smiled. “Thank you. These are beautiful.” She buried her nose in the fragrant bouquet. “Le
t me just run them upstairs.”

  When she returned, she arched her brow as they headed out the door. “No bowling shirt?”

  His laugh was deep. It made her stomach flutter. Or were those nerves?

  “I didn’t think it would look right in the restaurant. But later…well, that’s a different story.”

  “I like your discretion.”

  “I like what you’re wearing. You look pretty.”

  She’d chosen black leggings and an off-the-shoulder, three-quarter sleeved turquoise top. Pretty for dinner and comfortable enough to bowl in, she hoped.

  “Thanks. Tell me about the restaurant we’re going to.”

  The cab pulled up, and he held the door for her. Once they were settled, with the cabbie armed with the address of the restaurant, Jacob answered her. “Battello. Obviously Italian. The food is great. It’s on the waterfront in Jersey City.”

  He talked with his hands—large, neat and graceful hands. He was a foodie. His descriptions made her mouth water. At the restaurant, he once again held the door for her and ushered her inside. The aroma of garlic and homemade pasta assailed her. Her stomach growled.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  She thought about making some noncommittal response, but she was sick of shallow small talk and slick posturing from previous guys she’d dated. If this worked, it would be on her terms.

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “Oh, thank God. You have no idea how annoying it is to deal with women who pick at their food.”

  Aviva nodded as she followed Jacob and the maître d’ to their table. She took the proffered menu. “My roommate is like that. I find crumbs everywhere, but little other evidence she actually eats.”

  “That would drive me crazy. I have to confess, though, I’m a neat freak too.”

  “Uh-oh, that might just be a deal breaker.” She made as if to rise from the table. Jacob’s jaw dropped. She laughed. “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

  The waiter placed a basket of bread on the table and took their order.

  “So, I just told you two damning things about myself. What about you?”

  “Two?”

  “I like to eat and I’m a neat freak. Your turn.”

  Aviva swallowed a bite of bread. She glanced around the dining room before answering. With so many windows overlooking the waterfront and the bright lights of the Manhattan skyline, there was a bustle about the place. It would never be considered a soothing place to relax.

  “Hmm, I don’t know about damning information, but I work at Shelby Public Relations as an assistant account executive. I’m taking a writing class at Rutgers, in Newark. I have no patience for artifice. I’m not impressed by shallow things or how much money you earn.” She tore off another piece of bread. “Have I scared you away yet?”

  “Nope, not yet. In fact, I’ll even tell you your writing class and my apartment are pretty near each other. You’re in public relations? What exactly do you do?”

  “I work with clients to help them get their message across in more believable ways than advertising.”

  “Like what?”

  “I try to get articles written about them in magazines or newspapers. Right now, I’m working on a gala for a medical research client. They want to raise money to fund their cancer research.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Well, you’d think not, but often pharmaceutical companies are portrayed as the evil empire, putting money above everything else. My client wants to break the mold and raise money to fund research into the disease, rather than promote their own drugs as the solution.”

  “Interesting. Where are you holding the gala?”

  “At the Liberty Science Center. What kind of law are you planning to practice?”

  “I’m planning on environmental law.”

  “That sounds rewarding. Do you have a job lined up or are you still looking?”

  Jacob propped an elbow on the back of his chair. “I interned at a large firm last summer. They offered me a job in September, providing my grades continue as they are, and I pass the Bar exam. That’s why I’m spending all my time concentrating on my studies.”

  Aviva’s stomach dropped. She wrapped her arms around her waist.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. “ Except, there was. Lawyers who worked at big New York law firms were usually career-focused to the exclusion of all else, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. Certainly not her. She’d seen it with her dad as a child and even now. Work came first, family second. It didn’t matter how much they needed him or wanted him, his paying clients came first. Once, as a little girl, she’d brought him her piggy bank and asked if he could take her to the park. “I can pay you, just like your clients, Daddy.” He’d given her a hug and ruffled her hair, still looking at his papers. “You can’t afford my rates, sweetheart. Now, go ask your mother.” He’d given her a kiss and told her he’d play with her when he was finished with work. She still waited.

  She wouldn’t get close to a guy who was like her dad. “You’re lucky to have gotten a job offer so early.”

  “It’s a great firm with a lot of potential for growth. Of course, like all big law firms, I’ll put in long hours, but it’s worth it for what I want to do.”

  Of course it was.

  The waiter arrived and placed their food in front of them—Mediterranean branzino and pignoli-crusted cod, along with tuna rollatini and a Romaine wedge. The aromas of garlic, cumin, seafood and spices wafted from the dishes. Aviva inhaled deeply.

  “Smells good, doesn’t it?” Jacob asked.

  She sliced the branzino. “It tastes even better.”

  Jacob smiled as he dug into his food. He had such a beautiful smile. She could spend the rest of the evening staring at it. With a sigh, she continued eating and talking throughout dinner.

  When they were finished, he ushered her out of the restaurant into the cool evening air. “You don’t mind walking a little before we catch a cab, do you? The weather is great.”

  “No, I like the exercise, especially after such a big meal.”

  He curled his fingers around hers. His hand was warm and solid. It made Aviva feel secure, though she hadn’t known she lacked the feeling before now. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. He might sound perfect, but career choice-wise, he was too much like her dad.

  “Whoa, watch yourself. Are you okay?”

  She opened them in embarrassment as Jacob pulled her against him to keep her from tripping on the curb. So much for not falling for this guy—she was literally falling at his feet!

  “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit of a klutz, apparently.” If her hand in his made her feel secure, her body pressed against his made her feel…unsettled. His chest was hard, like a marble statue, but warm. His arms were muscular. They wrapped around her like a vise, yet she felt safe. Heat radiated off him. His scent, a combination of cedar wood and spices, filled her nostrils.

  He hadn’t released her hand. Their intertwined fingers highlighted their different skin tones. His was a shade or two darker. She traced the contour of his arm to his shoulder where his muscles filled out his polo sleeve. The indentation between his shoulder and his biceps fascinated her.

  His eyes were filled with concern and a hint of passion. She quickly looked away, focusing instead on the pedestrians enjoying the view of Manhattan across the river.

  “What are you thinking?” His question drew her gaze to his, although she wished to focus on anything but him.

  “I’m thinking about beating you at bowling.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to imagine.”

  “Have you never been beaten by a girl before?”

  “It’s not the girl part I have a hard time with.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s the pink. All the pink you texted me—the ball, the shoes, the shirt. Seems to me it would just be a distraction.”

  “Unless distraction is a strategy.�
�

  Jacob nodded and increased his pace. With legs much longer than hers, Aviva almost had to jog to keep up with him. He didn’t seem to notice her difficulty, nor did he respond when she said, “Slow down.” She reached over and punched his arm.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “For making me run to keep up with you.”

  He let go of her hand and rubbed his arm. “If you’re as fierce with a bowling ball as you are with a punch, I may have to reevaluate my assumption of your bowling skills.”

  “You just may have to.”

  With a rueful smile, he took her hand again. This time, he walked at a much more leisurely pace. “This better?” He glanced sideways at her, the corners of his eyes crinkly from his smile.

  “Much. Thank you.”

  They reached the bowling alley, picked up their shoes, and found a free lane.

  “So, I see you decided against the throwback greaser look?” Aviva asked.

  “Well, if you’re not doing the pink poodle thing, I figured I’d just come as myself.”

  Aviva nodded. “Probably a good plan. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I think that much pink would have made me ill.”

  “It would have affected your bowling game, and we wouldn’t want that.”

  All around them, the crack of the ball against the pins, the sweep of the pinsetter as it pushed the fallen pins out of the pit, the cacophonous shouts of other players, swirled. But all Aviva heard was the teasing tone of his voice, its deep rumble vibrating in her chest and making her toes curl. He grabbed the bowling ball with his long fingers, bent over and let the ball loose down the lane. His arm muscles rippled, his butt clenched. Aviva resisted the urge to fan herself. Bowling was an excellent first date.

  She looked at the score on the overhead screen—third frame and he was ahead, but only by a few points. They were pretty evenly matched, unless…

  “You’re not going easy on me, are you?”

  He stopped in the middle of reaching for his ball off the rack. “No, but would it matter if I were?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Duly noted.” He grabbed his ball and bowled his next round. Returning to her, he picked up her ball and handed it to her.