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.Just thinking about how crazy the following day would bemade his stomach churn, so he distracted himself by switching gears and mixing up a sour-cream dipping sauce for his latkes and making a quick salad for dinner.“Baby.”Miles started, nearly dropping his knife on his toe.“Don’t startle me like that!”“Sorry.” Itai looked sheepish, his hands in his pockets.“I’ve got some bad news.Traviscalled.The article on Fantastic has an earlier deadline than we thought, so they want to dothe interview tomorrow morning.”Miles shook his head.“Of course they do.” He went back to chopping tomatoes.“I can’t change it.”“I know.It’s fine.”Itai’s eyebrows came together.“It is?”“Yeah.It’s disappointing but not surprising.”“I thought you were freaking out about it being slammed in the store tomorrow.”“I am, but I’m training a new employee tomorrow, so it should be fine.” Miles tossed thesliced tomatoes into a bowl.“I’ll have to—”“New employee?” Itai interrupted.“When did this happen?”“Yesterday,” Miles said.He considered telling Itai the whole story about DetectiveDelbene’s undercover work but decided against it.It wasn’t that he was intentionallykeeping secrets, but…Okay, he was, he admitted to himself.But it was for a reason.Itai had suffered somepretty intensive post-traumatic stress after his stint in the Israeli army, and an unfortunateincident that occurred outside the base where he was stationed had left him particularlysensitive about any issue involving guns.It didn’t seem like the best idea to mention therewould be an armed officer in the shop for the next two weeks.Or the possibility that, asremote as Nic suggested it would be, there could be violence in the deli.The idea madeMiles sweaty with anxiety, and he didn’t have PTSD or any personal negative experienceswith weapons.So he kept his response short.“A guy came in the store wanting to know more about pickling.He asked if he couldwork with me for a few weeks and learn how to pickle.”Itai scowled.“Why, so he can turn around and open a competing business somewhere?That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Miles.”“No, it isn’t.” Miles’s hackles rose.“He’s not an entrepreneur.He just likes my food.”“How do you know anything about this guy? He might rip off the till; he might stealyour mother’s recipes and sell them.Who knows?” Itai angrily slammed the dishwasher.“And I thought you were going to consult with me on the business decisions! How come Iwasn’t part of the hiring process?”Miles narrowed his eyes.“You serious? You’ve spent—what?—three hours working inthe deli so far?”“I’m planning on spending more time there! I—”“You’re busy.I get it.You’re always busy, Itai.It’s not going to change.”“The sale is this weekend, for God’s sake! Afterward—”“Afterward, what? You’ll be sitting on a stool, wondering what on earth you will do withall your free time?” Miles snapped.When Itai didn’t reply, Miles answered for him.“Ofcourse you won’t.You’ll immediately begin a new project.You and I both know that.Andif you’ve shown no interest or inclination in learning to cook before now, why would youdecide to take it up?”Itai looked furious.“I thought you wanted me to be your partner in the deli!”“I do!” Miles cried back.“But only if you want to as well.It shouldn’t be something youdread doing!”“Well, I dread doing it now!” Itai stormed out of the deli.Miles grabbed the bowl of sliced tomatoes and threw it against the wall.It was aluminumso the bowl survived, but the tomatoes did not.They splattered against the kitchen wall in adramatic display of mess.Miles kicked the counter.He breathed heavily.He counted to sixty.And then he bent over, picked up the bowl, and cleaned up the ruined tomatoes.Hishands were shaking with adrenaline.Two large fights in one day was a new record for the two of them.Well, unless heconsidered the epic twenty-four-hour ordeal of their breakup that included Itai sobbing andMiles vomiting on the sidewalk.Oh, fond memories.He wiped up his mess and went back to prepare their Thanksgiving dinner salad as ifnothing had happened.He wasn’t apologizing first this time.It was Itai’s turn.He had beenthe irrational one.He carried his cold plate of latkes, sauce, and a tomatoless salad upstairs.Itai was still in the office, likely instant messaging someone from the rhythm of histyping: a burst of activity, then a minute of silence before resuming his typing.Miles put the food in their fridge, took a shower, and sat himself in front of thetelevision to watch the second half of the Raiders and Cowboys football game.He had asecond gift for Itai in his wardrobe, but he was very purposefully avoiding wrapping it.Presents weren’t for assholes.He realized he hadn’t heard typing for a while and turned.Itai stood behind the couch,jacket on, looking upset.“I’m going to the store [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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