Matzah Ball Surprise

By Laura Brown

This Passover is starting to feel like the ten plagues might be coming back to haunt them before the weekend is over...one hilarious misstep after the next.

Gaby Fineberg just wants to get through Passover Seder without her “well meaning” family playing matchmaker. She needs a date, just for one simple meal—that includes singing, the history of her forefathers, and not one bit of yeast. The hot guy at her gym would be perfect. He probably hates bread, anyway, with a body like that. But when she finally works up the nerve to ask him...he doesn’t hear a word she said.

Levi Miller is Deaf and happily single. Initially, he doesn’t know why this beautiful woman is talking to him, but it’s clear she needs help—and suddenly so does he. In a very complicated situation, Levi finds a simple solution. Gaby will pretend to be his new girlfriend to bail him out, and he’ll return the favor. But he didn’t bargain for a family dinner quite like this one…

Each book in the Matzah Ball Surprise series is STANDALONE:
* Matzah Ball Surprise
* About That Night

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Mar 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640638617

Laura Brown

Laura Brown lives in Massachusetts with her quirky abnormal family. Her husband’s put up with her since high school, her young son keeps her on her toes, and her three cats think they deserve more scratches. Hearing loss is a big part of who she is, from her own Hard of Hearing ears, to the characters she creates.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Find love in unexpected places with these satisfying Lovestruck reads…

The Best Man Problem

Her Super-Secret Rebound Boyfriend

Three Day Fiancee

Ruling the Princess

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by Laura Brown. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Preview of About That Night © 2020 by Laura Brown

Entangled Publishing, LLC

10940 S Parker Rd

Suite 327

Parker, CO 80134

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Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Lydia Sharp and Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Bree Archer

Cover photography by pink panda/Shutterstock

AntonMatveev/GettyImages

ISBN 978-1-64063-861-7

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition March 2020

Dear Reader,

Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

xoxo

Liz Pelletier, Publisher

To my Aunt Felice, the real life inspiration to the Aunt Faith character. You were like a second mother to me growing up, the one who always ran the Passover Seders, and I couldn’t write a story about Passover without remembering your infectious laugh and warm hugs. You were taken from us too soon, but you still live on in my heart. So I stole your likeness, your dog, and the true story of him eating a defrosting turkey for this novel. I’m sure you would approve.

Chapter One

Of all the places in the world to discuss impending doom, the gym would not have been Gaby Fineberg’s first choice. A bar would have been her first choice. And yet, there she sweated—in both the external and internal ways.

It’s bad enough Tom ended the relationship, Gaby said through panting breaths. But Mom blaming me is the icing on the cake—as if the whole split was my grand idea. I don’t know if I can handle more disapproval. Not after six months of Tom I disapprove of everything Connors.

What you need is the strong, silent type, Riley said from beside her.

Gaby needed painkillers and for her elliptical program to end, not a man. She slowed down, unable to endure this conversation with her BFF while exerting her lungs to capacity, and forced her remaining energy into a glare at her friend. Oh, is that all? Her sarcasm held the weight of a marshmallow, thanks to her breath coming out in spurts.

Riley’s long, straight black hair swayed back and forth due to her excessive speed. She removed one hand from her machine, holding up three fingers, voice calm and relaxed, as though she were sunbathing by the ocean instead of ellipticalling in a packed gym. One, if you go alone to Passover Seder your mother will set you up with the creepy guy who insisted on playing doctor when you were kids—

In Brian’s defense, he did become a doctor.

And all those ‘practice exams’ he thrust on you were really necessary?

Gaby rolled her eyes and tried to match Riley’s insane pace without breaking a leg. The burning in her calves became an inferno.

Two, Riley went on, everyone knows about the split. You really need to show them how well you’re doing, otherwise it’s going to be ‘oh, poor Gaby, have another matzah ball.’ And three, you damn well don’t need another man offering up false biases to your relatives, so make him silent.

Stress over the uncomfortable situation brewed until Gaby felt the distinct pressure of a migraine against the bridge of her nose. At least it distracted her from the burning in her legs.

She glanced around the gym, where people from all ages, shapes, and sizes worked on their fitness. Some looked about as thrilled as she felt, while others were ready to challenge Riley in an all-day exercise binge. But one guy stood out from the rest. Mr. Free-Weights, as she affectionately referred to him. He’d become her anchor, someone to focus on when she wanted to get off her machine and go home. Tall, with lean muscles, the kind that stretched his fitted T-shirt and declared he didn’t have any visible fat on his drool-worthy body. He wasn’t like the others, not itching to get out, or happy to over-perform. He simply focused on his weights and his form.

What might that type of focus and control lead to in other areas of his life… Like the bedroom.

He switched to squats, those sturdy calves dusted with hair, the baggy shorts slipping further, revealing the top of a delicious V that she had no business yearning to see or feel. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving until Riley tapped her machine.

You know I’m right. Her voice softened with concern, but her legs soldiered on.

Yeah, I know. Gaby hated it, but it was true. Two months had passed since Tom decided he needed someone less stiff—his words—but in reality, he wanted someone who actually enjoyed the self-torture of triathlons. And no health buffs. I want someone actually upset about missing yeast for a week.

Riley snorted. Who cares what he eats or doesn’t eat, as long as he takes the attention off your painfully single status?

Ouch.

Gaby shifted her attention, searching once again for her happy place. Mr. Free-Weights paused and collected his water bottle. His head angled upward, and her mouth went dry—oh to have his bobbing Adam’s apple and day’s worth of stubble working against her parched tongue. Gaby bet her left boob—the bigger one—he wasn’t single.

Riley’s hand landed on her arm, and Gaby squeaked as her legs jerked, her footing slipped, and she nearly stumbled over the footrests. That would have been a first—who falls off an elliptical? Yes! That guy is hot as hell, and I’ve never once seen him talk to anyone. You bring him home to your mother and she won’t care that you haven’t given her grandchildren yet.

Gaby stopped moving, her aching legs cheering in relief. How did my parental status get into this conversation?

Riley slowed to a more reasonable speed, eyes rolling at the seemingly obvious answer. Jewish mothers. Now go, talk to him.

Gaby looked down at her sweat-stained tank top and the biker shorts that reminded her she needed less snacks and more gym. Dressed like this?

Riley leaned on the arms of her machine. He’s sweaty, too. I bet even his sweat smells good.

There’s quite the radius around him, though, he could be the type who skips deodorant before working out.

So give him a stick as a thank you for helping out. She pushed Gaby’s shoulder. Go! I’ve got another mile until I’m finished. Not waiting for a response, Riley picked up her speed, head nodding toward Mr. Free-Weights, who had bent over and, as Gaby nearly swallowed her tongue, stretched.

Damn, that’s a fine ass, Riley muttered.

The parts of Gaby that had sworn off men woke up and wholeheartedly agreed. She got off her machine and wiped it down with a towel. I can’t do this. I’ll ask someone at work.

If you really want to pass up that fine specimen, that’s your loss.

The whole idea screamed of ridiculous behavior. Why couldn’t Gaby go home without a date? The twenty-first century did not require she get married and have tons of kids. She could be single. If she wanted to be…

And there lay the problem—more than one day wanting someone to share a life with, to share traditions with, a part of her didn’t want to go home. She wanted to return to the place she grew up with her parents and her sister. She wanted to step into the past, but each time she went, her mother had changed something, and Gaby was hit with the somber fact the past didn’t exist anymore. Her father no longer lived, and all she wanted was a time capsule from when he did. She took dates home more for a buffer, because she didn’t want to discuss her love life when she needed to know where her father’s old chess set went, or the painting her parents had gotten in Bermuda, or…anything and everything.

Change. She wasn’t a fan.

She left her friend ellipticalling as if ellipticals were her life and headed for the water fountain. One of these days she’d remember to bring her bottle.

Maybe.

She bent over the chrome bubbler and took a long drink, then splashed some water on her face, the cold a welcome break after the heat of exercise. She didn’t get people like Riley who had energy after working out. All Gaby wanted now was takeout in front of the TV.

She flicked droplets from her hands and stepped back, colliding with someone. Oh my God, I’m so, so sor— Her words clogged her throat as she turned and—hello. Mr. Free-Weights had the clearest blue eyes ever, so clear and blue she leaned in a bit before catching herself. She opened her mouth, but her words tumbled and scrambled, still trapped in her throat, leaving her to stand there staring at him.

He smiled and held up his water bottle, gesturing behind her.

Oh! Gaby shuffled to the side. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—

He moved before she could finish and fit his opened water bottle under the spout. Now she had a chance to ask him, only the guy hadn’t said one word. In fact, he all but ignored her.

Idiot. Get out of here.

Her feet refused to budge. A quick glance back at Riley showed her friend had caught everything. Riley held two thumbs up, and Gaby swallowed her pride.

Okay, look, this is going to sound crazy, and possibly stalkerish, which I assure you I’m not. But I’ve got this family thing coming up, and it’s one of those where if I show up without a date, they are going to be wondering why I can’t land one. Not that I can’t land a date, it’s just that I recently broke up with this guy and…you know what, that’s not important. Bottom line. I need a fake boyfriend. There will be free food. Just no yeast. You interested?

She held her breath, wishing she could crawl into a hole and away from her motor-mouth embarrassment. He didn’t even react. Head bent, he continued filling his water bottle. When finished, he capped it and straightened to his full height, almost bumping into her with the movement. Surprise crossed his face, as if she hadn’t been standing there babbling.

His eyebrows furrowed low, and he glanced around before holding out his water bottle.

No, that’s not… She flailed her hands, exasperated. Never again would she attempt at picking up a guy. Did you hear anything I said?

His lips pursed, and a small grin took over. He pointed to his ear and shook his head. She checked for an ear bud or something but found nothing.

Oh. Mr. Free-Weights was deaf.

Well then, he did fit the strong, silent type.

Chapter Two

Levi Miller took in the woman in front of him, her mouth flapping like a baby bird testing out new wings. He thought he’d made it clear his ears didn’t work. Either she didn’t get it, or she was one of those hearing people who tried to talk their way out of awkward situations, not realizing they made it worse.

He shifted on his feet, muscles sore from a punishing workout. He needed this woman to get the hint so he could hit the showers and then get the hell out of here before Monica showed up.

Hiding from her had become his new MO, and he didn’t care that it made him look like the middle-schooler who used to throw pebbles into her hair. The breakup had been mutual—more than mutual. Fooling their families, on the other hand, was not something that sat well in his stomach.

So avoiding her became necessary, and if he played his cards correctly, he could avoid her right past Passover. Until Rosh Hashanah worked for him. Of next year.

He glanced around, searching for the short blonde bob that had become the bane of his existence, shoulder muscles lowering from his ears when none belonged to Monica. Such a contrast to the woman in front of him, whose hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, dark strands breaking free and trailing down her back. She had the type of hair that he bet felt silky smooth and tug-able. And why was he thinking of tugging her hair when she continued to talk to him?

He patted his pockets, but his phone, which was the easiest way to communicate with someone who couldn’t sign, was in his locker. Lip reading was a crapshoot and speech therapy never amounted to anything, not that he really tried. As a kid he was more interested in running around outside than watching some old lady’s lips, trying to match that to words. Language was visual, not verbal.

Levi ran a hand through his hair, ready to try the mime and gesture game with her, since she still hadn’t gotten the hint. But then he spotted someone short and blonde. Monica. Shit. He needed to hide, but her wide grin proved he’d already been found. The woman in front of him stopped talking, finally, and followed his gaze to Monica. She probably got the wrong impression, judging by the flush that came over her cheeks.

Join the club. Everyone seemed to get the wrong impression about them, including Monica, who had handed him back his ring, then borrowed it for family purposes.

He needed a way to communicate now, though why he wanted to make his newly single status clear, he couldn’t even begin to decipher. He spun them around so that his back blocked Monica’s view and mouthed, help me, to the woman. Because trying to explain his ex-fiancée still masqueraded as his current fiancée would be confusing even with full language access.

Her eyebrows drew low, but she nodded. Good. He pointed to Monica, then himself, shaking his head and waving his hands in a way to gesture no way in hell.

Amusement lighted the woman’s eyes, which were an almost auburn shade of brown. She inclined her head to the side and touched his arm, eyes wide. An open invitation to help if he ever saw one.

He nodded.

She wrapped her fingers around his bicep, and he fought the urge to flex. This woman had been talking to him like an idiot moments ago, why did she suddenly have to be interesting? She leaned into him, crowding his personal space, and his heart kicked at the proximity. Not a good time to be turned on, not in jogging shorts.

Monica came within a few feet of them, and he angled closer to the woman, turning her into some sort of much needed shield.

"We need to finalize plans," Monica signed.

Considering she often spoke, he thanked his lucky stars her mouth remained closed.

"No, we don’t. I already told you I’m not going."

The dark-haired woman didn’t budge, smile on her face claiming she understood the conversation when he knew damn well she didn’t.

Monica’s smile turned tight. "Everyone is expecting us there."

"You can go on your own. We broke up and I’m done lying."

She glanced around the room, a worry line creasing her forehead, as though the gym were filled with people who knew ASL. "Be quiet. She narrowed her gaze on the dark-haired woman, who tightened her grip on his arm, no doubt due to Monica’s freaked-out look. No one can know."

He was so done with this game. "She doesn’t know much ASL. She wouldn’t have understood you." Or any ASL, but Monica didn’t need to know that. Him dating a random hearing person was not outside of his normal behavior.

Monica relaxed, but the forehead crease remained. "Still, I need you to keep this quiet for a little longer. Please. Or not only will I lose my business startup capital, but you can forget about my father donating to your department."

He didn’t want to get into that, had already contemplated whether the new video system was really worth this kind of torture. But the please got to him. Monica didn’t often beg, and her doing so now proved how much this meant to her. "You better wrap this up soon. It’s not fair to her if you keep stringing this along." Maybe he could use this random woman to his benefit. Anything to make his ex-fiancée officially his ex.

He backed away from Monica, and when the woman’s fingers loosened and dropped, he linked his hand into hers, the two meshing together like a puzzle. The thought startled him, and he tugged her along, eager to get out of there. Too eager, because her feet tangled with his. He had visions of her crashing to the floor and suing him for male stupidity. She was smarter than him, thank God, and turned the stumble into giving Monica a small wave, then followed as though she actually knew something about him.

He headed out of the workout area, ready to pat himself on the back, until he realized he might need this woman’s help again. Shit. And he really did owe her an explanation. He stopped at the front desk, only dropping her hand to mime for a paper and pen from the receptionist. Fortunately, they knew him well enough here that he didn’t need to ask twice.

Paper and pen in hand, he moved to a bench and sat down. He started to write, then had to pause, Monica’s please flashing in his head. Dammit. She still had his balls in a vise, only now without the sex. He needed a different excuse.

Sorry about that. I have no idea what you wanted, but that woman is an annoying childhood friend. If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be chatting with me. I owe you one.

He handed the paper to her and studied her face as she read. Her peach skin appeared clear and smooth despite the fact she’d been working out. Everything about her looked smooth and made him want to run his hands over her.

Bad idea.

Her lips turned upward, and his dick lurched seconds before his brain registered the smile as some sort of trap and warning lights flashed.

Too late.

She wrote, and he had to wonder if chatting with Monica would have given