I didn’t tell him that the Krakowskis were one of the biggest reasons that I hadn’t gone back to New York during those first two miserable years back in Missouri. Without them, I would have felt completely alone. We’d had a lot of friends when I’d lived here with my parents, but we’d known most of them from our synagogue, a place I avoided now.

“You want your usual?” Mrs. Krakowski asked as she moved slowly toward us. “Papa says you brought a man friend!”

“Hi, Mrs. K. This is Alex,” I said, standing up to give her a hug. According to the photo hanging in the entryway, Mrs. K had once been a tall, curvy woman with hair that reached her waist, but now she was petite and a little hunched over, with a short haircut that she back-combed religiously.

“Hello, Alex,” she said, looking him over. “This one is handsome,” she said to me out of the side of her mouth.

“And he knows it,” I said back the same way.

Alex laughed and said hello.

“Pancakes, yes?” Mrs. K asked as soon as I’d sat back down.

“Yes, please.”

She turned to Alex and waited.

“Um.” He glanced down at his menu, his eyes wide.

“I’ll get you pancakes, also,” Mrs. K said quickly with a nod. “Kosher?”

“Excuse me?” Alex asked.

“Kosher, yes?” She was looking at him like he had two heads.

“Yes,” I replied for him.

“Good.” She walked away slowly, smiling hello to the other patrons at their tables.

“Was she asking me if I eat kosher?” Alex asked in confusion.

“Yes.” I met his eyes.

“Okay.” He looked in the direction Mrs. K had gone and then back at me. “Because you eat kosher?”

“I try to, yes.”

“You’re Jewish,” he said, smiling. “I’m so glad I didn’t pick the place to eat.”

“I can find food anywhere,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m not exactly practicing. I haven’t been to temple in years.”

“It sounds like there’s a story there,” Alex replied softly.

“Not one I’m going to tell on our first date,” I said ruefully.

“Fair enough,” Alex said easily. “The Krakowskis are Jewish, too?”

“Yes.” I paused. “Though they aren’t practicing, either.”

I’d never asked why Mr. and Mrs. Krakowski chose to leave the faith. I’d always been curious about it, but it wasn’t any of my business. When I’d come back to Missouri determined to never step foot in a synagogue again, I’d just been thankful for friends who wouldn’t say a word about my aversion. After my parents died, my uncle and aunt had to force me to attend services. I didn’t see the point of praying to someone who didn’t do a damn thing to stop a fourteen-year-old from losing her parents.

“Is all of the restaurant food kosher?” Alex asked.