The room relaxed a few degrees further. Clara had been right. She couldn’t effectively discuss vulnerability without showing these strangers her soft underbelly.

“Now, that advice may sound harsh. I’m sure some of you are saying to yourselves, ‘Isn’t dating how I figure out what I like?’ and you’re right. It is. But your efforts will go further faster if you first do the work of asking yourself, and being honest about, what you’re prepared to give and receive in a relationship with another person.”

The familiar sensation of performance settled over her, and suddenly, speaking felt like running downhill.

“We all want and need different things. Despite what the Hallmark Channel might tell you, not everyone’s happily-ever-after involves settling down in a small town. We don’t all want commitment. We don’t all want sex. And we certainly don’t always want them in the same serving sizes. That’s okay. Good, even. There aren’t wrong answers to the question ‘What are you looking for?’ But there are infinite lies and only one truth.”

She lowered her voice from lecture to conversation. She moved out from behind the lectern, stole one of the chairs from the front row, and made herself comfortable in it.

“You have to know your own tendencies. What kind of traps do you tend to fall into, not just romantically, but in any relationship?”

She swallowed once.

“I, for example, consistently fall for people I know I can’t have, as a way of avoiding opening myself up to love.”

As if on cue, Ethan’s head shot up from where he’d been bent over his notes.

Naomi took a deep breath. “Unfortunately,” she said, holding his gaze, “knowing your weaknesses doesn’t make you immune.”

Her saving grace was that she had learned how to throw grenades in her own path.

“We’ll discuss as many of the external challenges you named as possible over the course of the seminar, but for tonight, I want you to focus on yourself. I want you to answer two questions. What kind of relationship do you really want? And how are you sabotaging yourself from getting it? There are notecards in front of each of you. Your challenge is to get as specific as possible.”

She held up a hand as attendees’ eyebrows rose and mouths pursed to protest. “Before you ask, no, I’m not going to collect your answers or make you read them aloud. You can burn them when you get home if you want.”

For a tense moment, Naomi waited, half expecting a rebellion, but though it took a few moments, with people looking at their neighbors to make sure they weren’t the only ones participating, eventually the room went quiet again as every hand began to write.

After the group completed the silent exercise, Naomi spent the next half hour outlining common dating pitfalls. She knew from experience that nothing broke down barriers and forged camaraderie like bad blind date stories. The anecdotes naturally built off one another, providing their own patterns and making common weaknesses easy to spot.

“Sometimes you don’t realize how bad a date was until it’s over,” Naomi said, wiping away tears of laughter as the young man who’d hollered at her earlier, Craig, recounted an exchange that ended with him dipping his entire hand into a fondue pot.

“I’m just saying, do they really need to make the cheese that hot?”

Ethan had to stand up and tell everyone they were being kicked out of the room when the discussion ran long. The authoritative voice he put on to project across the buzzing classroom made Naomi lick her lips.

“Thanks for showing up tonight,” she said as the meager audience packed up. “If you had fun talking about recipes for dating disaster, chances are you’ll appreciate the rest of the seven-week series.”

She realized belatedly that she should have confirmed with Ethan that he considered this evening a success before committing to more. It had just felt so good. The energy, the hope born out of the weary resignation she’d seen walk in with so many of these people.

“Let me know if you have any questions on your way out.”

When Ethan climbed down the stairs with a grin on his face, something traitorous inside her diaphragm purred.

“You were great.”

Naomi blamed the adrenaline in her veins for making her loose and giddy. Her body wanted her to do something stupid, something reckless. Something carnal.

“Thanks,” she said, turning away from him to remove the temptation. “It was fun.” She threw her crumpled notes in the trash can. Naomi wanted to tell him to put his guard up, to hide the surprise and gratitude already coloring his face. Didn’t he know that he was making this harder by leaving himself open?

“Wait.” Ethan caught her hand, urging her to look at him, oblivious to the danger. “I’m serious. That lecture. The way you got everyone to relax and laugh together. It was more than I was hoping for our first time.”

The praise coupled with double entendre sank into her skin until it lit her up from the inside. “Jeez, if you liked that performance, you should watch one of my movies.” The comment was out of her mouth before she could stop it, a runaway train—and like a train, she watched as it plowed right through him. Shit.

He shook his head, but he didn’t glower or faint, the way she half expected him to. No, after a moment, Rabbi Ethan Cohen laughed. And it wasn’t one of those tarted-up laughs full of awkwardness and tension. It was a real laugh, from his belly, like she’d pleased him almost as much by mentioning her unmentionable past as she had by leading the lecture.