“I’d like your books even if I didn’t know you wrote them.” Eitan gave a cursory glance to the street around them. Reached and kissed Akiva, who gripped the velvet bag holding his tallis a little tighter. Was this what his life was going to be like—an endless stream of being told good things about himself, followed by public affection? It seemed impossible, and yet here he was, being kissed.
