Shuki looked down at his waffle. “It’s fine,” he mumbled. “It’s a job. I’ve gotta do something, right?”
Dini leaned back in her chair and gazed around at the young American kollel couples filling Waffle Bar’s tables.
“Remember when we used to be like that?” she asked Shuki.
He wiped some whipped cream off the corner of his mouth. (Back when they were dating, he’d told her that eating a triple scoop Belgian waffle for breakfast without gaining an ounce was one of his superpowers; after 13 years, she had to jealously admit that he was right.)
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like those cute young couples going out for a Friday morning date.” She nodded toward the pair sitting closest to them.
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