A Small Miracle Happened by Mari Donne Page A

owner of the rainbow flag stood there. He wore the blue sweatshirt Dan had noted earlier, old jeans, and ancient sneakers. His hair was a pleasant sandy shade, but he needed a haircut. He was younger than Dan had realized, and his smile revealed a crooked tooth. Somehow all this struck Dan as charming, and he smiled back.
    “Are you Daniel Sobol? This was on my porch, and I wondered if it belonged to you.” His voice was a smooth baritone.
    Dan looked at the label on the brown box almost entirely covered with packing tape. To him, the address looked like 301A Prince Albert Circle. But he could see how the house number could be mistaken for 307A. He laughed, suddenly feeling warm in spite of the chill air gusting into the hallway. “Yes, that’s my grandmother’s writing. She learned her numbers in Europe, old-style. Everyone says her ones look like sevens.” He held open the door. “Come on in. And let me take that.” He reached out for the box, then led the way to the living room. He set the package on the coffee table.
    The man followed him in, looking around. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched a little, appearing not quite at his ease, but not uncomfortable either. His gaze assessed the room, then returned to Dan. He smiled. Maybe he liked what he saw?
    “I was hoping to get this in time for the holiday.” Dan took his penknife out of his pocket, then opened the box.
    The guy stepped forward, peering curiously at the contents. “Thanksgiving?”
    “No.” Dan slipped off the blue-and-white cloth protecting one of the objects in the box. “When I told my grandmother I couldn’t find a menorah here, she sent this.” She’d remembered which one he’d liked best as a kid too. It looked like a row of people dancing, candles held in their upraised hands. The sight of it brought back memories. He could almost hear his sister complaining about her bad luck spinning a dreidel, and smell the latkes and brisket his father and grandmother always made on the eighth night. He could imagine his younger self, so excited when it was his turn to light a menorah, not least because it was the only time he was allowed near even a tiny open flame.
    “Menorah?” The big guy was blinking at it. “I thought those were for Hanukkah. Is that how you say it?”
    “Yes.” Close enough. Dan wasn’t about to repeat Uncle Aaron’s lectures on the proper pronunciation. Of course, Uncle Aaron would have also insisted on calling the menorah a chanukkiyah . Dan could see his mother rolling her eyes as her brother lectured, and was surprised to find he missed even that staple of family gatherings.
    “I thought that was on Christmas.”
    Dan looked up at his neighbor. “It usually starts in December, and can be around Christmastime. But it’s early this year. This is the first night.” There were other goodies in the box—a dreidel, some chocolate coins, and a tin of cookies. He cracked the lid and grinned. Sugar cookies in the shape of the Star of David— excuse me, Uncle Aaron, Magen David —nestled inside.
    “First? How many nights are there?”
    Either this guy was really bored, or he was looking for an excuse to talk to Dan. Which was fine, because Dan had wanted an excuse to talk to him from the day he’d moved in. “Eight, so the holiday will run into December. You light candles each night, starting with one and ending with eight.” Dan set down a box of candles. “If you’d like to stay for a glass of wine and some of these cookies, I’ll show you.”
    “You’ll show me your candle?” That was a definite double entendre. The pale blue eyes lit with humor as the man shifted on his feet, his body language communicating assurance. His voice deepened as he added, “Sure, I’d love to see it.”
    “It’s a deal.” Several parts of Dan’s body warred with one another. His head warned him he’d probably just promised more than he should to a total stranger. His throat wanted to close with