Chapter Three
Bethany stormed into the kitchen, nostrils flaring, but she didn’t have to look for Hank. He leaned against the freezer, a chocolate-cherry macaron cookie in one hand, his golden hair sticking up in every direction like . . . Bethany frowned. Had he been napping?
“These are quite good.” He took a massive bite of the cookie. “Did you make them?”
Bethany blinked at the empty spot on the tray of cookies she had frosted earlier. “I did.”
He finished the cookie in another bite and offered her a lazy smile. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the kitchen window caught the blue of his eyes and the blond of his hair, casting him in a glorious glow, like some sort of archangel. Which he was not.
“That cookie was delicious. You wouldn’t have a glass of milk, would you?” Hank used the back of his hand to wipe crumbs from his mouth. She couldn’t help noticing how his forest green V-neck T-shirt molded to his chest like a second skin and showed off a generous sprinkling of blond chest hair.
“Not at this moment.” She pressed her lips together.
It didn’t matter if half the women in America were after him and he looked like the god of light; he owned her building.
Her parents had been forced to mortgage the place after a few lean years, and Bethany had been working to pay it off.
But when her scheming ex-fiancé had emptied her savings account and fled, she’d missed the monthly payments, and the bank had pursued foreclosure.
Hank was the mysterious investor who had purchased the deed from the bank, making him her landlord.
What kind of man would throw out a business that had served the community in a historic neighborhood for decades on some whim to build yet another fitness center?
It was ludicrous. It was outrageous. It was downright arrogant.
“That’s a shame.” He licked the chocolate on his lips.
She gritted her teeth and moved toward him. “Yes, it is.”
He did not live here. Did not understand the needs of the neighborhood.
Did not know how hard her immigrant grandparents had worked to build a successful business.
Did not know how much her parents had struggled to keep it going so they could pass it on to her and Travis.
Did not know about the homeless community she and Travis called friends, who visited the pantry and ate in the restaurant each week.
This man reeked of health and Hollywood. He was the farthest thing from homeless she had ever seen. He wouldn’t know a good deed if it clobbered him over his handsome head.
“Well . . .” He stretched his long arms as if to taunt her, showing off the definition in his biceps. “I do appreciate you letting me hang out in your kitchen.”
He had no idea how much they had struggled over the last year to keep the lights on and the bills paid, only to have the bank foreclose on the mortgage.
“Funny.” Bethany stood in front of him and folded her arms across her chest. “I wouldn’t label hiding in my kitchen as hanging out.”
How annoying: She had to look up to see Hank’s expression. It went from innocence to puzzlement to understanding.
“Oh, I’ve upset you.”
“Yes.” She blasted him with her grimmest stare. “Although ‘upset’ is too weak a word for what I’m feeling.” She pointed her finger at him. “How dare you come into my restaurant, hide in my kitchen, eat my macaron cookies, and have the audacity to ask for a glass of milk from my refrigerator.”
He studied her pointed finger, an odd glint in his eyes. “But milk and cookies go so well together.”
“Why are you hiding in my kitchen?”
“Well . . .” He came closer. Too close. He smelled of chocolate and spice and everything nice.
Bethany stood her ground even when he gave her another heart-stopping grin. She would not be wowed by Hank Haverill in her kitchen. She refused to be.
“There weren’t a lot of places to hide.” His voice was as smooth as her grandma’s buttercream frosting.
“Actually, I don’t particularly care why you were hiding. I want to know if you’re planning to put me out of business.”
“Not if you’re good.” He flashed an amused grin.
“Don’t play with me. Your publicist said you’re planning to open a fitness center in this spot.”
“Elizabeth has a lot of grand ideas. She wants the best for me.”
He smoothed a hand down his hair, but despite his best efforts, a portion still stuck in the air.
He looked tired—like he’d not slept in weeks, even though Bethany was certain he’d napped in her kitchen.
Seeing his weariness made her want to lick her palm and flatten it against his hair like her mother used to do for her and Travis, God rest her soul.
Bethany stuffed her hand behind her back so she wouldn’t be tempted. Always mothering, she could hear Travis say. It was her worst failing. That and a certain stubbornness that kept her in Tremont when so many had left. “So you’re not going to open some place called Fitaholics?”
“I don’t think so. Does that earn me a glass of milk?”
He looked so sweet and boyish, like a child begging for a toy, that Bethany almost laughed aloud. But she couldn’t afford humor. “What do you mean by you ‘don’t think so’?”
He shoved a hand inside his pant pocket, and Bethany followed the movement until she realized where she was looking.
Hank caught her staring and smirked as her cheeks grew even hotter.
He was obviously used to women ogling him.
She snapped her gaze back to his face and clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt.
“I’m an actor not a businessman. I’m pretty sure I’d grow bored with a fitness center sooner or later. But I have financial advisors who make recommendations. They recommended I buy the building as it’s undervalued. So I did.”
“What will you do with it?”
He moved toward the dining room. “I haven’t decided. If I can get a glass of milk and that soup and sandwich I heard you talking about,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll continue renting to you until I figure it out.”
Bethany followed him. A squeal sounded from the front room.
“Oh, my goodness,” Rosie said. “You scared me. For a second, I thought you were—”
Bethany rounded the corner in time to hear a loud thump and see Rosie slump against the table.
“Mama? Mama? You okay?” Tia and Tana shouted.
Bethany reached around Hank and shook Rosie’s shoulder. “Rosie, you okay? Wake up, Rosie.”
Rosie moaned and raised her head. “What’s in those cookies? I swear, for a moment, I thought I saw . . . ?Ay, Dios! It’s him. Girls, that there’s Apollo from TV. What’s he doing here?” Rosie looked at Bethany like she’d awakened on Mars.
“Well . . .” Bethany was at a loss to explain why Hank Haverill had turned up in her kitchen.
“I came for the cookies and milk, like you.” Hank gave them his thousand-watt, dimpled smile.
Rosie fanned her chest. “Dios mío. Take a seat.”
Hank pulled out the chair and folded his long legs into it.
“Bethany, honey, get the man some milk and cookies.”
Hank tipped his head back and roared with laughter, and for a moment, the sight was so mesmerizing that Bethany couldn’t move. The god of light was in her restaurant about to pound some milk and cookies.
The good Lord really did have a sense of humor.