Chapter Four
“Do it again, Mr. Hank. Please do it again.”
Tia (or was she Tana?) squealed, the noise the most joyous and real sound Hank had heard in some time—maybe years.
They stood on either side of him as he sat at the table, their little hands tugging on his arms. The stuffed mouse he’d nabbed from a shelf in the store earlier and nicknamed “Lanky” for his long tail reappeared behind Tia’s left ear.
“It’s here! Hi, Lanky,” Tia said, petting the mouse.
“How’d he do that?” Tana said to her mother.
“It’s magic.” Rosie beamed at him across the table.
She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d recovered from her earlier faint.
Hank wished he could bottle Rosie’s expression and pull it out during the long, lonesome times, when his days seemed to run together with no end in sight.
That seemed to be happening with more frequency.
He ran a hand across his faint stubble. He needed food, sleep, and a shave, in that order.
“Now, girls, let’s let Mr. Hank enjoy his lunch.
” Rosie motioned Tia and Tana to their chairs.
“Taste the soup.” She gestured to their white bowls and large silver spoons.
“You too.” She nodded at Hank with another of her broad smiles.
“You can’t go wrong with Miss Bethany Parker’s soup.
There’s a whole lot of love cooked in there. It’s the best there is.”
The mention of the owner’s name—Bethany Parker—had Hank glancing toward the counter.
Since she’d served them lunch, her small hands hadn’t stopped moving: stocking shelves with products and refilling trays with cookies and cupcakes and putting them on display with easy precision.
Her curly dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that emphasized the prettiness of her oval face and rosebud lips, which turned down when she looked up and caught his stare.
Hank forced his gaze back to his soup and picked up his spoon. Ever since he’d first spied her, eyes closed and savoring a bite of cake, he’d found his gaze returning to her time and again, maybe because she’d seemed to enjoy that cake more than him.
He plunged his spoon into the soup and stirred. The smell of tomatoes wafted upward, tickling his nose, and causing his mouth to water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a simple home-cooked meal.
“Careful now,” Rosie warned her children. She moved the bowls closer to them so they wouldn’t slop. For someone who looked to be in her early twenties, Rosie sure had the mother thing down. Hank found himself moving his own bowl closer.
He raised the spoon to his mouth and blew on it before tasting.
He closed his eyes. Rosie hadn’t lied. Creamy tomatoey goodness tingled on his tongue.
The soup was one of the best he’d enjoyed.
A glimmer of an idea surfaced but he closed it down quickly.
He couldn’t afford complications. He was here for a day or so.
Just enough time to inspect the building and give his advisors the thumbs up on Fitaholics.
And if Elizabeth had her way, he would do an interview or two while he was at it.
“Are you sleeping or eating?”
Hank popped his eyes open to see Bethany standing in front of him with a plate of sandwiches and a glass of ice water, her lips pursed as if she didn’t know quite what to make of him.
“I was savoring it, that’s all.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and offered her what he hoped was a sincere smile. “It’s good.”
The smile didn’t work. At least, her expression still looked fierce. Why wouldn’t she lighten up? Maybe she preferred ladies—most women he knew would have been all over him by now.
“Sure it’s good. I made it from scratch this morning.” She turned to Tia and Tana, and her tone softened. “Grilled cheese?”
“Yes,” they chorused.
Hank didn’t blame them. What looked like three kinds of cheese oozed from crusty Italian bread. He waited for Bethany to give him the remaining sandwich. It had been years since he’d enjoyed a grilled cheese. He would have to hit the gym tomorrow, but today he was playing hooky, so . . .
“Here you go.” Bethany offered the golden goodness to Rosie.
Hank couldn’t stop his gaze from following the plate.
Without another word, Bethany set the ice water in front of him, then turned and headed back to the kitchen. Hank scratched his head. What did a guy have to do to earn a grilled cheese in this joint? He pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and set it in the middle of the table.
Rosie tapped her hand on his. “Don’t worry. Bethany won’t let you go hungry. That woman has a heart of gold.”
As if in agreement, the bell on the door chimed. Rosie’s eyes lit up like she’d hit the lottery. “Well, hey there, Travis.” She turned to Hank. “That’s Bethany’s brother.”
Hank eyed the man who came through the door. He didn’t look much like Bethany. While she was short, Travis was tall. Her hair was brown and curly with a tint of gold, while his was close-cropped and black. He wore an easy smile in contrast to Bethany’s scowl.
Travis drew closer, pausing at their table. “Man is it nice outside. A bit breezy, but there’s no better place to be than Cleveland in August.” He spotted Hank and his eyes widened.
Okay, maybe Bethany and Travis were siblings because Hank swore that was the same surprised look Bethany had given him earlier, from the same eyes.
They shared the same olive skin tone too.
There was something striking about the brother and sister.
An interesting combination of genes, which had Hank wondering about their ethnic heritage.
African-American and Scandinavian, maybe?
Travis’s lips formed a perfect O, and Hank suppressed a groan, straightening his shoulders and plastering on his public face.
“Apollo? Oh, man. It is you. For a second, I thought I was seeing things—but it’s—you’re the actor from the TV show, right? I’ve watched a few episodes. ‘Forged in Fire,’ man. I love that.”
Hank sighed. As if he didn’t know he was on a TV show with a ridiculous slogan.
As much as he loved his superstardom, on some days, it was plain tiresome.
He hadn’t escaped the spotlight as he had hoped when he’d hidden from Elizabeth and his fans.
“Hi.” He nodded but couldn’t prevent his gaze from sliding to the soup.
Would it be rude if he took a bite? He picked up his spoon and plunged it into the bowl.
“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not excited to see you.
I’m, wow, I’m in shock, I think.” Travis trailed off, looking at Rosie, a question mark on his face.
Now that Hank had a chance to study him up close, he could see brother and sister shared the same wide forehead.
Hank suspected Travis might be the younger by quite a few years.
“Travis, don’t bother our famous customer,” Bethany called from the kitchen, her voice like a commanding officer. “C’mon back. Bring the supplies with you.”
Travis threw him a conspiratorial grin. “I suppose you met my sister?”
Hank nodded.
“I’d better not keep her waiting. She’ll bean me with a loaf of bread. But hey, before you leave, think I could grab a selfie with you? This is about the most exciting thing that has happened to our little restaurant since a neighborhood dog ate a bunch of cupcakes.”
Hank grinned. Travis Parker was a friendly sort. He appeared to represent the sweet half of the restaurant, while Bethany added the spice. “Sure—if you can nab me one of your sister’s grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“You got it.” Travis whipped out his cell phone, crouching next to Hank to snap the promised selfie.
“You two are pathetic.” Bethany appeared behind Travis like a ninja. “No need to bribe Travis for food. No one goes hungry in this place. Travis, I cleared off the shelves in the back if you want to put the stuff there.”
Travis offered Hank a last jaunty wave and a shrug, which Hank interpreted as “what’s a man gonna do?” and headed out the door.
Bethany set a fresh plate of grilled cheese triangles in front of Hank with a clunk and wiped her hands on her apron—a grandma’s apron, decorated with red and yellow roses.
Hank almost laughed aloud. There was something old-fashioned about Bethany.
A throwback to another time—she was the kind of girl who expected a boy to keep his distance on their first date—to hold doors and offer jackets and send flowers.
So not his type. He frowned. Why was he thinking about whether she was his type or not?
“Do I have something in my hair?”
He came to with a start. “No. Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Oh, that must be hard.” She laughed, all smooth and husky and rich, like a shot of whiskey.
He should have been insulted. But Hank found himself hanging on every last, luxurious syllable like they’d wash him clean. He shook his head as if to toss off his strange reaction to Bethany.
“Not at all.” He reached for his water glass and took a long, slow sip.
His gaze caught hers above the rim, and he refused to look away.
If she wanted to flirt, he was the master.
She didn’t stand a chance. He set his glass aside and wiped his lips on his napkin, then stretched his arms behind his head, and winked.
“I was just blown away by your cooking.”
Hank couldn’t miss how her gaze followed his movements before her cheeks took on a slight pink, and she turned toward Rosie and the girls with an eye roll. “Actors. You can’t believe a thing they say.”
“Bethany, shame on you,” Rosie said. “I just got done telling him what a softie you are.”
Bethany waved a hand, but Rosie kept talking, turning to Hank with another of her sunny expressions. “Bethany makes the girls’ lunch every day. And we’re not the only ones she cooks for. Seems like she feeds half the neighborhood around here.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Bethany shook her head. “We have plenty of extra.”
“That’s not what Travis says.” Rosie smirked. “Travis says—”
“You know Travis likes to exaggerate.” Bethany waved a hand again as if she could conjure an off switch. “We’re fine.”
“Miss Bethany lets me make cookies.” Tia clapped her hands together.
“Me, too,” Tana said. “She lets me make cookies too. In the kitchen.”
“You’re both helpers,” Rosie said. “Sit up straight now and finish your sandwiches.”
Hank looked toward Bethany, but she’d given them her back and was halfway to the kitchen, her movements hurried, like she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“She’s modest too.” Rosie grinned, but Hank almost didn’t notice.
He couldn’t remember the last time any woman—any person—had been so unimpressed by his star status, they’d given him their back. Bethany didn’t seem impressed with either his looks or the fact he was her landlord.
No, all she seemed to care about was her restaurant. For that, she’d stood in his face and demanded answers. You had to respect a woman like that.
A ringing sound had Hank glancing toward his cell phone on the table. Robert Blackman, his agent. He really, really did not want to talk to Blackie at this moment—he eyed the plate Bethany had set in front of him—not when a gooey grilled cheese sandwich was staring him in the face.
Hank silenced the ringer and bit into the grilled cheese. Once again, he found himself closing his eyes to savor all the flavors on his tongue.
“Delicioso, isn’t it?” Rosie asked.
“Sí, senorita.” Hank nodded.
But he was certain he was referring to more than the sandwich.