Chapter Fourteen
Bethany followed Hank’s tall form into a massive kitchen and tried not to check out his butt. Did it have to be so . . . sculpted?
He turned and caught her gawking before she could look away.
He raised his eyebrows and laughed, and she moved her gaze to the bubbling frying pan on the stove. She swallowed. “Smells good. What is it?”
“Wait and be surprised.” Hank gestured toward the rustic wood table set for two. “Have a seat.”
Bethany dragged her gaze from the stove to the table and took a moment to appreciate its artistic splendor.
Three perfect pink peonies nestled in a small glass vase in the center of the table and a gold runner ran down its center.
The plates were white, but the utensils were gold to match the runner.
A wine glass sat in front of each plate, and in front of them sat a gold bucket filled with ice and a bottle of Riesling.
Hank pulled out a plush gray chair and waited.
Not a date.
Bethany sat, glad to sink into the chair’s velvety softness.
She shifted her gaze to Hank, who had collected the wine bottle but remained hovering over her, his shirt open at the neckline so she caught a tantalizing glimpse of his golden chest and some sort of medal on a silver chain.
He smelled like soy sauce and temptation.
Just business. “Did you do all this yourself?”
He laughed and the sound sank into her bones. “I’d like to take the credit, but I only had the good taste to rent an already decorated place and hire a maid service.”
Hank took the wine to the counter and opened it. His long fingers were deft on the bottle, and Bethany imagined what it would feel like to have his hands on her. Ridiculous.
“Wine?”
She nodded and shifted in her chair to watch him cross to her and fill both wine glasses. Hank presented one of the glasses to her, then he sat across the table and raised the other.
He smiled, slow and easy, like they had all the time in the world. His blue eyes met hers across the rim, grabbed a hold of her heart and squeezed. “To Grandma Lou’s.”
Her heartbeat lurched along, but she managed to lean forward far enough to clink her glass with his and take a sip. Wine had never tasted so good.
She cleared her throat and struggled to think of something casual to say. Hank refilled their glasses. She had drained her glass, which was not the wisest decision, but it soothed her nerves. He returned to the stove to serve them both a plate of stir-fry.
He set a steaming dish in front of her and then sat on the opposite side of the table.
She took a bite of carrot to avoid looking at him. If she kept her eyes off his gorgeous physique, maybe she could keep her mind on her reasons for being there.
An awkward silence stretched between them. Bethany swallowed. “How’d you get into acting?”
He set down his fork. “It started with a modeling contract. I was discovered by an agent while walking down the street with a friend. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I agreed.”
She waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she risked a glance his way. Candlelight cast a warm glow on his face as he watched her, eyes hooded.
“So then you were offered an acting role?”
He shook his head and downed the rest of his wine. “No. My agent encouraged me to try out for a small role on a soap opera. I did and got that part and, soon after, bigger roles. The rest, as they say, is history. You can Google all this, you know.”
“Oh, I . . .” Why hadn’t she thought to Google Hank? She wiped her face with her napkin. “There hasn’t been time.”
Hank shook his head and stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. “Have you even watched my show?”
“Well, maybe an episode . . .”
He placed a hand over his heart. “You’ve stomped on my ego and crushed it.”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”
He shot her a look of pure mischief. “No making excuses for your bad behavior. You’ll have to be punished. I think putting you on dish duty ought to do it.”
He laughed, and her skin tingled. Life had been so serious up to this point, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be teased by a man as virile and confident as Hank.
Desmond had never teased her. He’d been too busy telling lies and emptying her bank account to further his career.
She pushed her food around her plate but couldn’t stop a smile from sliding across her lips. “I suppose that’s a fair trade.”
“Beth.”
She glanced up to find him studying her, all traces of laughter gone from his expression. “Ask me something you wouldn’t find on the Internet.”
She couldn’t look away. She took a sip of wine and set down her glass before clearing her throat. But when she spoke, her voice came out hoarse—the effects of the wine. “What was your grandpa like?”
Hank nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Tall and broad-shouldered. He worked in a factory making keys. Had a kind heart. I used to spend a month with him and my grandma in the summers.”
“You must miss him.”
“When I was a kid, I thought he was invincible. He believed in working hard. But he knew how to have fun. When I stayed with him, he took me to see the Cleveland Indians—now the Guardians.”
“You like baseball?”
Hank put his hands behind his head. “Yeah. Haven’t been to a game in a while, though.”
“How come?”
“Busy. On the road traveling a lot. Baseball wasn’t high on my ex-girlfriend’s fun list.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What about you? How do you spend your free time?”
Bethany sipped more wine and thought about telling a lie because the truth was depressing.
But the atmosphere was warm and intimate and ripe for honesty.
Besides, Hank would forget her when he returned to Hollywood.
There wasn’t much danger of his remembering her sad life or having it end up in a magazine.
“Baking, cooking. I don’t have free time. All my energy goes to the business.”
“Ah yes, the business.”
She arched her brows. “Why do you say it like that?”
Instead of answering, he shrugged. “I knew our conversation would end up there.”
“Why not? You told me we would talk about it. Grandma Lou’s is my life.”
“So I gathered.” He got up from the table, selected a manila folder from a nearby drawer, and handed it to her. “Here’s the lease agreement. I’d suggest you have your attorney look it over in the morning before you sign it.”
Bethany flipped through the contents, relief creating a gentle swell in her chest at the official-looking documents. “Thank you.”
Hank nodded, crossed the kitchen, and pulled a crystal plate filled with different wedges of cheesecake from the fridge. “Dessert?”
Bethany’s eyes widened. “Wow, I love cheesecake.” She raised her gaze to his. “How’d you know?”
He grinned. “A little birdie named Rosie told me. This is from a place called Eileen’s in New York City. You’re gonna love it.”
“You had it shipped?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Eileen’s is known as the best cheesecake in the world. What flavor do you want?”
“How did you get it so fast?”
He waggled his brows. “Well, ma’am, it’s a little-known service called overnight shipping.”
She couldn’t stop a laugh at his ridiculous customer service voice.
“After I heard you liked it yesterday, I ordered it as an apology for missing our earlier dinner. Figured it might help get me in your good graces. What kind do you want, Beth?”
“Blueberry.” She licked her lips. “Why are you doing this?”
Hank lifted a shoulder. “Giving you cheesecake? Well, I needed a dessert to go with dinner, and—”
Bethany pushed her chair out, the sound loud in the large room, and stood. “No, Hank. I mean why are you doing all of this?” She pointed at the dinner table. “Making me dinner. Fixing up the building? Why do you need to get on my good side? What do you want from me?”
Hank sighed and slid a piece of blueberry cheesecake onto a small plate. “Your company? I’m not your ex-fiancé. I don’t need or want your money.”
Bethany sucked in a breath. “You’ve been listening to gossip, haven’t you?”
“Not intentionally.” He made a face that she could almost interpret as apologetic. “I overheard people talking about your ex-fiancé in the restaurant this morning.”
“Well, that’s not surprising. People around here love to talk.” A dull ache settled in her stomach. She sat back down. “I wasn’t accusing you of wanting money. But all this energy you’re expending . . . it must be for something.”
Hank crossed to the table and set the cheesecake in front of her but didn’t move away. Instead, he crouched next to her, so they were eye level. “I’d like to get to know you better. That’s all. No ulterior motives. No evil intentions. I thought we could be friends.”
“Friends.” Bethany tested the word on her tongue and found it disappointing.
Why would a TV star and the landlord of her building want to be her friend?
She looked at her lap. Had she secretly been hoping Hank wanted more than friendship from her?
Was she crazy? She’d only met him yesterday morning.
“Yeah.” Hank tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
Bethany raised her head and frowned. She would have brushed his hand away, but the motion was so quick, she couldn’t react in time. Plus, she wasn’t sure that he knew he’d done it, and she didn’t want to make a scene. And . . . she’d kind of liked it.
“I could use a friend right now. And I have this feeling you could use one too. Will you be my friend, Beth?”
Put like that, it seemed ridiculous to say no. But Bethany wasn’t taking chances. “What does it mean to be your friend, Hank? What are you expecting from me?”
“A slice of cheesecake? A stroll after dinner to see the stars?” Hank pointed to the window in the other room, where Bethany caught a glimpse of Lake Erie. “It’s a beautiful night, and there’s a lake outside. What do you say? Friends?”
Bethany looked into Hank’s clear eyes and caught the same vulnerability she’d glimpsed there yesterday. What was more, she understood it—the loneliness. She could use a friend too.
Instead of answering, though, she sank her fork into the thick cheesecake and took a bite. She closed her eyes around the creamy concoction. Hank was right. This might be the best she had ever tasted.
She opened her eyes to see him watching her. “Tell you what. You let me take a slice of this home for Travis, and we’ll be friends.”
Hank laughed and the worry disappeared from his expression. “You can have the whole darn plate.”