Chapter Twenty-Three
Bethany released her breath in a rush and rested her head against the closed door. How she’d had the strength of mind to resist Hank’s advances she would never know. The man had serious persuasive ability. And he smelled and tasted good enough to nibble on.
She pressed her fingers against the flat surface. My God. It was well after one in the morning, and she needed to get to bed. But how would she ever fall asleep with her blood zipping through her veins and her stomach vibrating with fear and excitement and her entire being longing for his touch?
She forced her legs to move—to go through her nighttime routine—put on PJs, wipe off makeup, brush teeth. All the while her mind relived their latest encounter. I’m not asking you to marry me.
She pulled a pillow and a light blanket from the hall closet and settled on the couch. Of course Hank was not in it for keeps. He made no secret that he planned to return to California. Their relationship would be brief. She would be foolish to think otherwise.
Yet, with his mouth on hers and their bodies pressed close, she had almost been willing to shove caution aside for a night of shared passion.
She shivered and drew the blanket around her shoulders.
She was not a short-term relationship kind of girl.
When she gave herself, it was for keeps.
After Desmond left, she had sworn she would never go down this path again with a man only to have him leave her.
She would not risk everything she knew and everyone she cared about for a momentary pleasure.
Please tell me you’ll see me tomorrow.
Her heart had leaped at those words. Of course she wanted to see him tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after next.
He was a toxic drug that her mind and body craved but could never have.
Because with one kiss, she was lost. How much worse would it be if she slept with him, and he broke it off, which he would inevitably do when he returned to Hollywood?
She would be a mess—worse than when Desmond left.
The key sounded in the lock, and Bethany knew Travis was home. She closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping.
Bethany woke to the sound of the doorbell. She glanced at the clock—it was six in the morning. Who would be at her doorstep so early? Had something happened at the hospital?
She tossed the blanket aside, ran her hands through her hair, and hurried to check the peephole. A delivery man stood on the front steps, a large vase of flowers in his hands. She opened the door and gazed in astonishment. Purples, oranges, yellows, reds, and greens dominated the bouquet.
“Here you are, ma’am.” He thrust the flowers in her direction and handed her a pen. “Can you sign here?”
“Of course.” She peeked around the bouquet to sign her name and took the gift inside, her nose thrust into the fragrant grouping. A small square envelope rested among the stems.
She set the vase on the coffee table, opened the envelope, and stared at the two words scratched in black ink.
Say yes.
Her hands trembled, and she dropped the card.
Hank’s words from the night before floated in her brain. Please tell me you’ll see me tomorrow. And her response: I will see you tomorrow. You’re fixing our building.
If she needed proof Hank wouldn’t give up until he’d won her over, she had it.
And she had to admit, the flowers were gorgeous, the man was charismatic, and the weaker half of her wondered why the heck she resisted his advances.
Why not forget the bargain she’d made with Elizabeth and enjoy the time she and Hank had together, fleeting as it would be?
What woman wouldn’t want to date a television star?
Imagine the tales she could tell her grandchildren one day.
She picked up the card and set it among the flowers. She had to remain firm because the saner part of her understood that any kind of relationship with Hank would turn her ordinary life into something entirely different. Something that could only lead to heartbreak.
No sense dwelling on it. She was a working girl and needed to get her butt in gear or she would never get to Grandma Lou’s on time.
Hank was pumping iron this morning, so she wouldn’t see him anyway.
And she had to send the lease agreement to her lawyer, put out an e-newsletter, update their website, post on their social media accounts, and pass out flyers encouraging customers to vote for their recipe, starting Saturday.
She went up the steps and hurried to her bedroom to get dressed, then knocked on Travis’s door until she heard his sleepy mumble.
“What?”
She cracked the door open and spoke to the mound underneath the blankets. “I’m heading out to open Grandma Lou’s. You’ll need to take care of Tana and bring her to Rosie when she’s up.”
“I will,” he mumbled, turning over and burying his head in his pillow.
An hour later, Bethany donned an apron, whipped up some batter, and placed a batch of apple-cinnamon muffins in the oven.
While she waited for the muffins to bake, she put the lease agreement in an envelope and addressed it to her lawyer.
She glanced toward the door when the first customers entered, half expecting Hank in his maintenance-man garb.
She told herself she was relieved when it was only a few regulars, wanting their donuts before work.
She stocked shelves and made broccoli cheese soup, turkey club sandwiches, two gallons of sweet tea, and a strawberry Jell-O salad for the lunch crowd, but when she served her first plate, Hank still hadn’t put in an appearance.
At three, she paused on the way to the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes and glanced out the window.
Sunshine beat against the glass. A few cars moved up and down the street.
A typical late afternoon summer weekday in Tremont, Ohio.
No Hank. Maybe he’d already grown bored with her—succumbed to Daphne’s charms, or those of some other crazed fan of his?
She made her way to the kitchen and piled the dirty dishes in the sink so she could unload the dishwasher.
She opened the door and clutched a handful of silverware.
From the other room, the jangle of the doorbell sounded.
Her heartbeat tripped into high gear, but when she set the silverware down and walked into the dining room to see who’d entered, it was not Hank.
She tried to ignore the heavy feeling settling in her stomach like a bad batch of brownies.
She wiped her hands on her apron. “Hi, Patty. Everything okay next door?”
“Oh sure, everything’s fine.” Patty’s family had owned the antique bazaar for as long as Bethany could remember.
She was a large woman who laughed a lot and often braided her long dark hair, although today she wore it down.
She also made pasta sauce that could rival that of the best chefs in Cleveland’s Little Italy.
Desmond, the thief, had nagged her for the recipe before he’d left town.
Later, they’d discovered that he’d used it on his show, claiming he’d tweaked the recipe, making it his own.
Patty twirled a strand of hair with one hand and gestured with her other hand toward the large black kettle plugged in behind the counter. “I came over to see if you had any soup left. Mitch and I didn’t have time for lunch.”
“Sure. I’ll get it for you.”
Bethany grabbed two to-go containers and ladled hot soup into them. “Busy day?”
“I’ll say. Our Hollywood hunk was in—replaced the rotted wood step out front. Attracted a few onlookers, so he took off a while ago. For a television star, he’s mighty handy with a hammer. Heard he saved Tia’s life last night too.”
Bethany placed the bowls of soup in a brown paper bag. Patty handed her a ten-dollar bill and rambled on.
“Mitch and I are thrilled with him as our new landlord. He’s done so much for this old place already.
” Her cheeks turned from ivory to a cherry red.
“Not that you and Travis weren’t good landlords before the bank seized the property.
I know that you did everything you could do for us, given the state of your finances. ”
Bethany deposited the money in the cash register, counted out the change, added spoons and napkins to the bag, and tried not to let her embarrassment at her own deficiencies as a landlord and surprise at Patty’s praise of Hank show on her face. “No offense taken.”
Patty leaned against the counter and cupped her hands around her mouth, as if imparting a grave secret. “Of course, one of his onlookers this morning was Daphne Miller. You shouldn’t let that woman get a jump on you.”
Bethany set the bag on the counter in front of Patty. “Hank’s our landlord, Patty. I’m not in competition for his attention.” But wasn’t she?
“Daphne spent the entire afternoon at our store yesterday. And this morning she showed up at ten with coffee. I told Mitch as soon as I saw her, she wasn’t there for the antiques. And boy, was I right. It was Hank this and Hank that all afternoon long. He drank her coffee.”
She laughed like she told a good joke, but Bethany couldn’t find any humor in the image of Daphne pursuing Hank. “She still over there?”
Patty grabbed the bag. “Nah. He put her to work holding boards and handing him nails. She finally got fed up with all the sawdust in her hair and left. Can’t say I blame her. You don’t suppose a big shot like him would seriously consider a woman like Daphne, do ya?”
Bethany hoped not but shrugged like she didn’t care. “What did Daphne do with Gulliver while she was playing the part of assistant?”
“She got wise and left him home, I guess. Hey, these your flyers?” She pointed to the yellow paper, where Bethany had printed the details of the contest and how to vote.
She’d included a picture of the cake and one of her and Travis in front of Grandma Lou’s, figuring it would add a personal element.
“I’ll take some of these and hand them out in our store.”
“Great. Don’t forget you can cast your vote any time after midnight on Friday.”
Patty turned to open the door at the same time it swung inward. She bumped into Travis, who’d come to help Bethany with the dinner hour. “Hey, Travis honey. Sorry about that. I just came for a bite and bit of gossip. Ciao.”
“Hey, Patty.” The door closed and Travis removed the backpack slung over his shoulder. He blessed Bethany with his usual carefree smile. “Busy day?”
“The usual. How was class?”
“Great, but I have my exam on Wednesday.”
Travis would finish his computer degree at a local college in another semester. It comforted Bethany to know that with a degree behind him, he would have employment opportunities if they were forced to close the shop. God forbid.
“Are things slow here? Mind if I get a head start on studying?”
Bethany smiled. “Sure. Go sit in the corner where it’s quiet. Apple muffin?”
“Sounds great. Thanks, Bethany.”
She headed to the kitchen to fetch the muffin and finish emptying the dishwasher.
A tall man with golden hair leaned against the worktable, drinking a glass of her ice-tea, and eating a muffin. Next to him were dark sunglasses and a cowboy hat. He looked up when she entered and flashed her a heart-stopping smile. “We have to stop meeting like this.”