Chapter Twenty-Nine
Maybe it was the homemade apple pie and vanilla ice cream she and Hank ate after the game or the tender way he looked at her when he kissed her good night—like she was his girl.
Or maybe it was the slew of messages left on the restaurant’s voicemail from reporters who’d seen the kiss-cam and wanted an interview.
Whatever it was, she went to bed with a jumble of confused thoughts in her brain.
Bethany tossed and turned most of the night, wrestling with vague dreams of being lost in an amusement park. No matter how much she searched, she couldn’t find the way out.
In the morning, she woke with a headache and blurry eyes, but a firm decision in her mind.
She would not go with Hank to Los Angeles—despite how tempting the invitation was, despite how much she liked him, despite the attraction sizzling between them and how much he made her laugh.
She was not cut out for Hollywood—look how she’d freaked out about the kiss-cam.
Hank needed someone who could deal with his high-profile lifestyle.
And she had responsibilities here. This was not the time for a vacation.
Voting would begin soon, and she needed to promote Grandma Lou’s as much as possible.
She ran a hand through her curly mop and gazed in the bathroom mirror at the dark smudges under her eyes.
Mistake, mistake, mistake.
The single word echoed in her mind like the lyrics of a song she couldn’t shake.
She rehearsed what she would say to him as she took a shower and got dressed, her stomach quivering.
Hank, I can’t go with you. I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave the restaurant.
It would be wise if we don’t see each other outside of business.
By the time she arrived at Grandma Lou’s, she’d worked herself into a jittery mess as she went over all the reasons that visiting Los Angeles with Hank was a bad idea. She grabbed a knife from a drawer and began dicing vegetables for minestrone soup
He’s out of my league, he’ll grow bored with me, he’ll break my heart. Her hand shook, and she sliced through her glove and into her thumb instead of the carrot she held. She hissed and dropped the knife. A bead of blood oozed from the wound.
Mistake, mistake, mistake.
She stripped the gloves, washed her hands in the sink, and scrounged for a bandage in the back cupboard where she kept a few first-aid items.
Travis came in as she applied the bandage. “You cut yourself?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t paying close enough attention, I guess. Um, Travis, before you head out, could you give me a minute? I want to talk to you about something.”
“Sure. What’s up?” Travis pulled out a stool and sat.
Bethany set the knife to the side. She didn’t want any more accidents. “Hank’s invited us to California. To his home.”
Travis leaned forward in his chair. “Seriously? To hang with him?”
“I’m planning on turning down his offer.”
“Why? If you’re worried about Grandma Lou’s, don’t be. I bet we could get Rosie to cover for us.”
“That’s not necessary. Hank said he’d hire someone to oversee things while we’re away, and he’d pay for our travel expenses. He thinks we both need a break.”
“Why shouldn’t we take him up on it? It’s been a long time since we’ve had a vacation from this old place.
” He cast his gaze around the kitchen like he was seeing it with fresh eyes.
“Besides, we could never afford a trip on our own. I thought you liked Hank. You said you trust him. Why wouldn’t we go? ”
She put on some fresh gloves, picked up the knife again, and resumed cutting the carrots, careful to keep her movements slow and steady. “I do like Hank. I just don’t think we should leave Grandma Lou’s right now.”
“But why? You need a break. I need a break. Sounds like a perfect opportunity.”
“You want to go to California?” Bethany eyed her brother. He rarely asked for anything.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“That’s no answer.”
The doorbell jingled, indicating the arrival of their first customer of the day.
Travis slid off the stool. “Keep cutting. I’ll take care of whoever it is.”
Bethany finished chopping the vegetables, then added them to the pot of broth on the big stovetop.
She ditched her gloves, but something dragged on the floor—her shoelace had come untied.
She started to bend over when Travis came through the swinging door, carrying a giant bouquet of sunflowers in a cobalt blue vase.
“I think Hank really wants you to visit him in California.” He set the vase on the worktable, handing her a small card.
Bethany forgot about her shoelace and read the scribbled note in Hank’s bold hand.
Sunflowers to remind you how bright the sun is in Los Angeles. Thanks for the birthday gift. Wishing on a star. Hank.
She swallowed and nestled the card among the blooms. Mistake, mistake, mistake. “He’s going to be disappointed.”
“We also got a paying customer. Elizabeth’s looking to buy a carafe of coffee to go. Will we sell it that way? She brought her own carafe.”
“Sure.” The doorbell jangled. “I’ll get the pot and see who else is here. You can take out the trash. It’s overflowing.”
Travis nodded, and Bethany wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed the pot of coffee, and went to fill Elizabeth’s carafe. Hank’s publicist stood by the kitchen door in a pale peach number, tapping her French-manicured nails against the counter.
“You’re up bright and early,” Bethany said, trying for a friendly smile. She suspected she was not Elizabeth’s favorite person right now. “I’m, um, sorry about breaking our agreement to keep away from Hank.”
“Pshaw.” Elizabeth waved her hand like it was no big deal. “Hank’s hard to ignore.”
Bethany lifted the pot of coffee in the air. “Travis said you’re looking for an entire pot of coffee? It’ll be twenty for the pot.”
“That’s a little steep, isn’t it? But all right. I only get the best for Hank. I know how much he adores his coffee.” She tipped the lid open on a black carafe. “Fill her up.”
“I’ll be right with you,” Bethany called to the fair-haired gentleman who’d leaned over to peer into the donut case. “All donuts are two dollars apiece.”
She finished filling the carafe and eyed the credit card displayed on Elizabeth’s cell phone, which she held out for payment. “Sorry, I’ll need your actual card.”
Elizabeth sighed and dug in her purse for her card, handing it to Bethany. “Oh my, he’s easy on the eyes.”
Bethany had turned to swipe the card, but Elizabeth’s words made her pause. She followed her gaze and almost dropped the pot of coffee. The gentleman raised his head, and she got a good look at his sandy hair, square jaw, and dark glasses.
Desmond. Did she speak? She must have because he moved toward her.
Elizabeth raised her penciled eyebrows. “You two know each other?”
Bethany barely registered her words. “Why are you here?” The words came out as black and bitter as the coffee grounds she’d dumped in the trash.
“I came to apologize, and hopefully to make amends.”
“You need to leave.”
“Won’t you please hear me out?” Desmond walked forward, one hand stretched in front of him as if he thought she would slam the empty coffee pot over his traitorous head. Which wasn’t a bad idea. “I have an idea on how we can save Grandma Lou’s.”
She stilled. Why would he think Grandma Lou’s was closing? And what was he doing here after all this time? Had he seen the kiss-cam? That would explain his sudden appearance. “Let me guess . . . by stealing more money from me?”
“I’ll just leave you two to reminisce,” Elizabeth said, grabbing the carafe and heading out the door. “Enjoy your day.”
Bethany advanced from behind the counter, still clutching the empty pot, and Desmond took a step backward.
“Now hold on a second,” he said.
“Out. If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”
Desmond took another step backward, eyeing the pot. “I just want to help you.”
What he wanted was money. And he thought he could find it because he believed she and Hank were an item. “I’m counting to five. One—”
“Please. I’ve got a spot reserved for you on my cooking show. I want to do a live feature on Grandma Lou’s. To ask for votes for the contest.”
She stopped moving. “How do you know about the contest?”
“Elizabeth mentioned it. She said you were desperate to save the building.”
“When were you talking to Elizabeth?”
“I ran into her in town and followed her here just now.”
Convenient. She snorted and rolled her eyes.
“Listen to me. You’re going to need my help. With the media attention the show will bring, you can gain the votes you need to final in the contest.”
She tightened her grip on the pot and kept moving. “Two. I’m not that desperate.”
Desmond straightened his shirt and frowned. “Now, don’t let your ego get in the way. I’m sorry for the way I left.”
Bethany curled her lip. “And taking my money? Are you sorry about that?”
“Why would I be? We were engaged, and it was a joint account. It was as much my money as it was yours. But if you’re still stewing over that, let me make it up to you by featuring your restaurant on my show.”
Bethany took another step forward. “Three. What? Are ratings down? Four. You have to be insane,” she hissed, “to think I’d go anywhere near your show after what you did to me.”
It all happened so fast. One minute she was advancing on Desmond, pushing him toward the exit, the next she tripped on her shoelace she’d forgotten to tie and slammed into his chest, dropping the pot, which rolled toward the counter without shattering.
Before she could stop him, his arms caught her, pressing her close.
She struggled to catch her breath, stunned at the familiar feeling of his body and the cinnamon and ginger scent from the tea she remembered he always drank.
“I have thought of you every single day since I left Cleveland. I made a terrible mistake. I know it now. I’d like to make it up to you. Remember how good it used to be between us?”
She opened her mouth for air, and he thrust his lips onto hers.
The door opened and a tall man with broad shoulders and golden hair stood in the entrance. He drew his brows together until they met in the middle, then he crossed his arms like the Greek god Apollo himself. All he needed was an arrow to complete the picture.
Anger burned bright, erupting like a solar flare in Hank’s gut. He crossed his arms so he wouldn’t punch the man in front of him.
He’d come to Grandma Lou’s this morning, hoping Bethany had decided a relationship with him was worth the risk.
That, after he’d poured out his deepest secrets to her under the stars, she would agree to the trip to LA.
Instead, he found her kissing another man—and not just any man but her former fiancé—the Chef King—who had betrayed her trust and run off with her money.
“Hank, it’s not what it looks like.” Her face flushed red, and she punched at the guy’s chest. “Let me go, Desmond.”
Hank took a step farther into the room. “What does it look like? Like you’re reacquainting yourself with an old flame?”
The Chef King trapped Bethany’s fists by crushing her against his side with one arm.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and extended his other hand like he was greeting an old friend.
“You’re Hank Haverill, aren’t you? I believe our shows are affiliated with the same television network.
I’m Desmond Mitchell. Perhaps you’ve seen my cooking show. ”
Hank didn’t shake the proffered hand. Instead, he watched Bethany’s expressive face shift from frustration to fury.
She stamped on Desmond’s foot until he released her. “Time’s up. Get out of my restaurant.”
“Bethany, be reasonable. I was just trying to help you. I saved you from a nasty bruise.”
She pointed at the door. “No, you assaulted me. And I’d rather have the bruise. Go and don’t come back. I never want to see you again. Not even on television.”
Desmond frowned. “Fine. Never say I didn’t try to help. I’ll go.” Then he turned to Hank. “Just so you know, she’s a liar.”
Bethany gasped, outrage in every aspect of her curvy form. Desmond had already turned his back and was walking out the door.
Hank reached out a long arm, snagged Desmond’s shoulder and turned him around in one smooth motion. “Apologize.”
“I already tried that with her, and she wouldn’t have it.”
“With good reason, from what I’ve been told.” He tightened the vise he had on Desmond’s neck and pushed him toward Bethany. “Say you’re sorry and then take yourself outside and don’t look back. Or do you want to be one of the unlucky ones who can say they’ve been clocked by me?”
Desmond hesitated, his fists clenched and face a deep red. “Fine. I’m sorry. Are you happy?”
“Tell her, not me. And sound like you mean it.” Hank squeezed a little harder until Desmond gasped, turning three different shades of purple. He cranked his head toward Bethany.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, make him stop.”
“Let him go, Hank,” Bethany said, glaring at Desmond. “I don’t need his apology. It wouldn’t be sincere, anyway.”
Hank shrugged and released Desmond, who turned and scurried to the door like a small, nervous rat. At the last moment, he must have realized he was far enough away from Hank’s reach to dredge up enough courage to turn and sneer at Bethany.
“I’ll look forward to the day this place closes. Won’t be much longer, from what I hear. Heard talk you plagiarized your contest entry.”
The door clanged shut behind him, and Hank glanced toward Bethany. She stared after Desmond, a stunned expression on her face.