And she was right—he should go. He had only meant to take a small break from his responsibilities—he’d stayed far longer than he’d intended. Elizabeth would be frantic by now. Hank needed to find her and get the interviews over with. Then he would head to his hotel and have a nap. What did he care if Bethany gave him the time of day or not?
He rose to his full height of six foot four. Problem was, he didn’t care for the feeling of being brushed aside. It felt like a challenge.
He made a show of walking to his table, pulling out his chair, and settling into it like he had all the time in the world. The chair remained solid and straight on the floor, thank God. He had begun to feel like he was on a ship.
She followed him as he’d expected she would. “You’re not finished?”
He kept his expression serene and blinked up at her. “I can’t leave without trying one of your amazing whoopie pies. Rosie told me they’re quite good. Speaking of Rosie, where did she and the girls disappear to?”
Bethany’s eyes narrowed as she gathered his empty plate and bowl. “They’re in the kitchen. They help out on Fridays.” Her hands brushed by him. The scent of vanilla hung in the air. “There are camera crews outside looking for you.”
He groaned. “All the more reason for me to stay inside.”
She paused over the dishes. “I thought actors loved the camera?”
He fiddled with his glass. “I do, most of the time.”
“Then why are you in hiding?”
He thought about lying. He didn’t owe her the truth. She would laugh in his face. She had made it clear that she didn’t think much of him.
He glanced up to catch large eyes, framed by long eyelashes. Eyes he could drown in. Their color was somewhere between the sky on a cloudy day and the deep green of the sea.
“I’m exhausted.” And feeling sorry for himself after his girlfriend Melanie had left him. They’d fought for most of their relationship, so he wasn’t exactly sorry to see her go, but he didn’t enjoy being discarded like a piece of trash.
“You can’t take a vacation?”
“Not in the middle of the season.”
“So take a vacation when the season ends.”
“I can’t afford it.”
Her face lost all expression, and her eyes frosted over like a pond in winter. She picked up the dishes, the spoon rattling in the bowl. “If you want me to feel sorry for you, it’s not working. You own this building. You have a place to sleep and food to eat and I’m sure a hefty paycheck. There’s plenty of folks around here who have nothing.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. He had nowhere to go and no one he cared to spend time with. And even if he had,he needed the money to pay his bills. He’d told the truth. Although he had coughed up the funds to buy the building, he couldn’t afford a vacation at the moment. He’d made a series of bad financial decisions when he was younger. He had a slew of staff dependent on him for income. Hell, the taxes for his Los Angeles home alone cost half a million a year. And with Melanie’s lawsuit, he had massive legal fees to pay, not to mention the price of his publicist, agent, assistant, stylist, bodyguard...to name a few. His show wasn’t going to last forever. There were rumors it was on the chopping block. He needed to look for work, not go on vacation.
He opened his eyes. Bethany had paused again, staring at him like he had a pair of devil’s horns poking through his scalp. The sight must have been fascinating because she didn’t look away. Hank found himself running a hand over his head to verify it was horn free.
He lifted his shoulder in defeat. He hadn’t expected her to believe him. She was a stranger. She didn’t like actors. And now he owned her building and would put her out of business if he opened that darn fitness center. It wasn’t surprising that she didn’t trust him. “I’m not looking for sympathy.”
The truth is I’m depressed. My girlfriend’s gone, my show’s going to be canceled, and I don’t feel like being in front of a camera right now.“I do want to taste a whoopie pie, though. And I wouldn’t mind some company, if you’d like to join me.”
Bethany’s expressive face fluctuated from suspicion to worry to fear before settling on wary. “Why?”
“I don’t like to eat alone.”
Hank watched as she took in his statement and weighed it for validity. Though he couldn’t help a small grin when henoticed the smudge of flour that dusted her forehead. Her eyes sifted him within their depths, searching for truth maybe—or honesty? Whatever she saw brought another rosy sheen to her cheeks. The hardness in her eyes softened and dissolved, reminding him of frozen grapes. Underneath the frost, there was nothing but sweetness.
“I’ll bring you a whoopie pie.”
She took off with a rattle of dishes. Minutes later, she returned with a giant whoopie pie on a blue china plate that could have been served at a tea party and a tall glass of milk.
“Take a break and talk to me while I eat?”
His gaze followed hers as she shook her head and glanced toward the clock, whose fork and knife hands were almost at the one. Underneath hung a worn dollar bill inside an old-fashioned frame that looked as ancient as the building.
“I shouldn’t. I have snickerdoodles in the oven and need to roll meatballs for soup. And then I need to make quiche for tomorrow’s breakfast and reprice products on the shelves.”
