He put on his best smile—the onePeople Magazinehad labeled “most magnetizing.” “Please.”
Her cheeks flushed like roses in bloom. “Well, I suppose I can spare a minute or two.”
Hank found himself grinning like a crazy fool, but he didn’t much give a damn.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“This is good.”
Bethany fingered her apron and watched as the blond hunk across from her closed his eyes and took another giant bite of whoopie pie. Was she crazy? This was the self-centered jerk who would open a fitness center or sell her building on a whim. She knew it was in her best interest to let him stay and ply him with food, but she shouldn’t let herself be mesmerized by the way he enjoyed her cooking. She should stay focused on her business.
“Where did you learn to bake like this?” He took a large gulp of milk and wiped his lips on his napkin.
A warm feeling filled her belly. The feeling she got whenever her cooking brought comfort to another. Despite all the warnings she’d given herself over the last couple of hours, she could not stop a smile from spreading across her face. “My grandmother. The filling is a family secret.” She lowered her voice and applied her best gangster accent. “I could tell ya, but then I’d have to kill ya.”
He laughed, the sound as strong and rich and attractive as its owner. “I’d die happy. It’s delicious. I’ve never hadbetter. Your grandmother must be quite the cook.” He opened his mouth and devoured the rest of the cookie.
Another warm tingle shot through her. “She was. She and my grandpa opened Grandma Lou’s and left it to my parents. It was meant to be a restaurant, but Grandma Lou had a soft spot for the hungry. So she began feeding them from her kitchen, and we’ve continued the tradition. I have a lot of memories in this place. Travis and I grew up working in it.”
“Your parents are retired?”
“Oh—no.” She looked toward the door as if she’d spotted a customer. She hated this. Her parents had been larger-than-life. It always shook her to say they were gone. As if some part of her thought they were still going to walk through the door, her dad singing the donut song.Well, I walked around the corner, and I walked around the block, and I walked right into the donut shop...
“What happened?”
Her gaze flew to Hank’s. He watched her from under hooded eyes, making her realize his casual questions and laid-back pose were a front. He saw much more than she had given him credit for.
She swallowed, loosening the tightness in her throat. “They passed away in a car accident several years ago. Today’s the anniversary of their deaths. Drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, as if he understood her pain and sympathized.Silly. What did Hank Haverill know about loss?
He stretched his hands and placed them behind his head in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as uniquely his. She yanked her gaze back to the table. To cover the awkwardness of the sudden movement, she askedthe question foremost in her mind. “Why do they want you to open a fitness center in Cleveland?”
“I was born here.”
“You were? Here?” God, she sounded like one of his rabid fans. “Well, not here but in Cleveland?”
He nodded. “Not far from here. My grandfather always loved this building.”
Most people who had been in the building loved it—it was that kind of place. Built more than a hundred years earlier as an inn, it possessed the stately elegance of a bygone era. The outside was weathered red brick and the long windows were set off by charming white fleur-de-lis. Inside, the building possessed high ceilings and wood floors and a sense that time stood still. The old soda fountain counter served as a place to display baked goods and housed the register.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked.
He shrugged as if the answer were trivial. “Not here. Many places. My dad was in the military. We moved to Virginia when I was a baby. I’d lived in ten states by the time I was ten.”
“And where do they live now, your parents?”
His lips drooped at the corners, and he hunched forward until his hands rested on the table again. “My dad and I aren’t close. I’ve no idea where he lives right now. My mom died when I was twenty.”
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t stop a shiver. So hehadunderstood her loss. Lived it. “I had no idea. Was it—an auto accident?”
“Nah.” He grimaced, and she knew without quite knowing how that whatever had happened to his mother was as bad as a car crash. He didn’t elaborate, though, putting Bethany in the strange position of wanting to knowmore but not wanting to pry. Curiosity warred with courtesy. Curiosity won.
“What was it?”
He moved forward, balling his napkin in one hand. Bethany wasn’t certain he would answer, but he did, his voice rough and scratchy and an octave lower.
“Brain aneurysm.”
