“Where is he? Is he here?” several women asked Bethany, going in and out of the bathroom. Others weaved in and around the tables and chairs. A few stragglers leaned over the counter to ogle the baked goods.
A tall woman in sleek brown trousers and a white silk top touched Bethany’s arm with cream-tipped nails that had to be fake. Her hair bounced around her head in blonde ringlets. “Sorry for the intrusion, but I’m looking for Hank Haverill—and I do mean the actor. Did he come in a moment ago?”
A crashing sound filled the room, and the stand of snickerdoodles went flying to the floor. The ladies stepped back trying to get out of the way. Cookies crunched under their feet.
Bethany leaned forward and grimaced at the mess. She couldn’t change the sign on the door to read “no dogs or adoring Hank Haverill fans allowed.” Could she?
CHAPTER TWO
“Ooh, snickerdoodles.” A large woman in a yellow and white polka dot dress leaned on the counter. “I apologize for the little accident. Do you have any more?”
Bethany glanced at the surviving two in the display case. “Yes, I do.”
The woman’s gaze followed hers. “I’ll take them. And one of those chocolate supernatural whoopie pies too.”
“Save some for the rest of us.” Another woman in a white straw hat elbowed her out of the way. “I want a whoopie pie.”
Maybe Hank Haverill hiding out in Grandma Lou’s wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Give me a moment to clean this mess and I’ll be right with you.”
Bethany swept the broken cookies into a dustpan, doing her best to ignore Hank’s adoring fans who chattered like birds around a feeder.
When her grandparents opened the Cleveland restaurant in the 1950s, in the suburb of Tremont, they couldn’t have known it would grow into such a vital neighborhood fixture. Grandma Lou had started bycooking a few of her favorite recipes for hungry neighbors and friends. Soon, the restaurant had turned into a popular gathering spot where those in need could be assured of a free or reduced-cost meal. Her parents had continued the tradition and had even added a pantry stocked with donated goods. The business was part restaurant with paying customers, and part charity, and Bethany worked hard to keep it that way.
She glanced at the decorative clock above the counter. It was later than she thought. The fork and the knife pointed at eleven. In minutes, her friends would be arriving, and Bethany could bet they would be hungry. She had a pot of tomato soup and grilled cheese ready to go.
“Ladies, please move over there.” She gestured with her empty hand to a long table in one corner.
All but the woman in the white silk top complied with her request. She tilted her nose in the air like she was royalty and Bethany should bow. “I don’t think you realize who I am.” She shook her long blonde hair and raised perfectly shaped eyebrows over impossibly long eyelashes. “I’m Elizabeth Fortenay, Hank’s publicist.”
Ah, the woman Hank wanted to avoid.Bethany tried to think if she’d heard the name before but couldn’t come up with anything. “That’s nice. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to empty this.” She held up the dustpan.
Elizabeth stepped back as if it were poison, glaring at Bethany, who discarded the broken cookies into the trash and set the dustpan behind the counter. Elizabeth craned her neck toward the kitchen, but the bell over the door jangled, and they both turned to look.
“Miss Bethany, Miss Bethany.” Two small voices rang out from little girls with dark pigtails and denim dresses. Her friend Rosie’s daughters raced toward her, wrapping their arms around her legs and squeezing tight.
“Hi, girls.” Bethany smiled and crouched, hugging them close. Her smallest but best customers smelled of sunshine and cotton candy and innocence. This was by far her favorite part of the day.
The oldest child, Tia, unwound herself from Bethany’s leg and handed her a drawing of a bunny eating a carrot. Her younger sister, Tana, shook a piece of paper in Bethany’s face. “Look at mine! Look at mine!”
“They’re beautiful.” Bethany looked at each picture. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s coming,” Tia said.
The girls’ mother, Rosie Ortiz, pushed the door open with a jingle.
“Hello, Rosie. Your table’s waiting.” Bethany pointed to the side. “I’ve got fresh tomato soup today to go with grilled cheese and...” Bethany glanced toward the empty display case, which should have held their favorite snickerdoodles. “Chocolate chip cookies.”
“Gracias, Bethany.” Rosie smiled, white teeth flashing next to her chestnut hair. She smelled like furniture polish—she must have come straight from cleaning houses. When her husband left the family destitute, Rosie had begged Bethany for a cleaning job in exchange for food, since Rosie barely made enough cleaning houses to pay the rent. Despite her own financial issues, Bethany hadn’t hesitated—it was what her parents and grandparents would have wanted. Turned out, giving Rosie a job was the best decision Bethany had ever made. Over the past two years, Rosie had become a big help in the kitchen, and she and the girls had become dear friends. “Sounds wonderful. C’mon girls. Let’s get out of Miss Bethany’s way. She has other customers to serve today.”
“Yes, Mama.” The girls rushed to their usual table in front of the window.
On a normal day, the place would be almost empty until the lunch crowd arrived at noon. Which was why Rosie and the girls had taken to showing up around eleven. Bethany turned to fetch their lunch, only to be confronted by Elizabeth, hands on her hips, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, and an I’m-used-to-people-catering-to-me aura surrounding her.
“Excuse me, but I was here first. I’m looking for Hank Haverill. Has he been in your restaurant?”
“I’ll be just another moment.” Bethany studied Elizabeth from the corner of one eye and made her way behind the counter. She removed the fork from the back pocket of her jeans and shoved it next to the register. So this was the reason for Hank Haverill’s mad dash into her kitchen? He’d run from Ms. Fancy Pants? Bethany could admit that her sour face was something to run from, but Hank probably never had to deal with it since he had to be her number one client. So why hide?
She dished steaming soup into her fanciest china bowls and set them on a tray, then headed back around the counter, her gaze sliding again to Elizabeth. She did not look like someone who would cause a grown man to hide in the kitchen. She looked perfect with her flawless complexion, long legs, and golden hair—like someone used to getting attention.
