He whipped out his cell phone and did a quick search for Chef King. An image popped up of a clean-shaven man, thirtyish, with spiked brown hair. Hank scanned the caption—Man Candy: Desmond Mitchell talks about life as the Chef King. He was dressed in a blazer and a collared shirt, open at the neckline. The crossed arms and expressionon his face smacked of confidence and ego and a certain weakness—like he would throw a temper tantrum if he didn’t get his way.
The doorbell chimed and Hank glanced toward the entrance. A dozen people, give or take, came through the doorway.No Bethany.He stifled his disappointment.
Someone tapped his arm. Hank turned to see a teenager with purple hair and a spike through her lip. She held out a black Sharpie. “Oh, wow, Apollo. My friends are never gonna believe this. Can I get your autograph?”
Jingle-jingle.The door was on a continuous ringer. Still no sign of Bethany in the crowd.
“Uh, sure.” Hank took the pen and stood. “You have something to write on?”
“Yeah.” She drew her pants partway down, exposing white skin beneath a deep tan line, and pointed at her bottom.
Hank chuckled. This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked to sign a body part. He’d signed hands, arms, backs, knees, legs, and even foreheads. He drew the line at teenage asses, though. “I don’t think so.”
“Worth a shot.” The girl grinned.
Hank couldn’t help but laugh. “How ’bout I sign your arm. What’s your name?”
The girl held out her arm. “Name’s Angie but everyone around here calls me Angel.”
“You come here often, Angel?” Hank signed his name with a flourish and handed her the marker.
“Yeah, my parents own the antique bazaar next door. I wait tables on weekends when this place is busy. Like today. The whole city’s here to see you.”
Hank glanced up and groaned. A line had formed behind Angel, winding around chairs and tables toward thefront. The woman with the long legs stood near the exit. He should have given more thought to his role...dressed the part. He was supposed to be a maintenance man, not a TV star. “Angel, have you seen Bethany?”
“She’s not in early on Saturdays. Hey, is it true you now own this building? My dad says you’re going to make us all leave.”
Hank frowned. “No one’s leaving.” He pointed at his toolbox. “I’m here to help. Tell your folks I’ll be stopping by to make repairs.”
Angel eyed her arm, tracing her finger over his signature. “Really? That’s so cool. Hey, will you take a selfie with me?”
“Sure.” Hank put his arm around her shoulders and flashed a smile as Angel held up her phone.
He might as well spend the morning signing autographs. As long as he was in the building, the crowd wasn’t going away, and it would make Elizabeth happy. He would go back to being the dang maintenance guy when Bethany showed up.
Bethany breezedthrough Grandma Lou’s creaky back door and hung her purse and jacket in the small locker where she kept her things. Although she’d come in the back, it seemed more cars than usual had been parked on the side streets.
She dug the copy of her grandmother’s prized chocolate cake recipe from the cookbook and smoothed the worn paper on the worktable. For what must have been the hundredth time, she studied the ingredients with her penciled-in notes. She had memorized the recipe long ago,but looking at her grandmother’s familiar scrawl and the cluster of food stains on the paper bolstered her confidence. Time was running out to tweak the recipe. Her entry was due online in six days.
Loud chatter came from the dining room, indicating an influx of customers. Bethany left the recipe on the worktable, washed her hands, and put on her apron. The cupcakes would have to wait. The menu was simple on Saturdays—soup, quiche, and various salads and sandwiches—but Travis and Angel wouldn’t be able to handle a large crowd alone.
She collided with her brother as she headed out of the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”
“Bethany, you’re here. I just sent you a text. Apollo’s back.”
“Now?”
“Yes. He’s signing autographs. I thought you said he’d get bored and return to LA?”
Bethany clutched the sides of her apron. “Well, he will. I’m sure he’ll be heading back just as soon...my God.” Panic shot through her system like a bullet. A line of people snaked out the front door and onto the sidewalk.
“See what I mean? The line keeps getting longer. The news is here filming, and that woman Elizabeth showed up. Angel and I can’t keep up with all the orders. What should we do?”
Bethany took a deep breath to flush the panic from her brain. “He’ll have to leave. I’ll tell him. You keep the real customers happy, and call Rosie to see if she can help.”
The first thing Bethany noticed when she rounded the corner was the almost empty display case that should have housed dozens of donuts but now held only a few and some crumbs. The second thing was Hank in his element,surrounded by excited fans, all wanting his autograph. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Hank. Hank Haverill. Yoo-hoo. Apollo.”
Hank didn’t glance her way. Neither did anyone else. No one could hear her.
