Hank couldn’t stop his gaze from following the plate.
Without another word, Bethany set the ice water in front of him, then turned and headed back to the kitchen. Hank scratched his head. What did a guy have to do to earna grilled cheese in this joint? He pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and set it in the middle of the table.
Rosie tapped her hand on his. “Don’t worry. Bethany won’t let you go hungry. That woman has a heart of gold.”
As if in agreement, the bell on the door chimed. Rosie’s eyes lit up like she’d hit the lottery. “Well, hey there, Travis.” She turned to Hank. “That’s Bethany’s brother.”
Hank eyed the man who came through the door. He didn’t look much like Bethany. While she was short, Travis was tall. Her hair was brown and curly with a tint of gold, while his was close-cropped and black. He wore an easy smile in contrast to Bethany’s scowl.
Travis drew closer, pausing at their table. “Man is it nice outside. A bit breezy, but there’s no better place to be than Cleveland in August.” He spotted Hank and his eyes widened.
Okay, maybe Bethany and Travisweresiblings because Hank swore that was the same surprised look Bethany had given him earlier, from the same eyes. They shared the same olive skin tone too. There was something striking about the brother and sister. An interesting combination of genes, which had Hank wondering about their ethnic heritage. African-American and Scandinavian, maybe?
Travis’s lips formed a perfect O, and Hank suppressed a groan, straightening his shoulders and plastering on his public face.
“Apollo? Oh, man. Itisyou. For a second, I thought I was seeing things—but it’s—you’re the actor from the TV show, right? I’ve watched a few episodes. ‘Forged in Fire,’ man. I love that.”
Hank sighed. As if he didn’t know he was on a TV show with a ridiculous slogan. As much as he loved his superstardom, on some days, it was plain tiresome. He hadn’t escapedthe spotlight as he had hoped when he’d hidden from Elizabeth and his fans. “Hi.” He nodded but couldn’t prevent his gaze from sliding to the soup. Would it be rude if he took a bite? He picked up his spoon and plunged it into the bowl.
“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not excited to see you. I’m, wow, I’m in shock, I think.” Travis trailed off, looking at Rosie, a question mark on his face. Now that Hank had a chance to study him up close, he could see brother and sister shared the same wide forehead. Hank suspected Travis might be the younger by quite a few years.
“Travis, don’t bother our famous customer,” Bethany called from the kitchen, her voice like a commanding officer. “C’mon back. Bring the supplies with you.”
Travis threw him a conspiratorial grin. “I suppose you met my sister?”
Hank nodded.
“I’d better not keep her waiting. She’ll bean me with a loaf of bread. But hey, before you leave, think I could grab a selfie with you? This is about the most exciting thing that has happened to our little restaurant since a neighborhood dog ate a bunch of cupcakes.”
Hank grinned. Travis Parker was a friendly sort. He appeared to represent the sweet half of the restaurant, while Bethany added the spice. “Sure—if you can nab me one of your sister’s grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“You got it.” Travis whipped out his cell phone, crouching next to Hank to snap the promised selfie.
“You two are pathetic.” Bethany appeared behind Travis like a ninja. “No need to bribe Travis for food. No one goes hungry in this place. Travis, I cleared off the shelves in the back if you want to put the stuff there.”
Travis offered Hank a last jaunty wave and ashrug, which Hank interpreted as “what’s a man gonna do?” and headed out the door.
Bethany set a fresh plate of grilled cheese triangles in front of Hank with a clunk and wiped her hands on her apron—a grandma’s apron, decorated with red and yellow roses.
Hank almost laughed aloud. There was something old-fashioned about Bethany. A throwback to another time—she was the kind of girl who expected a boy to keep his distance on their first date—to hold doors and offer jackets and send flowers. So not his type. He frowned. Why was he thinking about whether she was his type or not?
“Do I have something in my hair?”
He came to with a start. “No. Sorry, I was thinking.”
“Oh, that must be hard.” She laughed, all smooth and husky and rich, like a shot of whiskey.
He should have been insulted. But Hank found himself hanging on every last, luxurious syllable like they’d wash him clean. He shook his head as if to toss off his strange reaction to Bethany.
“Not at all.” He reached for his water glass and took a long, slow sip. His gaze caught hers above the rim, and he refused to look away. If she wanted to flirt, he was the master. She didn’t stand a chance. He set his glass aside and wiped his lips on his napkin, then stretched his arms behind his head, and winked. “I was just blown away by your cooking.”
Hank couldn’t miss how her gaze followed his movements before her cheeks took on a slight pink, and she turned toward Rosie and the girls with an eye roll. “Actors. You can’t believe a thing they say.”
“Bethany, shame on you,” Rosie said. “I just got done telling him what a softie you are.”
Bethany waved a hand, but Rosie kept talking, turning to Hank with another of her sunny expressions. “Bethany makes the girls’ lunch every day. And we’re not the only ones she cooks for. Seems like she feeds half the neighborhood around here.”
“You’re exaggerating.” Bethany shook her head. “We have plenty of extra.”
