He raised an eyebrow at Bethany. “What’s this?”
She shook her head like a magician who refuses toreveal her secrets. “I’m not spoiling the surprise. Open it and find out.”
So he did.
Inside the box were two tickets to tomorrow’s Cleveland Guardians’ baseball game—club seats. Travis snatched the construction worker hat from Hank’s head and replaced it with a Guardians’ ball cap.
“I don’t know what to say.” And Hank did not. But he tried to express his feelings anyway. “I’ve never had a celebration as nice as this one. Thank you, everyone.”
“Can I have your autograph?” a shy girl with brown pigtails asked, holding up a napkin.
He smiled. “Sure thing.” He set the napkin on the table and signed it with a flourish.
Later, after he’d collected himself enough to give a small speech, and jokes were made and the last piece of cake was eaten and the guests were leaving, Hank cornered Bethany in the kitchen. She was stooped over the dishwasher. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a better birthday celebration. Thanks for all you did to make it special.”
She stood. “I’m so glad, Hank. But it was nothing. You deserve it for all the work you’ve been doing around this old place.”
He pulled her into his arms. “It was more than nothing. You made me a special cake. You remembered how much I like baseball. You bought me two tickets—I assume you won’t make me go on my own?”
She eyed him like a detective bent on solving a case. “As friends?”
“Of course.” Hank held his breath.
She must have decided in his favor because she tipped her head to the side like a little bird, smiled, and batted hereyelashes. “Oh my. Are you inviting me to a baseball game, Hank Haverill?”
“I am,” he drawled. “Is that a yes?”
“I’d never pass up a game of baseball.”
And that, Hank thought, was the icing on an already fabulous supernatural whoopie pie cake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bethany marveled at how fast she’d gotten accustomed to being driven around town in a limo. Hank was waiting for her in the back of the big black car when she arrived home from Grandma Lou’s at 6 p.m. the next day. He rolled down the window as she approached, his golden blond hair peeking out from under his baseball cap and a lazy smile on his face. “Get in, slow poke, we don’t want to be late for the game.”
Louis came from the front to open the door for her. “Hello, Bethany.”
She handed Louis a brown paper bag with a smile.
He arched his eyebrows. “What’s this?”
“I brought you a pumpkin muffin. Made it fresh this morning.”
“Why, that’s awfully kind of you. Thank you.”
She smiled and nodded, then slid across the cool leather seat toward Hank.
“Travis covering for you at the restaurant?” Hank asked, after Louis had closed the door. His cell phone buzzed, but he ignored it.
“No, he had an exam today and some errands to run, but Rosie’s handling the dinner hour.”
“Hey. What are you doing all the way over there?”
She scooted a few inches toward him, breathing in his cool mint smell. “Hey yourself.”
He sniffed the air in front of her. “You smell like apples.”
“I baked a pie.” She made a face. “You know baseball, apple pie and all that. I thought, maybe you and I...” A sudden shyness had her stuttering.
