Bethany couldn’t stop the grin from taking over her face. “I am too, Sam. It’s been years since either of us could afford a vacation. Hank’s promised to make the trip fun and is paying for all our expenses. How could we say no?”
Sam flashed her a broad smile. “I’m real happy for you. I can’t think of two kids more hardworking and deserving. It’s nice to see you excited about something for a change and not so worried. Although, I don’t know what I’ll do without my favorite girl around.”
“It’s only a couple of days. Hank’s bringing in help on Friday, so you’ll still get your home-cooked meals.” Bethany had already talked to the general manager, as well as the chef and servers Hank had hired to run the kitchen while she was gone. They’d all seemed highly confident. She’d written out lengthy instructions, which they promised to follow to a T, including instructions on how to treat loyal customers like Sam.
“I’m more worried about your sunny smile. It always brightens my day.”
“Well, you just grab a seat over in the corner, and I’ll bring you a piece of lasagna fresh from the oven.”
Sam did as she instructed, and Bethany hurried into the kitchen to dish out the lasagna. That was the last opportunity she had to dwell on the coming trip. Rosie and the girls arrived, and Bethany fussed over them, relieved to see Tia back to normal and Rosie with her calm smile in place. And then a group of tourists entered, looking for Hank, who of course hadn’t yet put in an appearance. The fans all wanted coffee and whoopie pies because they’d heard they were Hank’s favorites.
At noon, Travis returned from a few errands to help serve and clean up, and before she knew it, it was the dinner hour.
“Has Hank been in?” Bethany asked Travis when he headed into the kitchen during a short lull, to help her with the dishes.
Travis slung a dishtowel over his shoulder. “Haven’t seen him. Did he tell you he would be?”
“Not directly.” Bethany grabbed a pair of oven mitts, opened the oven door, and reached for the peanut butter oatmeal cookies, flinching when her hand got too near the hot tray. “Ow.” She ran cold water in the sink and thrust herburned fingers through, which offered immediate relief. “I just assumed he’d stop by for something to eat.”
“Don’t get worked up. He’ll probably show after the supper crowd. You know how he comes and goes.”
But Travis was wrong. When Bethany wiped down the last dirty table and totaled the day’s earnings, Hank had still not appeared in the shop.
She was halfway home when her cell rang. “Hank? Is everything okay?”
“Sorry, this is Pamela Harris, Hank’s assistant. He’s tied up and asked me to call you on his cell.”
“Oh. What’s wrong? Where’s Hank?”
“Hank’s fine.”
The woman sounded normal, which did much to quell the sick feeling in her tummy.
“He needs to cancel your visit to LA. He had an unexpected opportunity come up this afternoon and had to fly home early. He’s involved in meetings until late tonight. But he wanted you to know he’s really sorry for the change in plans and maybe he can make it work another time.”
Bethany narrowed her gaze at the road. “He’s...he’s coming back to Cleveland, isn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the woman said. “We didn’t discuss his future plans. I’m sure he’ll give you a call when he can.”
“Oh, okay.” Bethany ended the call and threw her phone on the seat, right next to the bag with the sundress she would now need to return. She couldn’t afford to spend money on an outfit for a trip she wouldn’t get to take.
She hunched over the steering wheel and gasped at the sharp ache in her side and struggled to see through the stream of tears clogging her vision.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Hank watched his assistant hang up with Bethany out of the corner of one eye—with the other, he studied the script in front of him. He should be more excited. According to Blackie, the producers wanted him for the role. They would sign the contract tomorrow night. So why did his weary heart beat out of sync, and his temples ache, and his eyes burn like he hadn’t slept in months?
Bethany must hate him now.
“You’re all set.” Pamela stood in front of him, her tablet in her hands and a question on her serious face. She looked efficient and calm and ready to balance his checkbook or order takeout or unpack his luggage if he asked her to.
He had never really studied her face before. If she let her dark hair down and allowed it to curl naturally and used a bit less makeup, she would look a little like?—
“I stayed as close to the truth as I could, like you asked me to. Do you need something further?”
He closed his eyes, as if the motion could shut down his restless thoughts, and leaned his head against the cushions of the brown leather couch. He could hear Bethanyscolding him for being rude, but he refused to acknowledge the phantom voice. “How did she sound?” His throat scratched like sandpaper.
“Fine.”
