Travis nodded. “How’s the contest entry coming along?”
Bethany rested her chin on her hands. “The cake I made this morning was good. Close to perfect. And I captured some great photos.”
“So you’ll submit your entry? In time for the deadline?”
Bethany drew a squiggle in the flour dust on the worktable. “I have ’til next Friday at midnight. Then the voting starts.” Next to the squiggle, she added a swirl. “I’ve already started posting on our social media to ask for votes, and I want to put together a flyer so we can hand them out. The top ten finalists move on to the final round.”
“Think we’ll win?”
Bethany erased her design and let out a breath. “I know it’s a stretch, but I can’t stop hoping. Grandma Lou’s has a long history, and we’re known for our baked goods, so I think people in the community are likely to vote for us. I mean, if we do win, the money will go a long way toward repurchasing this old place.” She looked around the kitchen. Even if the restaurant hadn’t been a legacy from her grandparents, she would appreciate its rustic charm. Silver pots and pans gleamed from where they hung from the ceiling. Old subway tiles ran across the back wall, and the worktable was made of wood that matched the floor.
Another burst of laughter came from the front room, reminding Bethany of all they stood to lose if Hank opened the fitness center.
“Boy, was I shocked when I walked in andsaw Apollo sitting there chatting with Rosie and the girls like they were old friends.”
“Yeah.”
“Seems like a nice guy. Once word gets out, it’ll be great for business. Camera crews are all over the place—what’s wrong?”
Bethany busied her fingers, pleating her apron. “He owns the building.”
Travis stopped rolling the dough. “You’re kidding?”
“Afraid not.”
“Since when?”
“I don’t know. His publicist, who was in here earlier, mentioned it.”
“He bought it from the bank?”
Bethany nodded and sucked on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “It’s undervalued. His investors advised him to make the purchase. They want him to open a fitness center.”
A storm cloud collected on her brother’s face. “Here in Tremont? In our building?”
Bethany moved her head up and down, then returned to drawing squiggles. She kept her face low so he couldn’t see the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes that threatened to overflow.
“Why? He could open it anywhere.”
She pursed her lips. “Beats me.” It was a question she had asked herself.
Travis set down the rolling pin and leaned toward her. “Does he need the whole building? Maybe he’ll continue to let us rent?”
Bethany sniffed and avoided his gaze. “I don’t know, but I’m doubtful.” She could feel Travis’s penetrating eyes.
“You’re crying.” He straightened. “Why the heck are we feeding him?”
She rubbed a hand across her brow and shifted her gaze from Travis to the dining room. “I don’t know. He said he was hungry. He seemed tired. Rosie and the girls like him.” She risked a glance at Travis. His eyes could puncture steel. “I couldn’t just kick him out the door—he’s our landlord.”
Travis’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “What does it matter if he’s our landlord if he won’t let us rent from him? You’re too nice. But I’m not.” His expression remained hard as diamonds, and he glowered at her, but Bethany knew his anger was triggered by frustration and caring. For her. Although there were eight years between them, Travis fancied himself her protector after their parents died and Desmond’s treachery. He had seen firsthand the devastation and heartache Desmond’s betrayal brought her.
Bethany put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “I’m okay, Travis. Please, for my sake, don’t do anything rash. We need to stay calm and learn what he’s planning.”
She hadn’t been the only victim when Desmond stole their savings and fled. Her brother had looked up to her ex but had been forced to grow up fast when the rat suddenly disappeared, without explanation. To keep Bethany from falling apart, Travis had taken on the more physically exhausting chores of the business. Against her objections, he’d also reduced his college load to a part-time schedule, so he could help out during the week. If he resented the sacrifices he’d made, he didn’t show it. But Bethany suspected it wouldn’t take much of a spark to ignite his inner Rambo.
“There’s no need to panic,” she said—something she’d repeated to herself continually since Hank entered Grandma Lou’s. “He hasn’t made any decisions, at least not yet. Which is why we should stay on his good side.”
“Maybe he’ll sell to us if we win the contest?”
