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“No.”
“What was your last job? You said you were a paper pusher…”
“Pretty much. I was good at it, too, but…” She trails off with a regretful shrug. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a chef when I grew up. My father told me it was a waste of my intelligence.”
And never mind what she wanted to do? “Seriously?”
She nods. “My IQ is why everyone I went to school with thought I was a freak.”
“Just how smart are you?”
Sliding hot skillets across the stone countertops as spinach leaves curl with the heat is a stall tactic. “Enough to get me into the Harvard MBA program at seventeen.”
I already knew that, but when I think about what a feat that is, she amazes me. “Wow.”
“So…yeah. Dig in. I hope it’s good. High protein, a few veggies, some healthy fat.”
“It looks as spectacular as it smells,” I praise her in all honesty.
“Thanks. Tabasco? Salsa?” She plucks both bottles out of the fridge before sliding two forks and two napkins in my direction, then settling onto the stool beside me.
“Maybe.” I watch her pour a liberal amount of Tabasco on hers. “Are you going to be able to feel your tongue later?”
Bethany laughs. “I like things spicy. What can I say?”
I like things spicy, too. Maybe not food, but women? Yes, please. The one beside me has so many facets, and the longer I spend with her the more of her personality I glimpse. The more I find myself liking her…despite the fact it isn’t smart.
“All right.” I sprinkle a little on to be adventurous, then I take my first bite. The combination of flavors hits my tongue. I don’t even think about what I’m saying before the words slip out. “Mmmm… This is amazing. We should get married.”
The light trill of her laughter fills the air. “I’m glad you like it, but marriage seems a bit drastic for food. How about, since we’re friends, I promise to feed you if you’re hungry?”
“Deal.”
Parts south love the notion of her sating all my hungers. But that’s lust talking. It would be dangerous to get in any deeper right now.
We eat in silence that feels thick with awareness. She’s so close that with every lift of her fork, her elbow brushes my arm. Whether I want to feel it or not, desire simmers in my blood. Why can’t I get my head and my body on the same page?
“What are you going to sightsee today?” she asks.
I glance at the clock on the microwave. “The sun will be down in a few hours, so it’s probably too late. I’ll do it another day.”
Bethany places a hand over mine. “I’m sorry you missed out.”
“I didn’t. I got to spend the time with you.”
Her cheeks flush as she looks up at me from beneath the fringe of her lashes. “I’m really glad you were here today. I felt less like a third wheel. And you’re really easy to talk to. Thanks.”
I quash my guilt. I enjoy talking to Bethany—way more than I should. And I hate feeling disingenuous. “You’re welcome.”
She bites her lip like she’s gathering her words and her courage. “If you don’t have plans, I’d like it if you stayed a while.”
She’s going out of her way to ask for time with me. That’s a first. Because she’s starting to trust me? Because she’s ready to open up?
“I’d like that. It would be more entertaining than going back to Ash’s place to warm his sofa alone. He’s working tonight. After that, he’ll probably spend more time with Montana. What did you have in mind?”
“Would you mind helping me do something for Maxon, Keeley, and baby Kailani?”
“Sure. What are you thinking?”
“They’ve been so gracious, opening up their house to me when they didn’t have to. They’re letting me stay in the cottage—sorry, ohana—out back for free, which is the most lucrative room on their property, just so I can have some peace and privacy. It’s really sweet, but I feel bad about taking advantage of their hospitality. I’ve been making my way in life for a long time, and I’m not about to quit. Since I’m saving my money to move out—hopefully next week—I can’t buy them anything. They seem to have everything a newborn could need anyway. But I can whip up some dinners for them to reheat next week while I’m at work. That way, they’ll only have to focus on the baby.”
There’s her thoughtful streak that confuses me every time she shows it. Bethany is willing to use her lone day off, stand on feet that surely feel overtaxed, to make the lives of the people around her better. Could this same woman have stolen millions from her clients?
“That’s really sweet of you.”
She shrugs. “I wish I could do more, but I want to help my brother and his wife in some meaningful way so they know I’m thinking of them.”
