More Than Tempt You

by Shayla Black

  “A lot of stuff that’s frozen or out of a can. Where I live in North Dakota, there aren’t many restaurants nearby, so I learned to fend for myself…but it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Your mom never taught you to cook?”

  “She liked taking care of ‘her boys,’ as she called me, my dad, and my brothers. I never imagined a time she wouldn’t be here to do it.” Thoughts of my parents and years we should still have together always drag me into a pensive mood. I can’t go there right now. This is my alone time with Bethany. I have to take advantage of it. “In fairness, she did teach me some basics before I moved out of the house, so I can scramble an egg, make tacos, even toss together a no-frills lasagna. That’s about it. Who taught you? Your mom?”

  Bethany shakes her head. “Since Mom wasn’t around much, an older neighbor taught me. Patti lived alone since her jerk of a husband left her for a friend of their daughter’s and the other kids had moved away. She and I spent a lot of time together when I was in junior high since she loved to cook, and I enjoyed learning. She was kind. It was nice.”

  Though their mutual loneliness tossed them together, I can tell Bethany was genuinely fond of the woman. “Where is Patti now? Still in your old neighborhood?”

  For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. “My freshman year of high school, I went to her house to tell her that I’d been invited to a slumber party by this really popular girl and to ask if she’d help me bake awesome brownies to take. When I knocked, she didn’t answer, even though her car was out front. I waited a few minutes in case she was in the shower or something, then I let myself in with my key so I could check on her.”

  Dread tightens my stomach. “Was she dead?”

  “Yeah.” Sadness mutes her expression.

  “Heart attack?”

  Losing my dad decimated me, and I’m a grown-ass man. I can only imagine how traumatic losing a maternal figure as a kid must have impacted Bethany.

  “No. She’d hung herself.”

  Oh, shit. Being left behind sucks. So does the hurting, grieving, and clinging to happier times. But to lose a loved one to a death so preventable?

  “How old were you?”

  “Eleven.”

  “You must have been devastated.”

  Bethany nods as she sautés the onions. I can’t see her face since she’s focused on the stove, but my money is that, on top of an already emotional day, she’s fighting tears.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “The worst part was, she didn’t leave a note. She didn’t say goodbye. She just…”

  The squeak in her voice tugs at my heart. As much as my head tells me I shouldn’t empathize with her until I figure out how guilty she is, I can’t be unmoved. At the moment, I can’t even bring myself to care whether she scammed clients’ money or not.

  Maybe the big picture I’ve been missing is that Bethany Banks endured a childhood full of disappointments, thanks to the adults around her. How was she supposed to learn to care about others when she had almost zero examples to follow? How was she supposed to truly understand the trauma she’d leave in her swindling wake if no one ever showed her empathy or compassion?

  I vault to my feet and cross the kitchen, wrapping my hands around her delicate shoulders. “Beth…”

  She sniffles. “I’m okay. I just haven’t let myself think about Patti Robbins in years. And watching Kailani’s birth this morning was…intense.”

  “Totally.”

  “So I’m just emotional. It will pass.”

  She scoops half the onions onto a spoon and drops them to the heating skillet on her left, then cracks two eggs in each pan. They sizzle. The savory smells begin to meld. My stomach growls. But all my thoughts are with the complicated woman I’m holding in my arms.

  “You must think I’m pitiful.” She dabs at her eyes. “Every story I tell you about my past is sad. I’m not an unhappy person.”

  Maybe, but she’s not exactly filled with joy, either. I’m trying to decide what to attribute that to. Guilt? Or events far more tragic?

  “You don’t have to pretend to be all right for me.”

  “I’m not. I promise.” She sets thin slices of the cheese down around the firming eggs and throws the cherry tomatoes into another pan. “It’s just that I haven’t had time to reflect on anything in…well, pretty much a decade. Until I came here, I worked constantly and moved fast. Yesterday’s events quickly became irrelevant. My focus was always on tomorrow. Now that everything has changed and I’m…I don’t know, getting in touch with myself?…all these memories and feelings are flooding back.” A self-deprecating laugh follows. “I promise, I’ll get myself together.”

  “You are together,” I assure her, caressing her shoulders. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You are, just by being here and listening to me.”

  I’m glad that’s how she sees the situation, but if she’s actually innocent and figures out I’ve been hanging on her every word simply to gain her trust and use whatever she divulges against her? I’ll be another asshole in a long line of them who have used, hurt, and mistreated her.

  But I’m here for justice, not to exploit her.

  Another nagging voice in my head asks, if Dad knew I felt this much empathy for the woman who may have, even inadvertently, caused his death, would he be rolling in his grave?

  That’s a question I’d rather not answer. I need to stay on task.

  “Beth, something happened to you recently, didn’t it? Why did you come to Hawaii?”

  She pops two pieces of sourdough in the toaster, then removes the cherry tomatoes from the third pan before dividing them equally between the first two. “We always talk about me, and I never get a chance to ask about you. Why did you move to North Dakota?”

  Hard change of subject. I’m not surprised. Bethany doesn’t let many people inside her life or thoughts. Learning who she really is—and deciding what she’s capable of—is going to require more time.

  The one commodity I’m running out of.

  Negotiations for my dad’s business will probably resume tomorrow since the buyers seem eager. I’ll have to head back to California to sign the papers soon and move the last of Dad’s stuff out of the offices. While I’m there, I’ll visit Bret at UCLA, then try to slip up the coast to check in on Bry in Santa Barbara.

  “You’ll laugh,” I tell her. “I went to North Dakota because I wanted to make money, and I read on the internet—which makes me sound really stupid in retrospect—that I could earn a lot of cash doing industrial work there. I like jobs that require both brains and brawn, and it was a drastic change of pace from where I grew up. I was determined to be independent. At first, everything was great. I have to admit, though, that after the first couple of snows, the novelty of the white stuff wore off.”

  And the house I built there seems tainted by the ghost of tragedy. Every time I walk in, I see my dad lying dead on the floor. And on the rare occasions I’m there now, I can’t wait to leave.

  “Still think you’ll go back in the spring?”

  Though I’m beginning to wonder if that’s the right move, where else would I move? “Yeah.”

  “But no girlfriend back there? I remember that from last night.” She gives me a little smile as she plates the toast, slaps on some butter, then sets a bit of spinach on top of our sizzling scrambles. “Can you do your job anywhere besides North Dakota?”

  “Not really.” I could move to Texas or Alaska or a few other oil-producing states, but I’d only be starting all over again in a business where it’s hard to gain a foothold.

  “Do you still like your job? Is it what you always wanted to do?”

  “I like it, but I’m not sure I see myself doing it forever. The hours suck. It can be backbreaking. And it’s hard to find reliable people.” I laugh at myself. “Growing up I really wanted to be a rock star. Unfortunately, when I tried to sing…the feedback wasn’t super positive. So I had to give that up. What about you? I know you haven
’t always been a waitress.”

  “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 help my brother and his wife in some meaningful way so they know I’m thinking of them.”

  “Then I’m happy to stay.” I swallow down another bite and try not to moan in pleasure. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be since I suck in the kitchen…”

  “How are your furniture assembly skills?”

  “Much better.”

  “Good. That’s where I’m terrible. Maxon didn’t get time to put together the baby’s changing table. It was backordered for weeks and it just arrived. So if you don’t mind helping, I’d like to surprise them.”

  “No problem.”

  We finish up our meal in minutes, then rise from the breakfast bar and head back into the kitchen.

  “You start the food. I’ll do our dishes,” I offer.

  “You sure?” She seems surprised.

  “Yeah. That’s one thing my mother taught me really well.”

  With her melodic laughter in my ears, I tackle the dirty plates and pans with a grin. Then it hits me that I enjoy making Bethany smile.

  That’s so dangerous…

  When I’ve finished loading the dishwasher, I turn to find several casseroles in progress. Lasagna, I recognize. Everything else? I have no clue.

  I watch in awe as Bethany tosses together seven dishes without once glancing at a recipe. She makes it look effortless, and she manages to slide lasagna, baked ziti, black bean enchiladas, butternut squash and spinach ravioli, a gumbo bake, and chicken Alfredo pie into the refrigerator ninety minutes later with minimal help from me.

  “That was impressive, woman!” Even my mother would have been amazed.

  She waves me away. “It was fun. And now all they have to do is heat the casseroles up when they want to eat. Should we tackle this changing table before it gets too dark?”

  “Lead the way.”

  Bethany and I hit the garage and find Maxon’s tool stash, then we head for the baby’s nursery. I stop in the doorway. Soft grays and cheerful white fill the space, accented with a touch of pink and topped off with a chandelier. Everything looks plush and inviting and ready for the arrival of their newborn—except the changing table still in pieces.

  We find the instructions. They’re written in pseudo-English that’s almost impossible to follow. After a lot of confusion—I hate cam bolts—and laughter at the puny Allen wrench included, we finish assembling the changing table. Together, we move the piece to the blank wall by the window and complete the task by filling the appointed cubbies with stacks of tiny diapers and packs of baby wipes.

  Clean-up takes less than five minutes. The sun is just setting. Our timing is perfect.

  “Everything looks great. They’re going to be so happy.” Bethany looks my way, wearing a smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. This baby is going to be so loved, I can tell.”

  “Yeah.” She sounds wistful.

  I turn to her. “You okay?”

  She shrugs as she flips off the light and leads me back into the great room. “Still emotional, I guess. Since we left the birthing center, I’ve felt jumbled and I’ve been trying to put my finger on what’s bugging me. My life is a mess. I have no one to blame but myself for that. But this is something else.” She tilts her head and regards me
with solemn eyes. “Have you ever believed something deep down, then been stunned when you’ve realized it wasn’t true?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  She sighs. “Then what I’m thinking probably won’t make sense.”

  “Try me. Doesn’t mean I can’t listen.” Is she somehow realizing that stealing would, in fact, hurt people? Is she grasping that by swindling her clients with her father she did wrong?

  Bethany manages a hint of a smile. “You’re a really amazing guy, you know. Tell me again, why aren’t you taken?”

  “I haven’t been looking. What about you? You’re smart, kind, and hardworking. Why aren’t you taken?”

  “I haven’t been looking, either.”

  “So what’s bugging you, Beth?”

  She sighs. “I hate to dump this on you, but right now you’re my only friend. I mean, that I’m not related to.”

  She sounds as if she’s apologizing for having feelings. Or for wanting to share them. That disturbs me. So does hearing that she has almost no one in her life to talk to. Her admission should make me happy because I can exploit her loneliness to my advantage. Instead, I have to fight the urge to wrap her in my arms and assure her she’s not alone anymore.

  “Go on.”

  “It’s hard to put into words.” Bethany shrugs. “Maybe this will sound odd. But I’m still stunned and in awe from witnessing Kailani’s birth.”

  “I feel the same,” I admit. “But mostly stunned. I wasn’t expecting all that.”

  Her light laughter surrounds me. “I’ll bet. Sorry you got way more than you bargained for.”

  “Yeah, but it was…profound. It’s something I’ll never forget.”

  She nods. “The way it made me feel is a lot to process.”

  “Because?”

  “I spent so long thinking I’d never have what Maxon and Keeley or any of my other siblings have. Marriage and babies were for someone else. I had a world to conquer. I had a glass ceiling to raise. I had an empire to learn. Nothing else really mattered. If I ever felt twinges of wistfulness for more, I always had plenty of work to squash them. All that was fine until I came here. My brothers and sister have these great marriages. And to hear them tell their stories, none of them reached this point without overcoming a lot of hardship, conflict, adversity, and fear.”