Chapter 13

13

Thala

What was it about Hank Bristow that made it easy to relax and get—there was no other word for it— flirty with him? No matter how I tried to erect walls of propriety between us, he smashed them down with his self-deprecation, infectious grins, and a certain type of confidence that did nothing but lure me into his orbit.

So, for the second time in my life, I was going to cut loose and see what this kind of freedom would feel like. I was Tessa Coleman. Medieval history professor at Brown University, vacationing with my friends with benefits Hank Bristow…also known as…hmm.

"Is Hank your real name?"

He flicked his eyes from the menu of craft beers over to me.

"Holden Buchanan is on my birth certificate. Hank is a nickname."

"Holden…I like it." I rolled my mouth trying to hide a triumphant grin. Although he did use the Buchanan last name for our reservations. "I thought you'd never tell me about it."

He shrugged. "We might run into a relative who might call me by it, so no use hiding it." His gaze grew distant for a split second, then he gave a shake of his head. "Do you know what kind of burger you want?"

"But there are other things here. I'd like to try the cheesy nachos."

"We can have it for an appetizer," he said with a hint of irritation that almost made me laugh. He was determined for me to have the burger.

"What's so special about the burger? There's a quarter, a third, a half pound, and…a pound!"

He chuckled lightly. "I wouldn't suggest the pound. It would be hard to get the sear right."

"Okay, Mr. Burger Expert. I'm giving you permission to order for me, but I don't like mayo or tomatoes on mine." My gaze narrowed. "I'll have you know the Balkans makes excellent burgers, so this better be worth the hype."

Hank grinned. "Shit. The Balkans do have good burgers. I don't know, Tessa . I think I might have over-hyped it."

A woman came by our table in a T-shirt with Valley Roadhouse imprinted on it. I tested my investigative skills on her. Late forties. Blonde hair streaked with gray. No makeup on her face, but she didn't need it. "I'm Jill, and I'll be your server today. What can I get you?"

No nonsense. Maybe divorced. Kids grown? I grinned inwardly. Secret-agent stuff was fun.

"We'll have a pitcher of your Hillray Craft beer. And I'm afraid I've hyped up your burgers. Can you maybe drop a hint to the chef to give our order special attention?"

"We don't have chefs." She smirked. "We have good, ole, hearty, salt-of-the-earth cooks."

"Even better," Hank said. "Tessa?"

"A quarter pound might not be enough and a half a pound might be too much…"

"Don't forget we're having nachos with queso."

Jill scribbled on her notepad.

"So a third-pound burger. American cheese. Onion, mushrooms. Medium rare," Hank said. "Leave out the mayo and tomatoes for her. Duplicate that, but make mine rare."

"Anything else? Fries okay with this?"

Hank looked at me. I shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"I'll have that right out." The server winked at Hank. "I'll make sure we don't embarrass you in front of your girl."

I burst out laughing, and when I tried to suppress it, I emitted an undignified snort.

Hank stared at me, surprise on his face, but his lips were on the brink of smiling. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm sorry." I crossed my arms across my stomach to hold in my mirth. I tried to form words, trying to make sense of what exactly made me laugh like that. It also felt like I'd exercised facial muscles or muscles in my body that I hadn't used before. "That was funny."

"At my expense," Hank muttered. "I sounded pathetic. Trying to impress a girl with a burger."

"When you put it like that."

"We had a six-hour road trip, and we didn't get to do this. It's a sin."

"I didn't have my disguise then."

"True." But there was an expression on Hank's face that made me squirm. A look of wonder. A gleam that showed pleasure and then he said, "I like your laugh. You should laugh like that more often."

And just like that, Hank had turned the tables on me. Heat crept up my face and there was nothing else to occupy my gaze other than the menu.

"It says best burger in Northern California," he said. And I was thankful he took the hint and changed the subject. "But do you know what makes a good burger?"

My lips pursed as I tried not to smile. Hank's enthusiasm for food was infectious. It was making me excited and my already hungry stomach hungrier. "Good beef?"

"It's prime in the U.S. And it's all about the marbling. Great for dry heat cooking like grilling."

Hank really was a nerd when it came to food.

Jill came back with a pitcher of beer and the plate of nachos.

"Jill," Hank said. "Can you tell my girl what makes your burger the best in Nor Cal?"

The server's brows drew together. "Is that a trick question?" She leaned against our table but directed a scrutinizing gaze at Hank. "Are you part of a management team sent to test us?"

"Shit," Hank chuckled. "No. Please don't spit on our food. We missed a burger stop on our road trip and I'm making up for it."

Jill's face relaxed. "I was kidding. But in answer to your question, it's simple. The patties are never frozen. We use house-ground brisket. Angus. Seriously, if you want to impress a girl, take her to the Valley Fall Festival tomorrow and win some prizes." This time, the server grinned mischievously at me before leaving the table.

Hank poured our beer into chilled mugs. He hadn't taken a sip of his beer yet, but his cheeks were as red as his hair.

"Are you blushing, Hank?" I teased.

"Never thought I'd be schooled like a thirteen-year-old on how to impress a girl."

"I bet the girls were all over you, even at thirteen."

He grinned into his beer. "No comment."

I took a sip of mine. It was refreshing and light. We started snacking on the nachos and they were good…and…cheesy.

"Tell me about your schooling," Hank asked.

"As if you don't know."

His face turned serious but there was a trace of levity on it. I recalled what he said about smiling, even when he was about to slit an enemy's throat.

"There's sparse information about your education," he said.

"Amadea and I were educated privately. Scholars from different universities came to tutor us. Petros attended Oxford. I spent a semester at the Russian Military Institute."

"Interesting."

I smiled. "But you already know about the Russian thing."

He gave an answering if not confirming smile.

"Why don't we talk about things to enhance my cover?"

Hank made an exaggerated grimace with his mouth. "I really want to get to know the real you. Sounds more interesting."

"Because the real me is a princess and not a professor."

"No. Because the real you is a badass."

"But isn't the real me supposedly more uptight?"

"I think I'm making progress," he said in a husky voice.

I took a hearty gulp of beer. "So, beer or wine?"

Hank's brows shot upward when I went straight into the Twenty Questions. "Whiskey. But with food, I'm a beer guy. You?"

"Water."

He rolled his eyes, and I laughed. "This beer is excellent, though. You may convert me yet. What's your favorite scary movie?"

He barked a laugh and then chuckled a while. When he stopped, there were tears in his eyes. "Is this a continuation of our conversation in the car about serial killers? I didn't figure you for a horror flick lover…the original Salem's Lot . You?"

" Twenty-eight Days Later ."

"A zombie movie fan, eh?"

I shrugged. "I like survival films. Combined with horror, then it's catnip. Favorite color?"

"Boring blue," Hank drawled.

"Hot pink."

"Really?"

"What? You think I don't like pink because I do Amazonian exhibition stuff?"

He smiled maddeningly, didn't respond, and hopped to another question. "Favorite band?"

"None in particular, but I favor alternative rock. You?"

"Led Zep, some metal, some country."

I sipped my beer as I mulled over the next question to ask. Then I recalled the time we talked about mythology, so I asked him, "Favorite Greek god or goddess?"

He didn't answer as snappily as he did with the other questions. For that matter, I couldn't think of my favorite either. My default would be the goddess of hunt, Artemis, but I always thought the chief gods were a bunch of egotistical, murdering, vindictive sons of bitches.

"That's a tough one to answer," Hank said. "I like the myths behind them, but thought they wreaked havoc for no reason. I'd go with Dionysus or Hades. Dionysus because he's the god of fun times. And Hades because of his obsession with Persephone. He wasn't a philandering bastard like his brother, Zeus."

"Didn't figure you for a romantic at heart."

"How about you, Princess?"

"I would go with Hecate," I said. "She's compassionate and known for beneficent blessings. She witnessed Hades's abduction of Persephone."

"That kidnapping jerk," Hank deadpanned.

I shrugged. "Well, if we're comparing notes to Zeus…"

We laughed at this, then continued chatting about the exploits of the gods and goddesses until Jill returned to our table.

"Burger medium rare." She slid the plate in front of me and the other burger in front of Hank. Then she put her hands on her hips and split a look between us. "Anything else?"

"This looks good. Thanks," Hank said, and I did the same, but the server didn't leave yet, which was strange because the restaurant was getting packed.

Hank and I stared at our burger. Served open-faced with the top bun on the side, the deliciously charred meat with its sizzling juices was an appetizing sight. My mouth watered instantly, tempting me to take a bite.

"Were you waiting for us to cast a verdict on the burger?" I asked politely when Jill continued to stand there.

"Oh, no," she laughed. "I'm trying to think of something else to help our boy here look good. I know you'll love the burger, but I think it takes more than food to impress you and I can tell this is a first date."

Hela's hell. I think my cheeks were turning red from embarrassment and the effort not to crack up.

Hank coughed into his beer. "Thanks, Jill." And his tone was begging for our server to leave us alone.

"The High Striker at the fair," Jill said with a snap of a finger. "Ring that bell, and I'm sure you'll ring her bell, too." She gave me a look. "You're the type who likes a strong man. I watched you when you came in. You exude confidence."

I touched my fake glasses. "Um."

"You must be smart, too." Jill looked at Hank. "Don't let me down. Eat that burger before it gets cold." Then she sashayed away.

"Wow, are all servers this forward?" Hank called after Jill.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. He glanced at me. "You heard her. Don't let it get cold because if I fail to impress you with the burger, then I'll have to take you to the festival tomorrow."

I stared at my burger. Even without the top bun, it was going to give my jaw a challenge. "I'm not sure if my mouth can take all of this." Years of etiquette training had me at a loss on how to proceed. I never ate fast food unless it was a store opening. Still, when presented with a burger or pizza, etiquette demanded that I eat it with a knife and fork.

I secured the top bun, lifted it, and opened my mouth one way and tried to fit the burger in.

Hank's shoulders shook at my attempt. He was laughing. "This way." He angled his head, then chomped and chewed. I swore his eyes rolled back.

Well, moment of truth. I opened wide and took a bite. Smoky and beefy flavors exploded onto my palate. I swore the meat spurted and I must have burned my tongue.

We were quiet for a few seconds, just enjoying the meal. I picked up a fry, dunked it in ketchup, and resumed eating.

Both Hank and I grinned at each other, our mouths full like a pair of hamsters. There was something else in his eyes.

Satisfaction.

Admiration.

I wasn't sure. But it felt like I had a fever and my body tingled all over. I was alive and feeling everything.

And I felt more when his hand reached out, and his thumb flicked against the corner of my mouth. "Ketchup," he muttered, then he brought that thumb to his mouth and licked it.

My breathing hitched, and I swallowed what was in my mouth and licked the corner where he touched.

His eyes darkened before they dropped to his beer and he chugged it. A heartbeat of silence passed between us.

"This is amazing," I said after the ensuing lull. "I'll admit it's the best burger I've tasted, but what is this about a festival?" Suddenly, I wanted to explore everything and anything. I was on borrowed time and feeling reckless enough to try all things.

I studied Hank's expression. A hint of a smile touched his mouth. No frown. I would even hazard a guess that there was curiosity on his countenance.

"It might be a whole-day thing. Aren't you eager to do more sleuthing?" he asked.

"Let's do some tonight and not feel guilty about playing hooky tomorrow. Besides, after this big meal, I don't think we'll go to bed immediately."

Hank's expression shifted to my left shoulder. His eyes narrowed and the smile fell off his face.

That was when I followed his gaze. A growl wanted to escape my throat when I spotted the newcomers. Three men. Two were the assholes from the real estate company who intimidated Jim.

"Well, who do we have here?" the third man I didn't recognize said. The assholes were behind him, so I disliked the third man on principle, too.

"Christian," Hank enunciated his name. "Thought I'd run into you here. You're a hard man to reach."

So this was the famous or infamous Christian. And even if Jim didn't make a good impression on me either, I could tell the old man was honest in a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of deal. And I preferred straight shooters. I was immediately on guard with Hank's cousin, even if I hadn't met his cronies the other day.

"And I reckon I'm an easier man to find, or is that part of your former SEAL skills?" Christian said, while his gaze fell on me. "And you must be the lady who gave my associates hell. Surely you can tell us who you are now."

I glanced at Hank. He tipped his chin to give me the go-ahead.

"Tessa Coleman, and if you'll excuse me if I don't shake your hand because, as you can see, I have them full of my burger."

Christian's mouth thinned. He stepped aside, dismissing me to introduce his companions. "Holden, Tessa, I'd like you to meet Gregory Fisker of Fisker Land Holdings. Bruno is his security chief."

Gregory was in a suit identical to the last one. Bruno was in a leather jacket, black turtleneck, and black jeans, but I could tell he had a gun, judging from the bulge underneath his jacket.

"I don't appreciate the way you showed up on my property and intimidated my uncle," Hank told Fisker before addressing his cousin. "And I was hoping to run into you here, Christian, share a pitcher of beer, but not with these two tagging along."

"I beg your pardon," Christian sputtered. "These are my business associates." He leaned in and rested both his hands at the edge of our table. "They're offering a lot of money for Buchanan land. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer."

"And we could have talked about this more, but seeing these two now, I'm afraid I'm siding with Jim. You should have called me back when you had the chance." And as if punctuating how made up his mind was, Hank gave his attention back to his burger.

His cousin straightened and fixed the collar of his golf shirt. He looked out of place in this burger joint and appeared to be more suited to a country club.

"Call my office," Christian said, laying a card on the table. "I'm sure we can settle this better with our lawyers."

"I know we might have given the wrong impression," Fisker put in, stepping forward again and laying down his own business card. He gave me an apologetic smile, but all I could see was a snake slithering under the skin of his expression. It must be his thin lips, pale skin, and beady eyes. "Miss Coleman, I do apologize for our encounter yesterday. That will not happen again."

I nodded and took a piece of fry to munch on, mostly so I wouldn't have to say a word.

Fisker backed away. Dismissing unwanted attention was easy to me, especially when dealing with people like Fisker and company.

"You should take Miss Coleman to the festival tomorrow," Christian said casually. "Plenty of local arts, crafts, and food to enjoy. How long are you guys staying?"

"Indefinitely," Hank said tersely. "Look, Christian. Do you mind? We're trying to enjoy a meal here."

"I get it. I get it." Christian held up his hands and backed away. "But if you need recs for a Michelin star—"

"Hank's got it," I interrupted. These three were on the cusp of ruining this dinner. I never considered food a religion like Hank. It was sustenance and dining propriety had ruined most of the joy to be found in it. But I was enjoying this newfound appreciation with Hank and these clowns needed to disappear.

"Christian!" It was Jill. "What are you doing interrupting these two lovebirds? Shame on you." She herded them away. "Your usual booth is waiting."

I mentally high-fived Jill. But then something she said occurred to me. "You knew you might run into Christian here."

Hank poured more beer into our glasses. "Yeah. Thought I'd hit two birds with one stone, except it was more than two birds."

"And here I thought this evening was all about me." I winked. I wasn't exactly disappointed. But that kind of put this outing into perspective that this was special but not too special to get giddy over.

"I should have told you," Hank muttered. "I just didn't want you involved in my family's bullshit when you have so much of your own to think about."

"Speaking of which, anything I could do to help you more? I mean, you're helping me a lot and I'm no stranger to family conflict."

"Except yours have bigger consequences."

"Think about it this way…I'm sure what the developers would do will affect the community."

"There's one argument there. I haven't been in this community for years."

"But you love your uncle."

"Yeah."

"So he's the most important one to consider right now."

"I thought you wanted me to sell."

"I don't know, Hank. After how underhanded they were about the fine print… I normally don't dislike people on sight."

"Are you saying you like my uncle on sight?"

"So I may not like a person, but it doesn't mean I don't trust them when their heart is in the right place."

He sighed. "Jim's heart is in the right place, but I'm definitely not down with Fisker getting hold of his property."

"And yours," I reminded him.

"Know what? I don't want to talk about Fisker and the property right now." His eyes glinted with humor and heat. "What I do want is to salvage what's left of the evening and our date."