Page 13 of Moonlit Hideaway
“Up to you since I’m about to win,” Sierra bluffed, not at all sure if a redder one was sweeter or not.
Annie held up the blade of her knife as her gaze bounced between Hank and Sierra.
“Okay, then you name the prize since you think you won.” He gave her a confident wink, which backfired when Sierra let go of the apple.
“If I win, you’re taking me to a concert off the island,” she added quickly, “with Emma, of course.”
“You’re relinquishing this apple?” he picked it up and waved it at her face. “Lose, and you’ve got to help me repaint the fence around the inn. But I’ll warn ya, it’s a picket, and it’s long.”
Sierra picked up another apple, confident that Hank wanted her to win. After all, he loved his daughter, and Emma would be thrilled to go to a concert nearby.
“Are these your final picks?” Annie asked as they both nodded. “Okay, then, the taste test.”
Several other shoppers had gathered around, giving Sierra a sudden round of nerves. Hadn’t the sour-sweet one been light pink? Would Hank have let her take the red one if it wasn’t sour?
“You go first.” Hank handed her the red apple, his fingers lingering a tender moment that made her look into his eyes, now holding a mischievous squint.
She bit into the red apple and groaned—not because it was sour but from the pleasure of a sweet, zingy taste, full of apple fragrance.
“Looks like you’re up for whitewashing as soon as the sun comes out.” Hank leaned close and whispered, “Keep the apple, my pink lady.”
He looked like he wanted to kiss her but turned suddenly, leaving Sierra with cheeks as red as the Pink Lady she’d bit into. What was that all about?
Chapter Six
That look in Jane’s eyes when she’d lost the bet was priceless. Hank swallowed a chortle at how he’d turned the tables on her. As a father of a teenage daughter, he was a master at reverse psychology.
“Looks like you owe me fence painting.” He was about to say more when Jane stuffed the apple in his mouth, forcing him to take a bite.
“You win, mister, now eat it.” She threw her hair over her shoulder and strutted toward the exit.
That walk of hers was as confident as a rockstar throwing a tantrum on stage. She definitely had a sharp edge, and now, he felt terrible about taking candy from a baby.
“Uh, I was just joking about the fence painting.” He took a crunchy bite of the apple. “How about we finish your groceries?”
“I see a hardware store next door.” She pointed a nicely manicured fingernail at Carl’s Hardware. “Let’s buy the paint and get it over with.”
“It was just a silly bet.” He felt like he was talking to a teen. “You don’t have to pay.”
“But I do. I’m not going back on my word.” She grabbed his arm with a surprisingly hard grip and dragged him to the exitwhile the grocer, the sheriff’s wife, and several guys from his poker club watched.
He couldn’t figure out why the game took a turn to conflict. Sure, he’d been tempted to kiss her, but he’d caught himself and turned away. Could she have taken it as rejection? Or was she upset he’d telegraphed his desire?
And how was he to help it when her hand on his arm was like a hot brand on a steer’s hide?
“I’m serious, Jane. It was just for fun,” he tried again.
“I lost fair and square.” Her voice held a firmness that left no room for argument. “I thought Emma would have enjoyed an outing with us, and I was wrong.”
Oh… The weight of guilt hit Hank square between the eyes. Of course, Emma wanted to go to a concert. The kid was just like her mom, dreaming about being a star and wanting to leave this island. While Hank thought of Hattokwa as a refuge from the kind of life his father imposed on him and his mother, Chloe had always wanted to leave town.
He was afraid Emma was following in her mom’s footsteps.
“Sorry…” Jane’s voice coaxed him from his gloomy thoughts. She was still staring at him with those gray-green eyes. “I was out of line. She’s your daughter, and I’m just a stranger passing through.”
Hank sighed, realizing arguing was pointless. He should be thinking about his daughter, the inn, the upcoming storm… anything but the way Jane’s eyes drew him into a hopeless state of wanting everything he’d lost.
“Let’s go get that paint,” he conceded with a half-smile as they entered the hardware store. It was dim and cluttered, smelling of sawdust and motor oil, unlike the fresh cleanliness of the grocery store.
