As she eavesdropped, she clenched her menu so tightly her fingers creased the laminated pages.
The bout of nerves was ridiculous. The women didn’t have a clue in the world who she was. In fact, neither paid her a lick of attention as the waitress guided them past her booth. Still, she’d held her breath and stared at the menu as though trying to burn a hole in it with her gaze.
From all the creepy social media stalking she’d done both with Mary Anne and after her death, Hannah recognized Veronica Benson and Michaela Hudson, a former actress who’d turned her messy life around and moved to small-town Vermont. While Hannah’s parents had been horrified to learn Hollywood’s favorite former actress and tabloid sensation, Scarlett, was a part of the Benson crew, Hannah had been elated. If what she’d read in the media was accurate, Scarlett crashed and burned after a decade of drugs, men, and destructive behavior. Supposedly, she’d checked herself into rehab and walked out a new, sober, happier woman. After moving to a small Vermont town, she’d met Keith Benson, and the two had the type of storybook romance Hollywood lived for. Only now, the former actress rarely made headlines and lived as though she wasn’t a mega rich actress.
Hannah found it admirable. Breaking bad habits and starting over in a new place wasn’t easy. It was downright terrifying. Hannah would know. For years, she’d tried to build up the courage to move from Boston, where she and Mary Anne had grown up, but had never been able to walk away from the hold her family had over her. Then after Mary Anne got sick, the whole family moved from Massachusetts to Colorado, where a world-renowned ALS expert held his practice. Now, that’s where Hannah lived as she couldn’t possibly think of leaving her parents in the wake of Mary Anne’s death.
“Are you ready to order, miss?” the waitress asked with an expectant smile. Had she been someone prone to giving into her impulses, Hannah would have shushed the woman so she could continue spying.
As it was, she hadn’t read a word on the menu despite staring at it for five minutes.
“Um, I’ll just have the pancakes.” Seemed a safe enough bet. All diners had pancakes.
“How do you want your eggs cooked?” the waitress asked.
“No eggs, please. Just the pancakes.”
“Okay.” She cracked her gum as she wrote on her pad. “Sausage or bacon?”
“What?” Behind her, Michaela and Ronnie continued to talk. She was missing it. “Uh, neither. Just pancakes.”
And leave so I can hear them.
“Okay, then. How about a biscuit or toast? English muffin?”
“No!” she snapped, then winced when the waitress raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. Just the pancakes, please.”
“Got it.” The waitress shot her an annoyed glare then stalked off to the kitchen.
Ugh, she’d be lucky if the woman didn’t spit in her food. Hopefully, a big tip would make up for barking at the undeserving waitress.
Tuning back into the conversation behind her, Hannah tried to pick up on what they were talking about. Her shoulders slumped as she caught Michaela mentioning facts, figures, and budgetary items. They’d moved on from discussing JP and Kayla.
Crap.
The desire to see and cuddle her niece was so strong. Hannah’s arms ached to hold her. She missed the adorable baby giggles she drew out of Kayla with silly noises and raspberries on her tummy. She mourned the loss of that soft weight against her as she rocked Kayla to bed. Going from caring for the baby daily to not spending any time with her over the past week had been agony.
“Here’s the thing,” Ronnie said. “We have no idea what we’re doing. We’re like two frat boys trying to take a class in astrophysics. Clueless.”
Hannah’s lips quirked as Mickie burst out laughing.
“Not sure how I feel about being compared to a frat boy,” Mickie said through her laughter.
“I’m serious. I don’t know how to create a reasonable budget, I don’t know a damn thing about taxes and business finances, and all that shit. Do you?”
Mickie snorted. “Hell no. I pay someone a handsome sum to manage my money because I don’t have the first clue. We should probably learn, though, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, eventually. But I also think we need a professional to assist us. A CPA or something. Right?”
At the mention of a CPA, Hannah’s ears tingled.
Mickie sighed. “I know, you’re right. I don’t want to use my guy out in LA, though. Actually, I’m looking to find someone new myself. He’s the final tie to my acting career, and I’m ready to cut that last tether.”
“Well, we might have to go into the city because the only CPA I know in town is old man Doolan, and I’m pretty sure he’s eighty and might have retired last year,” Ronnie said, with a hum of annoyance.