And Alexander Bennett was not simply an important guest.
His investment company owned a substantial interest in the hotel.
But when Hannah saw Oliver wiping his face with his sleeve, something inside her refused to remain still.
She remembered being fourteen years old, sitting alone in a hospital corridor after her mother’s death.
She remembered the loneliness.
She remembered the terrible feeling that everyone expected her to be strong simply because nobody knew what else to say.
Without asking permission, Hannah walked toward Oliver.
Her manager, Richard Collins, caught her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“That child needs help.”
“He needs his father. Not a waitress.”
Hannah looked toward Alexander, who was staring helplessly at his son.
“Sometimes even fathers need help,” she whispered.
Before Richard could stop her, she picked up a fresh glass of warm milk from the service station.
Then she approached the crying boy.
Instead of standing over him, she lowered herself onto one knee.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said gently.
Oliver looked at her through wet eyelashes.
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Does your tummy hurt?”
Another small shake.
“Then maybe your heart hurts.”
Oliver’s face crumpled.
He nodded.
Hannah held out the glass.
“Would some warm milk help a little?”
For several seconds, the boy simply stared at her.
Then he reached forward with both hands.
Hannah supported the bottom of the glass while he took a cautious sip.
