Nothing Without You Read online

  If it’s any good, that is.

  “I’m not worried,” Brooke says with all the assuredness in the world. I appreciate her total belief in me. I always have. We’ve always been super close. Only a year apart in school, we shared friends, though never boyfriends, thank goodness. That would just be too weird.

  Tucker was in her class, and so was Brody. Brody and Tucker were friends, though they didn’t necessarily hang out together. Brody pretty much kept to himself. Brooke explained everything to me right before they got married, confessing that his father was a total monster. So he distanced himself from everyone, including Brooke.

  Yet look at them now.

  Sighing happily, I reach for the tiny bottle of orange extract and twist off the cap, adding a couple of drops to the vanilla frosting. I have a small bowl full of orange zest I made earlier, and I grab a pinch, sprinkling it into the bowl. Then I grab a spoon and start stirring.

  “Not using your mixer?” Brooke asks.

  “This one is—delicate,” I tell her, hoping she understands. “I have to get the flavors balanced just right. I’d rather do it by hand.”

  “The master at work.” Brooke rises to her feet and starts to exit my kitchen, coming to a stop right beside me so she can press a quick kiss to my cheek. “I want a slice, but I have to go.”

  I pause in my stirring. “You didn’t even get to taste it yet.”

  “Brody just texted me, asking if I’d meet him for dinner, so I need to go home and take a shower. He mentioned he has a surprise for me.” She smiles. “You should join us.”

  Frowning, I shake my head. “What if your surprise is his—penis wrapped in neon pink paper?”

  Brooke laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. “Seriously, Maisey! We’re meeting for dinner. In public. He’s not going to present me his penis at the dinner table.”

  This conversation just took a weird and confusing turn. “You never know,” I mumble, my cheeks hot. I don’t want to go to dinner with them. Oh, I know they’ll include me in their conversations and make it be about the three of us versus the two of them, but still. I’ll feel like a third wheel. Witnessing their love is beautiful yet pathetic.

  As in, they make a beautiful couple. And they make me feel pathetic.

  “You’re being ridiculous.” Another kiss on the cheek from my sister and then she’s gone, the scent of her flowery perfume still lingering in the kitchen. “I’m going to text you later!” she calls as she opens the front door. “Convince you to come to dinner with us!”

  “And be the tag-along little sister during your romantic dinner where he gives you a surprise? No, thanks,” I mutter under my breath, ignoring how my arm aches. My date tonight is with my kitchen and this orange cake. That way I can be alone with my thoughts.

  My Tucker McCloud-filled thoughts.

  Chapter Two

  Tucker

  I’m lurking around the oldest, smallest grocery store in Cunningham Falls on a Sunday night. The same store my mom used to always shop at when we were kids, when there weren’t many options. I remember coming here a lot, all of us driving Mom crazy when we’d argue over who gets to ride in the cart, or who gets to pick this week’s cereal. Doing my best to be good so I could get a treat at the end of the shopping excursion. That treat usually involved a candy bar, or ice cream in the summertime. On the rare occasion we’d get a donut, and they were always warm, just out of the oven.

  That’s what the store is known for. The bakery makes fresh donuts until eight o’clock every evening. The locals pile in looking for their fix on a daily basis. And seeing the line of obvious tourists at the counter at this very moment, looks like the out-of-towners know to come here too.

  The smell of fresh donuts hits me now as I sail past the bakery, tugging my hat low so hopefully no one will recognize me. I don’t want any trouble. I’m here in Cunningham Falls to lay low and pretend I’m not Tucker McCloud, NFL football star. I’m just Tucker, middle son of the McCloud family, fraternal twin to my brother Wyatt. No one special, nothing to see here, move along, people. My time in my hometown is indefinite. I could leave tomorrow, I could stay for six weeks. I have nothing—and no one—to return to. Not even a pet.

  If anyone depended on me to live, I’d definitely kill them. No joke.

  And that’s okay. I like being independent. I don’t need a woman, or a relationship, or a dog, or even a pet fish. I haven’t had a long-term relationship in years. Not even a short-term relationship. When I first joined the NFL, I had so many gorgeous women coming at me I didn’t need a relationship. Who wants the same old thing when you can sample a different woman every single night?

  As the years went by and I got traded to different teams a few times, I realized I didn’t want the pressure of a relationship. It’s tough having a girlfriend when you don’t know where you’re going to play next season. And you travel a lot. You might own a house or a condo, but you don’t really own any furniture beyond a bed and maybe a couch. I have no domestic skills—well, I did when I was a kid and had to help out around the house, but before last night, I don’t remember the last time I had to wash a dish or sweep a floor.

  My oldest sister Georgia is a task master. After Mom’s birthday dinner, she made all of us clean our parents’ kitchen, which sucked. Made me feel like a little kid again, being bossed around by my big sister—who I tower over, thank you very much. She also gave us single McClouds a lecture on finding ourselves and being mature, responsible adults. I reminded her that I paid off Mom and Dad’s mortgage, so if that doesn’t make me responsible, I don’t know what does, but she didn’t comment. Just gave me that tight-lipped, older sister judging look that made me want to do something stupid.

  Like run and tell on her to Mom.

  Seriously, I’m in my thirties, and I’ve finally settled down. Somewhat. It’s been three seasons and I’ve remained in San Francisco—more accurately, Santa Clara—and I recently bought a house. No pets though. Still don’t have a girlfriend either. I’m finally over the different-girl-every-night plan. That got old. And to be honest, I’m getting old.

  As in, older and wiser.

  Why am I thinking about my lack of relationships while I wander the aisles of this freezing cold grocery store? Maybe it’s because my entire family has been asking way too many questions since I arrived a few days ago. They all want to know what’s going on with me, how’s my love life, when am I ever going to get married?

  Married? Are they insane? That’s the last thing I want to do. Let me get through a couple more seasons with the NFL and then I’ll consider something long-term.

  Maybe.

  I’m lingering by the bakery, contemplating ordering a dozen donuts and not really paying attention when I run into someone. A soft, fragrant little someone who barks out a sharp hey when I knock into her. Every hair on my body seems to stand on end at hearing that voice.

  That very familiar, irritated voice.

  I glance down and see her. See the bent head and the long, dark hair, and the way her black T-shirt stretches across her chest and yep, I know her. I know her very, very well.

  “Oh. My. God. I knew this would happen,” Maisey Henderson mutters under her breath, shaking her head as she steps away from me. She keeps stepping away, as if she needs the distance, and I quickly realize my idea of a welcoming hug and pleasant reunion with my high school sweetheart is out of the question.

  Someone is clearly pissed by my mere presence.

  “Maisey.” That’s all I say. Just her name. I let her glare up at me as I take her in, and hot damn, she looks good. Even better than the last time I saw her, and that’s been a while. And good is an understatement. Maisey looks…amazing. Short and curvy with that gorgeous thick hair and that pretty, pretty face.

  “Tucker.” She spits out my name like a dirty word. “I heard you were back in town.”

  “From who?” I ask incredulously, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been away for so long, you tend to forge
t just how small your small town can be.

  “Stella.” Maisey lifts her head, her nose in the air. I always thought she had a cute nose. She has a cute everything. “She posted photos this weekend. On Facebook.”

  Stella. My baby sister. The one who organized this family reunion of sorts to begin with. “We all got together for my mom. It was her birthday,” I say. Why do I feel dumbstruck by her presence? My brain is going a million miles a minute with all the things I could say, all of them about her.

  You’re still beautiful.

  You’re still sassy.

  Are you mad at me?

  Are you single?

  “Oh,” Maisey returns coolly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’s got a small brown bottle of something clutched in her hand, and I wonder what it is. “How is your mother?”

  “She’s doing great.” And she is. My parents have been married for almost forty years—their anniversary is coming up soon. Dad joked he married her right after her birthday so he wouldn’t forget the date, and I half believe him.

  “Tell her I said hi.” Maisey starts to walk past me, a fake smile barely curling her lush lips. “Good seeing you, Tucker. Have a nice life.”

  “Hey, hey, hey.” I grab her arm, halting her escape. She turns, her gaze on the spot where my fingers press into her arm—and yes, there’s electricity sparking, I wonder if she feels it too—before returning her gaze to mine. “So that’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “What do you expect me to say?” She pulls away from me and I drop my hand, hating the tone of her voice, the anger I hear there. The glare in her eyes as she blinks up at me. “You want me to gush over your success? Tell you how great you look? Because you look pretty great, Tucker. Not that you don’t already know this.”

  I can’t help but puff out my chest a little bit. Maisey thinks I look great.

  “There’s nothing else for me to say,” she continues irritably and I deflate, just like that. “We broke up, it was over, I never heard from you again. And now, all these years later, we literally bump into each other at the grocery store, and all I can say is, have a nice life. I think that’s pretty civil of me, don’t you agree?”

  No way am I going to answer that question. Instead, I change the subject. “You want to get together sometime this week? Have dinner? Catch up?”

  Her mouth pops open in what I guess is shock. “No. I do not.”

  What the hell? I’m speechless.

  “Bye.” She flaps her fingers at me in a hostile wave and then she’s gone.

  Like a jackass, I turn and watch her walk away, my gaze dropping to her swishing hips, that perfect ass that’s yep, still perfect. I let her go before. Hell, back in the day I ended it first, thinking it was the best thing for us.

  I can admit now that I was young and a complete idiot.

  Determination filling me, I head for the bakery, ready to order a dozen—no, fuck that, I want two dozen donuts. I’ll take the giant pink box back to Mom and Dad’s, invite Stella over so I can bribe her with a maple bar, and interrogate her until I find out everything I need to know about Maisey Henderson.

  And maybe somehow, some way, I can convince Maisey that I truly am sorry for what I did to her when we were kids.

  Chapter Three

  Maisey

  “My brother wants me to convince you that he’s really a good guy,” Stella says as her way of greeting when I answer my phone Monday morning.

  My stomach flutters at the mention of Stella’s brother. This means Tucker has been talking about me. To his sister. Maybe to other members of his family as well. I shouldn’t like this. I should be irritated.

  But deep down, I sort of like it.

  Fine. I really like it. His talking about me means he’s also thinking about me. And I’m thinking about him. What does this mean?

  Nothing really.

  I guess.

  “He’s a jerk,” I tell her as I collapse onto my couch. I usually don’t go into work on Mondays unless I have an appointment with a client. I have exactly one appointment at three that came across my website appointment scheduler late last night, and it’s for an anniversary cake. Which isn’t that unusual, but I normally meet with engaged couples planning their wedding. This appointment should be—every pun intended—a piece of cake. “And you can tell Tucker I said that.”

  Stella laughs. “No way. That’ll make him want me to convince you even more.”

  “Convince me of what? I don’t know why I need convincing.” It was so weird to see Tucker last night. I needed more orange extract and I went to our local grocery store that carries a variety of things you don’t see at the average supermarket. I found what I was looking for, was ready to hustle my butt out of there, and instead, my butt collided with a solid wall of man muscle.

  Tucker McCloud.

  “He thinks you hate him,” Stella tells me.

  “He’s right. I do hate him,” I say without hesitation.

  Stella heaves an irritated sigh. “You do not. You’re over him, remember?”

  I do remember telling Stella that back in high school. I told all of my friends that because otherwise, I looked pitiful. And I didn’t want to be that girl, sad and heartbroken over her older boyfriend who dumped her and took off to college to become a huge sensation. That wasn’t me.

  I pretended instead. Acted like I moved on, that I was having fun. It was my senior year! Time to live it up before reality set in.

  No one knew I nursed a broken heart for most of that year, with the exception of my sister. Brooke has always been there for me.

  Jeez. Brooke. I need to tell her I ran into him.

  “Fine, I don’t hate him,” I admit to Stella when I realize she’s waiting for me to say something. “But I don’t necessarily want to be his friend either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why should I? This is the first time I’ve seen him here in years.” I stress the last word. “I’m assuming he never comes home to visit you guys like, ever?”

  “He came home for Mom’s birthday because I guilt tripped him into doing it,” Stella confesses. “The guy is never around for any holiday function. Like ever.”

  “Right. No surprise.” He’s a total disappointment to the family, I’m sure.

  “It’s because he really is busy. He sends the most elaborate gifts for all of us for our birthdays and Christmas. He does take care of us.” Stella hesitates. “But I told him he needs to actually show his face here once in a while. I made him feel guilty.”

  “Good.” I am a rude, awful person for saying that out loud.

  “He’s not a bad person, Maise. Mom and Dad are so proud of him.” I can hear the pride tinge her voice too. The McClouds are all proud of Tucker’s success. As well they should be. The guy is an NFL sensation. A great player who is paid well, and I’m sure he’ll take care of his family as best as he can as long as the money keeps rolling in.

  “Of course they are.”

  “He paid off their mortgage. Paid off Georgia’s too. Tried to pay off Hunter’s, but he wouldn’t let him,” Stella continues.

  “Oh. Wow. That’s so generous.” He was always giving toward me when we were together, but that was a lifetime ago. We might’ve been a couple for two years, but your wants and needs are so different when you’re a teen versus now as we deal with adulthood. I’m glad Tucker is taking care of his family.

  Yet I can’t help but remember how he took care of me too…

  “You won’t meet with him? Go to dinner with him?” Stella asks hopefully.

  I laugh. “How much is he paying you to ask me this?”

  “Nothing, I swear! I just—I know he feels bad about how he ended things with you,” Stella explains.

  “He should feel bad. He broke my heart.” That I can say it so casually makes me feel like I am totally over what he did to me. I’m not holding a grudge.

  Okay, maybe I’m holding the tiniest grudge, but seriously. Dinner? With Tucker? Mak
e myself crazy staring at him from across a table while he sweet talks me the entire evening?

  I don’t know if I’d have the willpower to resist him. He could probably snap his fingers and have me any way he wants me. Maybe.

  I’m not sure.

  And for that reason alone, I have to pass. To save myself.

  “He was young and stupid,” Stella says.

  “We were all young and stupid. It’s what happens when you’re in high school.” I sigh, my gaze going to the window. I should take a walk. Burn some calories while I stew over Tucker and his ridiculous requests. “Tell him thank you from me. I really do appreciate it. But…I’m not interested.”

  The moment I say those words, I have regret.

  I’m not interested sounds like a lie. Maybe because…

  It is a lie. Despite everything, I’m still interested. And curious.

  So curious.

  We talk a few more minutes, idle chitchat about nothing much, and then finally…

  The conversation is over.

  And hopefully I won’t have to deal with Tucker McCloud invading my life ever again.

  * * * *

  I enter Cake Nation at two-fifty-two, breathless and harried, flicking on lights, running back to my tiny office to grab my appointment book and a notepad. I might be a modern businesswoman of the twenty-first century, but I still like to handwrite my client notes, and I keep track of appointments in my planner. Something about writing everything down that helps stick information in my brain, I guess.

  I’m still in my office, shuffling through the stack of mail I forgot to look at over the weekend, when I hear the overhead bell ring, indicating someone has entered the building.

  “Just a minute,” I call before I head back out into the main reception area of Cake Nation.

  The building I’ve leased is small, but it’s all mine, and it’s right next to my sister’s flower shop, which is handy when we meet potential wedding clients. I have an industrial kitchen that takes up most of the space, allowing for all the baking I need to do, and the lobby/meeting area of Cake Nation is very small, yet cozy. I don’t sell baked goods to the public on a daily basis. Mine is more a caterer-type bakery, and it works for me.