Hmmm. Maybe I should make a vision board. If you put it out there, eventually all of your dreams will come true—
“Maise.” Brooke snaps her fingers right in front of my face, startling me.
“What?” I blink at her, then blindly reach for my own wineglass to find that it’s empty.
I immediately grab the wine bottle sitting nearby and pour myself another glass.
“Your meeting. With Tucker. How did it go? What did he say? What did you say?” Clearly Brooke is repeating herself, and getting annoyed with me too.
“How did you know I met with Tucker?”
Brooke rolls her eyes. “You told me. Remember? Last night, via text?”
“Oh. Right.” I nod, like I know what I’m talking about, but deep down, I’m a little confused. Still blown away by the fact that Tucker made an appointment with me yesterday, and how…pleasant it turned out, to sit and talk with him.
I’d felt such pride when he studied the photos of my cakes with awe. His compliments were the perfect balm to my bruised ego, because I can’t help but feel a little bruised and beat up in Tucker’s presence. He hurt me so badly all those years ago with his callous ways, how easily he broke up with me, and while the sting has definitely faded over the years, I still sort of hate him for what he did.
Though hate is such a strong word. One I don’t like to use unless I really, really mean it. And when it comes to Tucker, I don’t really hate him.
No way could I ever hate him…
“He was perfectly nice,” I tell her when I see she’s anxiously waiting for me to give her more details. “I thought it was sweet, how much he cares about his parents and their anniversary.”
“So this meeting wasn’t a ruse to spend time with you?” Brooke raises her brows.
I shake my head. “No, not at all. He is clearly planning a party for his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, and somehow he’s the one stuck with getting the cake.”
“I would bet big money he requested that job,” Brooke says dryly.
“Maybe.” I shrug. Take a sip of my wine. “Maybe not.”
He probably did. He seemed very eager to get my phone number. I never did send him any renderings of the possible cake, but I did work on it this morning.
And this afternoon.
Yet it’s still not right, and now I’m frustrated. When Brooke texted me earlier asking if she could come over with a bottle of wine, I practically begged her to get here ASAP.
I
needed the wine. And the company.
“You are being way too nonchalant about this entire thing,” Brooke accuses and her words trigger something inside of me buried deep.
Making me explode.
“Nonchalant? Tell me how I should act then. Should I slobber all over him and beg him to take me back?” I toss out, my voice edged with anger.
Now it’s Brooke’s turn to blink at me. “Well…no. Definitely not.”
“Okay. So should I be cold and rude to him, and tell him to stay the hell out of my life?” I ask.
“Well…no. You probably shouldn’t do that either.”
“Right. So meeting with him like we’re two logical adults about to do business with each other is the way I should handle it, am I right?” When she nods mutely, I smile in triumph. “Then quit giving me shit over this. I don’t know how else to handle Tucker.”
“If he looks as good in person as he does on the TV screen, then I can think of a few extra special ways you could handle Tucker,” Brooke says sarcastically, waggling her eyebrows at me.
“Please. He’s not interested in me that way.” I shake my head, perking up when I hear a notification. I move closer to the sink, where I left my phone, and pick it up to see I have a text.