“Why wouldn’t he?” I ask incredulously, wondering if I’d still find Tucker attractive even if he was bald. Probably. “He’s not that old.”
“There were a lot of guys at my ten-year reunion who were already balding,” Brooke points out. “You said the same thing about yours.”
Tucker didn’t even show up to Brooke’s ten-year reunion—they graduated in the same class. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m trying not to focus on his extraordinarily good-looking face.”
Huh. Of course, this means I have to stare at his extraordinarily good-looking face. And my sister’s right. He’s so freaking hot.
I hate him.
“And his body. I mean, did you see the endorsement he had with that one underwear line a couple years ago? We pretty much saw everything.” I glance up at her just in time to see her wrinkle her nose. “Some things I didn’t want to see, too.”
“Like what?” I saw the photos from the underwear campaign. I might have a secret board on Pinterest where I can study them on rare occasions.
“Like the outline of his—” Brooke points down below. “Junk. Some things I don’t want to know, Maise.”
Now it’s my turn to grimace. “Some things I don’t really want to know either, Brooke. Like you have an idea of what Tucker’s junk looks like.”
“I definitely know his junk is nothing to sneeze at.” Brooke bursts out laughing the second she says the words. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“You’re the one who brought it up!” I’m tempted to go on my phone and look at those photos again. I’m friends with Stella too. We were close in school. We still occasionally get together for lunch or drinks, and we talk about everything and everyone with the exception of Tucker.
Stella knows he’s off limits.
“You think he already went back to California?” I ask when Brooke hasn’t said anything.
“Why? Hoping you’ll run into him?” Brooke smiles, her eyes sparkling. She just got back from her honeymoon and she’s so happy. Wedded bliss looks good on her. Looks good on her husband, too. Brody can’t stop smiling either. It’s so sweet to see them together.
Makes me a little bit envious. I wish I could find someone like Brody. It’s hard, though, when I’m so busy making wedding cakes for all the other blissed-out couples in town getting married.
Speaking of wedding cakes…
“I need to frost this thing,” I say, grabbing the cake pan and setting it on the cooling rack. “And then I want you to give it a try.”
“You should’ve invited Brody over to sample it.”
“Um…” I hesitate, not wanting to offend. “He kind of makes me nervous,” I say with a wince.
Brooke glances up, her expression surprised. “But why? He loves everything you make.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I want him to be honest with me.”
“He’s always honest.”
“He likes everything I bake. Even the gross stuff.”
Brooke laughs. “He’s easy to please when it comes to sweets.”
“Uh huh.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm and I grab the bowl full of frosting I made earlier. It’s just the base. I’m going to add a few things to it now to correspond with the cake. “You’re honest. You tell me if what you just ate is total crap.”
“Nothing you make is ever crap, and you know it,” Brooke says with all that older sister authority she’s so good at delivering. “Sometimes, you get a little—out there with your flavors, but that’s always in good fun. You know what works for your business and you stick with it.”
“You might not say that about the cake I’m going to serve you here in a bit.” It’s orange. As in, it’s flavored with orange, the cake itself is bright orange, and the frosting is going to have a hint of orange flavor, as well as a pale orange color. Simple, right? But kind of daring, because orange cake is hardly ever ordered anymore. It’s always lemon. Sometimes strawberry, though that can be terribly sweet.
Orange is from the seventies. Mom still fantasizes about some orange Bundt cake she ate when she was a kid at someone’s birthday party. She wants to find the duplicate of that cake. So when I’m bored, I go in search of it, trying to recreate her memories of sunshine and summer—that’s how she describes the taste of the cake. Later tonight, I’ll bring Mom a slice.
If it’s any good, that is.