“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.