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.