Chapter Four
Tucker
That smile Maisey is aiming at me is like an electric zing straight to my heart, amped up at full voltage. I take a deep breath and smile at her in return, ignoring my body’s instant reaction to her easy, sexy smile.
Because damn, the woman is sexy. Maisey at sixteen had stolen my heart, but this version of Maisey could probably steal my damn soul if I don’t watch it. She smells amazing, and her eyes are so dark—full of mystery. Secrets I want to know. She’s curvy in all the right places, and she’s actually a business owner, which I happen to think is…
Pretty hot.
To be honest, I didn’t expect her ready agreement to make the cake for my parents’ anniversary party. I’d been fully prepared to hear a resounding no. And I wouldn’t blame her for refusing me, either. If she’s still pissed, which I think she might be, then I can’t change her feelings.
But to harbor a grudge for that long has to mean something, am I right? My mama always said there’s a thin line between love and hate.
“You’re serious about making their cake,” I say when I realize she’s waiting for me to respond.
“I am.” She sighs, glances down at her planner, and starts writing something in one of the little squares. “I don’t know why, but I am.”
“This is great, Maise. Really. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. How much my entire family appreciates it.” I sit up straighter, run a hand through my hair, my brain full of sudden, over-the-top cake ideas. Like maybe I want to impress her or something? As if I have cake decorating knowledge?
Give me a break.
But I plow ahead anyway.
“For the cake, I was thinking something elaborate,” I start, noting how her delicate brows draw together just before she drops her gaze to her planner once more. She used to do that when we were together too, the eyebrow thing. Some things just don’t change. “A completely over-the-top themed cake to celebrate my parents. Married couples rarely make it to forty years, you know?”
“True.” She pauses, turning to look at me with those huge, chocolate brown eyes. “How elaborate were you thinking?”
“Maybe you can make tiers? Five of them?”
Uh oh. She’s frowning. “Five?”
“Maybe four,” I say in a rush, changing my tune. Maybe I’m asking for too much. “Four tiers to represent forty years. That’s a good idea, don’t you think?”
Right? God, I know nothing about cakes. She’s the expert. I should let her do all the talking and planning. Or get my sisters in on it.
They wanted in on it. Stella wanted to meet with Maisey without me and I refused. Half the point of me coming to this appointment was to talk to Maise. Like I’d hand it over to Stella to take care of?
Get real.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a sheet cake. Maybe two? One to represent your mom and one for your dad? I guess it all depends on how many people you’re inviting to the party,” she suggests.
“A sheet cake?” Boring. “And this party is going to be huge. We only came up with the party idea a few days ago, and we’re pretty much inviting the entire town.”
“Of course you are,” she says dryly, setting her planner on the coffee table in front of us. “Give me a minute and let me go grab my portfolio. Hopefully you can get some inspiration from my previous work.”
I watch her rise to her feet, openly ogling her as she walks away. She’s wearing a dress. Tiny white flowers on a red background, the skirt stopping just above her knees. The fabric hugs her curves in all the right places, emphasizing the perfection that is her ass, and my gaze lingers there. Remembers touching it. Walking the hallways at school with my hand firmly planted on it, as if I were staking my claim.
And I was. Always so damn proud to call Maisey Henderson mine…
Until I dumped her like a complete dumbass.
What would’ve happened if we’d stayed together? Would we have
lasted? Maybe she would’ve followed me and we’d have gone to college together. Lived together. I might’ve asked her to marry me right before the NFL draft. Changing teams and cities would’ve been hard on her, but we could’ve made it work, as long as we had each other. Hell, if we’d stuck together, we could have a couple of kids by now. A girl who looks just like her and a wild little boy just like me—
“Here you go.”
I blink to find Maisey standing there, trying to hand me a white binder. I take it from her with clumsy hands—and I never have clumsy hands, it’s my job to catch fucking footballs for the love of God. I flick open the portfolio, my eyes widening when I see the photos laid out before me.