Nothing Bundt Love

by Samantha Lind

  “Hi,” Harper greets, her hand coming up to wave at me. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one a little nervous and awkward.

  “Hello,” I state, my voice sounding a little raspy, even to my own ears. “These are for you,” I tell her, handing over the bundle of flowers.

  “Thank you, these are gorgeous and smell amazing,” she says, sticking her nose in the bundle of flowers. “Let me just put them in some water, and then we can go.” She moves back from the door, leaving it open for me to walk into her house. I take one step inside, closing the door behind me. I look around, taking in the open floor plan of the small place. It is very obvious a woman lives here. Pictures are hung on the walls, a throw blanket is draped over the back of the couch, a pile of books sits on the end table.

  The atmosphere is so different from my own apartment. My place is all modern lines, dark wood, and leather. A bachelor pad to the core. While Harper's place feels like a home. One that she could have a family in.

  “Sorry for the wait; I had to dig out my vase.”

  “No problem, I should have thought to bring one.”

  “That wasn’t necessary. I just had to remember where I put it. I don’t frequently get flowers, so it isn’t something I use often,” she says, closing the distance from the doorway into her kitchen to where I stand by the front door. “Ready?” she asks, picking her small purse up that is sitting on the entryway table.

  “After you,” I tell her, opening the door and waving my hand for her to go first.

  “Thank you,” she says, stepping through the doorway. I close it behind me, then step out of the way so she can lock up.

  I walk next to her to the truck, stepping around her once we reach the front of it so I can open the passenger door for her to slide in. I wait while she gets settled before closing the door and making my way around to the driver’s side.

  I turn the key, and nothing happens. I try again, and still nothing. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this to happen,” I state, giving Harper a sheepish look.

  “It’s not like you planned for the truck to break down.” She laughs. “We can either stay here or take my car; I’m good with either.”

  “Whatever you want to do, I’m fine with.”

  “How about we order some takeout and have it delivered. We can catch up, and you can call a tow truck to come get your truck or whatever.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I get out of the truck and round the front to open her door once again. I follow her back inside, taking my boots off just inside the door. I follow her into the kitchen, where she pulls out a basket filled with takeout menus. My eyes go a little wide at the sheer number of them filling the basket. When I lived here, we had exactly one restaurant that offered delivery. “Wow.”

  “Things have changed a little since the last time you were here; we’ve joined the current century.” She laughs, and it is the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in a long-ass time.

  The way her head falls back as she laughs, so carefree and beautiful. It has my dick twitching and my skin prickling at the thought of my fingers trailing down that exposed skin or my lips skimming over her as she comes on my cock.

  “They sure have,” I say, the gruffness of my voice very noticeable. I clear my throat, doing my best to make it go back to normal.

  “What kind of food did you want to order?” she asks, holding up the basket, giving it a little shake.

  “I’m not super picky; what are you in the mood for?”

  “Hmmm,” she hums, tapping a forefinger against her lips as she thinks. “I’m also not super picky,” she says, sifting through the menus as she tries to decide.

  “What’s your favorite restaurant?” I ask.

  “That’s a loaded question.” She laughs again. “I have a favorite place for Tacos, BBQ, Steak, Pizza, so you’ll have to be a little more specific.”

  I step closer, removing some of the distance between the two of us. Her eyes flick to mine, and I can see the heat in them; I can feel the tension between us crackling in the air. “Harper, pick someplace to order from before I say fuck it and take you straight to bed.”

  “Oh,” she says as her lips form a perfect O and her cheeks turn a deep red color. She fumbles with the papers, pulling one out and smacking it against my chest.

  I break the eye contact, looking at the menu she’s picked. “I’ll take the crab rangoons, fried rice, and bourbon chicken.” She calls in the order, and I hand over my card to her to pay for dinner.

  “Food should be here in about thirty minutes,” she says, setting her cell down on the counter. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks, slipping away from me. It’s probably a good thing she’s put some distance between us, for now. I’m not sure how much more the air could have crackled amongst us before we’d have combusted.

  “Sure, what do you have?” I ask. She opens the fridge and bends over, looking inside. I try hard, but I’m a red-blooded man, and her ass is on perfect display. I can’t help but admire it.

  “Nathan?” Harper says, and I snap out of my trance.

  “Yes, sorry, what were you saying?” I ask, flicking my eyes to hers.

  She smiles, knowing damn well she caught me checking out her ass. “I was telling you I have some wine, a beer, or water.”

  “A beer sounds great,” I tell her. She reaches back into the fridge and produces a bottle. I check out the label, realizing it is a locally brewed beer. I pop the top and take a healthy drink. “Wow, that’s got a really good flavor,” I state, then take another drink.

  “It’s one of the only kinds of beer I’ll drink. I don’t usually like beer, but theirs I can tolerate.”

  “How long have they been around?” I ask, taking another drink.

  “Five years or so,” she says. “Would you like to go sit outside on the deck?”

  “Sure, but will we be able to hear the delivery person?”

  “I have a Ring doorbell, so it will alert me on my phone,” she says, shaking her cell in her hand.

  “Well, that’s handy.” I chuckle. I follow her out onto the deck, where we each take a seat in the two Adirondack chairs she has.

  “So,” she says, breaking the silence that we fell into.

  “So,” I parrot like an idiot, which causes her to laugh. I follow suit, and that breaks us from the awkwardness that settled between us. “Tell me you’re single, Harper,” I state, wanting to make damn sure I’m not crossing any boundaries with her.

  “I’m single, Nathan,” she confirms. “I wouldn’t have agreed to dinner tonight if I wasn’t,” she asserts, giving me a pointed look.

  “I didn’t think you would, but I just wanted to hear it from your lips,” I tell her honestly.

  “And you?” she questions.

  “Very single. I haven’t had a girlfriend in years. And when I did, well, let’s just say she wasn’t really there for me; she was there for what my name and status did for her.”

  “I’m sorry.” She grimaces.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about. I’ve grown used to it over the years. I never know when someone wants to get to know me for me, or when they want to get to know me because my bank account has more digits than they could ever fathom.”

  “That must be hard,” she says, taking another sip of her glass of wine she brought out with her.

  “As I said, I’m used to it now. It sucked the first time it happened. It broke something inside of me, if I’m honest, and I never really looked at the women I’d go out on dates with as more than a temporary thing. I know that might make me an asshole, but it was a form of self-preservation. If I didn’t get attached, then, when they ultimately left, I wasn’t the one left with a broken heart.”

  “I can understand why you’d do that,” she says.

  “Tell me about taking over the bakery,” I state more than ask. She takes the bait and changes the subject.

  “After high school, I still worked there part-time when I could, around my college classes. I was in my se
nior year when Mom had her stroke, and all hell broke loose. She was in the hospital for a few weeks recovering and being rehabilitated. Unfortunately, she never fully recovered. She requires assistance for almost everything. Dad had to retire early to take care of her. I’d always planned on taking over the bakery one day, but figured it would be ten-plus years later, not when I was attempting to finish up my senior year.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “We scraped by until I could graduate. There was no reason for me to throw away my last semester, so I buckled down and finished it. The town rallied around us, donating to help with the medical bills that we were racking up quickly. We had to close the bakery a few days a week, as I just couldn’t keep it functioning, attend class, and stay current on my homework.”

  “Sounds like a crazy time,” I add.

  “It was a stressful time, that’s for sure,” she states. “Once I graduated and could focus all my time on the business, I did just that. We hired a couple part-time employees to help out, and I jumped in feet first. That first year was a struggle, at times, as I learned the true workings of a business. I hated having to call my dad for help, knowing that he was stressed over helping my mom, but we made it through. After running everything and doing a pretty kick-ass job at it, if I do say so myself, I wrote up a proposal and gave it to my dad, offering to buy the business from them. I got a small business loan, and the rest is history. All the staples are my grandmother’s original recipes, and they’ll never change. It’s also nice to offer some new things that fit with the current trends. I have a lot of fun experimenting with new recipes to offer.”

  “Everything I’ve tasted so far has been excellent.”

  “Thanks,” she says, and her phone chimes. “Dinner is here,” she says as she stands and heads inside to answer the door. I follow behind, helping with the bags from the delivery driver. I hand him a twenty before he takes off. We carry the food into the kitchen. I unpack the bags as Harper grabs two plates and silverware for us.

  “Figured we could plate up in here and take it back outside,” she suggests, handing a plate to me.

  “Works for me,” I tell her as I fill my plate up.

  “Do you need another beer?” she asks, topping off her glass of wine.

  “I’d better not; I still need to deal with the truck issue after we eat,” I remind her.

  “Of course,” she agrees. “Do you want something else? Water, or I might have some pop in the garage.”

  “I’m good for now; I’ll grab some water later.”

  “Okay,” she says, and I follow her back outside. We tuck into our food, both of us obviously hungry.

  6

  Harper

  “Damn, that was good,” Nathan says, setting his plate on the ground next to him.

  “It’s the best,” I agree with him, finishing up my own plate of takeout. “Did you get enough?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m stuffed,” he says, patting his flat stomach. I can only imagine how rigid it is. From what I can see, with what his clothes cover, he’s very well defined. Probably spends hours a week in the gym to keep it up. I wouldn’t mind getting my eyes and hands on what he’s hiding behind his shirt, but that’s just my hormones talking. “I’m going to grab some water; do you need anything?” he offers.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He grabs our plates, taking them with him as he heads inside, returning just a minute or so later with a glass of ice water. I watch as he sits back down, admiring how his muscles flex with every movement he makes. “So, tell me about your business; I know the basics, and how you created some fancy app that made you into an overnight fancy-pants millionaire, but tell me more than the cover page highlights.”

  “Billionaire,” he says, smirking at me. “It made me an overnight billionaire, not to play the semantics game.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. How could I forget the extra zeros?” I ask, rolling my eyes a bit dramatically.

  “It’s easy to do.” He shrugs like it is really that easy to mistake a billionaire for a millionaire. “But to get into things, I met my best friend, Leo, at freshman orientation. We hit it off instantly, becoming fast friends. I told him my idea, and we worked together every day, when we weren’t in class, on the code. We worked on it for months, tweaking things every day, trying to make it into the best app possible. One of my professors had an in with some of the big tech companies and was able to get us in for a pitch meeting. We left the first pitch with an offer in hand and, by the end of the week, had offers from multiple companies. Leo and I about shit bricks as we started breaking down all the terms of the offers. We knew we had something special, but we didn’t realize just how special until that week. We’d kept our plans pretty close to the vest, doing our best to keep things under wraps. We didn’t want that kind of news spreading across campus, then we’d be bombarded.”

  “What happened next?” I ask.

  “With the offers in hand, we quickly found an attorney to help us with the contracts. My mom suggested we also hire a financial advisor, so we found one of those to add to our team. After our attorney looked at the offers, he immediately advised us to decline three of them. The terms were horrible, and they tried to include clauses that gave them access to anything new we created. The other two were solid offers, and we went into negotiations. Our attorney did all of the negotiations for us, and the two companies basically went into a bidding war. We actually ended up taking the deal with a smaller payment, because it had better long-term benefits. Leo and I knew that it wasn’t all about the up-front money. Royalties that last years can be very profitable, so that’s what we went with. Fifteen days after we had a signed contract, the transaction was finalized and we both were sitting on more money than we’d ever know what to do with.”

  “What a crazy experience.”

  “It was a ride, that’s for sure,” he agrees. “We both decided to drop out of school after that semester ended. We had companies reaching out to us to work on apps for them, offers to join companies in their development departments. But after lots of conversations, we decided to go into business together. We’d worked so well together when we were nothing but two broke college students, now that we had the money to bankroll our dreams, we took life by the horns and never looked back. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve hit some bumps in the road. Had projects that bombed and cost us lots of money, but it’s all trial and error sometimes, in our business. You won’t ever succeed if you don’t take risks.”

  “Isn’t that the truth. I still look back at the early days of taking over the bakery and wonder how I did it all,” I confess.

  “Was the reward worth the risk?” he asks.

  “It was. It might have taken me a while to realize that, but I don’t think I’d change anything if I could. I mean, except for my mom’s stroke, and subsequent health issues, which have stemmed from that. And I realize it’s an oxymoron, because if it weren’t for my mom’s stroke, I wouldn’t have taken over the bakery when I did, hell, I probably still wouldn’t own it if she were healthy today.”

  “It’s okay to want both. Your mom to be healthy, but also to have the bakery and the success that you’ve made of it.”

  “Thanks, I just feel guilty sometimes because of it. Like, how can I be happy that I have this successful part of my life, but only because my mom had a tragedy.”

  “Have you ever asked your mom what she thinks?” he asks.

  “I know she’s proud of me, she’s told me multiple times. It’s just hard, ya know?”

  “Yeah,” he sighs, taking a drink of his water. “I know the bakery fills most of your time, but what do you like to do for fun?”

  “Fun?” I question, my eyebrows rising. “I can’t remember the last time I did something fun. The last time I did something for just me. I spend my time either here at home, and most of that time is spent sleeping or doing laundry, at the bakery baking, cleaning, or working on paperwork or ordering; or at my parents’ helping out there, giving my dad a break, cookin
g, things like that.”

  “You’ve got to take some time for yourself every once in a while,” he states.

  “And when was the last time you took time for yourself? If I’m to believe everything your mom and grandmother say when they’re in for coffee hour, you can hardly be pulled away from your office. Even when you’ve taken them on vacations, they say you spend most of the time working.”

  “Touché.” He laughs and I love how relaxed he looks. How relaxed he makes me feel. I can’t remember the last time I sat and talked and laughed with a friend. With a man that I’m attracted to. “I’m working on slowing down. I’m here,” he says, pointing at his chest. “I could have flown in, went to my grandmother’s party and been back on the jet the same night. But I didn’t. I had my assistant clear my schedule for the week and I’m here. I’m spending time with my family, hopefully spending more time with you…” he trails off. His smoldering look has my core clenching and my panties ready to evaporate.

  I can feel the blush coat my cheeks. I want nothing more than to spend time with Nathan, but I also realize that he lives thousands of miles away from here and it isn’t like either of us can just pack up and move. That’s crazy to even think about. We’ve only just reconnected. We’re friends and I have a mind that is in crazy town with all the daydreaming that it’s doing.

  “I can practically hear you thinking, so just spit it out,” he says.

  “What are we doing here? You live in California, own a huge company. I live in Tennessee and own a bakery. Our lives couldn’t be more different if we tried.”

  “We’re doing whatever we want. We’re both consenting adults and if that means we want to be more than friends, then who’s to stop us? Distance is only an obstacle.”