Nothing Bundt Love

  Nothing Bundt Love

  Samantha Lind

  samanthalind.com

  Nothing Bundt Love

  Sweet Valley, Tennessee Series Book 1

  Copyright 2021 Samantha Lind

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this novel. These names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intentional infringement of the trademark owner’s trademark(s).

  The following story contains adult language and sexual situations and is intended for adult readers.

  Cover Design by Y’All That Graphic

  Editing by Amy Briggs ~ Briggs Consulting LLC

  Proofreading by Proof Before You Publish

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Also by Samantha Lind

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Nathan

  I grip the glass of whiskey I just poured myself from the wet bar hidden behind a set of cabinet doors in my thirty-ninth-floor office, as I look out at the city. The highest level of office space in this monstrosity of a building, and one I had built seven years ago for the company I started from scratch. The one that changed my life forever. The only level higher is my penthouse apartment. Since I had this place built to my specifications, and I’m basically married to my job, I included a penthouse apartment. I can roll out of bed at any hour and be sitting at my desk within minutes.

  I take a sip of the cold amber liquid, welcoming the burn as it warms my belly. I’ve stalled long enough, keeping my grandmother waiting. Lord knows she’ll rip me a new one because she’s waited five minutes already, since Rose, my assistant, let me know she was on the phone. I tap the button on my Bluetooth and brace myself for the conversation about to unfold.

  “Nathan, why, thank you for making time in your busy schedule for your withering grandmother,” she snips. She’s all bark and no bite, but I’ll let her have her fun.

  “I’ll always make time for you, you know that,” I remind her. In the past, I’ve been known to stop negations to take a call from her, because I hate making her wait.

  “Good, then I expect to see you at my birthday party on Friday night. It’s at the community center, six p.m. sharp,” she says.

  “G-Ma, can’t I fly you out here on Sunday? We can go to your favorite restaurant. I’ll book you a day at a spa down on Rodeo Drive, followed by a day of shopping wherever you want.”

  “Nathan, I don’t want any of that. I want you to finally come home. That is the only thing this old woman wants,” she says, really digging the knife in deeper and turning it.

  I blow out a breath, leaning into the arm that is pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows lining two of the walls of my office. “Okay, I’ll be there,” I concede. I’d do anything for my grandmother, and this is one thing that I’ve dug my heels in about. I haven’t been back home in ten long years. That’s all about to change in just under two days.

  “I’ll let your mother know to expect you,” she says before hanging up on me.

  “Fuck!” I yell to no one.

  “Everything okay?” Rose asks, sticking her head into my office.

  “Yeah, or, it will be,” I tell her, draining my whiskey. “Tomorrow, I need you to arrange the jet for Friday, its time for me to return home.”

  “Tennessee?” Rose asks. The shock in her voice pulls my attention from the skyline, to staring at her standing in my doorway.

  “The one and only,” I confirm.

  Rose whistles. “Wow, she must have really guilt-tripped you to get you to agree to return home,” Rose muses.

  “She’s only going to turn ninety once; it’s the least I can do. I’d rather get it over with now than when I get the call that she’s died and I’m returning for a funeral.”

  “I’ll get it all taken care of. How long do you want to stay?” she asks.

  “Just a few days,” I tell her. “What’s my schedule look like next week?” I ask.

  She takes out her phone and pulls up my schedule. “Nothing you can’t do from there. You’ve got a few meetings with department heads, but I can let them all know that your monthly meeting will be virtual, which allows you to stay all week, if you want.”

  I ponder what she’s told me, trying to decide just how much time I’ll want. Being gone from the place you called home for the first nineteen years of your life, but you haven’t been back to in ten years. At first, it was because I was so engrossed in college life, but it quickly turned into being busy developing the first app I ever created, the one that changed my life forever. The one I sold a year later for two billion. I left college and immediately started in on the next app. To date, my company has created thousands of apps, some our own ideas, as well as others from our consumer departments. The consumer side allows people with ideas of their own access to our programmers who can assist them in building whatever ideas they might have but don’t have the ability or knowledge to execute themselves.

  “All right, I’ll stay the week. If anything changes, I can always change the flight plans,” I tell her.

  “Sounds good; I’ll get everything booked when I come in tomorrow. Would you like me to order you some dinner before I leave for the day?” she asks. I look down at my watch, it's already pushing six, and I realize that Rose should have been out of here hours ago.

  “No, I can take care of it. Why are you still here?” I ask her.

  “I had some reports I was trying to finish up that I knew you’d need first thing tomorrow,” she says, like it's no big deal she’s here this late.

  “Rose, go. Go home to your family. I can take care of myself. I promise.”

  “Okay, if that changes, you know how to reach me,” she says before giving me a slight wave. I watch as she pivots, heading toward her desk; I’m sure to gather her things before she heads to the elevator.

  I look back out the window, noticing the sun has sunk lower in the horizon, causing the sky to fill with pinks and purples as it lights everything up.

  I ponder pouring another finger or two of whiskey, but ultimately, I decide against it. I tidy up my desk, slide my phone in my pocket, and head for my penthouse. I’ve got some packing to do before leaving.

  2

  Harper

  I flip between the page on my clipboard and the racks where we keep special orders once they are finished. I was tasked with making five hundred cupcakes of all flavors, a large sheet cake, and two hundred of our famous cookies, all for Betsy Sweet’s ninetieth birthday party this weekend. No matter how small
or large an order is, I take great pride in making sure each and every order is flawless.

  Satisfied the order is ready, I hang the sheet on the rack. I’ll be delivering these to the community center myself tomorrow, for the party that will be sure to draw attendance from practically everyone in the small town of Sweet Valley, Tennessee. Betsy is one of the sweetest women in this town. She might be a feisty old grandmother, but she’s a pillar of our community, just the same. With her birthday looming, I can only wonder if Nathan, her grandson, who I grew up with and had the largest crush on in high school, will return. He left after we graduated from high school ten years ago, and hasn’t been back since. I know his absence bothers her; she’s made it well known on many occasions when she’s been in here having her coffee and treat for the day.

  My family's bakery, Nothing Bundt Dessert, has been in Sweet Valley for three generations. My grandparents started it when they settled here, then handed it down to my parents when they were ready to take it over, and now I’m the proud owner of it. I took it over a lot sooner than I ever anticipated when my mother suffered a stroke about eight years ago, but we made it work, and here I am, running a business I am incredibly proud of.

  The bells over the front door ring as the door is pushed open, and I head for the counter, ready to help whoever has come in for an afternoon treat. The breath in my lungs whooshes out when I catch a glimpse of the man striding up to the display case. The one and only Nathan Bailey. Damn, does he look amazing. Tan skin, muscular—but not bodybuilder bulges—well-manicured hair that he probably pays more than I make in a year to get to look like that.

  “Hi, how can I help you today?” I ask, doing my best to keep my drooling under wraps. I can’t tell if he recognizes me or not, so I keep the fact that I remember him to myself.

  “Hi, I’ll take a large coffee, black, and one of the chocolate chip mini bundt cakes,” he says, flashing me his megawatt smile. I’m sure if he recognized me, he’d have said something by now, which he hasn’t, so I go about grabbing his bundt cake.

  “Did you want your coffee for here or to go?” I ask before turning to grab a cup.

  “To go, please,” he says, ever the polite gentleman.

  I grab the large to-go cup and fill it to the top, adding a sipper lid. I take his items to the cash register, placing them both down on the counter for him before ringing up his purchase. “That will be ten thirty-five,” I tell him, and he hands me a ten and five.

  “Thanks, keep the change,” he says, winking at me as he picks up the coffee and bag with his bundt cake in it.

  “Thank you,” I call out, adding the change to the tip jar on the counter. Once he leaves the shop, I lean back on the counter behind me and place a hand on my chest. My heart is galloping as if I’d just run a marathon, not served a hot guy some cake and coffee.

  “I’m back!” my cousin slash best friend, and only full-time employee, Lacey, calls from the back where she’s come in from. She rounds the corner and finds me still standing against the counter with my hand against my heart. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” she asks, coming to stand in front of me.

  I shake my head, clearing out all the things that are rolling through it at a million miles a minute. “Nathan,” I whisper.

  “He’s back?” she screeches in question.

  “Yes, just came in and got a coffee and cake,” I tell her.

  “And…” she asks, rolling her hand in a motion for me to continue.

  “And nothing. I don’t think he recognized me. If he did, he didn’t say so, and I didn’t say anything to him to indicate that I knew who he was and that it was a big freaking deal that he is back in town after ten years.”

  “I guess Betsy finally wore him down, huh,” Lacey muses.

  “I guess so. She was talking about it just the other day. Said she was going to go home and give him the biggest guilt trip she could.”

  “Was he hot?” she asks.

  I instantly feel my cheeks burn from the way my skin blushes. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Lacey chuckles.

  “He was sex on legs,” I confirm. “Perfect hair, perfectly fitted jeans with a polo that showed off his muscular arms, and tanned skin. I definitely had some not-so-appropriate thoughts go through my mind during the few minutes he was in here,” I confess.

  “Did he have a ring on his finger or anyone with him?” she asks.

  “Nope, and the last time I stalked him online, there was no mention of a significant other in his life; plus, I don’t think Betsy would let that piece of knowledge go until she told everyone in this town.”

  “True,” Lacey agrees. “Well, then I say it’s time to take your shot. If he’s back in town, that means he’ll be at Betsy’s party tomorrow. You can track him down and make sure he knows just who you are,” she says.

  “Yeah, not going to happen. He’s Mr. California, and I’m not. I’ve got a life here, and he’s never looked back,” I tell her. “Plus, a silly crush in high school doesn’t mean that we’re meant to be together.”

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try! Look at everything you’ve tried just since taking the bakery over, and how well all of those shots have gone. There isn’t any reason that you can’t take the same kind of shots in your personal life.”

  “We’ll see,” I tell her, mainly to get her off the topic of anything happening between Nathan and me.

  “I know how you operate, Harper. I’ve known you since I could babble and walk. Take the chance. You’ve been waiting ten years for this man to come back home, and here he is. Don’t let it pass you by.”

  3

  Nathan

  I look around the community center, the place bustling with activity as people mingle around, catching up with friends and relatives. The atmosphere here is a complete one-eighty from my life back in California. There, it’s all about who’s who, and who is wearing what designer label or what fancy restaurant can you bypass the six-month wait to get a table with hours’ notice. Here, none of those things would ever cross someone’s mind unless that “designer brand” was Wrangler or Carhartt.

  I take it all in, immersing myself back into the way things constantly were growing up. When you live in small towns, you get used to everyone knowing your business. It’s hard to keep anything a secret in this town.

  As I’m standing in the shadows, taking in the crowd, I catch a glimpse of the beauty who was behind the counter at Nothing Bundt Desserts yesterday. She looked so familiar, but I can’t place her. My guess is, she was a few years behind me in school, and I just can’t remember her name.

  “And who might you be tracking?” my grandmother asks as she sidles up next to me. I drop an arm around her shoulders as I watch every move the beauty makes.

  “Who is that?” I ask, pointing toward the dessert table where she’s unloading a new batch of cupcakes and cookies. She so easily talks to everyone that approaches, taking the baked goods that she puts out.

  “Really, Nathan?” my grandmother asks, smacking the back of my head like I’ve got a screw loose.

  “Really, what?” I question, rubbing at the back of my head.

  “That is Harper Taylor.”

  Holy shit. “That’s Harper?” I stupidly ask. I had the biggest crush on Harper all of our high school years but I was the shy nerd that never found the nerve to ask her out. We hung out a lot, but I’d never taken it any further.

  “The one and only. She’s such a sweet girl. Took over her parents’ bakery awhile back and has grown it tremendously, added new bakery items, bought that fancy coffee machine to offer more than just black coffee we can all make at home,” she tells me. I can’t help but track her every move. She’s finished setting out the desserts and has started to make her way through the room, stopping every few feet to say a few words with the other attendees. I watch as she makes her way over to where I stand with my grandmother.

  “I finally found the birthday girl! Happy birthday, Betsy!” Harper tells her, pu
lling her into a hug. “I hope you enjoy all the desserts I brought,” she says as they pull apart.

  “Thank you, dear. If you made them, then I know I’ll love them.”

  I clear my throat, hoping to subtly gain both of their attention. I might not have recognized Harper yesterday when I stopped into her bakery, but I know exactly who she is now.

  They both turn my way, my grandmother’s eyes lighting up as her eyes flick from meeting mine to looking back at Harper. “You remember my grandson, Nathan, don’t you?” she asks Harper.

  “Of course, we grew up together,” she answers, her eyes flashing to my own. It is obvious she doesn’t realize I know who she is, seeing as how I didn’t say anything to her yesterday.

  I offer a hand for her to shake and immediately feel a zap of electricity when her small hand connects with mine. I wrap my fingers around her, pulling it closer as I place a kiss on the back of it. “Harper, it’s good to see you again,” I tell her, just before my lips connect with her skin. I don’t miss the quick intake of breath as her name crosses my lips.

  “Nathan,” she says, and my dick twitches at the huskiness. I wonder if that’s what she would sound like when she’s coming on my tongue or cock. My jeans are feeling a lot tighter as my mind jumps to all kinds of dirty, sweaty scenarios. She clears her throat. “It’s good to see you finally coming back home. Are you here for just the weekend?” she questions.