Every Single Thing About You: A “Tuck Yes” Love Story - Book 3

by Hopkins, Faleena

  Josh is also sitting at the table, full mug perched on it, phone in hand, head down as he explains what his son cannot. “I left it in the pot to keep warm.”

  “Are you saying I was gone a long time?”

  “Didn’t know how long you’d be.”

  Will swallows his food to speak, but there’s still some left in his mouth as he says through lips pursed to ensure none escapes, “He didn’t know if you had to go number two.”

  Josh covers his face, and I burst out laughing, walking up.

  I point and stop his question, “Don’t even ask!”

  “Did you?”

  “That’s none of your business.” Walking toward the machine I smile, “Where’s that coffee?”

  Josh stands up, “We told you where it was,” but beats me to it.

  “Then why are you pouring it?”

  His eyes shine with amusement for the first time since I’ve known him, “Because apparently you didn’t hear us,” and he offers me a mug with light steam floating above, muscles in his right arm flexing, fingers trunks around black ceramic.

  Trying not to stare, I accept the offered magic and take a seat at the table with father and son, wishing I hadn’t put on these heels so I could sit on my feet as I prefer to do.

  Josh sits down, picks up his phone, thinks twice, and sets it on the table, sipping coffee as his dark eyes rise over the cup to lock with mine. We stare at each other a few hot beats, neither of us looking away as Will digs around for blueberries at the bottom of his bowl, asking, “Do you have a cold?”

  “Um…today I just have a headache.”

  Josh mutters, “I bet.”

  Blowing on my coffee I confess, “My nose is stuffy.”

  He snorts through his nose. “That doesn’t surprise me either.”

  Will looks at him. “You think she has a cold, Dad?”

  “I don’t know what she has. I’m not a doctor.”

  “But you just said you weren’t surprised. And you’re acting…smug.”

  Josh chuckles, “Smug, huh?”

  Pushing his cereal around, Will frowns, “Why would you wanna be smug if someone’s not feeling well?”

  Taking my shot, I tease, “Yeah Josh, why would you want to rub my sickness in my face like that?”

  Josh leans back and gives me a gorgeous view of his sculpted chest — waking me up better than coffee ever could. “I can tell she’s going to be alright, that’s why.”

  Will accepts this and shovels more granola and berries than his spoon can take. He leans forward to capture all of it, but misses a lot that splatters onto the table and drips down his chin. Josh doesn’t move to help, and Will begins to wipe his mouth on his arm.

  I jump up and, even though I’m usually very careful about wasting paper towels, tear four sheets off, handing two to him, “Here you go,” and cleaning the spill with the other two. It takes merely a few seconds, is really no big deal, and I hold out my hand with a smile, “You got it all. Much better.” Will plants the used sheets onto my open palm and I turn to throw them all away. But there’s no trash bin under the sink — just cleaning products, folded plastic bags, an old brush, and one fire extinguisher. “Where do you keep your garbage can?”

  From behind me Will answers, “In the trash compactor.”

  I glance back for more direction that that. “You don’t see many of those anymore!”

  My eyes lock with Josh by accident, and I blink in alarm, surprised to discover the forbidding cloud has returned. He’s furious, and his eyes convey a message that needs no words to get their point across.

  Don’t take care of my son.

  You’re not his mom.

  You’re not my wife.

  Why are you here?

  Go!

  Will glances to his father, and notices his mood has altered dramatically. To help me, he extends a skinny arm, index finger weak and voice uncertain, “It looks like all the other cupboards, Tempest, that’s why you can’t tell. It’s the last one by the stove.”

  I clear my throat, “Ah, I see. Thank you,” and trash the evidence of boundaries crossed. “This was really nice, but I have to get home.” Leaving my cup on the table doesn’t feel good. We were taught that when you are a guest in someone’s house you clean up after yourself, but I think I’ve done enough cleaning for today. “I need to grab my bag from your room.”

  My clicking footsteps ricochet throughout an otherwise silent apartment that belonged to another woman, and still does. Her passing at so young an age is a tragedy I’ll never be able to fully understand the magnitude of. I’ve never loved anyone enough to marry them, but I have dreamed of it. In my heart I can imagine how it would feel if that dream was snatched from me decades before I expected it to be.

  Some of us want to live forever.

  Not me.

  I’d just like to live as long as my husband does, whenever I find him. It would be ideal if both of us left the world at the same time so we wouldn’t have to miss each other as I’m sure Josh misses her.

  I have to get out of this apartment.

  Where did I leave my bag?

  Oh no.

  It’s in the bathroom.

  Now I look foolish on top of everything.

  Touching the wall for support I take a few deep breaths, and walk out to face them.

  But Will appears at the end of the hall, holding up my bag, and I cover my surprised gasp with shaking fingers freezing right next to their collage of memories. “Guess I left that in the bathroom.”

  His blue eyes flick to the frame. “That’s my mom.”

  Pigeon-toed from helplessness, I look at her since he wants me to. The photographs are not all professionally done, but they’re beautiful. One of them camping as a family when Will couldn’t have been more than four. Another at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden when he was around six or seven. The two wedding photos are so perfect they wreck me. But the one with Will as an infant — held in his mother’s arms as she smiles at him with love — that one holds my attention the longest. “She’s beautiful. You can tell that she loved you more than words can say.” Meeting his gaze I confess, “I’m so sorry she’s gone, Will. I wish she was still here for you.”

  He shifts his weight, gaze drifting from the collage to me. “Do you have a mom still?”

  Tears leaps into my heart and stay there. “I do, yes.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “She’s um…” Blinking to the ground, I exhale, unsure how best to explain the powerhouse that is Rose Tuck. “My Mom is very strong. I don’t know if I’d call her nice. She was more a role model than a nurturer.”

  “Will she take care of you now that you’re sick?”

  “I’m all grown up now so she probably won’t even know.”

  “My mom used to take care of me when I was sick.”

  My chest hurts for him, and I offer a smile, but then Josh appears behind his son. “Didn’t you say you have to be somewhere?”

  Ice pours into my spine, eyes sharpening at being talking to in such a rude way, I nod, “Yes, I have to be home now,” and walk to reclaim the offered clutch, addressing only Will with my kindness. “I hope you have a fun day.”

  Passing him I give his father a seething glare and head for the door, thankful it’s not a long walk.

  As I turn the knob, Josh says, “Tempest!” and grabs a coat from the rack. “It’s a long ride back.”

  Our gazes lock as I take it, nails disappearing in cushy material I know will be a lifesaver. Over the lump in my throat I manage to tell the jerk, “Thank you,” and walk out.

  His deadbolt locks into place behind me, and I close my eyes, alone again, but this time wrapping myself in a coat that still bears his scent.

  Chapter 9

  Two Months Later

  We’re inside of a warehouse big enough to house several airplanes, with a fake city erected inside of it. “Let me go over a few things, since this is your first time on a film set.” Nax tells Will and I. His son
has been to many of these, and he’s enjoying us being introduced to their world. I brought Joe with us since I’m watching him during Nax’s long shooting hours. “The lighting crew is hanging what are called ‘gels’ over those lights there, because this is an action-thriller movie. The dark blues and greens give it the eerie vibe we’re going for. Most of the buildings are hollowed out facades. The interior shoots are done in other locations in actual buildings, offices spaces, apartments, etc.” Nax motions to a couple of actors standing in front of a camera as big as my couch. “Those guys are ‘stand-ins.’” We won’t actually see them in the movie. They're standing in for our stars.”

  “We won’t see them?” my son frowns, “I don’t get it.”

  Joe tells him, “They’re just helping get the lights right.”

  Nax guides us over a spider web of cables, “Watch your step,” and out of the warehouse toward a large, plastic table overflowing with snacks. We had these on photoshoots back when I was modeling so I know they’re for cast and crew, but Will is eyeing it like he wants some.

  Nax explains stand-in actors, “We need to light the scene with an actual person standing in front of the camera. Stand-ins are the same height and coloring as the stars so they can be lit right. It’s a long, technical process. The stars spend that time in makeup and hair, especially if they need prosthetics, applied. Scars. Bruises. All of that takes time. Afterward they wait in their trailers, prepare for their scene, until we call them to set.” Seeing Will has lost interest, Nax points to the snacks. “This is Craft Services. Or Crafty. It’s for everyone working on the film. Gotta keep your blood sugar level up between meals. Lunch isn’t for another hour. You guys hungry? Dig in.”

  Will looks like it’s Christmas morning at the three types of cookies, multiple varieties of chips, whole fruit by the dozen, breakfast bars for every taste, chocolate cupcakes I’ve got my eye on since they’re my favorite, and random things you might need like aspirin, gum, hand wipes. “I can have anything?”

  Joe proudly swings his arm over the display. “All of it! We can have as much as we want, and they just keep bringing more.”

  Nax laughs. “They keep bringing more because your Dad is paying for it.” Locking eyes with me, he winks, “Well, the studio is. But I have to keep tabs.”

  My son digs in without reservation, even going so far as to stuff gum in his pockets, freezing as I laugh, “Enough. Put those back. You’re not supposed to store it. Eat what you want now, and nothing else.” He looks at me, and I cock my head. “You can come back for more if you’re still hungry.”

  “Oh yeah!”

  Looking at the warehouse, standing next to Nax, I watch his film crew moving like experts always do, confidently. “How many people are working on this movie?”

  “Over two hundred.”

  “Pretty cool, Nax.”

  He watches them with me, crossing his arms over a wrinkled T-shirt, torn blue-jeans spread, boots I made him buy now scuffed from months of exclusive use. “If you’d have visited me in California, ever, this wouldn’t be your first set.”

  “I should’ve. I mean…we should’ve.”

  My gaze drifts over as a trailer door opens above metal stairs. Leaning forward to see inside, I spot part of a mirrored wall over a counter of products. “On my photo shoots, they were set up in a room or one nearby. Never a trailer. Then again, I didn’t do any outdoors shoots. Probably would have them there.”

  Nax jogs his chin toward the woman who poked her head out of the trailer to check around and gauge the state of things. “That’s the head makeup artist, Stephanie. She’s been on four of my last five films. Brings great people with her. The one time she was busy and I had to use someone else, it was an uphill battle.”

  Glancing to him I ask, “How so?”

  “Kept us waiting too long. Perfectionists,” he shrugs. “Happens when someone’s not used to you. They try too hard to get it right when what I really needed was no overtime and a crew who wasn’t impatiently waiting to get the shot because they knew how long it would take to set up the next one.”

  Will runs up and hands me a cupcake.

  “Thanks,” I grin, happy he remembered.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” he asks Joe.

  They dash off, “This way!” as I peel paper back from sticky chocolate and look over to see Zia approaching in the distance, black eyes on Nax, fashionable as ever.

  My gaze lands on Tempest.

  And some guy.

  Dark hair and eyes, huh?

  She has a type?

  I’m looking at my replacement.

  A fist takes hold of my stomach and I lower the cupcake.

  Her new guy knows how to dress — everything about him says money. He whispers in Tempest’s ear after clocking a recognizable star walking onto set, and she laughs.

  My gaze drops to her body, white-lace bohemian skirt and silky halter made brighter by the sun. She’s in sandals today. Still has those anklets, though, and her nails are all painted sunflower yellow. My heart starts to pound against my will as Tempest moves her hair off her shoulder, several thin braids pinned away from her face adjusting to the motion as she watches the celebrity for a few curious seconds. Turning back to her guy, she whispers something that warrants a knowing smirk.

  I hate him already.

  Zia’s smile grows as she greets Nax, “Hello there Movie Mogul.”

  He meets her halfway, “Hello Goddess,” kissing her.

  She offers me a wary smile, “Hi Josh. Where are the boys?”

  I grunt, “Bathroom,” gaze cutting to her cousin. “Tempest,” I nod, feeling the amount of time since I saw her last.

  She gives me just as curt a nod. “Josh.”

  Her smirking fuck-nut extends a hand, “Hey there. We haven’t met.”

  “Not sure why we would have.” I shake it once and we step back, eyeballing each other.

  He cocks his head. “I’m Evan Tuck, Tempest’s brother.”

  My shoulders relax. “Ah, I see. Nice to meet you.”

  He smiles, “Likewise.”

  “I usually say this of Bennett, but,” Nax clasps my shoulder, “Josh grows on you.”

  Tempest mutters, “I’d argue that.”

  Zia laughs, “But you won’t, so here we are! Fun times! Show us around, Nax. That’s what we all came for.”

  The secret look in his eyes that he’s known for is stronger than ever as my buddy takes Zia’s hand, “This way,” and heads toward the warehouse.

  Evan asks, “Can I grab something from Crafty first?”

  “You been on a set before?”

  “Definitely not as big a budget as yours.” He snatches up a red apple, tossing and catching it. “Had some friends in the film program at N.Y.U. Helped them out from time to time. Even acted in a couple shorts. Remember that, Tempest?”

  She laughs, “You were a horrible actor.”

  “Was not!”

  “Come on.”

  He shrugs, “Just wasn’t my thing,” and takes a loud bite that crunches fresh.

  We follow Nax and Zia, Tempest between us and them as I offer, “We went to N.Y.U.”

  Evan chews and swallows, looking at me from the corner of his eyes. “Yeah? Few years ahead of me then, I guess.”

  Tempest grins over her shoulder, “Evan, don’t be rude.”

  “I’m not saying they’re old,” he argues before pointing his apple at me. “I saw your boys at the rooftop party we had months back.”

  Appalled, Tempest demands, “We?” as sunlight leaves her shoulders.

  We follow her inside shades of deep green and blue with Evan informing her with brotherly annoyance, “It was at yours and Christina’s place but Noah and I cleaned up!”

  “So you get to claim it?”

  “Part host, yeah. I claim it!” Turning to me as we walk, he asks, “They’re like nine or ten, right?”

  “Close. Good guess,” I nod, gaze drifting toward the fake city. “Nax’s son, Joe, ju
st turned eleven. Will is mine. He’s about to turn twelve.”

  Evan slows down. I look at him and see he’s communicating to me to stay back, too. Curious, I stop walking and glance over to Tempest as she goes deeper into the warehouse with Nax and Zia in the lead.

  “I have a question for you.”

  Since I can’t imagine what it is, I grunt, “Shoot.”

  “Did you Tuck my sister?”

  My head swings back. “No!”

  “You sure?” He takes a loud bite of the apple.

  I hold his gaze and cross my arms. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  He swallows, and points the apple at me again. “You thought I was her date and that made you jealous.”

  “You’re mistaken.”

  Evan whispers, “I’m messing with you.”

  “Why?!”

  “Because you like her,” he shrugs, “And I’m her kid brother.” Pointing at me, Evan adds, “But just by a year,” as if that’s important.

  I watch him walk to join the others, but decide I’m done with this tour, pivoting on my boot. The minute sunlight hits my face Will runs up with his friend, “Dad! Dad! Joe just said that Tempest is coming here today, too!”

  Staring at him a second, I ask, “You excited about that, huh?”

  “Yeah! I want to show her the wardrobe trailer!”

  “Why?”

  Will shrugs. “I don’t know. I just do.”

  “She’s inside.”

  He locks eyes with Joe, and they run into the warehouse.

  Odd that he’s running toward her when I’m walking away.

  Heading to Crafty, I ask the caterer, “You have anything stronger than a cupcake?” At her blank look, I wave my hand, “I’m kidding,” and walk off to get some air.

  Chapter 10

  Lunch is served hot from a glossy food truck with a catchy name — Pete’s Pies — but they’re not just serving pizza today. We get choices of tilapia, grilled chicken, and vegan options like this meatless meatball pasta I chose, even though my appetite has failed me.

  A tented patio was erected for meals during production at this location with circular tables and uncomfortable folding chairs meant for temporary enjoyment, are jam packed with crew and cast.