“Right.” Another small smile. “Thank you, Brooke.”
Mr. Dudley’s cheeks puff out so far, and he looks like he might explode. “You’re telling me you think being attacked by a library employee is a good thing?”
“Yes, I do.” Mr. Well-Built gazes back down at me, and my knees go weak. “Daisy hasn’t laughed like that—or even spoken a word out loud—in months.”
“Wow,” I manage to say, even though I’m fairly breathless.
Mr. Dudley scoffs. “This is simply not good library protocol. In fact, it is insane.”
“I’ve been accused of insanity before.” Mr. Well-Built shrugs. “But believe me. I was of sound mind when I told your security guard to throw that lettuce at my body.”
Mr. Dudley glowers at me.
“In fact, my exact words were ‘do it again,’” Mr. Well-Built says. “Brooke was only carrying out one of your patron’s wishes.” His lips quirk. “By the way, I would’ve worn fancier shoes if I’d known you would call me that.”
He lifts up one of his work boots, which do look pretty scuffed up. Unfortunately, this makes me think of Ethan. My ex-boyfriend had a whole closet full of fancy shoes.
“So you see,” Mr. Well-Built concludes, “None of this is your security guard’s fault.”
Mr. Dudley narrows his eyes. “Did I hear you say you told Ms. Wallace to ‘do it again?’”
“Yes, sir. In no uncertain terms.”
Mr. Dudley frowns. “As in, Ms. Wallace had already attacked you before I arrived on the scene?”
“If you’d let me explain,” I begin, but Mr. Dudley shifts his frown to me.
“There’s no need for me to hear anything more from you, Ms. Wallace. I should’ve vetoed your hiring in the first place. And you should’ve known better than to throw plastic food at a patron. Twice.”
My lips start to quiver, which sometimes happens when I get frustrated. I can’t help it, but I hate looking weak when what I really am is angry. “But you heard the patron, Mr. Dudley. He told me to do it again.”
“After you’d already done so the first time.” Mr. Dudley’s glare could cut granite. “If this gentleman had asked you to jump off a cliff, would you have done it?”
Actually, maybe. If Mr. Well-Built promised to catch me.
Zap! Pow! Zing!
I swallow that response, along with my pride.
As much as I want to defend myself, my rent is due, and my part-time paycheck barely covers the bills. What I need is that promotion to Sheila’s full time job at the circulation desk. Which means I need Mr. Dudley on my side.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dudley.” I avert my eyes and chew my lip. Super remorseful. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well. You can start by apologizing to …” He looks at Mr. Well-Built.
“Oh.” Mr. Well-Built pauses. “You can call me Mac.” He moves in to shake my hand, and my palm tingles at his touch. The warm, calloused skin of his palm makes me dizzy. Not to mention his scent. The man smells like fresh-cut wood and leather. Plus something else intoxicating I can’t name.
“I’m extremely sorry,” I say. “In fact, there’s no way I could be any sorrier about throwing that lettuce at you, Mr. …” I lose my train of thought in those sea-glass eyes.
“Mac.”
“Yes. Exactly. Mr. Mac. Please accept my apology.”
“No apology necessary. And it’s just Mac.”
I release his hand, which I’ve been clutching for too long, then I look down at Daisy. She licks her lips and swallows. Her cheeks are pink, and her brow looks damp. Come to think of it, that sweater of hers is pretty thick for August.
“Hey, Daisy. Are you thirsty?” She lifts her brow. “Mr. Mac, I think Daisy might need a drink.”
Mac crouches down to his daughter’s height. “Is she right? Do you want some water?”
Daisy darts her eyes at him, then back to me.
I point at a hallway near the entrance. “The drinking fountain’s down that way.” He lifts a hand to his forehead, like he’s tipping a hat. What kind of hat do you wear, Mr. Mac?
As he leads Daisy away, I find myself wishing I’d had the chance to fix her crooked pigtails.
My insides twist, and a hand slips to my abdomen.
You are not that little girl’s mother.
I turn to Mr. Dudley, arranging my face into a mask of total compliance. “I guess I’ll just get back to my rounds then, sir.”
He frowns. “You’ll do no such thing, Ms. Wallace.”
My pulse picks up, and it’s not from the delicious scent of Mr. Well-Built hanging in the air.
“I know the lettuce thing looked bad,” I stammer, “but you heard Mr. Mac. His daughter was lost and scared, and I made her laugh.”
“Be that as it may, you’re paid to protect this place, not befriend the children.” Mr. Dudley narrows his eyes. “Or their fathers.”
“But I—”
“Ms. Wallace, I had my doubts about your fitness for this position when we hired you, and I’m sad to report that in the past two months, my fears have only increased. I’ve witnessed you amusing our young patrons one too many times. Acting silly. Playing games. Perhaps you’d be better suited to working in a nursery school. But as for a job in security? You are far too soft!”
“Too soft? That’s hilarious!” I scramble to lighten the mood. Maybe if I act like things aren’t serious, I can still turn this train around. “I attacked Mr. Mac with Little Tikes food. Twice. If anything, my instincts are too aggressive. Yes, sir. I can be plenty aggressive when I want to be.” I stick my hands out and start moving to a beat of an old cheer I remember from softball. “B.E.A.G.G.R.E.S.S.I.V.E!”
Oh gosh. How bad am I losing it now?
Answer: pretty darn bad.
Mr. Dudley’s frown deepens. He’s clearly not into my cheerleading skills. “Ms. Wallace, you are not helping your cause.”
I drop my arms and suck in a breath. Maybe honesty is the best policy.
What have you got to lose except your job, Brooke?
“Mr. Dudley, I know I’m not as good at security as Gus. But I love the people here. And the books. I love the entire library. I’d be so great working behind the circulation desk.” I straighten my shoulders. “I heard Sheila’s retiring next month. So … I was just hoping … maybe …”
My voice trails off as Mr. Dudley fixes me with world’s biggest scowl.
“Ms. Wallace, I don’t even trust you to work this job. On what planet do you imagine I might promote you?” His eyes bug out even more. He’s a full-on beetle now.
“Please, Mr. Dudley.” My eyes water, so I bite the inside of my cheek. “With my part-time hours here, I’m barely making ends meet as it is.” I pause as more tears brim. “Please, Mr. Dudley. I’ll do anything.” I gulp. “The truth is, I really need this job.”
He trades in his bug-eyes for a clown-grin. “The truth is, Ms. Wallace, that sounds like a personal problem to me.”
A personal problem? Is he serious?
I pulled my heart off my sleeve and laid it on the floor so Mr. Dudley could stomp on it with his ugly dress shoes. When he sneers at me, my blood starts to boil. The man may not like me, but he doesn’t have to be mean.
“You know what, Mr. Dudley?” I’m enunciating so hard, I practically spit. “You’re my personal problem. No, you’re my ONLY problem!”
This isn’t true, not by a long shot, but it sure feels good to say. I stand my ground, balling both hands into fists.
“Ms. Wallace,” he hisses. “I expect you to collect your things and be gone in the next ten minutes. Vivian from HR will email termination papers for you to sign tomorrow.”
I take a step toward him. We’re almost nose to nose.
“You know what else, Mr. Dudley? Your breath smells like pepperoni. Stale pepperoni.”
As I say this, I almost feel bad for pepperoni.
I’m sorry, pizza. I still love you.
Mr. Dudley seethes. “How dare you?” If steam cou
ld blow out of his ears, we’d both be in a cloud of smoke. He starts to turn purple. In fact, he looks like he’s being strangled. I kind of wish I were strangling him.
“One more thing.” I straighten my spine until I’m taller than Mr. Dudley. “Everyone knows you wear lifts in your shoes.”
His jaw drops and he gapes at me like the fish in our aquarium. “Get out.” He growls quietly. Then louder. “Get out!” Finally he bellows. “GET OUT!”
I put a hand up to my ear as if I can’t make out what he’s saying. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you, sir.”
“Now hear this.” Mr. Dudley inhales so deeply, I’m afraid he might swallow my security badge. “Ms. Wallace, you are fired!”
2
Mac
When Dudley fires the security guard, I’m ten yards away, ducked down between two rows of puppets. I’m not spying. But after Daisy got her drink of water and we came back out of the hallway, I saw the guard flailing her arms around. And I heard her shouting out letters.
Spelling aggressive. I had to stop and listen. Then I hid so they wouldn’t see me.
I guess that sounds a lot like spying.
But I can’t help it. I need to learn more about that security guard. She had Daisy laughing in under five minutes when I’ve been trying for months. She also figured out Daisy was thirsty just by looking at her. I’ve been Daisy’s dad for her whole life, and I missed every sign. At least I remembered to dress her in a sweater tonight. But I got everything else wrong.
Fact is, I’ve gotten things wrong ever since Gwen left. Probably before that. So when some stranger comes along who relates to Daisy, of course I’m going to notice. Brooke Wallace understood my girl better than I did. She was doing her job.
Which got her fired.
Now Dudley is storming off like some power-hungry troll, and the security guard swipes her badge to unlock a door. Staff Only. As she opens the door, she wipes her eyes. Is she crying?
Oh, man. Not good.
This isn’t your fault, Mac. This isn’t your fault.
Except it’s kind of my fault.
I look down at Daisy. “What do you think? Should we do something about this?”
Daisy stares up at me.
“You’re right.” I squeeze her hand. “We should definitely do something about this.”
As we head across the library, my brain’s already working on a plan. I have an idea that might help everyone. If I can get everyone to agree.
At the front desk, I ask a lady with Brillo-pad hair for Mr. Dudley. Her name tag says she’s Sheila. Must be the one who’s retiring next month. Sheila disappears through a different Staff Only door. When she comes back, Dudley is with her. He blinks at me like a mole in daylight. I heft Daisy up.
“Hey, Dudley. Remember us?”
He checks Daisy and me out, then tugs his collar. “Yes, yes. Of course I do. If you’re here to file a complaint, I can assure you I’ve already handled the unfortunate situation with that security guard. Ms. Wallace has been let go. She will no longer be bothering you or any other patron at the Edward R. McCoy Library.”
“That’s what I want to talk about.” I can’t have Sheila hearing what I’m about to say, so I motion for Dudley to follow me to the lobby. Once we’re alone, I offer him my best smile. “I’d like you to give that security guard—Ms. Wallace—her job back.”
Dudley grimaces. “I’m afraid that is impossible.”
I smile. “But I’m asking nicely.”
He shakes his head. “Since we hired her, Ms. Wallace has been far more interested in entertaining the children than working security. She’s supposed to keep people safe, not make them laugh.”
I shrug. “I would think laughter’s a good thing for everyone here. Especially the kids.”
Dudley opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“In exchange for your cooperation,” I say, “I’ll offer my services to the library. Free of charge, of course.”
Dudley checks me out, from my T-shirt to my work boots. “And what sort of services are you able to provide?”
My smile goes wider. I expected this. “I can see you’re skeptical. Not a man who’s easily manipulated. And I can appreciate that. The thing is, earlier I told you to call me Mac, but that’s my nickname. My full name is Bradford McCoy.”
Dudley swallows. Then he gulps. “Did you say … McCoy?”
“That’s right.” I nod at the sign at the entrance to the building. “As in the Edward R. McCoy Library. I’m Ted McCoy’s son.”
“Oh. Oh my,” Dudley sputters. All the blood drains from his face.
To be clear, I’m not one to throw my weight around. And I don’t usually tell people who I am. Being a McCoy can backfire on you. Gwen taught me that last year. But after the way Dudley treated the security guard for being kind to Daisy, I kinda like seeing him squirm.
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Mr. McCoy. Everybody here loved your father.”
My jaw goes tight, and I clear my throat. So did I. “Anyway, I’m head of McCoy Construction now, which means I can oversee any project you want.” I glance around the lobby, out the sliding-glass door. “We could renovate the roof. Or expand the parking lot. Maybe you could use a new meeting room …”
Dudley starts to sway like he might keel over.
“You all right, Dudley?”
He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and mops his forehead. “I’m fine. Thank you for your most generous offer.”
“No thanks necessary. Just give Brooke Wallace her job back.”
“Oh, well. Yes.” He squints at me. “Under the circumstances, I suppose that could be arranged.”
I smile. “Glad to hear it.”
“Of course, I’ll have to give some thought to what project would be best for the library.”
“Now that’s just plain smart, Dudley.” I nod like I’m impressed. He doesn’t need to know what I really think about him. “Let me give you a card.” I set Daisy down and slip a business card from my wallet. “When you decide what McCoy Construction can do for the library, just call.”
“I will.”
“But there’s one more thing,” I say.
He tugs at his collar again. “What’s that, Mr. McCoy?”
“Next month, when Sheila at the front desk retires, Brooke Wallace gets her job.”
“But—” He sputters again. “But—”
“You said yourself she’s better at being nice to people than being a security guard. Sounds like customer service is perfect for her.”
He’s red and blustery. “But Ms. Wallace is a part-time employee.”
“And?”
“And a full-time position at the circulation desk would constitute a major promotion.” His jowls quiver. “The job comes with a considerable raise,” he says. “Plus benefits.”
“Fantastic.” I clap him on the back and shake his hand while he’s still figuring out what he agreed to. “Call her tonight to let her know.” It’s a statement, not a request.
“And by the way, I’m a private guy,” I say, “so don’t tell anyone who I am. Or what I offered. Especially the security guard. Deal?”
His nod is tight. “I won’t say a word to anyone.”
“Especially the guard?”
“Especially Ms. Wallace.”
I grin at him. “Good man.”
As he walks away, Dudley glances back over his shoulder, scratching his head, looking confused. The poor man probably can’t imagine not wanting to take credit for something big. But I’ve learned the hard way that once people know you’ve got some power—maybe a little money—they tend to get ideas.
The security guard is broke. So is my track record with trusting the right people. Which is why I can’t afford for Brooke Wallace to find out I’m Mac McCoy.
Still. Something Dudley said about her keeps playing in my head.
She’s more interested in entertaining the children than working security.
The guard used to be a te
acher, which means she’s already been thoroughly vetted. Fingerprints. Background checks. She’s obviously safe around kids. Even better? My daughter likes her. Those are instincts I can trust.
“Hey, Daisy. Let’s go find Brooke Wallace.”
3
Brooke
You’re fired. You’re fired. You’re fired.
I rush through the back office and collide with Lucy Devlin, who’s pushing a cart of books. We both blurt, “Sorry!” at the same time.
Spencer Crane—a second-shift librarian—looks up and stops clacking on his keyboard.
“You all right?” He pushes his Clark Kent glasses up his nose.
“Everything’s fine,” I squeak. I’m too humiliated to admit I lost my job over a plastic food fight with an almost-five-year-old. Emi would understand, but she’s in Seattle at a week-long librarian’s conference. So my plan is to slip out the back entrance and never show my face here again.
Blinking back tears, I make my way down the hall to the lockers outside the staff room. The only thing in my locker is a SpongeBob lunchbox full of leftover beef and broccoli.
I blush even harder when I pull it out.
To be clear, the lunchbox doesn’t embarrass me. I found it in a clearance bin at TJ Maxx, so besides being awesome, it was a bargain. What’s embarrassing is that I haven’t worked here long enough to accumulate more personal stuff. So much for applying for Sheila’s job in September. I couldn’t even cut it as a security guard for two months.
Maybe Mr. Dudley’s right and I’m all wrong for this place.
I check the clock. 6:55. Just five minutes from my dinner break. If I’d been eating in the break room, I wouldn’t have met Mac and Daisy. And if I hadn’t met Mac and Daisy, I’d still have my job. So what am I going to do now? If I can’t afford to keep my apartment, I guess I could live with Emi. But her studio is pretty small.
Plus she’s got a fiancé.
I’ve got a lunchbox.
SpongeBob in hand, I slink down the hallway and out the back door to the parking lot. Ah.
The sound of car doors slamming. The smell of fresh evening air. The beauty of the sky at dusk.
The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1) Page 2