“Ha! He’s my boss, Em.”
“Well, you’re not giving me any juicy details.”
“Fine.” Just stick to the facts, Brooke. “His hair is dark, but it’s got some red to it. His eyes are green. He has two of them.”
“Okay.” She sighs. “Now I’m bored. What’s the house like?”
Good. A change of subject.
“The house is … nice. Lots of windows and natural light. All the walls have thick crown molding and floorboards. And Daisy’s bedroom is painted the perfect shade of lilac. She’s got a lady bug canopy bed.”
“That’s all very interesting,” Emi says. “Any signs of a woman?”
Another stomach twinge. “Mac didn’t say anything, and I never asked.”
A smile creeps across her face. “You were at the house all day, Brooke. You’re telling me you did no snooping?”
“No!” I put a hand on my chest in an exaggerated show of protest. “I would never snoop!”
“Okay, fine.” She grins. “Did you happen to find any clues just lying around, then? Like maybe a picture of Daisy’s mother?”
“Nothing,” I say. “At least not on the walls. Or on the shelves. Or in the closets.”
“Sounds pretty snoopy, Nancy Drew.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Well, she is my favorite sleuth.”
Emi busts out laughing. “You’d better hope Mac Bradford doesn’t install any nanny cams.”
“Ha ha!”
“I’m only partly kidding,” she says. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious about who Daisy’s mother is?”
“I’m a little human. So, yes.” I take another bite of pie and choke on the crust.
Yep. Totally human.
“Speaking of moms,” Emi says, but I cut her off before she can finish her sentence.
“Do not ruin a perfectly good hot lumberjack conversation by bringing up my mother.”
Emi laughs. “You never said Daisy’s dad was hot before. We’ll have to circle back to that. But I take it you still haven’t told her.”
I let out a long breath. “She’ll just feel responsible. She is partly responsible. And I’m done arguing with her.”
Emi sighs. “She didn’t know your appendix would burst.”
“True. But what she’ll hear is that her daughter is all scarred up now. And she’ll insist on fixing me. Expensive surgeries. Pricey surrogates. Adoption fees. Whatever it takes to get a grandchild.” A lump rises in my throat. “Especially since her only daughter didn’t turn out the way she wanted.”
Emi tilts her head. “Why not just let her help?”
I drop my fork. “First of all, I’m still raw, Em. I need time and distance. I need to figure out what I want without anyone else weighing in. Secondly, I don’t like the idea of her treating me like I’m broken. But mostly, if I let my mother help me, she’ll think I owe her. She’ll stick her nose into every minute of my future kid’s life. Forever.”
“Yeah.” Emi wrinkles her nose. “That does sound like Lenore.”
“Can we change the subject now?”
“Sure.” Emi lifts a brow. “Tell me more about the hot lumberjack.”
The rest of the week with the Bradfords takes on a familiar routine. While I wait on their porch, smoothing my skirt, the scent of burned pancakes floats through the window. When Mac finally opens the door, his hair is always damp from the shower. The scruff of his chin says I’m too busy to shave.
But the following Monday morning, Mac seems extra rushed. Also, he’s extra shirtless. Muscles flexing everywhere.
Gulp.
“Am I early?” I ask.
“No. I’m just running late.” He’s wearing jeans and holding a bath towel. Drops of water bead across his chest. “Come on in,” he says. An eight pack of abs ripple at me. In my head, I hear my mother’s warning: Don’t stare at the sun, Brooke. You’ll burn your eyes.
Yep. Too late, Mom.
I step past him into the house and catch his one-of-a-kind scent mixed with soap. His cheeks are flushed and unshaven. “I should get you a key,” he says. “That way you can let yourself in from now on.”
“Sounds good.”
He slings the towel over his shoulders. Now I can’t see my boss’s pecs.
“Daisy flushed her teddy bear down the toilet upstairs,” he says. “I was trying to unclog it.”
“Ah. No problem. I’ll take care of that.”
“Also the kitchen sink is leaking.” He cringes. “But there are extra pancakes if you’re hungry.”
I smile. “I’m always hungry.”
He smiles back. “I didn’t even burn them today.” He nods toward the kitchen. “Daisy’s in there with the pancakes and the leaky sink. Fair warning. It’s pretty sticky.” He takes a beat. “My daughter. Not the sink.”
“Consider me warned.” I laugh. “But it’s all fine. This is what you pay me for, remember?”
Mac’s smile fades. “I remember.” His eyes move over my face and something flickers behind them. A flash of … sadness?
“There’s an envelope in the kitchen,” he says. “I hope cash is okay.”
Did I say something wrong? “Of course it is. But—”
Something crashes in the other room. Sounds like a plate. Mac’s eyes dart toward the kitchen. “Great,” he groans. “What now?”
“Hey. Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You go on and get ready for work. I’ve got this.”
He looks at me, jaw tight. “Yeah. I’m sure you do.” As he turns away and heads up the stairs, I almost ask him if everything’s all right. Then I stop myself.
He’s your boss. This is a job.
Do not get attached.
For a while, the rest of the day proceeds as usual. I clean up the mess of Daisy’s broken plate, then hand wash the breakfast dishes. Daisy helps me dry. After braiding her hair—just like mine—I take Daisy to the park. We do the swings. Slides. Sand. More one-way conversations.
Do not get attached.
Back at home, we eat fish sticks with tater tots for lunch. Then we make paper-mache balloons. I leave them on the porch to dry.
Unattached, Brooke. Unattached.
“What should we do now?” I ask. Daisy takes my hand and leads me to her room. She’s moved her stuffed turtle to her bed and I sit beside it. “Have you picked out a name for your turtle yet?”
Daisy shakes her head.
“I’m going to call him Tuttle.”
She picks up her turtle and hands it to me.
Uh oh. What is happening?
“I can hold Tuttle?” I ask. Daisy nods. Then she goes to her bookshelf and collects Midnight Farm. “Does Tuttle want to read?” Another nod. We head downstairs—with Tuttle—and curl up on the couch. Halfway through our third reading of Midnight Farm, Daisy falls asleep on my lap. This is definitely not unattached.
The girl is literally attached to me.
An ache swells in my heart, seeping through me, fogging up my brain. This is why I left teaching in the first place. It’s why I told Mac I don’t like kids. Because the truth is, I like them too much.
I like Daisy. Too much.
Slipping out from under her soft weight, I leave her snoring on the couch and search for something else to absorb my energies. Anything. The less emotional, the better.
An hour later, Daisy is still sleeping when Mac finally comes home.
He finds me on the kitchen floor with a screwdriver in one hand and a wrench in the other.
“What on earth?” He gapes.
I spit a strand of hair out of my face. “Just channeling my inner plumber. With a little help from YouTube.”
“Whoa.” He chuckles. “Any luck?”
“Luckier than you are with pancakes.” I heave myself up, again not gracefully, and swipe at my brow. “I guess you saw Daisy is still sacked out. We had a pretty big day together, so I decided to let her sleep. I hope that’s okay.”
He nods, but his gaze cuts to my clothes. “I’ve never seen a
plumber in a dress and Converse.”
“Huh?” I look down at my outfit, the bright pink skirt and sleeveless top. “It’s a skirt, actually. Probably a strange combo with the high tops, but it works for me. It’s kind of the Brooke uniform.”
“I like it.” Mac grins. “Feminine tomboy.”
This makes me laugh. “I’m glad you approve. My mom would be horrified.”
Ugh. Why did I bring her up?
“Comfort over beauty,” I blurt out, before Mac can ask about my mother. “That’s my motto.”
Mac studies my look from head to toe. I feel a flush coming on. A tingle, even. “You’ve heard that thing about beauty,” he says. “That it’s in the eye of the beholder.”
My stomach flips over, and I shake off the goosebumps spreading up my arms.
Unattached, Brooke. Unattached.
“Anyway.” I nod at the sink. “I think I got the leak repaired for you.” I pull the retractable nozzle from the faucet out to show him it’s not dripping. “I just tightened the thingy down there under the basin.”
A dimple appears on Mac’s cheek. “The thingy?”
“Hey.” I smirk. “Don’t laugh. I’m the one who fixed your sink.”
Mac chuckles. “When someone tells you not to laugh, it’s really hard not to laugh.”
“Oh yeah?” I turn on the water and aim the nozzle at him. My thumb hovers over the handle, like a trigger. “Do you think I’m funny now, Buster?”
Mac grins. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I shift my thumb. One little push and he’ll be soaked. “You don’t know me very well.”
Mac lunges at me and I squeal, squirting him with one long burst of water. Then he pries the nozzle from my hand, and he sprays me back. A lot.
“Stop!” I shriek, but we’re both cracking up and trying not to slip on the slick floor. When he wraps an arm around me and pulls me in close, I tip my face up to his. That’s when a drop of water rolls off his nose onto my chin. I look into his eyes.
Those glass-green eyes. My heart’s a hammer in my chest.
Oh.
“Sorry!” Mac pulls away. Actually it’s more like he leaps across the room. Like I set him on fire. “Your clothes,” he says. “They’re all wet now. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, still breathless. “I started it.” I wipe my damp hands down my skirt. “I’d better run home and change though. The library calls!”
Ugh. I sound so weird. And I’m feeling even weirder.
Mac scrubs his hands over his wet face. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
When he turns around to reattach the nozzle, the rise and fall of his back makes me think he’s breathing pretty heavy too.
Whoa. What just happened here?
Whatever this was, it can’t happen again.
10
Mac
“Earth to Mac? What planet are you on?” Tess is halfway through her third slice of pizza, and I’ve barely taken three bites. I don’t want to be thinking about Brooke, but here I am. Thinking about Brooke.
One minute, we were messing around. Joking with each other. Having fun. Then, out of nowhere, there was more than fun between us. Then she took off.
Story of my life.
“Seriously, Mac,” Tess says. “You’re looking kind of scroggy.”
“Scroggy’s not a word.” I frown. “And you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”
She smirks. “You’re not my mother.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Thank goodness.” I pick up a slice of pizza, then toss it back on my plate. I can’t eat when I’m feeling … scroggy.
At least Daisy seems clueless. She’s sitting across from us with her headphones on, playing on my iPad. When she woke up from her nap, I was so busy thinking about Brooke, I just handed the tablet to her. It’s going to be covered in pizza sauce by the time she’s done.
Chalk that up to another dad fail.
“Speaking of mothers,” I say, “has Mom said anything to you about when she might be coming home? Brooke’s only going to be around a few more weeks. That is, if she sticks around that long.”
“Mmm.” Tess points at her full mouth, then makes a big show of chewing and swallowing her pizza before she talks. “What makes you think Brooke might bail early?” she asks.
“Just a gut feeling.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “She claims she doesn’t like kids, but she connected with Daisy. Like really connected. Then this morning, the switch flipped again, and she was back to saying stuff like this is just a job she’s getting paid for. I can’t help thinking there’s more to her story.”
“Hmm.” Tess purses her lips. “Are you sure you can trust her? If she’s hiding something …” Her voice trails off.
“I wouldn’t leave Daisy with Brooke if I didn’t think she was safe. Physically, at least. As for the rest …” I shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t been completely honest with Brooke, either.” I rub the back of my neck. “Anyway, my gut feelings are probably off. Clearly I’m not a good judge of women.” I stretch back in my chair. “Which is why I can’t wait for Mom to come home.”
“About that.” Tess sets down her pizza. That is not a good sign. “I think Mom wants to stay in Abieville.”
A wrench in my stomach clamps down. “But … she can’t. Daisy needs her. I need her.”
“I’m sorry, Mac.” Tess sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mom’s happy where she is. She’s with Big Mama and all her sisters. I think you’ve got to let it go.”
I glance at Daisy who’s still got headphones on. As far as I can tell, she can’t hear us. “I’ve had plenty of practice letting things go, Tess. And I’ve got to tell you, I am over it.”
“I know it’s been hard, Mac. Insanely hard. But, hey. At least you’ve got Brooke for now. Then Daisy will start school. And they’ve got after-care programs.”
“Sure they do,” I say. “But Daisy’s going through something. She needs … more.”
Tess lays a hand over mine. “She’s doing great, Mac. Aren’t you, Daisy?” With her free hand, Tess waves wildly to get Daisy’s attention. Daisy looks up at her and giggles. Then she starts pulling the cheese off her pizza.
“She’s doing better.” I nod. “I’ll give you that.”
“So listen to your little sister.” Tess smiles. “Things are good right here. Right now. Stop looking for a different kind of good.”
I pull my hand away. “That’s not what I was doing, but I get your point. I do tend to overthink things.”
And I’m definitely overthinking Brooke. The way her face looked when she was laughing today. The way she fit in my arms. And her bright eyes. How does she get her hair to smell that way?
Just stop, Mac. You don’t want to find out. The truth is, I can’t afford to.
Daisy’s the only thing that matters now. Not some woman who claims she doesn’t like kids. And she definitely doesn’t like McCoy Construction.
Brooke wouldn’t like the real you.
“Why are you making that face?” Tess stops mowing her pizza to stare at me.
“Nothing. It’s just … Brooke. Things got strange with her today.”
Tess narrows her eyes. “Did you do something stupid?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“If you don’t know, then you probably did. So go do something nice to make up for it now.”
“Great.” I blow out a breath. “Like what?”
Tess screws up her face. “Contrary to popular opinion, Mac, women aren’t that hard to please. I’m sure there’s something nice you could do to help Brooke out.”
I give that some thought. “Something nice, huh?”
“Yes, dummy. You’re familiar with the word nice, aren’t you?”
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious. And I can be nice.”
Just watch me.
11
Brooke
Emi and I are sitting at a table in the library staffroom when my walkie-talkie crackle
s to life. “Ms. Wallace?”
I press the receiver to reply. “Hey, Mr. Dudley. I’m on my break, remember?”
“Fine.” More crackling static. “As soon as you’re done, I need you.”
“Roger that. Over and out.” I set the walkie-talkie down and roll my eyes. “Wow. This must be what it’s like to be popular.”
“Probably.” Emi snickers. She’s working on a Cobb salad, and I’m finally finishing the last of Mrs. Sprat’s pie. “Mr. Dudley’s paged you three times in the last hour. Is everything okay?”
“It’s Mrs. Dodd,” I say.
“Ah. That sweet, little old lady who likes to sing show tunes?”
“That’s the one. She got a new pair of headphones, so she can’t tell how loud she’s being. She was really belting it out in the periodicals section earlier.”
“Ha! Go, Mrs. Dodd.” Emi stabs a cherry tomato. I take a bite of pie. “On a different note,” Emi says, “how are things going with the Bradfords?”
Nod. Chew. Swallow. “Nice pun, Emi.”
“That’s not an answer, Brooke.”
I shrug. “Things are fine.”
“Come on. You can do better than fine. You’ve been working over there a whole week now.”
“That’s the point.” I tilt my head. “I’m already a quarter of the way done. Which means I’ll be moving on soon. So there’s no need to make a big deal out of it now.”
I smile at Emi, then dig back into my pie.
She narrows her eyes. “Hmm. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem a little …”
“A little what?”
Her shoulders creep up to her ears. “Distracted?”
“You’re right. I’ve got a lot on my mind, Em. Like paying rent. Repairing my car. Getting that promotion. Only three more weeks …” I waggle my eyebrows.
She shakes her head. “So you’re telling me that after spending every day with that girl for a solid month—taking care of her and driving her around—you’re just never going to see Daisy or Mac Bradford again?”
“That’s the plan.”
Em sighs. “I just hope you’re being careful.”
The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1) Page 7