The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1)

by Julie Christianson

  “Of course I am. And don’t worry. Mac’s got insurance on the RAV.”

  “Ha ha.” She spins a hardboiled egg with her fork. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You get invested in people, Brooke. Like really invested. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It can be excellent when the right source of … investment comes along. But—”

  Before she can finish her but, Spencer Crane comes into the break room.

  “Hey, Emi,” he says. “We need you back at the reference desk in five minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.” She shoves a bunch of salad in her face while I take another mouthful of pie.

  Spencer peers at us over his glasses, his gaze bouncing from Emi to me. “You ladies all right?”

  We both make hmm-hmm noises, pointing at our lips like we can’t talk because of full mouths.

  Spencer shrugs. “Okey doke.”

  As soon as he leaves, my phone goes off. Lovely Day. Incoming call. I check the number and choke on a piece of pie crust. Nod. Chew. Swallow.

  “It’s my mom,” I say. “Again.”

  Emi and I are both quiet, waiting for the voicemail notification so I can delete my mother’s message without listening. Again.

  “I’m sorry.” Emi’s face clouds over.

  “Stop looking at me like I’m doomed,” I say.

  “You’re not doomed.” She bites her lip. “It’s just that after Ethan … and everything else … you said you needed time to clear your head. To think straight.”

  “Yep.” I stiffen because I know where this is going now.

  “I’m not sure that’s happening around Mac and Daisy,” she says. “You have this big, big heart, Brooke. Your heart’s so big that when it breaks, well, it breaks bigger than other people’s hearts.”

  “Whoa, Em.” I shake my head. “You just used the words big and heart an awful lot. Aren’t librarians supposed to be good with synonyms?”

  She sighs. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset,” I tell her. “I just don’t like to think of myself as breaking. Or already broken. You know?”

  “I do.” Her eyes soften. “And you know I love you, right? Just the way you are.”

  “Yes. Because I’m awesome.” I lift a brow, hoping to lift the mood. I’ve had enough heaviness for a lifetime. “I love you too,” I tell her.

  What I don’t tell Emi is that her warning is too late.

  For better or worse, I’m already attached to Daisy. And Mac.

  Okay. That’s definitely worse.

  “Well, this has been quite the mutual love fest,” Emi says. “But I’d better get to the desk now before Spencer gives me a hard time.” She pops the top on her salad container just as Spencer rushes back into the break room.

  “Speak of the devil,” I whisper.

  “Sorry again,” he gasps.

  Emi shakes her head. “Deep breaths, Spence. Am I thirty seconds late?”

  “It’s not that.” He points at me. “Brooke. My brother’s towing your car.”

  By the time I burst out the back exit to the employee parking lot, Franklin Crane has the front end of my Celica cranked up in the air. Franklin works for Apple Valley Auto, and he looks like his brother—except in coveralls instead of khakis. Standing next to Franklin and his tow truck is Mac Bradford. He’s handing Franklin a credit card.

  When Mac sees me running toward him, he smiles.

  “Surprise!”

  I’m panting from the jog to the parking lot. (And a little bit from the pie.)

  “What do you think you’re doing, Mac Bradford?”

  Franklin makes a face. “Bradford?” He squints at the credit card then looks up at Mac. “But I thought you’re—”

  “That’s right.” Mac cuts him off. “I’m getting the Relica towed for you, Brooke.”

  “But I can’t afford that yet.” My heart’s still pounding. And not in a good way.

  “You don’t have to worry about it,” Mac says. “Frank and I already worked things out. He’s giving us a good combo deal on towing and repairs.”

  “Who is we and us?”

  “Me,” Mac says. “And Frank. We’re the we. You and I are the us.”

  “But I won’t be able to pay for any of this,” I say. “Even with a good combo deal.”

  “It’s okay.” Mac nods. “I’m taking care of the bill.”

  “And you didn’t think to talk to me about this first?” My eyes flash. “Who do you think you are?”

  Franklin takes a step forward. “Ma’am, he’s—”

  “I’m nice,” Mac says. “At least I was trying to be.” He furrows his brow. “I knew you hadn’t taken care of your car this past week because you’ve been taking care of Daisy. So I called Franklin. I thought you’d be happy to have this handled for you.”

  I splay my hands. “Do I look happy?”

  “No.” He folds his arms across his chest. “You definitely do not.”

  My pulse races. This all feels too familiar—having someone else try to handle my life for me. “Here’s the thing, Mac.” Inhale. Exhale. Breathe, Brooke. “I don’t need you—or anyone else—to fix things for me. Not my car. Or my life.”

  I look at Franklin and bite my lip. “I’m really sorry, but this has all been an unfortunate misunderstanding. Hopefully I’ll be able to afford repairs soon. For now, though, please put my car down.”

  Mac throws a hand up. “Wait, Franklin. Hold on.”

  “No! Don’t wait, Franklin!” I widen my stance to show I’m strong. To prove that I don’t need someone else to take care of me. Not my mother. Not Ethan Clifton. Certainly not Mac Bradford. I spent my life being pushed around by people who know what’s best for me.

  I won’t let it happen again.

  Mac turns to me, shoulders squared. “Please. Let me pay for your repairs, Brooke. You watch my kid for me. You fixed my sink for me. It’s the least I can do.”

  “No.” I grit my teeth. “The least you could do is mind your own business.”

  Franklin coughs into his hand. “Ahem.” He shifts his weight and looks at Mac. “Maybe I should lower the car then, Mr.—”

  “No!” Mac says.

  “Yes!” I shout at the same time.

  “Ms. Wallace!” I spin around. Mr. Dudley’s standing there, wiping his forehead and sweating through his suit.

  “Mr. Dudley. I can explain.”

  “No need to explain, Miss Wallace.” Mr. Dudley’s frown is so deep, I’m afraid his face might break. “I heard everything. Am I to understand you’ve left your car here in the parking lot for a week?”

  I lower my head like I’m headed toward the guillotine. “Yes, sir.”

  Mac steps between us. “Excuse me, Dudley.” He clears his throat. “This is all my fault.”

  “Stop!” Heat floods my entire body. “I’m sure you mean well, Mac, but I am not your problem to solve.” I turn my back on Mac to address Mr. Dudley myself. My cheeks feel so hot they’re probably as pink as my skirt and cardigan.

  I must look like a flamingo.

  “Mr. Dudley, I promise I’ll get my car towed just as soon as I can afford it. On my own.”

  His eyes flicker up and around, over my shoulder. Wait. What’s going on?

  Is Mac signaling something behind my back?

  I spin around, and Mac’s mouth slams shut.

  “Now, now, Miss Wallace.” Mr. Dudley puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me back toward him. Now I want to chew my arm off. “Let’s be reasonable,” he says. “Mister … Mac is still a valued patron here, and we must do whatever it takes to ensure he is satisfied with his full experience at the Edward R. McCoy Library.”

  I point to the rows of cars around us. “I don’t think this qualifies as part of the library.” I sweep my hand around. “Mr. Bradford isn’t a patron of the parking lot.”

  “Be that as it may.” Mr. Dudley squirms. “After your treatment of him inside the library last week, I think you should do as the man w
ants now.”

  Do as the man wants now? He can’t be serious. “What exactly do you think Mac wants, Mr. Dudley?”

  His gaze skips around above my head again. “He’s asked very nicely to pay to have your car repaired.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “And what if I say no?”

  “Well. I. Uh.” Dudley stutters. “I’ll be forced to rescind your promotion.” He strains his neck to see over me. “And, of course, I’ll have to fire you.”

  This is so ridiculous, I snort. “Again?”

  “Or, as an alternative, you can accept Mr. Mac’s most generous offer.”

  “Brooke.” Mac’s voice comes from behind me. Deep and gentle. “Please.” I turn around, and he lowers his gaze. The man looks genuinely sheepish. “I’m sorry I stepped on your car toes.” He ducks his head and I swallow.

  “I came to Oregon to get away from people who thought they could manage my life better than I could.”

  “That would feel pretty terrible.” He squints like he’s trying to imagine it. I look up, up, up into his eyes, and a warmth spreads through me. Mac wasn’t trying to be a big shot. Or throw his weight around. Or control my life. And he doesn’t know my history with my parents. Or Ethan. Or anything else …

  “So. Car toes, huh?” I tilt my head. “Are those anything like tires?”

  “I believe so.” A half-smile crosses his lips.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “I can,” I say. “And thank you.”

  He nods.

  “But.” I lift my chin. “Don’t ever do something like that without asking me first again.”

  “Deal.” He sticks out a hand. Zing! His skin is so warm. So strong. So … wow.

  “Good, good.” Dudley huffs. “All’s well that ends well, then.” He rounds on Franklin. “Mr. Crane? Please remove this … vehicle.”

  Franklin looks from Mr. Dudley to me to Mac. “Should I put it on your card, then Mr.—”

  “Yes,” Mac says. “I’ll be paying.”

  I pipe up. “Only until I can reimburse you.”

  “Deal,” Mac says again.

  Mr. Dudley claps his hands. “I’m glad that’s settled. Now if you’ll excuse me …”

  He hurries back toward the library, and Franklin hands Mac his credit card back. “I’m done with your card, Mister—”

  “Thanks, Franklin.” Mac salutes him.

  “You know what?” I say. “I’m starting to wonder if Daisy doesn’t talk because you keep interrupting her.”

  “Ha.” He catches my eye and I shiver. It’s like a lightbulb flicker. Electricity.

  “Well.” My throat’s getting thick now. “Where is Daisy, by the way?”

  This gets him smiling again. “With my sister. Tess. They’re having pizza.”

  I smile. “Sounds nice.”

  His eyes crinkle, like he’s considering something. “We’ve got plenty. If you want—”

  “Oh, no.” My stomach flutters. “I work ’til nine. And I already ate.”

  His smile goes crooked. “Now who’s interrupting?”

  “Touché, Mac Bradford. Touché.”

  Saturday morning starts out beautiful, with sunny skies and end-of-the-summer temperatures. I’m more than ready for a whole day off—just as soon as I cross some errands off my list. First I’ll pay rent and grocery shop (finally). Then I might go crazy and do some laundry.

  What matters is I have all the time in the world.

  After a hot shower, I throw on cut-off shorts, a turquoise tank top, and a pair of matching flip-flops. I’m just heading out the door when Mrs. Sprat is climbing the stairs with a canvas bag from Apple Valley Market.

  “Hi there, Mrs. Sprat.” I hurry down the steps and loop one arm through hers. When we start walking back up together, she gives my arm a squeeze.

  “Weren’t you headed in the opposite direction?” she asks. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy.”

  “I’d rather chat with you.” I smile.

  “Well. Aren’t you a dear.”

  By the time we reach the top of the stairs, Mrs. Sprat is huffing and puffing, so I wait for her to catch her breath. Then she blinks up at me. “We haven’t seen much of you lately, dear.”

  “Ah yes. The perils of having two jobs. But I’m off today.”

  She nods. “Any big plans for tonight?”

  “None whatsoever. I am blissfully unscheduled.”

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Sprat considers this. “A beautiful girl like you should have a full dance card on the weekend. Perhaps that handsome man I saw driving you home the other night knows how to tango.”

  I laugh. “Well, if he does, it wouldn’t matter. I can’t dance to save my life. And he’s the man who hired me to watch his daughter. I’m just the nanny. That’s it. No dancing of any kind.”

  She winks. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Mrs. Sprat!” I put a hand to my chest. “You’re not accusing me of mixing business with pleasure are you?”

  “I’m saying that man likes you. I could tell by the way he ran around opening and closing doors for you. Larry was just like that when we were courting. Daughter or no daughter, that man kept his eye on you the whole time. And there’s a spring in your step too.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

  “Think what you want,” she says. “I’m just calling them like I see them.”

  Before I can further my protest, my phone pings. Mrs. Sprat glances at my purse.

  “Is that him?”

  I check my phone and sure enough, there’s a new text.

  Mac: Are you busy?

  Dang. Mrs. Sprat is psychic.

  She grins at me and waves. “Thanks for the lift up the stairs. Say hi to your sweetheart from me.”

  “Ha ha ha.” I wave back at her, but my heartbeat is already speeding up.

  And it only gets worse as I text Mac back.

  Me: Running errands. Why?

  Mac: Can you come over today?

  Now my pounding heart skips a beat. He wants me to come over on a Saturday? My gut reaction is to say yes. But the more time I spend with Mac and Daisy, the harder it will be to walk away. So I’m about to text him back, saying that today won’t work for me, when he sends a follow-up text.

  Mac: I wouldn’t ask but … it’s an emergency. We need you.

  Me: Be there in ten.

  12

  Mac

  True to her word, Brooke’s on my doorstep in ten minutes. Maybe less. I try not to stare, but her tank top and cut-off jeans make that pretty much impossible. Her legs are smooth and tan. She smells like the kind of lotion you rub on at the beach.

  I think that’s called sunblock, Mac.

  Yeah. I’m not thinking straight. I’ve got to knock this off. Immediately.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” I say. “Especially on your day off.” I work up a serious look. Because I do feel bad about asking Brooke for help. But being near her is giving me a jolt of excitement that’s probably written all over my face.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “When you texted I’d just finished getting a blow out and my makeup done at the salon.”

  “Seriously?”

  Her lips curve into a smile. “Come on, Mac. Do I look like I just came from the salon?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a guy.”

  Also you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen by a mile, without makeup and fancy hair.

  No, especially without makeup and fancy hair.

  “So what’s the emergency?” she asks. “Is Daisy okay?”

  Her question snaps me back to reality. Emergency. Right. That.

  “Daisy’s fine. But we’ve got a problem at one of our new builds, and I can’t bring her with me. Tess offered to skip her LSAT class to help, but I told her school’s got to be her number one priority.”

  “Absolutely.” Brooke nods.

  “I figured you’d understand. As a former teacher.” I scrape my fingers through my
hair. “It’s still hard for me to believe you left that job.”

  “Yep,” she says. “Me too.” She sucks in her cheeks. Like she’s chewing gum. Or maybe her own mouth. “I’m really sorry someone higher up on the McCoy food chain is making you work this weekend.”

  “Well.” I work my jaw. Not being fully honest with Brooke makes my tongue burn. But now is not the time to tell her that everyone’s working today because of me. “At least I get paid overtime,” I say. “But I’d rather be home with Daisy.”

  “I’m sure.” Her eyes soften and I wish I could ask her what’s in her head right now. But no. That would cross a line. And she’s made it clear this is just a job to her.

  “For the record, I’ll pay you overtime too.”

  She thinks for a moment, then shrugs off whatever it was that made her eyes look like that. “No need,” she says. “I’ll just eat my weight in ice cream while you’re gone. I’ve been dreaming about that pint of Rocky Road in your freezer.”

  I try to smile, but I can’t help noticing the difference between Brooke and my ex. No amount of money could buy Gwen what she wanted, and Brooke doesn’t even want the money she deserves.

  “Mac …”

  When I pull myself out of the fog—the Gwen fog—Brooke is blinking up at me.

  “You do get jokes, right?” she asks. “I promise not to eat all your ice cream.”

  “That’s not it,” I say.

  She wrinkles her forehead. “Is this thing at work really bad?”

  “Could be,” I say. Or it could be I’m not thinking about work at all. But I need to keep things professional between Brooke and me. So I force myself to focus. “The superintendent at the site discovered some formwork that’s not aligned,” I tell her. “Of course, that can lead to discontinuities on the surface of the concrete.”

  “Oh, of course.” Brooke pulls a face. “I hate discontinuities in my concrete.”

  “Ha. Sorry. Boring details. Believe me. I don’t like it either.”

  She cocks her head. “Then why do it?”

  I smirk. “Because you haven’t lived until you’ve spent a whole Saturday avoiding cavitation erosion.” And because of my dad. But I can’t get into that with Brooke.