She frowns. “I don’t know what cavitation erosion is, but it sounds like another reason not to like McCoy Construction.”
“Right.” Her words are a stab to my gut. But they’re also a reminder that I’m better off without Brooke knowing who I am. Daisy too. She’d see us differently. And I don’t need that from someone who’s already got one foot out the door.
“It’s a setback,” I say. “But even if we have to scrap the project and start from scratch, it’s not a problem we can’t solve.”
Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Mac. Maybe you’ll believe you’re just talking about McCoys.
“So.” I nod. “I’ll just say a quick goodbye to Daisy and be on my way.”
Brooke follows me to the kitchen. Daisy’s at the table, eating a snack. When Daisy looks up and sees Brooke behind me, her eyes go big.
“Hey, Princess!” Brooke sits beside her. “You and I get to hang out together today. Again!”
Daisy kicks her legs three times. I think this means she’s happy. I hope it does.
“That’s right,” Brooke says. “It’s going to be nothing but fun and games around here. Starting now.”
She motions for Daisy to open her mouth, then she tosses a couple of crackers at her. The crackers bounce off Daisy’s forehead so far from her mouth, I’ve got to assume Brooke missed on purpose.
Daisy giggles.
“That sound never gets old,” I say.
Brooke nods. “Then go get that erosion thing taken care of so you can come back home and hear more of it.”
13
Brooke
After Mac leaves, Daisy and I take turns tossing Goldfish at each other’s faces. We keep going until all the crackers are gone. Some of them even land in our mouths.
“Hey, Daisy.” I eye the empty package. “Now that you’re done with your snack, do you want to go to the library and help feed the fish their snack?”
She clambers down from her chair, clasps my hand, and starts dragging me toward the door.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. Then I dig my feet in and pull back, laughing. “But first, you’ll need to get dressed. Those hippopotamus pajamas are cool, but most of the people at the library wear actual clothes.”
Not all of them. But still.
Daisy turns and skips up the stairs while I dash off a text to Emi.
Me: Hey. I know it’s your day off, but I agreed to extra Daisy duty. I’m taking her to the library. Want to meet us there? No pressure!
She texts back quickly. She must’ve been holding her phone.
Emi: Travis has to work today anyway. See you soon.
By the time I join Daisy in her bedroom, she’s emptied out her drawers and is sorting through piles of shirts and shorts.
“What color do you want to wear today?” She keeps digging until she finds a tank top with turquoise polka dots. She holds it up.
I’m wearing a tank top in the same shade of turquoise.
Oh. Sweet girl.
“That’s a good choice,” I say. “How about these for the bottom?” I pick out a pair of denim shorts. Just like mine.
Daisy snatches them from me.
“All right then.” I laugh. “Another yes. Now hop on into the bathroom to brush your teeth and get dressed. I’d better comb out your hair too. You have so many tangles today. Did you have some crazy dreams last night?”
Daisy grins, then she takes off hopping. All the way down the hall. I can’t tell if she took me literally, or if she’s messing with me.
Either way, I melt.
When we get to the library, Emi’s already there. And I’m secretly glad Travis is working today so Emi can be with us.
“Are you two ready for the royal treatment?” she asks.
Daisy hops.
“Yes we are.
First, Emi raids all her craft boxes, gathering up supplies for us to make construction paper crowns. We each pick a color of fake, plastic jewels to glue on our crowns.
Emeralds. Rubies. Sapphires.
Next we make sashes out of some scraps that were left over from last month’s make-your-own-pillowcase project. Once our accessories are assembled, Emi claims she’s the royal inspector hired to assess our costumes.
“This is good, Princess Daisy. Very good, Princess Brooke. The kingdom is expecting us to be dressed in our finest.” The three of us hold our heads up—very regally—on our way to the aquarium. The tank runs the length of an entire wall. When we get there, Daisy hops up and down, tapping on the glass. A clown fish swims up to her.
“We call that one Nemo,” I say.
Daisy presses her nose up to him.
“Do you see Dory hiding behind the coral?” I ask. “Have you watched the movie Finding Nemo?”
Emi laughs. “Daisy’s going to start talking just so you’ll stop asking her questions.”
I snort. “I said something like that to Mac recently. Except it was about his interrupting.”
“Hm,” Emi says.
Daisy follows Nemo as he swims to the other end of the aquarium.
Once she’s out of hearing distance for the first time since we got here, Emi leans in close. “Sounds like things are going well with the Bradfords,” she says.
“Yep.”
“So you’re not getting too … attached?”
“Nope. And Mac only thinks of me as an employee, so that makes things easier on me.”
Emi lifts an eyebrow.
“Really. He offered to pay me overtime today,” I say. “He wouldn’t do that if he saw me as more than someone who just works for him.”
I glance at the far end of the tank. Daisy’s tracing Nemo’s path in the water with her pinky. “She’ll be in school soon, then I’ll get the distance I need to decide what it is I want. Someday. In the future. Not now.”
Emi tilts her head. “What if Mac wants the same things you want?”
“He already has a family,” I say. “And I don’t know when or how or if I will.” My hand slips to my abdomen. “No matter what, it will be complicated. Mac and Daisy don’t need complicated.”
As if on cue, Daisy hops over to us. Good. I’m more than ready to change the subject.
Back to safe stuff. Like Nemo and Dory.
“You ready to give the fish their dinner, Daisy?”
Hop. Hop.
Emi moves the ladder to the spot below the feeding hatch, and I help Daisy climb the ladder. She peers down into the water as the tank lights shift from red to orange to yellow to green. Her face glows along with it.
Red. Orange. Yellow. Green.
If only my heart were this easy to change.
“Go ahead,” I tell her. She dumps the food into the aquarium, and the fish swarm to gobble their meal. “Good job, Princess,” I tell her. “It’s time for our dinner too.”
After burgers and fries at the library cafe, Daisy and I head back to her house with three canvas bags full of puppets. Daisy is arranging the puppets for story time and I’m straightening her room when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Mac: Gonna be another hour or so. Hope that’s okay.
Me: Princess Daisy and I are safe at the castle. Take your time, Prince Charming.
Without thinking, I hit send. Then my stomach drops. Ugh. Why did I call him Prince Charming?
The reply bubbles pop up, then disappear. Pop up. Disappear.
Mac: Wish I could be there. :-) :-) :-)
I’m about to text back I do too, but I stop myself just in time.
Just keep your cool until September, Brooke.
That’s how long it will take me to fold these clothes anyway.
I’m halfway through putting Daisy’s things away when something in the bottom drawer catches my eye. A photograph. Stuck in the corner.
Hm.
I pluck the picture free.
Daisy’s in the center of the shot, bent over a birthday cake with three candles. Mac’s on one side, grinning down at Daisy. On the other side of Daisy is a blonde.
Correction: an absolute bombshell of a blonde. With giant blue eyes just like Daisy’s.
Oof.
Daisy’s mother.
She reminds me of a statue in a wax museum. The individual details are perfect, but there’s no life behind her eyes. Still. If Mac had a child with her, he must have loved her. For all I know, he never stopped.
A chill seeps through me and suddenly I’m choking down thick waves of nausea. I drop the picture and place a stack of shorts over it, but I can’t stop thinking about the woman. Where is she now? How come Mac never said anything? Maybe he’s too sad. Or angry. Maybe he’s still grieving. Either way, that’s the kind of woman Mac chooses for romance. I’m the one he chooses to be his nanny.
I close my eyes.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Someone taps me on the shoulder.
“Ack!” My heart skips and I whip around.
Daisy.
She’s still wearing her crown and sash and holding a frog prince puppet. She looks at me with those bright blue eyes, and my skipping heart splits right down the middle.
“I’m sorry I shouted.” I sniffle. “You surprised me.”
She blinks.
I force a smile. “Are you ready for our show now, Princess?”
When she nods, my nose stings.
Uh oh.
I bite my lip, but my eyes start brimming. I try, but I can’t stop the waterworks.
“No book,” Daisy says. The frog prince falls to the floor.
Oh my gosh. She just talked? Don’t scare her off, Brooke. Just keep calm.
I swipe at my tear-streaked face. “You don’t want to read a book tonight?”
“No.” Daisy wags a finger. “Don’t be sad, Book Wallace.”
14
Mac
After a long day of putting out fires onsite, Nash Hendrix and I are back in my office at McCoy headquarters. Nash is a confirmed bachelor who doesn’t know the first thing about kids. But he sure does love Daisy. So when my phone buzzes on my desk—twice—he nods at it.
“Could be important,” he says. “Daisy’s with the new nanny, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She is.”
I never want anyone here thinking the company isn’t a priority—that I’m not up to the title of CEO—but this isn’t just anyone. It’s Nash. Pallbearer at my dad’s funeral. Best man at my wedding. (When he lost my cufflinks, then took the long way to the church, I should’ve gotten the hint.) My point is this: I trust Nash not to judge me. And he’s still looking down at my phone. Black hair in his eyes. Concern there too.
“You wanna check that then?” he asks.
“Thanks, man. I’ll be quick.”
I unlock the screen. Two new texts.
Brooke: Daisy’s talking!
Brooke: In full-on sentences!
Hold on. My throat clogs up. Did I just read that right?
“Gotta step out of the office,” I croak. “Just for a second.”
“Take your—”
The door shuts on Nash before he can say time. I’m already calling Brooke. Then I pace the hallway, waiting for her to answer. When she does, I can barely hear her over the throbbing in my ears.
“Please tell me you are not kidding,” I say. “Daisy’s talking?”
“I’d never joke about that. And this wasn’t just a giggle or an ouch or a buzz, Mac. The floodgates are open now. I can’t get her to stop talking. She calls me Book. It’s the cutest thing.” Brooke laughs and it sounds like music.
My heart’s crawling out of my chest.
“This. Is. Amazing.”
“I know,” she gushes. “I almost did a backflip. Then I remembered I can barely cartwheel.”
From the corner of my eye, I see movement. I look up and see Nash watching me through the glass wall of my office. The main buildings at McCoys are industrial. All concrete and steel. Exposed pipes. And my dad liked to survey things while he was working. So his office—my office now—is three long walls of glass.
I flash him a thumbs up then turn around. I don’t need an audience for this.
“Could you hand the phone to Daisy?” I ask.
“She’s in the other room, getting her frog prince ready for our World Famous Puppet Show Story Time.”
“Er … Ready for your famous what?”
Brooke chuckles. “Okay. I guess our story time isn’t actually world famous, but it’s happening soon, so I should go. And I didn’t want to interrupt you at work. I just wanted you to know.” She makes a noise that sounds a lot like EEK. “Daisy talked!”
“Oh, man.” I blow out a breath. “I want to be at home right now. So bad.”
“I know, but we’re all good here. So get back to work, mister. Fix all that erosion stuff. Or the concavity thing. Or whatever. Fix the world.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat. What if I don’t want to fix the world?
What if I just want to be Daisy’s father?
“I should be there,” I say.
“And you will be as soon as you can. In the meantime, your daughter talked again. Be happy, Mac.”
“I am. Believe me. And Brooke?” Heat spreads across my chest. My neck. My face. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem,” she says. The silence stretches for a beat. “It’s what you hired me to do, right?”
Right.
The best call I’ve had in months—or maybe ever—ends on a total gut punch.
“Hey, boss.” Nash pokes his head out of the office. He runs a hand through his hair and takes in my face. “Daisy all right?”
I nod.
“Everything else okay?”
“Yeah. Sure,” I say. “All good.”
Nash cocks an eyebrow. “I’m only asking because you look a little … green.”
“Nah. I’m fine.” I clear my throat. “That was Brooke.”
“Ah.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “I get it.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” I frown. “There’s nothing to get.”
“Okay, fine. Have it your way.” Nash splays his hands. “I’ll be waiting in the office. Go ahead and join me when you’re done chatting up your girlfriend.” He nods at the phone still in my hand.
I shove it in my pocket. “I’m done now,” I say. “And Brooke isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Nash says but his crooked grin says he’s not done baiting me.
“What?” I smirk. “Are we in third grade again or something?”
“I don’t know.” He chuckles. “You gonna put a frog in Brooke’s desk?”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Real cute.” I push past Nash back into the office and take a seat at my desk. “Let’s get back to work so I can get out of here.”
“Fine by me,” he says from the doorway. “I’m just gonna grab a soda from the kitchen. You want anything while I’m there, boss? Water bottle? A Coke?”
“I’m good. But I hate it when you all call me boss.”
His mouth quirks. “That’s why we all do it.” As he walks away, he calls out, “You make it too easy, boss.”
Great.
So I guess that’s my fault too.
As if I haven’t made enough mistakes already. Like marrying Gwen. Hiring Tiffany. Forgetting that Brooke only thinks of Daisy as Work. With a capital W.
But I heard the truth today straight from her mouth.
Twice.
That’s what you pay me for.
What you hired me to do.
I could kid myself that we got off-track, but I knew from day one that Brooke didn’t want this job. And I pushed her to take it anyway. Her refusal made me trust her more. She had the experience, but none of the emotion. No long-term motives. Just stop-gap goals. So I told myself she was perfect for a one-month arrangement.
Now I see she’s perfect in all the other ways.
And I’m not talking about how her hair smells. Or the shine in her eyes. Her soft, electric skin. Brooke’s better
than that surface stuff. Better for Daisy.
Patient. Smart. Funny.
She may not like kids, but she sure understands them. And no one else—not even me—has made this kind of connection with my daughter.
And now … Now I’ve set things up to break Daisy’s heart again when Brooke leaves.
What were you thinking, Mac? I wasn’t thinking. And Daisy will pay the price.
Unless I can change Brooke’s mind.
15
Brooke
We’re an hour into our not-so-world-famous Puppet Show Story Time, and Daisy’s still talking a blue streak, performing for her audience: the library puppets, her own stuffed animals, and me. She’s made up different voices for her two costars: the frog prince puppet and his best friend, Tuttle the turtle. (Side note: That name was my suggestion. Daisy didn’t forget.)
Now she’s dancing around in a pink cowboy hat and boots, singing Ragtime Cowboy Joe.
(Side note: She pronounces it wagtime which makes the song even cuter.)
According to the lyrics, Joe is a rootin’ tootin’ cowboy. (Or wootin’ tootin, according to Daisy.) Her voice is high and squeaky. She can’t carry a tune to save her life.
“Who taught you that song?” I ask when she stops to take a bow.
“Daddy.” She hops over to the couch and tries to stick her cowboy hat on me. The hat is way too small so it just teeters on top of my head. When it falls, Daisy puts it back on. Then she sings Wagtime Cowboy Joe.
Again.
Afterward we play World-Famous Cleanup. Then World-Famous Bath Time. Then World-Famous One More Book Please.
First up is Midnight Farm. Next comes Goodnight, Moon. Then Goodnight, Moon again.
We end with Sun Bread which is Daisy’s favorite. Every time I read the recipe page, my stomach growls. (I can’t help it. Sun Bread sounds delicious.)
When she falls asleep, legs draped over me, I carry her up to bed and tuck her under her ladybug quilt with the frog prince and Tuttle the turtle on either side.
I tell myself I’ll just sit for a few minutes to be sure she’s really asleep. But the truth is, I can’t stop staring at her sweet, little face in the glow of her nightlight. No. That’s not accurate. The truth is I don’t want to stop staring at her. Settling into the rocking chair, I lay my hands across my stomach and press against the ache there. The doctor’s words echo in my head.
The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1) Page 9