“Ahem.”
Brooke spins around and drops the puzzle box she was holding. Pieces scatter everywhere. Her cheeks flame red. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry.” I splay my hands. “I’ll try to be clunkier next time.”
We both bend over to scoop up the mess and end up bonking foreheads. Not too hard, but enough to see stars. Or maybe it’s just being this close to Brooke that’s making me dizzy. At the same time we both lift our chins. My mouth is inches from hers again. I can practically taste her toothpaste.
Be low-key, Mac. Low key.
I stand and rub my skull. “You okay?”
Brooke stays in a crouch, her focus on the floor. “I’m fine.” She starts scooping puzzle pieces from under the table and tossing them back inside the box.
“I can help,” I say. “This was my fault.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve got this.”
“Oh, hey. There’s an envelope on the counter.” I shift my weight. The payment thing always feels awkward. “You know. Since it’s Monday.”
“Thanks.” She keeps her eyes trained on the puzzle pieces. And the box. Definitely not me. Hopefully she’s not upset about Saturday night. I’m not some creeper who’d kiss a woman without permission. I could’ve sworn she was feeling something too.
“Anyway, you should get to work,” she says. “You don’t want to be late.”
“I’m on my way,” I say. “I’ll just grab my lunch from the fridge.” I hazard a small chuckle. “Don’t make any sudden moves or one of us might end up in the emergency room.”
Brooke doesn’t laugh. When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright and blinking.
Wait. Are those tears?
Man. I didn't think we hit our heads that hard.
“Are you really okay?” I ask.
“I said I’m fine, Mac.” She stands and wipes her forehead. Her skin is breaking out in goosebumps.
“Listen,” I say gently, resisting the urge to reach out to her. “I won’t feel right leaving you alone here with Daisy if you’re sick. Or … upset … or …”
“I’m not sick. Or upset.” She shoves the top on the puzzle box. “I told you I’m fine multiple times now. Try believing me for once.”
“Hey.” I fold my arms across my chest. “No offense, but you don’t seem fine.”
She sets the puzzle on the table and turns toward me. “It’s just that I saw my landlord this morning, and she’s probably kicking me out. Okay?”
No, Brooke. That’s not okay.
Because a part of me is relieved that Brooke’s not freaked out because of Saturday, but the other part of me wants to throw her landlord in a dumpster. “What happened?”
It takes her a couple long beats to answer. “I was late with rent,” she says. “Only a few days, but there’s some fine print about that in my contract. Apparently they can move in a new renter whenever they want now.” She gulps. “If someone comes along who can afford to pay more than I can …”
She cuts herself off. Which is no surprise. Brooke isn’t the kind to ask for money. She probably wouldn’t take mine if I offered it. And she’d see if I slipped more into that envelope. Still, there’s got to be some other way to fix this.
“Brooke, let me—”
“No.” She raises a hand. “I need to figure this out on my own.” Her eyes are begging me to let this go, but I can’t help myself. She’s completely turned our lives around. And I just want to return the favor.
“I could try to—”
“Stop! You’ve already tried too much!” She starts counting on her fingers. “One, you got Mr. Dudley to let me keep working. Two, you hired me for a second job. Three, you paid for my car repairs.”
“Yeah.” My jaw goes tight. “And I’d do more for you if you’d let me.”
“I’m not some car you can get towed, Mac.” Her eyes flash. “I’m not broken.”
I feel the cords along my neck tighten. “I definitely don’t think you’re broken.”
In fact, I think the opposite.
“I get it,” she says. “You’re chivalrous. But you promised not to interfere anymore. Remember? This is my problem to handle.” Her voice softens. “I shouldn’t have told you about my personal life in the first place.”
Personal life. Right. Because there’s nothing personal between us.
“Well.” I run a hand through my hair. “I forced it out of you. I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure why I’m apologizing for being a good guy, but Brooke’s a strong woman. She can take care of herself. Either way, she doesn’t want my help.
I lift my palms in surrender. “This is me, officially letting go.”
Letting you go.
Brooke draws in a long breath. Then she blows it out even longer. “You can put your hands down,” she says. “It’s possible I overreacted.”
“Possibly.” I nod, lowering my arms. “Truce?”
She crinkles her nose. “Do you swear you won’t butt in? Like ever again?”
“If you swear you’re really okay.”
“Hm.” Her mouth slips sideways. Almost a smile. “I haven’t had breakfast yet. But other than that …”
Daisy barrels into the kitchen, carrying her hair brush and a bottle of detangling spray. She skips over and stands between us. “Book!”
Brooke’s almost-smile turns into a beam. “Good morning, Miss Daisy. Looks like you’re ready for me to do your hair.”
“Pig tails, please.” She scrambles onto her booster chair and waves at me. “Bye, bye, Daddy!”
“Whoa. I see how it is,” I joke. “Brooke’s your best buddy, and I’m chopped liver?”
Brooke snorts. “You heard the lady. Beat it.”
She says this like walking out the door is easy, but my feet feel cemented to the ground. I don’t want to leave either of them. Ever. “Come for pizza this Friday night,” I say.
Brooke’s eyes fly open. “What?”
So much for letting her go.
“Seriously,” I say. “You’re always hungry, and I want to make up for butting in this morning.” I point at my skull. “Plus the head butt.”
Also I can’t stop thinking about you.
“Head butt!” Daisy giggles.
Brooke just stands there, frozen. Maybe it sounds too much like a date. So I quickly backtrack. “My sister will be here too,” I say. “She’s carbo-loading before her LSAT test on Saturday.”
“Oh.” Brooke unfreezes. Then she shakes her head. “I’ve got to work.”
“Ah, but it’s the third Friday of August,” I say. “The library’s closing early for deep cleaning.”
“Wow.” She arches a brow. “You’ve really done your research. Or you’re a stalker. Which is it?”
I raise my hands like a robber caught at the cash register. “I’m just a single dad who’s been looking for ways to entertain my kid. Believe me. I’ve memorized the closing times of every public place in Apple Valley.”
“Pizza night!” chirps Daisy. “Come, Book!”
Brooke’s eyes dart between us. “I’m sure your sister wouldn’t want me barging in on your plans.”
“Are you kidding? Tess would kill to have another woman around. She’s used to a ratio of three females to one brother.”
“Hmm.”
“And I’ve been wanting you two to meet anyway.”
Brooke bends her neck. “Why?”
Yeah, why Mac? Why would you care about introducing your sister to the nanny? Someone who will be out of your life soon?
Before I start stammering, Daisy pipes up. “Book! It’s pigtail time!”
I walk over to Daisy—who just gave me the answer I need—and I put a hand on her shoulder.
“I told Tess that Daisy’s talking again. She wants to thank the person who’s responsible for turning her niece’s motor-mouth back on.”
“Ah.” Brooke’s lips go crooked. “Olives.”
“What?”
“Ol
ives.” She smiles. It’s a small one, but still. A smile. “I’ll need extra olives on my pizza. Take it or leave it.”
I grin at her. “Extra olives it is.”
19
Brooke
“You are officially crazy.” Emi says this to me from behind the reference desk, and let me tell you, it’s hard to argue with a librarian. “I’m serious, Brooke. This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. And I was your roommate. In college.”
I cringe, flashing back to freshman year in particular. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been dumber. Haven’t I?”
“Let’s see.” She tilts her head. “First, you almost kissed Mac.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then you told him you’re getting kicked out of your apartment?”
Hearing the words out loud makes me moan. “I said I might get kicked out. And that’s completely true. People get kicked out of their apartments all the time. Come on. Back me up on this.”
“Nope.” Emi shakes her head. Her cute, traitorous, blonde head.
“Okay. You’re right.” I set my clipboard and walkie-talkie on her desk. I’m the biggest idiot on the planet. “I was freaking out about Saturday night. And PMSing. What else could I do?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Brooke.” If shrugs could be sarcastic, Emi’s would be. “You could try being honest with yourself. If not Mac.”
“About what?”
She narrows her eyes and raises her voice. “The fact that your feelings for him are way bigger than PMS.”
“Em!” I glance around to be sure Mr. Dudley’s not lurking somewhere, hearing about Mac. Or my cycle. Lucy Devlin’s down the aisle, shelving novels. She glances up and winks. I wink back. Why are we winking?
Emi frowns. “I’m just tired of you lying to yourself.”
“But I really am flowing,” I whisper. “And things with Mac really are … complicated."
“Complicated.” Emi puts the word in air quotes.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” I sigh. “You’ve got a perfect relationship with your perfect fiancé.”
“Travis is hardly perfect.” Emi purses her lips. “He’s … familiar. Which is good in its own way. But nobody’s perfect, Brooke.”
“Maybe not, but familiar sounds pretty darn good to me right now. Actually, familiar sounds amazing. Who needs a rollercoaster of emotion when you can have someone steady? Someone reliable. Dependable.”
“Stop.” Emi’s eyes are slits. “You’re making my love life sound like vanilla pudding.”
My mouth starts to water. Great. Now I’m complicated, PMSing, and hungry. I check the wall clock over Emi’s desk to see how close I am to my break, and Mrs. Dodd saunters by, carrying a big leather suitcase.
“I’ve seen The Marriage of Figaro performed one hundred times,” she announces.
“Excellent.” I give her a thumbs up. She salutes, then heads toward the genealogy section. Meanwhile, Emi’s brow is furrowed. Like she’s been thinking hard this whole time.
“Rollercoaster relationships aren’t all bad,” she says. “Highs and lows can be fun. If you have the right person on the ride with you.”
Heh. That’s a big if for someone like me. I barely got out of my last relationship intact. And if my mother had anything to say about it, I’d still be stuck there. Forever. That woman did whatever it took—and then some—to lock things down for me. Like I couldn’t be trusted to make my own choices. Not in jobs. In love. In anything.
“My track record with judging people is pretty dismal,” I say.
“Well.” Emi shakes her head and tuts. On my side. United against a common enemy. “What happened with him was not your fault.”
(Neither one of us wants to say the name Ethan Clifton. He’s like Voldemort. With a nose.)
“The thing is,” I say, “I can’t keep blaming him—or my mom—if I’m the one making the same mistakes. That’s why I need to move on. From the past. And from all this now.”
Emi arches a brow. “By all this now, do you mean Mac?”
“Yes,” I say. “And Daisy.”
“Wonderful.” Emi snorts. “So you’re moving on from all this now by having pizza with the Bradfords Friday night?”
Ugh. My shoulders slump. When she puts it that way, my plans sound even worse. “Why didn’t you warn me about all this now sooner?”
“Excuse me? I warned you from day one!”
“Arg.” I shake my fist at the vaulted ceiling. “Oh, Universe! Why didn’t I listen to Emi the first time?”
This gets her laughing, and I laugh too. Thank goodness, because I’ve had enough seriousness for one day. Or one week. One month. One lifetime. “Fortunately,” Emi says, “you’ve realized the error of your ways. So are you ready to take my advice now?”
“Yes, oh wise one behind the reference desk. Lay it on me. What should I do?”
“Hmm.” Emi slips the pencil from the top of my clipboard and taps her chin. A marvelous pose for pondering. Tap, tap, tap. “You know what?” she says. “You should just do it.”
“Do what?”
“Marry Mac Bradford and live happily ever after.”
“What?” I shriek.
“Shh,” she says. “We’re in the library. And I’m just kidding.” She takes my clipboard and draws a giant heart across the checklist I take on my rounds. The list is supposed to help me keep track of the issues I’m monitoring. Like, are the correct doors locked or unlocked? Is anyone loitering in the bathroom? Has the water fountain flooded again? It’s all about the safety.
Emi strikes a big line through the heart.
“Yikes,” I say.
“Exactly. If you’re serious about wanting a clean break at the end of this month,” she says, “you should go meet Mac’s sister on Friday.”
My mouth drops open. “But I already agreed to go to dinner with them. How is this a new plan?”
She steeples her fingers over my clipboard. “While you’re eating, you’ll casually tell Mac’s sister that you definitely don’t want children. Like never ever. Mention it more than once. After that, she won’t want you anywhere near her niece or her brother. She’ll get in his ear, trust me. Then whatever complicated thing has been happening between you and Mac will be over. Done. Finito.”
Oof. My stomach lurches. Not only is this painful to hear, I also literally have cramps.
“Dropping Italian into your advice didn’t make it sound any better, Em.”
“Ooh. Sorry.” She flinches. “Travis and I have been practicing our Duolingo.”
“Ohmigosh, yay!” I slap the desk. “Does this mean you finally decided on Florence for your honeymoon?”
“We did.” Her nod is sheepish. “But we don’t have to talk about that right now.”
“Oh.” I chew my lip. Thinking Emi might be hiding her excitement because of me makes my insides twist. “I’ve been so wrapped up in all my stuff, I’ve barely asked you about your wedding plans. I’m the worst.”
“You’re not. At all. And we’re almost done anyway.”
“Ah.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Don’t you mean finito?”
Emi smiles. “Si. Also, I guess I’m the one who’s actually finito. Travis wasn’t even that involved.”
“I really do want to hear all the details, Em. Maybe we could go to the river this weekend, just the two of us, and—”
“Hold on,” she says. “Mr. Dudley’s coming.” She nods to her right and sure enough, he’s blustering toward us.
“Hi, Mr. Dudley.” I scramble for my clipboard.
“Hello, Ms. Wallace.” He stops under an air-conditioning vent. A chunk of his comb-over breaks free and flaps above his forehead.
“I was just about to do my rounds,” I blurt out, stifling a laugh, trying not to choke.
“When you’re done, come to my office. We have got to come up with a better plan for handling Mrs. Dodd.”
Flap, flap, flap.
“Things are getting serious.” He grunts. “W
e’ve had reports that she’s threatening to sing Hamilton in its entirety. In genealogy!”
“Gah.” Emi makes a strangled sound like she’s about to lose it.
“Hamilton?” I gasp. “In genealogy? That’s not even the right section of the library!”
“Then you understand my concern,” he sputters.
“I do. And I’ll see you in your office after my rounds.”
His nod is curt. “Be that as it may.”
I nod back. Also curtly. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll figure this out.”
He marches off with his hair still flapping. Once he’s a safe distance away, Emi and I dissolve into helpless giggles.
“Did he say be that as it may?” she gasps.
“I don’t think he knows what that means!”
Emi laughs. “Maybe I don’t either.”
We keep giggling until another cramp cuts through me.
Oof.
I grip my middle and nod at Emi’s desk drawer.
“Do you have any Advil back there before I head out for rounds?”
Her face falls. “Aw, Brooke.” She digs in her drawer and slips me two ibuprofen, which I swallow with a big gulp from her water bottle. Then she reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Thanks, Em.”
As I turn to go she says, “I hope you feel better soon.”
“I’m good,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
And some people aren’t meant for happily ever afters.
20
Mac
“Hey, boss. Did we lose you?” Nash waves a hand in my face, and I snap back to the present. Shiny table. Overhead lighting. White walls closing in. My head needs to be here in this room right now, not thinking about Brooke coming over tonight.
“No, you’ve got my attention,” I say. “Absolutely.”
Herman Blake, our CFO, clears his throat. Given the tightness of his tie, I’m surprised he can. He’s as stiff as the Tin Man, which makes sense since the guy’s missing a heart. But he’s great at his job, and I can’t do mine without a numbers robot like him.
“As I was saying.” Herman adjusts his glasses. “World Build reached out yesterday with their final buy-out offer. They’re prepared to spend an obscene amount of money.”
The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1) Page 11