“Pizza is good.”
Mac tilts his head. “That’s the first thing you’ve said since Tess and Daisy left.”
“Pizza is good? Figures.”
As he sits beside me, I kick off my shoes and curl my feet up under my legs. If any part of me brushes against him now, I’ll want to stay here.
Like, forever.
For a full minute, we say nothing. The room is silent besides the tick, tick, tick of the clock. Finally, Mac touches my hand. Just his fingers tracing mine. He’s so gentle, my eyes water again. “Are you ready to talk, Brooke?”
“Yes.”
“So. Your family’s complicated.”
“You could say that.” I exhale. “I guess I already did say that. So here’s the thing: My mom’s impossible to please, and I’ve failed every time I try. So eventually, I just stopped trying.”
“Ouch.” Mac cringes. “What about your dad?”
“My dad’s got his own issues. Mostly he lets my mom run the show. He’s either afraid of her, or he doesn’t care enough to stand up for himself. Or both.”
“But he supports you?”
“He’s not unsupportive. Still. My mom’s got him convinced I can’t take care of myself. That’s one of the reasons I moved up here. To prove to them I could make it on my own.” My voice catches. “I almost let myself believe I’d escaped my problems. But problems follow me wherever I go.”
“Wow.” Mac’s forehead creases. “That’s a terrible way to feel.”
I chew my lip. “Yes.” But not as terrible as this next part. “My parents are … a lot. I’m a lot. And you don’t need our drama, Mac. Neither does Daisy. She’s doing so well right now. You’d both be better off without me.”
“What are you saying?”
“Ugh.” My insides are twisted up and wrung out. “I’m saying, you should hire a new nanny.” I sniffle. “One who isn’t named Tiffany.” Another sniffle. “And anyway, Daisy’s better now. She probably wouldn’t even punch her. I mean, she hasn’t punched me. Not even once.”
Mac hands me a napkin, and he waits while I wipe my nose with it. Then he says, “Daisy’s only better right now because of you.”
Even as I try not to let his words affect me, hope starts spreading in my chest.
“In fact, I’d been thinking maybe you could stay on and help out with Daisy even after school starts. It looks like my mom’s not coming back anytime soon, so …”
“Oh, Mac.” I swallow hard. This is way more terrible than I thought. Because I’m not the right woman for him. And the longer I stick around, the harder it will be to leave. Mac deserves someone easy and uncomplicated. The opposite of me. “You knew before I took this job that it would be temporary,” I say.
He frowns. “Is it the kid thing?”
“Um. Yes. It is.” A pang of guilt shoots through me. I can’t look at Mac while I’m lying to him, so I grab a slice of pizza and choke down a bite. He lets me take my time. Finally I look up.
He’s smiling. “Honestly, I’m finding it harder and harder to believe that you don’t like kids.”
“Oh.”
He reaches out and slowly brushes a thumb across my lip. His touch is so light, I can’t help but lean into it. When he shows me the tip of his thumb afterward, it looks bloody.
I pull back in horror. “Oh my gosh! Did I … bite you?”
“You had a little pizza sauce on your mouth.”
“Great.” I toss the rest of the slice back in the box. I want to crawl into the couch cushions and hide. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be here, imploding.”
“No imploding allowed,” he says. “We’ve got too much work to do. We need to figure out our game plan before Tess and Daisy get back. And I have an idea.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t your problem, Mac. It’s mine. And you promised no more meddling in my life.”
“I’m not. I’m meddling in my life.”
I tilt my head. What?
“I don’t want you to go home with your parents. I’m not ready. I mean, Daisy and I aren’t ready. Not yet.”
Yet.
The word is a knife wound. They still need me. For now. But then what?
“Fine.” I sigh. “Tell me how you’re going to fix all the world’s problems?”
“Not all the world’s problems,” he says. “Just our world’s.” Oh. My heart beats faster thinking of myself as a part of Mac Bradford’s world. “Hear me out.” He clears his throat. “What if I pretend to be your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?” I squeak like a mouse. That is if a mouse could say the word boyfriend.
Mac nods. “You might be losing your apartment anyway. So you should move in here with Daisy and me. Only temporarily. Just until you get that raise and can afford a new place.”
Me. Mac Bradford’s girlfriend? Living here? I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.
“When your parents get to town,” he says, “we’ll tell them you’re not going anywhere with them because we’re in love.”
In love. My mouth drops open. It’s dry as toast. “You want my parents to think we’re a couple?” I can’t even say the words in love. “And you think we should act like we’re living here together … under the same roof?”
He scratches at his chin. “Yeah, that doesn’t make me sound like much of a gentleman, does it? Especially with Daisy here.” A stretch of seconds go by. Then he says, “I guess we’d better go ahead and tell them we eloped.”
“Eloped?” My lungs are balloons that totally deflate. No air. All gone.
“Why not? Sure.”
“Are you crazy?” I wheeze. “You’re my boss. I work for you. We can’t just pretend we’re married.”
Mac straightens his shoulders like a lawyer about to present a case. “Don’t worry. It would all be an act. You could stay in the guest room the whole time. But your parents won’t know that. They won’t know anything. And I can put on a pretty good show. I’ll charm the pants right off them.”
“Ha!” I giggle, partly because I’m picturing my dad sitting on this couch in his boxers. But mostly I’m giggling because this idea is insane. Isn’t it?
Yes, Brooke. It’s insane.
“Thanks for trying to help,” I say, hoping my laughter doesn’t sound hysterical. “But … come on, Mac.”
He shrugs. “I think it could work. Your parents will see that we’re a happy couple and be on their merry way.”
My laughter finally stops, but there goes my mouth again, gaping like a fish. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “But it would never work.”
Mac’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Why not?”
I look down at my hands and my stomach feels sick. As much as I don’t want to, I’ve got to tell Mac the truth. Completely. Finally. It’s time.
“There’s something you should know about me.” I stare at my hands.
“What?”
“Since we met, you’ve been scraping together money to pay me. And rent me a car. Feed me pizza. So I felt bad.” I gulp. “I let you think I’m broke. And I am broke, that part’s true. It’s just that my parents aren’t.” I lift my head. “They’re rich. Like, absolutely loaded.”
22
Mac
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. WHOA. The Wallaces are rich? I did not see that coming.
“There’s more,” Brooke says. And her face goes pink. Then she swallows. “Have you heard of the show Rage & Redemption?”
“The soap opera?” I nod. “My mom loves it.”
“Well.” Brooke takes a beat. “My mom is Lenore Wallace. The actress who played Kerrigan Steele for more than three decades. She’s basically the queen of daytime drama. Emphasis on drama.”
I open my mouth, but my tongue tangles on the irony. Gwen’s lifelong dream was to be a star. Actress or model. Stage or screen. Anything that promised limelight. She spent years of her life, and a whole lot of money, trying to make fame happen. When it didn’t, she blamed me. And Daisy. Then she left.
Brooke p
laces her palm on my knee, and I’m struck by the warmth of her hand on my leg. She’s more worried about the bomb she just dropped, though.
“Please don’t hate me for not telling you sooner.”
“I don’t hate you.” I shake my head. “It’s just … a lot to wrap my head around.”
Plus the touching. Of my leg.
Her eyes lock on mine like she’s trying to see inside my head. But there’s no way she can tell what I’m thinking. At least I hope not. Because I haven’t shared the truth about my family with her either. And I don’t think now is the right time to come clean.
Also she’s still touching my leg.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” she says.
“Tell me about it.”
“Okay.” She must take my words literally because she actually starts telling me. “My parents met on the set of R & R thirty years ago. My dad proposed to her on their first date.”
“Whoa.” Am I on a soap opera now? Do I have amnesia? This is nuts. “Your dad’s an actor too?”
“He was Sebastian Steele. Until they wrote him off the show,” she says. “It sounds so absurd when I hear myself saying it out loud.” She starts giggling then pulls her hand away to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I’m just glad she’s not sniffling anymore.
“His character died in a bungee jumping accident,” she says. “Now he’s just one of my mother’s managers.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “That had to be hard on their marriage. But proposing on the first date … That’s quite the epic love story.”
“You know what? I’m not sure they were in love back then.” She thinks for a moment. “It was more about being a spectacular couple. My dad was the handsomest man in any room. My mom was a debutante. Then a Rose Parade Queen. Then a TV star.” Her shoulders slump. “Imagine the disappointment when their only child didn’t want to be rich and famous. But that didn’t stop them from trying.”
She sniffles again. Uh oh.
“Trying what?” I ask.
“To change me!” She wipes her nose with a napkin again and a smear of pizza sauce stays on the tip. “My mother spent my entire life trying to change everything about me.”
Well. This explains a lot.
“Is that the real reason you left teaching?” I ask. “Because your mom didn’t think it was impressive enough?”
Brooke gulps once. Blinks twice. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally says. “That part of my life is over.”
When her voice breaks, I just want to wrap my arms around her. And hold her close. Breathe her in. I want to kiss that pizza sauce right off her nose.
But I’m afraid to scare her off.
If there’s a chance Brooke left her old life because of her mom—and nothing else—maybe she’ll stay in our lives beyond September. So I can’t risk pushing too hard now.
I’ve got to play this right.
“Now I get why you think pretending we eloped is a bad idea,” I say. “You’re worried your parents won’t be impressed by me, right?”
She shakes her head. But I’m not sure I believe her.
“Look,” I say. “I’m no Sebastian Steele, but my dad raised me to be a good man. I can stand up for you. I will stand up for you.”
“Oh, Mac. Of course you can.” She sighs. “And I really don’t care what my parents think. They’re just really superficial. And really controlling. I’m just exhausted by them. Really.”
I chuckle. “That’s a lot of reallys.”
Her mouth stretches into a smile. “I never claimed I was Jane Austen.”
“Maybe. But you sure are stubborn enough to be Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Ha!” She gawks at me.
“What?” I shrug. “You think construction guys don’t like books?”
“Seriously.” She laughs. “You’re telling me you’re into Jane Austen? You actually read Pride and Prejudice?”
I lift an eyebrow. “I watched the miniseries. With my sisters.”
Brooke starts cracking up, and I can’t help laughing with her. The mood has shifted. Maybe it’s not too late to convince her my fake elopement idea is a good one.
“So what do you say?” I ask. “Should we pretend we’re married? I’m willing to take the chance. Let’s show your parents I can take care of you. And by that, I mean you can take care of yourself.”
Her mouth curls up on one side. “That’s a lot of takes.”
“I never claimed I was William Shakespeare.”
“Ha!” She grabs the slice of pizza she’d been working on and chomps another bite out of it. Then another. She nods and chews at the same time. It’s like her wheels are spinning through her teeth. “You know what?” she says. “Let’s do it. My parents will absolutely hate the idea of me settling for you. No offense.”
“None taken.” I smirk. “Mostly.”
“More importantly, I’m tired of feeling like a little girl around them. My parents treat me like a child who can’t make her own decisions. But instead of standing up to them, I quit my job and ran away.”
“Actually, that sounds like a pretty aggressive decision,” I say. “And I seem to recall you doing a pretty aggressive cheer in the library for Mr. Dudley the day we met.” I take a beat. “And there were hand movements too.” I stick my arms out straight, then wave them up and down. “B-E A-G-G— Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Stop!”
When I chuckle, she punches my arm. Not hard. Just playfully. This woman is adorable.
“If you don’t stop spelling out that cheer immediately—with or without the hand movements—I’ll never forgive you. Not even if you were Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“Got it. Cease and desist.” I raise both palms in surrender. “But my point stands. You need to give yourself more credit. You’ve been making a life for yourself up here. Making things work when the going gets tough. You should be proud.”
Brooke manages a half-smile. “That’s sweet of you to say, but clearly, my parents don’t agree.”
“So we’ll show them when they come.” I take her hand. “I’ve got your back. Team Brooke all the way.”
Something shifts in her eyes, like maybe I got too serious. All I know is she pulls her hand away and shoves the rest of that slice of pizza in her mouth.
“Whoa. You’re really hungry, after all, huh?”
“Nope,” she says with her mouth full. “Just nervous. I always eat when I’m nervous. And happy. And sad.” A crumb of crust pops out of her mouth and lands on my shirt.
She blushes hard. Still adorable.
“Oh my gosh. I’m spitting all over you. I’m a total mess.” She grabs a napkin and starts pressing it to my chest, then she blushes even harder.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” I dab up the crumb and toss the napkin in the pizza box. “So. When did you say your parents are coming?”
“I didn’t, but I’ll find out right now.” Brooke hops up to get her phone. She comes back to the couch and taps out a quick text. While we wait for the reply, neither of us talks. She just sits there, biting her lip. Then her phone dings. “She says they’re flying up Sunday. Late afternoon.”
“Great. So we’ll be waiting for them when they land, and we’ll bring them back here for dinner. I’ll play the chivalrous husband doing airport runs. You’ll play the happy wife who’s made a new life for herself.” I grin at her. “We’ll be better actors than Kerrington and Sebastian Steele.”
Brooke shakes her head and my stomach plummets. Like that bungee jump that killed off her father in Rage & Redemption.
“You think it’s a bad idea?”
“I think we don’t need to pick my parents up.”
“It’s okay. I actually like going to the airport. It’s an easy good deed. Makes me feel good.”
I try another grin. But her eyes cut away.
“The thing is,” she says, “I’m sure they’ll fly up in their private jet. And they’ll hire a car and a driver
. Probably a stretch limousine.” She wrings the napkin in her hand. I hope she’s not feeling guilty—about the money her parents have. And the money I’ve paid her. She doesn’t take any from them, and she’s earned what she’s gotten from me. Plus I’ve got plenty to give. More than plenty. She just doesn’t know that yet.
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little luxury,” I say, trying to make her feel better. “Your parents have earned it, right? I’m not defending them. It’s just—”
“It’s just that they never miss an opportunity to show off.” She sighs. “With Lenore and Robert, it’s all snobbery, all the time. You’ll see for yourself when they get here and try to find something nice to say about this place. Like how lucky you are that you don’t have too many rooms to keep clean.”
“Ah. Wonderful. Backhanded compliments are my favorite.”
Brooke winces. “It’s their specialty. But don’t worry. I know exactly how to handle them. I’ll serve a simple meal like hamburgers. Or better yet, lasagna. My mom won’t know what to do with a plate full of carbs.” She smirks. “They may not last through dinner.”
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t do something like this—make fools out of people on purpose. But I saw Brooke’s face when she talked about her parents. Those people made a strong woman feel weak.
So I’m okay with teaching the Wallaces a lesson.
Once they figure out they’ve been had, I’ll have to work extra hard to earn their trust.
But if Brooke can stick around now, it’ll be worth the effort.
Bonus points if she’s happy too. “I’m already looking forward to your lasagna,” I say.
“You should be excited. Pasta’s my strong suit.”
“Well done, wife.” I wink at her.
“Gah!” She drops her phone. Right into my lap.
“Sorry. Too soon to be calling you wife?”
“No.” Her shoulders creep up to her ears. Which are bright pink. “I guess we’d better get used to saying stuff like that by Sunday.”
“You know what else we have to do by Sunday?”
The Mostly Real McCoy: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Apple Valley Love Stories Book 1) Page 13