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

by Julie Christianson

  “You’ve got this,” Mac says. He puts his hand on my lower back. My body goes Zap! Pow! Zing! And I can’t help thinking about how much I’ll miss this. Not just the buzz from Mac’s touch, but his strength. This safety and security. Solidity. So many itys I’ve never felt.

  I didn’t know what I was missing.

  “Here goes nothing,” Mac says, opening the front door.

  And I’m seized by an impulse. Correction: a crazy impulse. “Wait!”

  Mac turns to me, and I hop up on tip toes and throw my arms around his neck. Then, without thinking twice, I kiss my pretend husband.

  Go, Brooke. Atta girl.

  Way to B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.

  I’d only expected to give him a quick peck, but Mac wraps his arms around me and draws me in closer. His lips are so tender, brushing against mine, slowly drinking me in. My bones turn to liquid. I’m a puddle of milk. This isn’t just a kiss. We are actually kissing.

  With an ing.

  Oh my, Brooke. I should stop this.

  Instead we keep on K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

  30

  Mac

  Yes, I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Brooke Wallace—multiple times—but I wasn’t prepared for this. The smoothness of her skin. The sweet scent at her neck. How incredible her lips taste. Like strawberries dipped in cream. And sure, I know we’re just pretending, but I’m giving Brooke my strongest work anyway. And at the same time, I’m learning that my fake wife’s awfully good at this.

  When she finally pulls away, it’s like velcro detaching from me. I don’t want our closeness to end. Not now. Not ever. In fact, I’m pretty sure I want to keep kissing this woman for the rest of my life.

  “Ahem!”

  Brooke’s father is standing on the porch. “Hope we’re not interrupting.” His mouth ticks up on one side. Is he amused? Huh. I didn’t expect that.

  Brooke’s mother is beside him, scowling. Definitely not amused. “Brooke, what’s going on here?”

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Brooke says. “Welcome to our home.” She motions for her parents to come inside and her ex saunters in behind them, sporting the world’s biggest smirk. I try to make eye contact with him, but he’s not having it.

  I don’t think I like this guy.

  Brooke hugs her father first, then she tries hugging her mother, who just pats her on the back. They’re all so stiff with each other. Like puppets in one of Daisy’s shows.

  “Don’t I get a hug?” her ex asks. Yeah. I really don’t like this guy. I’m about to tell him exactly what he can hug and where, but Brooke turns her back on him to introduce me.

  “Mom? Dad? This is Mac Bradford.” I feel a pang in my gut, remembering Brooke still doesn’t know my real name. “Mac, these are my parents. Lenore and Robert Wallace.”

  I nod. “Hello, sir. Hello, ma’am.” I stick out a hand, but Brooke’s ex pushes his way around them to intercept the first handshake.

  “Ethan Clifton,” he says, pumping my hand with a knuckle-crunching grip. He’s trying to prove he’s a tough guy, but all I want to do is wipe that smirk off his face.

  Robert Wallace comes up behind him and flashes me a quick smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mac.” He uses the normal amount of pressure with his handshake. Ethan Clifton could take some lessons.

  Brooke’s mother glides up next, looking me over from head to toe. Her clothes are bright and glittery. Like Glinda, the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone new today.” She extends a hand. Elegant and formal. I don’t know if I’m supposed to kiss her hand or bow over it. So I just shake her fingers.

  Awkward.

  “Mrs. Wallace,” I say. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “Finally?” She pastes on a sugary grin. “Why, I’ve never even heard of you, Mac. Then again, our Brooke always was full of surprises.” As Mrs. Wallace checks out the room, taking in the details of my home, I can almost taste the disapproval. Forget what I said before. This woman is the Wicked Witch of the West.

  “Jenkins!” she calls out to their chauffeur who’s still standing on the porch. “Wait for us in the car. I’m beginning to think we won’t be here for long.”

  “No!” Brooke pipes up. “Mac and I were hoping you’d stay for dinner.” She reaches out to clutch my hand. I give hers a squeeze.

  “Jenkins is welcome too,” I say.

  Mrs. Wallace smiles with gritted teeth. “Thank you, Mac, but Jenkins doesn’t take his meals with us. He simply wouldn’t feel comfortable. And Brooke … sweetheart … Daddy and I flew up here today to visit … with you.” She draws out the words, like gentleness is a chore. “We were expecting to see your new apartment.” Her eyes dart to me, then back to Brooke. “So I don’t understand why you had us meet you here.” Her smile slips to a grimace on the word here. “And I really don’t understand why we found you in an … embrace … with some stranger when we arrived.” She lifts her chin. “This is all highly irregular.”

  “On the contrary, Mother.” Brooke squares her shoulders. “Mac isn’t some stranger.” She gazes up at me again, fluttering her lashes. Really laying it on thick. “And I think it’s highly regular for a wife to kiss her husband.”

  “Husband?” Mrs. Wallace gasps. Her eyelids fly open like they’re propped up with broomsticks. Definitely fitting. “Robert. Are you listening to this?”

  “That’s right, Mother. Mac and I are married.” Brooke flashes her ring and the stone sparkles, probably reflecting off the glow from Ethan Clifton’s teeth. I like this feisty side of Brooke. I’ll have to remember to kiss her a lot more often.

  Mrs. Wallace scoffs. “You can’t be married.”

  “Oh, but we are,” Brooke says. “Mac and I eloped last month … at a little chapel … in Las Vegas.” We hadn’t discussed this part of the story, so Brooke’s improvising now.

  Mrs. Wallace recoils in horror. “Las Vegas?” The place sounds like ice in her mouth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I chime in. “I told Brooke I wanted to meet you and Mr. Wallace first, but—”

  “But it all happened too quickly,” Brooke interrupts. “We met at the library one night and fell head over heels. Just like that.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Right, Mac?” Her gaze slips to mine and her eyes sparkle. Just like the ring. My pulse picks up because Brooke’s looking at me like she means it.

  Like this is all true.

  “Absolutely.” I gulp. “It was love at first sight.”

  “And that’s why I didn’t answer any of your calls or texts, Mom.” Brooke grins. Triumphantly. “Mac and I have been too busy newlywedding.”

  “Well, well, Mac.” Mr. Wallace claps my shoulder and a crooked smile takes over his face. “This is some big news. You not only married my daughter, you’ve accomplished the impossible.” He nods at Mrs. Wallace whose jaw is unhinged now. “My wife is speechless.” He begins to chuckle. “So, please, call me Robert. And you’d better start calling her Lenore.”

  Before I can respond, Ethan steps forward. A slice of white teeth gleams. “Good job, Bradford. You beat me to the altar. I never even had a chance to propose.”

  I clench my fist at the thought of this guy getting down on one knee in front of Brooke.

  “Let’s just hope the better man won,” he says.

  Brooke blurts out, “I’m the real winner.” When she hiccups, I let my hand slide to her waist. Lenore stretches her neck up like a swan. Finally unfrozen.

  “Brooke Wilhelmina Wallace. Have you been drinking?”

  “Of course not, Mom.” Hiccup. “But I’m Brooke Bradford now. I took Mac’s last name.”

  Lenore sucks in her cheeks. All the blood is draining from them. “Are you saying you really got married without me?” There’s a hitch to her voice. A beat of sadness.

  “Well.” Brooke hiccups again. “You’ve always hated Vegas.”

  Lenore stiffens. And I almost feel bad for her. Until she turns to Ethan. “I’m afraid I m
ust apologize for my daughter’s outrageous behavior. Robert and I brought you here today hoping you and Brooke could repair your relationship. Now it appears she’s wasted everyone’s time.”

  Ethan winks at her. “The day’s not over, Lenore.”

  “You’re right.” I throw an arm around Brooke, claiming my territory like a real husband would. “Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, I know things didn’t work out the way you expected, but like Brooke told you all before, we do hope you’ll stay for dinner.”

  “Yes.” Brooke snuggles into the crook of me, and my chest expands. “We owe you a good meal before you leave. And anyway, we have another big surprise for you.” All eyes shift to Brooke. “Our daughter wants to perform for you.”

  A long, strangled noise escapes from Lenore’s mouth. The sound ends in a squeak. Like she swallowed a mouse. “Your who wants to what?”

  “Our daughter,” Brooke says. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad. You’re grandparents.”

  Lenore gasps again, and lifts a hand to her throat. Like she’s choking.

  “Daisy’s my little girl,” I tell her. “She’s almost five.”

  “So. What do you think, Mom?” Brooke asks. “Would you like to be called Granny? Or Grams? How about MeeMaw?”

  Robert breaks his silence with a long, loud cackle. “Oh, Lenore!” He puts a hand to his chest and raises the other like he can’t contain the laughter. “Please pick MeeMaw. I beg you!”

  Lenore flares her nostrils. “Well, that would make you PeePaw.”

  Robert cackles even harder.

  “Okay,” Brooke says. “MeeMaw and PeePaw it is.”

  Lenore lets out an enormous breath. After a couple of beats, she pulls herself together, and pastes on that sugary smile again. “Brooke. Sweetheart. Where exactly is this mystery granddaughter?”

  As if on cue, Daisy tromps into the room. Her dress is wrinkled, and she’s got streaks of marker on her forehead. “Attention, people!” She holds up her stuffed frog prince and Tuttle. “The show is about to begin!”

  By now, Robert’s laughing so hard, he’s practically in tears. “Dinner and a show?” He swipes at his eyes. “Oh, of course we’ll stay. Won’t we, MeeMaw?”

  Daisy skips over to Lenore. “You look like a queen!” She cocks her head. “But Book’s already the queen. And Daddy’s the king.” Daisy shrugs. “You can be the maid.”

  “Ack!” Lenore squawks.

  Daisy points at Robert. “You be the butler.” She looks at Ethan. “You’re the cook.”

  Then she takes Lenore’s hand. “Now come with me, maid.” As Daisy drags her into the other room, Lenore looks back over her shoulder.

  “Robert, what is happening?”

  He stifles his laughter. “I believe we’re about to find out.”

  Everyone follows Daisy across the house where she’s set up rows of puppets and stuffed animals. They’re all facing a giant poster board with her name scribbled in a rainbow of markers. Daisy directs the butler and the maid to the couch. She tells the cook to take one of the arm chairs. That leaves one other armchair free for Brooke and me.

  “The queen shares the throne with the king,” Daisy announces.

  Brooke waits for me to sit before settling on my lap. She fits perfectly in my arms. Like a puzzle piece I didn’t know was missing.

  As she leans against me, I catch her scent. Not perfume or lotion. Just Brooke’s own one-of-a-kind sweetness. My heart’s already pounding when Daisy claps for our attention.

  “Does everybody want Ragtime Cowboy Joe?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she starts prancing around, mugging for what might be the strangest audience ever. She stops in front of the couch to sing for the maid and the butler. Robert chuckles and Lenore grips her seat. Ethan taps his toe and checks his watch.

  Sorry you’re so busy, buddy.

  Brooke bends her neck back to whisper to me. “Is it weird that I’m enjoying this?”

  I wrap my arms around her. “Totally weird. But I love it.”

  At the end of Daisy’s song, Brooke and I clap wildly and beg for more. So Daisy performs a play she made up “all by herself.” A jumbled mashup of Goldilocks and Rapunzel.

  She does the voices for each puppet like a ventriloquist—the world’s worst ventriloquist. After months of silence, she’s having so much fun. I don’t want the show to end.

  When a timer starts buzzing in the kitchen, Brooke hops up from my lap. “That would be the lasagna.”

  “Need any help, wife?” I ask her. Loudly.

  “No thank you, husband,” she answers. Also loudly. “Just be an excellent host and take our guests to the dining room.”

  “I will!” Daisy crows.

  At this point, I half expect the Wallaces to announce they’re leaving, but Robert walks up to Daisy. “Lead the way, my dear.”

  Brooke’s already set the table with everyday plates and flatware. Casual glasses instead of crystal. The tabletop is draped with a plain white cloth. A mason jar of fresh flowers and a couple of candlesticks serve as a centerpiece. The look is clean and simple.

  I love it.

  You love her.

  Robert pulls out a chair for his wife, then he slides into the seat beside her. Lenore’s eyes are a little glazed, like she can’t believe any of this is happening.

  Yeah. That makes two of us.

  Ethan saddles up across from Mr. and Mrs. Wallace. Daisy sits on the same side as Ethan, but puts Tuttle and Frog on a chair between them. I take the empty spot at one end of the table just as Brooke comes in from the kitchen. She’s carrying a steaming pan of lasagna. The scent of oregano and tomato fills the air.

  “Smells delicious, wife,” I say.

  Her cheeks go pink. Man, she’s adorable when she blushes. She sets the tray of lasagna in front of her mother. “I’ll be right back with the salad and rolls. In the meantime, help yourselves.”

  Lenore glances around confused, like she’s never served herself before.

  “Allow me,” I say, dishing out a portion for her. “Watch out for the sauce.” She lifts her napkin to block her clothes as I slip some lasagna onto her plate. I get up to serve Daisy next, then Robert. I save Ethan for last. When I plop a slab of lasagna on his plate, some tomato sauce splashes on his suit.

  Oops.

  Back from the kitchen, Brooke hands the basket of rolls to her mom. Lenore takes a roll and starts ripping it into bits. She puts one piece on her tongue like a cough drop.

  “This looks fantastic, Brooke,” Robert says. “But who taught you to cook? I know it wasn’t your mother.”

  Lenore swallows. “Very funny.” She tosses the rest of her roll onto her plate like she’s mad at the bread.

  “Come on. I’m just teasing.” He nudges her elbow. “You can take a joke.”

  Brooke passes the salad bowl to Ethan. “Emi and I took a cooking class a couple years ago. But she’s much better than I am.”

  “Well.” Lenore raises an eyebrow. “How lucky for her fiancé.”

  “It would’ve been.” Brooke frowns. “But they’re not together anymore.”

  “What a shame.” Lenore tsks. “That must be awkward for you, though. Getting married before your friend. She was engaged for a long time as I recall.”

  Brooke shrugs. “Why do you care, Mom? You never liked Emi.”

  “Of course I did.” Lenore wrinkles her brow. “It’s just too bad the poor girl never learned how to properly apply makeup.”

  “Ha!” Brooke snorts. “Emi’s gorgeous just as she is, Mom. She’ll have no problem finding a better man than Travis.”

  Lenore turns to address me. “Obviously you’re able to see my daughter’s natural beauty, Mac.”

  I’ve got a mouthful of roll, but I manage to choke out, “You bet I do.”

  “Hmm.” Lenore dabs her mouth with a napkin even though she’s only eaten one crumb of bread. “Isn’t that wonderful. For both of you.”

  I’m not sure if this is a compliment to me or to Broo
ke. To both of us. Or neither. Brooke looks at me and cocks her head. Puzzled.

  Yeah. Me, too, wife.

  I bob my head at Lenore. “Thank you, ma’am. I guess.” She nods and we all get quiet for a stretch, working on our dinner, scraping forks across our plates. I shove another half of a roll in my mouth. The bread is just the right amount of tough on the outside, but soft inside.

  Kind of like Brooke.

  “Hey, Mac,” Ethan says. He’s got a string of mozzarella hanging from his chin, but I don’t tell him. “What sort of business are you in?”

  My mouth is full of roll, so Brooke answers. “Mac’s in construction.”

  “Ah.” Ethan nods. “Nice. A concrete man, huh?”

  I swallow. “Something like that.”

  Ethan leans back, chest puffing up. “I’m more of an entrepreneur.”

  Brooke sets down her fork. “By that Ethan means he uses other people’s money to invest in vulnerable companies. Or to dismantle them. One of Ethan’s best tricks is buying places only to end up taking them apart.”

  Ethan splays his hands. “Guilty as charged. But I managed to take pretty good care of you. While you let me.”

  The cords of my neck go tight. “Well, that’s all water under the bridge now.” I square my jaw and glance at Brooke. “For the record, Brooke can take care of herself.”

  “Yeah.” Ethan smirks. “She’s doing a real bang-up job.”

  Brooke’s eyes flash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Robert taps a spoon against his water glass. “Now, now, everyone.” He waits until all eyes are on him, then he aims his spoon at Daisy. “This little lady went out of her way to entertain us with her play tonight. And my daughter has prepared this meal for everybody to enjoy. So, let’s try to get along, shall we?”

  Lenore spears a crouton with her fork. “I think I’m getting along with everyone quite well, actually.”

  Robert’s mouth twitches. “That would be a first for you, wouldn’t it, MeeMaw.”

  Daisy starts giggling. “MeeMaw the maid!”