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

by Julie Christianson

  My insides twist. I can’t even speak.

  She bats her eyelids coyly. “I told him that was the right answer. Then I forgave him.” She presses a hand to her cheek. “You know what? I’m awfully glad I let Larry win that one. Think of all the fun we’d have missed if I hadn’t.”

  My whole body starts to shiver.

  I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  Mrs. Sprat’s smile wavers. “Is something wrong, dear?”

  “I need to get to my phone,” I say. “Now.”

  “What’s that, dear?” She lifts a hand to hear ear, but I don’t have time to explain.

  “How about I fill you in tomorrow, right before Mac moves your refrigerator?”

  I hug the baby book to my chest with one hand and lift my Snow White skirt with the other. Then I say a silent prayer that I won’t trip while I’m flying down these stairs.

  “Be careful, dear,” Mrs. Sprat calls out from the balcony.

  “Thanks, but I’m done being careful!”

  By the time I reach the car, my hands are shaking so badly, I can barely hold my phone. But I have two calls to make. Immediately. And I can’t wait until I calm down.

  My mom answers on the second ring, rushing to get her words out. “Brooke. Thank goodness. You were so upset when you left, your father and I have been worried. Are you all right?”

  Good question. Before I can answer, my mother presses on.

  “We’re sorry you felt you had to pretend to have a husband. And Mac seems like a good man. But your marriage ruse is over now. And your father and I forgive you.”

  Okay. This gets me talking.

  “That’s why I called, Mom. I’m not pretending anymore. Maybe I never was. Either way, I’m in love with Mac McCoy. And I love Daisy too. A lot. So I’m not going home with you and Dad after all. I’m going to stick it out up here and make a life for myself. On my own. No matter what.” My heart rattles behind my ribs. I’ve never meant anything more.

  “Oh, Brooke ...”

  “I’m not done yet.” My pulse is racing, but I’ve got to get this out. “No matter what happens with Mac and me, I won’t be running decisions by you anymore, or seeking your approval, or worrying about what you think. From now on, I’m living for me. Hopefully for them. For us.”

  “But what if—”

  “There aren’t any buts, Mom. No what ifs. And I mean it. You and Dad can be a part of my life, only if you let me move forward on my own terms. No criticism. No judgment. Of any kind. On any subject.”

  Her sigh is big enough for me to hear over the phone. “All right. I understand.”

  “Do you? Do you really think you and Dad can just be MeeMaw and PeePaw without interfering anymore? Like, forever?”

  There’s a dramatic pause—and where Lenore is concerned, I do mean dramatic—then she says, “For you, Brooke, I shall do my best.”

  “Ditto!” my dad’s voice booms.

  “Wait. Am I on speaker?” My stomach clenches. “Where are you two? Is Mac there?”

  “No. We’re back at the hotel,” my dad says. “The happy-hour snacks in the lobby are surprisingly good. These cheese and crackers have—”

  “That’s great, Dad. Gotta go.”

  I end the call, and my whole face flushes. Whoa, did that feel good. Still, I can’t celebrate yet, because this next call is the most important one of my life.

  To the love of my life.

  Too bad it goes straight to voicemail.

  I wait three minutes, then try again.

  When Mac doesn’t answer this time, I leave a message. I have to tell him what’s in my heart. I’m leaving nothing on the table anymore. No take backs. No regrets.

  “Hi, Mac,” I gush. “It’s Brooke. But you probably knew that already. Anyway, I’m sure I sound weird. Weirder than usual. That’s just because I’m nervous. And it’s a long story, but Mrs. Sprat reminded me that life is short and love is long, and you’re the one that I want.” I try to gulp but my throat’s too dry. “The thing is, Mac, you’re not like my parents. You’re the best person I know. And I love you more than anything. Also I love Daisy. I love her so much that I want to adopt her. Oh, wow. I just said that out loud, didn’t I? But it’s the truth, and I promise to be completely honest with you going forward. About everything. The hard stuff and the good. And if you’ll be honest back—if we’re always honest with each other—there’s no problem we can’t solve. Together. That’s the word I like the most right now. Together.” I gasp for air. I must’ve breathed during the message, but I can’t remember. “Anyway,” I add, “Call me back. Again, this is Brooke.”

  Gah.

  I drop the phone and sit in silence in the car. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I just need Mac to call me back.

  But he doesn’t call back.

  I try him four more times. He still doesn’t answer.

  Why isn’t he answering?

  After five long minutes of waiting—lump in my throat, lungs pumping hard—I decide I’d better head to work. If I’m going to stick around Apple Valley instead of running back to LA, I’ll need to keep my job. By the time I get across town, though, I’m a total mess. Picture a flustered security guard dressed like Snow White, clutching a baby book.

  Yep. That’s me.

  Things do not improve once I start rushing around the library—through the staff room, around the stacks—dressed as Snow White, looking for Emi. She promised to meet me here with a change of clothes before work. Emi’s got all of my clothes for that matter.

  But I can’t find her anywhere.

  Why is this happening to me?

  As I hurry past the reference desk, looking for Emi for the third time, Lucy Devlin blocks my body. She’s pushing a cart of books ready for shelving, and she wheels the cart between us.

  “Sorry, Brooke, but I have to ask.” She blows a strand of red hair from her mouth. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  “Have you seen Emi?” I blurt.

  “That’s not an answer to my question. But no. I haven’t seen her today. Are you all right?”

  I grab Lucy’s arm, hoping I don’t look as frantic and desperate as I feel. “But Emi was supposed to bring a change of clothes for me.”

  “Yeah.” Lucy skims her eyes over my Snow White costume. “I would definitely recommend changing.”

  “But I can’t find Emi!” I wail. “How can I change when she has every single piece of my clothing? And how come my life is falling apart? Am I completely unworthy of love? Is that it, Lucy? Am I unworthy?”

  “Wow.” Lucy scrunches up her face. “Those are some pretty big questions, Brooke.”

  The intercom system booms overhead. It’s Mr. Dudley’s voice. Besides radio silence from Mac, this is the absolute last thing I want to hear.

  “Security to the children’s section. I repeat: Ms. Wallace to the children’s section.”

  I roll my eyes. Could this day get any worse?

  Spinning around, I lose my grip on the baby book. As I scramble to catch it, I knock it to the floor even harder than it was already falling. The book smacks the ground and pops open. Pictures and news clippings and award notifications—all about my mother—scatter everywhere.

  Lucy bends down to help me scoop up the wreckage. After holding several of the photographs up to examine them, she eyes me sideways. “No way. Brooke. Is this baby you? Your mom is that lady from that soap opera?”

  Note to self: Don’t ever ask if your day could get any worse.

  Mr. Dudley summons me over the intercom again. “Security guard to the children’s section. That means you, Ms. Wallace. Immediately.”

  Lucy flashes me a sympathetic look. “I’ll clean this mess up for you. You’d better go. Sounds important.”

  I march across the library, muttering to myself about just how far one woman’s hopes could fall in a single day. Then I take a shortcut between two long rows of puppets and come out into the children’s area. Mr. Dudley is standing there.

  Fa
bulous.

  “Where have you been, Ms. Wallace?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Dudley.” I nod at the giant wall clock over the children’s reference desk. “I haven’t even signed in for my shift today. Technically I’m not getting paid yet.”

  “Be that as it may,” he sputters.

  Well. It may be unpaid.

  I dart my eyes around the children’s area. No Mrs. Dodd singing show tunes. No one is trying to steal any books. “I’m here now, Mr. Dudley. What’s the big emergency?”

  He nods toward the back corner of the library. “It seems that a small child has barricaded herself over in the Little Tikes house. She’s refusing to come out, and we can’t find the adult who’s responsible for her. The situation is, quite frankly, unacceptable.”

  My stomach heaves. With extra heaving.

  No. It can’t be. Can it?

  Mr. Dudley puffs out his cheeks. “I trust you can handle this, Ms. Wallace.”

  Well. That’s good. Because I’m not sure I trust myself.

  As I walk over to the same corner where I first met Mac and Daisy, I wrap both arms around myself. I’m trying to hold it together, but I feel like I’m coming apart at every seam.

  Sure enough, when I approach the play area, I spot two little feet poking out from the Little Tikes house. Above the feet is the bottom of a mermaid tail. And inside the Ariel costume is Daisy McCoy.

  “Hey, Princess.” My voice shakes. “You’ve got to come out of there.” She wiggles her feet. “This isn’t a game, Daisy. Who brought you here? Auntie Tess? Daddy?”

  She says nothing. The truth is, either option terrifies me. I dumped Daisy’s future care on Tess with zero warning. I abandoned poor Daisy with a vague plan to keep in touch going forward. And I left Mac—the man I adore with all my heart—without even saying goodbye.

  I want to beg them all for forgiveness. In fact, I already tried.

  But Mac wouldn’t answer his phone when he saw it was me calling.

  Six times.

  For now, though, I probably should get Daisy out of the playhouse. The typical explosion of plastic kitchenware and pretend food is scattered on the carpet. In the middle of the pile is an ear of corn. The ear of corn. When I bend over to pick it up, I risk a quick peek inside the playhouse. Daisy’s big eyes stare back at me. Is she scared? Frustrated? Sad?

  Yep. I relate, Princess.

  I stick the corn up to my ear like I did the day Daisy and I met.

  “What’s that, Mr. Corn? You want to say something to Daisy? Hmm. I’m not sure if she’ll talk to you. But I can try.”

  I hold the corn out. Daisy crawls to the door of the playhouse.

  “Mr. Corn wants to tell you something.”

  Daisy shakes her head.

  “Then I’ll ask Mr. Corn what he wants to say.” I lift the corn back to my ear and nod my head like I’m listening. Then I smile at Daisy.

  “Mr. Corn says he’s very sorry he left you today, Princess. He also thinks you’re an amazing little girl, and you’re going to have a super-great time in kindergarten.” Daisy tilts her head, but she doesn’t move. “Also, no matter where he goes, or what happens in the future, Mr. Corn promises he will always, always talk to you. Even if you don’t want to talk back. Even if it’s on a computer screen or over the phone. Okay?”

  Daisy might still be frozen, but inside me is a volcano of feelings. I surrender what’s left of my dignity and let the lava flow.

  “This next part is the most important, so listen carefully, Princess. Mr. Corn wants me to tell you he loves you. Very much.” My words snag in my throat. When I pause for a breath, Daisy scrambles to her feet. I drop the corn.

  “I want to tell you I love you, Daisy.” I point to my chest. Right over my heart. “Me. Book Wallace. I love you. And nothing will ever change that. Do you understand?”

  Standing in the doorway, Daisy lifts her small fist, draws back, and hurls something at me.

  My hands scramble and bobble, but I clamp it to my chest.

  Right over my heart.

  It’s not a pork chop or a porterhouse steak. It’s a tiny box.

  Daisy darts her eyes over my shoulder, and I spin around.

  Mac is standing behind me. His eyes are warm and bright. His grin is warmer and brighter.

  Beyond him, between two rows of puppets, are my mom and dad. Tess and Emi. Even Mr. Dudley. Their eyes skitter away from me, and suddenly everyone’s pretending to be extremely interested in the nearest puppet.

  Whoa.

  Is this a concussion? Did I actually trip and fall down the stairs back at my apartment?

  Mac tilts his head. “No, you’re not dreaming.”

  How does the man always guess what I’m thinking?

  He reaches for my hand, and sparks shoot up my arm and through my head and out the ceiling.

  “I got your message,” he says. “And you're right. The two of us need to have a conversation. Lots of them. But we don't have to figure out our whole future yet. Nobody can do that until the future comes. What’s important is that we’re honest with each other. That when things get hard, we have each other’s backs. You and me. I’m all in.”

  I can’t speak so I just squeeze his hand. It’s big and warm. Strong and sure. The hand of a man who works hard and cares harder. The hand I want in mine for the rest of my life.

  He smiles. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I nod.

  He drops to one knee.

  My heart hits the floor.

  “Brooke Wilhelmina Wallace,” he begins, and the seam in my heart that he’s already opened up starts filling my insides with hope. “You are the great love of my life. And if you’ll let me, I will cherish you every day for the rest of yours.”

  My throat is still clogged, but I swallow the lump. “Was that a question?”

  “Almost.” His eyes twinkle. “How about this: Will you marry me and become the real Mrs. McCoy?”

  “Yes,” I exhale. “Yes.”

  A dimple presses into his cheek. “There’s just one problem,” he says.

  “What?”

  “You’re still holding the ring.”

  “Oh!” I toss the box at him. He pops the top and plucks out the most beautiful diamond anyone ever thought was fake.

  “I hope you never take this off again.” Mac McCoy slips the ring onto my finger. I’m so happy, I just nod. I can’t even say the word yes. But sometimes silence speaks for itself.

  Daisy taught me that.

  Mac stands again, unfolding himself to his full height while I raise myself on tiptoes in my Snow White slippers. As he pulls me against him, I tilt my chin up. He lowers his mouth slowly to mine, closing the space between us. Time stretches. It feels like an eternity waiting for his touch.

  “Mac,” I whisper.

  “Mine.”

  He brushes my lips with his, and every particle in my body bursts wide open. With joy. With love. I’m a supernova in the children’s section of the Edward R. McCoy Library.

  From behind us comes a giggle.

  We break away from each other and I turn.

  Daisy’s there in her mermaid costume, hopping up and down.

  She claps her hands and smiles at me.

  “Book. Do it again.”

  Epilogue

  Mac

  For the record, Brooke and I were first in line at the courthouse the next morning. We asked Tess to watch Daisy while we went to see about Brooke adopting Daisy. The folks there told us the adoption process might take a bit of time, but that’s okay. We’re in this for the long haul now.

  Since Brooke and I also got married.

  Yep. You read that right.

  We figured we’re both ready for forever, and we were already at the courthouse. Why not put a ring on it for real? Just the two of us. Tying the knot.

  We didn’t tell anybody beforehand. Not Brooke’s parents or my mom. Not Emi or Nash. Not my sisters. Nope. Getting hitched—all on our own—was the first step toward
doing things our way. And let me tell you.

  I’m a fan.

  After the justice of the peace pronounced us husband and wife, Brooke and I picked up Daisy. Then we all swung by Mrs. Sprat’s apartment with some French fries and a couple of Filet-O-Fish. Daisy hopped around the balcony while Mrs. Sprat fed Galileo. I moved Mrs. Sprat’s refrigerator. Brooke and I cleaned behind it.

  Teamwork is my new favorite word.

  Our final errand of the day was heading to Apple Valley Auto to pick up Brooke’s Relica. My bride sure does love that old bucket of bolts. And now that it’s repaired, I kinda love it too. After all, her car breaking down at just the right moment is how we ended up together. Truth is, I was feeling wrecked myself that night. And Brooke thought she was broken too. We’d been sputtering along like a couple of cars in need of new parts. But we weren’t looking to be fixed.

  We were looking for each other.

  One month later, here we are. Everyone’s gathered in our living room. Daisy’s about to put on a final puppet show before MeeMaw and PeePaw fly home to LA.

  I move my laptop to the coffee table so the screen’s got a better angle. That’s because Brooke arranged for my mom and grandmother to watch from Abieville. FaceTime is magic.

  So is my wife.

  My mom’s grinning at me now from the couch in Big Mama’s living room. “Can you all see okay there?”

  “I think so,” she says. “Is that Daisy behind you?”

  Daisy hops up to the screen. “Hi, Big Mama! Hi, Little Mama!”

  While they’re both still waving at her, Daisy spins away like a pigtailed tornado. Then with her frog in one hand and her turtle in the other, my girl starts belting out the song I helped her write.

  “We’ll be flying away soon.” Hop. “We want to sing a happy tune.” Hop, hop. “Because we just couldn’t wait ’til June.” Hop, hop, hop.

  When Brooke snickers next to me, I give her a nudge. “I might not be great with lyrics, but the good stuff’s coming. Promise.”