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

by Julie Christianson

  That’s when Daisy scrambles up onto a dining room chair for the grand finale.

  “When Book and Daddy and Daisy get to Hawaii,” she sings, “We’ll be on. Our. Hon. E. Moon!”

  Boom. There it is.

  Daisy chucks her frog and turtle at us. Then she leaps down from the chair. “We’re married now!” she shouts. “Ta Da!”

  There’s a moment of silence while everyone figures out what Daisy means. Then the crowd goes wild.

  All right. Full disclosure, it’s not so much a crowd as a few people on both coasts who mean the world to us. But the best part?

  It’s all true.

  I pretended to marry Brooke. Then I married her for real. And if I could, I’d take wedding vows with Brooke McCoy today. Tomorrow. One more time. A million more times.

  Do it again, Mac.

  Lucky me.

  One month later…

  Emi

  I’m sitting across from Brooke at a booth in the front window of Luigi’s, flipping through their menu. So many yummy choices. Spaghetti Bolognese? Chicken parmesan? Linguini with clams?

  I’ll take one of each, please.

  The smell of marinara sauce and hot cheese is already making my mouth water, but Brooke doesn’t want to order until Mac arrives. I guess that’s what happy couples do—patiently wait for each other. I wouldn’t know. Travis was impatient long before he left me for Fiona from accounting.

  The heart wants what the heart wants, he told me.

  Thanks for the cliché, I said. Allow me to suggest a place on your body to have that tattooed.

  Hint: It wasn’t his heart.

  I glance over at the swinging doors of the kitchen now, hoping a waitress might appear with … hmm … let’s say a surprise Margherita pizza.

  Brooke must notice me looking for a waitress, because she checks her phone for the third time. “Sorry Mac’s running late.”

  I set my menu down. “I’m just glad to be here. I’ve really missed you.”

  Also, I’d get my butt tattooed in exchange for a basket of bread.

  “Daisy’s with Tess,” Brooke says. “Did I tell you that already?”

  “You sure did.” I offer her my warmest-slash-hungriest smile. She smiles back, then cranes her neck toward the window.

  Wow.

  I guess happy couples can’t be away from each other for more than fifteen minutes either.

  The newlyweds just got back from their honeymoon where they took an absurd amount of pictures. They also took Daisy because they’re a three-person package deal now. Mac is picking up the album from the photo studio and bringing it here soon. Hopefully before I expire from a lack of carbs.

  “You must be excited to see the pictures all together in one album,” I say. “Thanks for letting me be a part of the big reveal.”

  “Wait until you get a load of Daisy doing karaoke dressed as a mini Elvis.” Brooke smiles and shakes her head. “It was just the right amount of too much.”

  “I’ll bet.” I shrug. “Honestly, the thought of singing karaoke makes me break into a cold sweat. But I can imagine Daisy’s a pro.” I spoon the lemon slice from my water and drop it on my empty bread plate. “I still can’t believe you didn’t sneak in even one selfie with Mac at the courthouse. That was your only shot at wedding pictures.” I tsk. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  Brooke laughs, but her fingertips tap the white tablecloth. Soft little thuds. I’m about to ask her if she’s got something on her mind when a waiter emerges from the kitchen. He makes a beeline for our table with a basket of greasy, garlicky rolls.

  Although I’m lightheaded from hunger, I offer a roll to Brooke first. We’re here to celebrate her, after all. Her beachside tan. Her instant family. Her insanely happy marriage. I’d be (the tiniest bit) jealous if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve sworn off relationships for good.

  From now on I’m saving all my love for garlic bread.

  When Brooke waves the basket away, I pluck out a roll for myself. It’s so warm and soft and aromatic, I practically weep with joy. I’ve already got half the roll in my mouth when Mac appears in the window. He grins at us and waves. In his other arm is a photo album.

  And who is that walking beside him?

  Is that …

  Oh no. No, no, no, no.

  Nash Hendrix.

  The Nash Hendrix.

  The one who ruined my life.

  “Gah,” I choke. “Argh!” I feel betrayed by my own esophagus.

  “I’m so sorry, Em,” Brooke blurts out. “This was all Mac’s idea.”

  Nash eyes me through the window. Then both men head toward the entrance. If I run out the back of the restaurant, I’d set off the fire alarm, but this is a 911-level emergency.

  “Mac was hoping you and Nash might kiss and make up.” Brooke cringes. “Without actually kissing.”

  “Ack!” Good thing there’s no food in my stomach or I would definitely throw up.

  Why oh why did I put on this dress today? It’s the color and shape of a potato sack. Meanwhile Nash is on his way over in a pair of well-cut jeans and a vintage T-shirt.

  Cherry red. Like my face.

  I’m not sure whether to spit out my half-chewed roll or keep gagging on it. Which option would be less humiliating? If I could, I’d pick spontaneous combustion. Instead I lift my napkin to discreetly rid my mouth of the completely mangled roll.

  Too bad my breath already smells like garlic.

  “Hey, Em.” Mac slides into the booth next to Brooke and sets the photo album on the table.

  I manage to squeak out a strangled sound.

  Basically I say blergh.

  When Nash looks down at me, a swoop of black hair brushes his lashes. Of course his dark eyes are beautiful. Even with those smile lines at the corners.

  “Yeah, Mac ambushed me too,” he says. “But I figured you and I could call a temporary ceasefire while the newly minted McCoys fill you in on what’s going on.”

  He sticks his hand out. “Truce?” Is he kidding?

  Also what’s going on?

  I glance across the table at Mac and Brooke, then back at Nash’s hand. “No thank you.”

  “Fine.” Nash retracts his hand. “But I think I’ll sit for this anyway.”

  He slips into the booth beside me.

  And my garlic breath.

  Blergh.

  I keep my face aimed away from Nash, but darn it if the guy doesn’t smell more delicious than anything in this restaurant. Spicy cologne mixed with something earthier. Like the earth I’d like to crawl under right now.

  I sniff. Not Nash. Just the air. Sheesh. Change the subject, Emi.

  “So…is this about the photo album?” I ask.

  “Indirectly.” Mac’s lip ticks up on one side. “Getting married at the courthouse was great, but it turns out my mother and sisters and grandmother—all the family from my hometown really—they want to celebrate with us.”

  I gulp. Saliva and garlic.

  “Brooke’s mother offered to plan an actual ceremony and reception for us,” he says. “Down in LA.”

  “You know my mom lives for these things,” Brooke says. “So Mac and I thought, why not let the whole family be a part of our happily ever after?”

  “Oh. Wow.” Happily ever after. Right. A crack forms in my heart. Just a small stab. A minor poke.

  Remember, Em? You’re done with love. It’s just you and your garlic roll now.

  “My mom has this vision of me wearing the same gown she wore when Kerrington Steele married Sebastian on Rage & Redemption.”

  “Whoa,” Nash says. “That’s … different.”

  “Different is one word for it.” Brooke wrinkles up her nose. “Would you believe she’s already commissioned some famous Beverly Hills choreographer to make up a one-of-a-kind first dance for us?”

  I totally believe that.

  “They’d better include steps for two left feet,” Mac says.

  Brooke laughs at Mac's joke
a bit too brightly. This must be another thing happy couples do. “I know the whole thing sounds ridiculous,” she says. “And it is. But it’s for the family. I don’t want to say no.”

  I exhale, a little relieved. So Brooke and Mac are having an over-the-top family wedding in LA. Nowhere near me. No big deal.

  Nash grabs a roll and takes a bite. Good. Now he’ll have garlic breath too.

  “Anyway.” Mac reaches out and lays a hand over Brooke’s. “We were thinking that if we’re going to navigate this circus successfully, we’ll need allies by our sides. Which is why I asked Nash to be my best man.”

  Wait. He did what?

  “And I said yes,” Nash mumbles with his mouth full.

  “Emi.” Brooke cuts her eyes to me. They’re big and watery now.

  Uh oh.

  “I’m asking you to be my maid of honor.”

  My mouth is dry. Like bones. A skeleton. I’m definitely dead.

  “Mac has three sisters,” she says. “So I can’t single out one of them.” Her voice goes soft. “And you’re my sister, Em. You’re the only one who can keep me sane when my mom starts driving me crazy.”

  I glance sideways at Nash.

  “Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll keep my distance the whole time.”

  I clear my throat. “It’s Emi now.”

  Thanks to you.

  “All right.” Nash turns toward me. “Emi.”

  Somehow his breath is still sweet and minty. My stomach flips over. I really need some food.

  “For the record,” Mac says, “Nash had a reason for what he did back then.”

  Brooke glares at Mac, and I’m pretty sure she kicks him under the booth.

  “Not a good reason,” he backtracks. “But still. He’s really sorry.”

  Sure. I’ll just bet he is.

  Nash probably thinks it was harmless kid stuff.

  I can practically hear him shrugging it off.

  All I did was call her Enemy instead of Emily. A couple times. Back in fifth grade.

  Except when Nash called me Enemy, everyone else joined in. First the other students in our class. Then the entire school. Chants on the playground. Songs in the cafeteria. Let me tell you, it’s hard to finish your hot lunch while people are singing Enemy Jones is eating. Enemy Jones is eating.

  Nash’s kid-stuff nickname followed me through middle school, all the way to senior year.

  No one would take Enemy Jones to prom except Travis.

  And we all know how that turned out.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

  Brooke tilts her head. “I know you and Nash won’t ever be good friends, Em. But he doesn’t have to be your …” Her voice trails off.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Enemy?”

  “Huh,” Nash mutters. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why are you talking about it?”

  “I’m not!”

  His mouth quirks. “If this is you not talking about it, I’d hate to see what it would look like if you were talking about it.”

  All the blood in my body starts to boil and my heartbeat is throbbing in my ears.

  “I’m not talking about it!” I shout.

  Lovely.

  Everyone in the restaurant turns to stare.

  Just like the fifth grade cafeteria.

  “I am sorry,” Nash mumbles. Then he shifts again—this time turning away from me. When his leg brushes mine, he doesn’t try to move it. So I scoot all the way to the edge of the booth to get away from him.

  “See?” Mac bumps Brooke’s shoulder. “I told you these two could get along.”

  Brooke claps her hands together like she’s begging. Or praying. Or both. “Does that mean you’ll be my maid of honor?”

  Nash takes another roll from the basket. “She’s asking nicely, Emi.”

  I’d rather stuff him in a pizza oven than be the maid of honor if he’s best man. But Brooke says she needs me at her wedding. So I refuse to let Nash Hendrix—and his stupid grin and his stupider nickname—ruin my best friend’s day.

  Time for some quick calculations.

  Wedding ceremonies last about twenty minutes, and Nash and I will be on opposite sides of the church. Then I’ll simply avoid him at the reception. Those are only a few hours long.

  The biggest issue will be walking down the aisle together. But that takes about two minutes.

  So when you do the math, my wedding duties with Nash Hendrix are practically over already.

  I look at Brooke and her shiny, hopeful face.

  “Of course I’ll be your maid of honor.”

  “Hmm.” Nash picks up a menu.

  “What?” I grit my teeth.

  His mouth goes crooked. “I knew you’d say yes, Emi.”

  Blergh.

  I look across the restaurant to catch our waiter’s attention.

  If I’m going to survive this without killing Nash Hendrix, I’ll need another basket of rolls …

  The End

  Thank you so much for reading Book One of the Apple Valley Love Stories series! If you enjoyed Brooke and Mac’s story, please consider leaving a review.

  Book Two is Nash and Emi’s story. Look for My Own Best Enemy coming soon.

  For updates, join my newsletter, and you’ll get my novella My Red, White, & Blue Christmas FREE. Mac and Daisy are in this one too, plus a whole lot of other nuts I love. So let’s have some fun together!

  XO, Julie

  Also by Julie Christianson

  My Red, White, & Blue Christmas: A Novella

  My Own Worst Enemy (coming soon!)

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, there aren’t enough words to express my gratitude to the marvelous Jennie Goutet. She has helped, encouraged, and cheered me on every step of the way. This book wouldn’t exist without her.

  Big squishy hugs to my super-generous beta readers: Diane, Karen, Jennie, Diane (yes, there are two) and Courtney—you go above and beyond every time.

  And to my ARC team—you’re amazing. Thanks so much for signing on for this new genre and following through. (Hooray!)

  Thank you to Shaela Odd of Blue Water Books for her incredible covers; to Jolene Perry and Raneé Clark for their brilliant editing, and Kaylee Baldwin for her careful proofreading.

  To my extended family and friends, I adore you. Thanks for standing by me. Always.

  To Bill, Jack, and Karly—you have my whole heart and all the best inside jokes forever: “Unless you count that one time…”

  (And even though they can’t read this, I’m grateful to my three crazy rescue pups—Bailey, Scout, and Zoe—who keep me company every day. Now please stop shedding. :-)

  Finally, to my readers old and new, every single one of you is a dream come true.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  I’m the luckiest.

  About the Author

  Julie Christianson writes sweet romantic comedies—that is when she’s not reading them. A former English teacher and lapsed marathon runner, Julie lives in Southern California with her one husband, two kids, and three dogs. She’s madly in love with all of them, but there’s not a lot of room on her couch.

  To learn more, join Julie’s newsletter, visit her website, and follow her on Amazon and BookBub.