Chapter 17
seventeen
brADY
Mac didn’t have to lock the gate in the evenings.
Now that she was management, she could delegate the task to someone else.
So, she didn’t really need to walk down the path to where it met the highway and drag the metal rungs across the pavement. But she still did it.
“Hi,” I called with a grin when she came into view.
Her hair was in a thick braid over one shoulder, and she wore a navy cardigan to ward off the spring chill.
She smiled. “Hey.”
I crossed the highway and met her at the end of the drive. I wrapped my arms around her as I lifted her off her feet. Mac laughed as my lips met hers, and I didn’t think I’d ever been this happy in my whole life.
The sound of an engine coming down the road had me placing her back on her feet and shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
“You busy?” she asked. “You want to come up?”
It was a Sunday, and Grandpappy’s closed at five. We hadn’t made plans for the night, but we generally always ended up together in one way or another at the end of the day .
“I could be persuaded.”
She gave me an amused shove as she went to retrieve the chain, but I beat her to it.
“What’d you have in mind?” I asked once the entrance to Grandpappy’s had been closed off.
“I have to close up the office, but then I wanted to plant the sunflower field. Uncle William already plowed it, so it’s ready to go. And I know Will planned to come down and do it after the last freeze, but I just thought I’d help out.”
“Yeah, count me in.”
So we made our way up the drive, chatting about our days. I told her about how Amos went to another Dungeons and Dragons event at the library downtown. And she told me that Bonnie wanted to start a team for the bowling league down at the Lucky Strike on Thursdays.
Everyone was gone by the time our boots brought us to the Bake Shop. It felt like we had the whole farm to ourselves.
When we approached the door to Mac’s office, I noticed the shiny brass nameplate on the front and raised my eyebrows.
Manager of Farm Operations and Social Media Director
Mac appeared bashful but pleased. “My grandma Nola had it made and sent it to me.”
I grinned. “Authority looks good on you, Clark.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning the handle and opening the door.
I’d been in Mac’s office a lot in the last few months. We ate lunch here together at least three days a week. I’d had her bent over the desk last Thursday, and she’d repeated her Christmas party blow job performance several times since the office had become hers.
I wasn’t a stranger to her space, but I always found new additions. Local artwork on the wall. A family photo in a frame on the bookcase. Postcards tentatively added to a corkboard one by one. It was as if she was too afraid to decorate all in one go. Like the idea of settling into the office and making it hers was something she had to get used to. Dipping cold toes into the shallow end rather than cannonballing into deep waters.
The postcards were the most interesting. Most of them had been sent from her grandparents as they traveled the country in their RV. Places they’d been and sights they’d seen.
It could have been that Mac simply treasured the mementos from her family—people she loved. But I’d seen the stack of travel magazines in the sunroom at her house. I’d watched her pore over my photos from my summer in Europe. She’d lingered on the smallest details, and I’d answered all her questions about the food and the people and the places I’d visited.
I’d seen her on her phone, checking prices for imaginary flights. And then quickly hiding her screen like she didn’t want me to know. Like her desire to get away was secret or shameful.
From what I could recall, Mac had never been outside the country or even very far from home. For someone who’d stared in awe at my photograph of the basilica in Florence and traced all the lines of architecture while I’d spoken about it, Mac didn’t have a lot of travel experience of her own.
As she clicked around on her computer, I stood in front of her corkboard and took in the rectangles of lives lived outside our small community. “Did your grandparents like to travel when you were young? Did they ever take you anywhere?”
Mac’s movements stilled on her keyboard behind me. “No, they were too busy with the farm when I was a kid. They didn’t start traveling until they retired and passed things on to my dad and uncle.”
My eyes skated over a postcard from the Grand Canyon. Then I carefully asked, “Where would you go? If you could go anywhere. Pretend money is no object. Where would you want to escape to?”
Another long pause came from the desk at my back.
I desperately wanted to turn and see her face, read her expression. To see if she was as uncomfortable as I imagined her to be. To witness the naked longing on her face that I knew in my heart would be there .
“Italy,” she finally replied. “I’d go to Italy. I’d go to Venice and Rome. I’d see the Vatican and the Trevi Fountain. I’d take a train to the countryside. I’d drink wine and eat pasta and gelato and drive a Vespa.”
I smiled at the image. Then I did turn, taking in the way Mac’s sharp features had softened with want. A dream left in a shoebox under a bed.
“You should do it,” I said, probably a touch too emphatically.
Her face transformed. Confusion and suspicion replaced the hunger and longing in an instant. “What?”
I took two big steps in her direction, joining her behind her desk. “Ask for the time. The farm could spare you for two weeks in the off-season. Get on a plane and go.”
She laughed humorlessly, and I hated the resignation in it, wishing I could give her what she wanted and not understanding why she wouldn’t take it for herself.
Then Mac turned her attention to the screen, shutting her computer down and pushing in her chair. “It was just a hypothetical, Brady. You’re the one who said to pretend.”
“I know. But I still think you could make it happen.” Fear that she’d push me away or get angry had me reaching for the easy humor that I always kept close at hand. “Hell, I’ll go with you. I could use a vacation. And I like gelato too.”
Smiling my way, Mac stepped around her desk and grabbed her jacket off the coatrack by the door. “You’re a nut.”
With her preoccupied, I reached down and pried a letter off the old keyboard on the desktop. We might have been in the middle of a truce, but I still liked to keep her on her toes. And if I kept up this conversation and pushed her harder, she was liable to reject the idea of traveling on principle.
I slipped the letter in my pocket and followed her to the door. “Let’s go plant some sunflowers.”
The area for the sunflower garden was past the corn maze on the right. I could make out the top of the big red barn across the main path and the rows of Fraser firs planted in the distance. They went all the way to the mountain that overlooked the property. From here, the big house I knew was the original Clark homestead was barely visible through the newly budding trees .
“We’ll go about six inches apart and three feet between the rows,” Mac said, passing me a small sack of sunflower seeds.
We worked side by side for a time. I thought about this sunflower patch and how my sister Candace would probably like one over at the orchard. She’d already prepped the rear of the property for lavender, and it should be blooming in June or July. Her plan was to have it available for local florists and artisans—the soap makers and candlemakers and others who could extract the essential oils. We were planning on opening the orchard in July rather than August as a result. A pick-your-own sunflower and wildflower field might be a nice addition, too. We had the space, and it was pretty low maintenance. I’d talk to my sisters about it?—
“Hey, where’d you go?” Mac’s voice drew my attention. She was standing a few rows over, smiling at me.
“Sorry, just thinking about doing something like this over at Judd’s. Talking to Candy and Joanie about it.”
“You should,” she said. “It’s easy to manage. And while it’s not a super popular attraction?—”
“Not when you have an actual apple cannon,” I cut in.
Mac laughed. “Yeah, but it’s easy and good for photo ops and social media. Plus, it’s Becca’s favorite place on the farm, so I imagine Grandpappy’s won’t be getting rid of our sunflower patch anytime soon.”
I nodded. The tourist-turned-resident seemed to be pretty well accepted among the Clark bunch. Becca was friendly, and everyone in town loved her, too.
Mac stood and stretched after she reached the end of the last row. “This looks good. I’ll ask someone to come over and water it tomorrow.”
The last bit of her statement was drowned out by the sound of an approaching engine. I glanced behind Mac’s shoulder to see a baby-blue side-by-side coming up the path.
“Shit,” Mac breathed from beside me. “Just, um, say you were here to?—”
But we didn’t get the chance to get our story straight because Maggie Clark was skidding to a stop in front of us, a big smile on her face. Her dark hair with a prominent silver stripe was hardly even disheveled from her very obvious mad dash over here.
“Fancy meeting y’all here.” She beamed.
“Hi, Ms. Maggie,” I greeted.
“Hi, Aunt Maggie,” Mac said less enthusiastically.
“That was awful nice of you to work late, MacKenzie Eloise. But Larry said you weren’t planning on coming to family dinner tonight because you had something to do.” Maggie’s keen gaze landed pointedly on me, and I could feel my ears getting hot.
“Oh, right,” Mac said confidently. “I’m supposed to actually?—”
“Good!” Maggie crowed, ignoring her niece completely. “So glad you can find the time to join us. And, Brady, honey, we’d love to have you come too. The more, the merrier.” Her grin was wide and pleased and completely unhinged. All teeth.
I swallowed. I had a Southern momma, too. So I knew a threat when I heard one. It might have been wrapped in honeys and dinner invitations, but there was a very clear expectation here. And despite Mac’s intent to avoid going, I had no desire of getting on Maggie Clark’s bad side.
“Yes, ma’am. That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.”
Mac shot me a disappointed glare.
“Perfect. See y’all up at the house.” Then she was gone in a cloud of dust and Aqua Net hairspray.
“Shit,” Mac muttered, staring after her aunt.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured her. This would be a good trial run for when everyone found out about us anyway.
But then Mac blew out a frustrated breath and said, “We’ll just say you were spying on the farm for competition purposes and I caught you.”
I frowned. “That is ridiculous.”
She made a rude sound. “Yeah, but it’s believable. ”
“Why don’t we just tell them—” I cut myself off at her sharp glance. The truth stayed glued to the inside of my mouth.
“What? Do you have a better idea?” she snapped.
My brain practically shouted: Yeah, just tell them we’re together. That I fucking love you. That we’ve been banging for months behind their backs.
Maybe not that last part.
I swallowed uncomfortably and kept my thoughts to myself, saying instead, “Maybe it won’t come up.”
Mac gave me an incredulous look.
“I don’t want to lie, okay?” I confessed. “Let’s just go to dinner before she comes back and drags us there by our ears.”
“Fine,” Mac said and started walking toward her Jeep.
I followed, feeling like I was marching to the front lines.
It wasn’t going . . . great.
But it could have been worse.
Everyone was gathered in the kitchen when we arrived. I could see Maggie stirring something at the stove while Mac’s mom, Patty, stood nearby. Will Clark was next to the fridge, glass in hand. Becca and Larry were at the center island, counting silverware and placemats. And Mac’s father, Robert, and his brother, William, were carrying in a cooler with ice.
I was all for helping out. If God or Maggie Clark would grant me something to do that was not just standing in the doorway being stared at, I would have really appreciated it.
When Laramie caught sight of me, she straightened on her stool at the counter and grinned so wide and hard that I checked behind me to make sure Dolly Parton or a Hemsworth brother hadn’t strolled in.
“Stop it,” Mac hissed at her cousin. “You look deranged. ”
Becca linked her arm through Larry’s and said just loud enough to be heard, “It’s finally happening.”
“What?” Mac replied.
But no one answered because Will, who had been filling up water glasses at the refrigerator dispenser, continued staring at me and Mac in stunned confusion while liquid overflowed onto the floor. Becca nudged him gently with an elbow behind her, and Will snapped to attention, cursing and moving the glass from beneath the flow of water.
Without batting an eye, Maggie turned from her place by the stove and tossed a dish towel to her son, whacking him in the side of the head as he bent to clean up his mess.
“Oh, Jesus. Let’s just do this,” Mac breathed. “Everyone!” she shouted. “You know Brady Judd. He’s joining us for dinner. Get over it.”
It was coordinated chaos that had reached an awkward silence, and then suddenly everyone was rushing to say hello and welcome me.
I smiled and greeted them because I’d had twenty-eight years of experience charming folks, and just because Mac was as ornery as a raccoon caught in a tree, it didn’t mean I couldn’t have a nice time.
I shook hands with her dad and uncle, both of whom I’d met many times. Patty Clark gave me a warm welcome and said she was happy to see Mac and I were getting along. Daughter had then given her mother a severely betrayed look.
Will had approached slowly under Mac’s watchful gaze. He gave me an uncomfortable nod and pointed to my Carolina Panthers sweatshirt. “How’s your, um, team doing?”
I grinned. “Not in season, but nice try.”
Becca laughed and patted Will sweetly before reaching out and snagging my arm. “Come on, Brady. Help me finish up the salad.”
“Yeah, Mac,” Larry called. “I need your help getting some potatoes from the basement. You can help peel them too.”
Mac groaned, undoubtedly resistant to the inquisition that was about to go down .
I found myself grinning as Becca tugged me over to wash my hands before placing some cutting boards and vegetables on the countertop.
“I hate chopping tomatoes,” she confided, like it was a secret she was deeply ashamed of. “They feel so awful. Like you’re digging around in someone’s intestines.”
“Do you have experience with that?” I asked, deadpan.
She laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, and I liked her even more.
We spent the next twenty minutes chopping vegetables next to one another, and I was grateful to have something to do with my hands. The repetition helped ease the discomfort of feeling like a zoo animal in an unfamiliar enclosure. Becca was sweet, and we chatted easily. And I was glad to not be standing awkwardly next to Mac. I didn’t think I was very good at hiding my feelings. So it was probably safer that she was on the other side of the kitchen, aggressively peeling potatoes and fielding inappropriate questions from her cousin.
The meal came together around us, everyone chipping in to make it happen. It reminded me a little of dinners at my parents’ house. But our group was smaller and less animated. Here, with the Clarks, there was always someone laughing or talking over someone else. A television was on in the other room while country music played in the kitchen. Maggie hummed along and shot me a wink whenever I caught her eye.
I felt welcomed even if Mac hadn’t wanted me here.
What I didn’t expect to feel was cowardly, like a fraud. I was dragging my feet on talking to Mac about us. I had been for a while now. The truth was buried beneath an effort to keep the peace and the threat of losing her.
Standing in her family’s home where Mac was loved and accepted, I knew I wanted to be invited back. I wanted a place here with these people. And I didn’t know how she’d feel about that. Uncertainty pressed down on me now, heavy and oppressive.
“You okay?” Becca asked gently, drawing my attention as she touched the back of my hand—the one frozen on my knife handle while I thought of all the ways I’d messed this thing up with Mac by trying to keep us hidden away .
Becca’s blue eyes were earnest and concerned. “I know Maggie tricked you both here tonight,” she whispered. “But she means well. We all do.”
“I know,” I said, and I smiled so she knew I meant it.
Mac and I ended up walking into the dining room at the same time.
Her elbow jostled mine, and I realized we had an audience. Her family members were watching us as they got settled at the table.
“You call those cucumbers equally diced?” she said smugly.
I shot her an incredulous look and mouthed, What the hell?
“Sorry, I couldn’t think of a good burn,” she whispered.
Mac roughly deposited the bowl of mashed potatoes on the oak tabletop and hustled back to the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and followed.
As soon as I was through the doorway, she snagged my hand and pulled me down the hall and into the laundry room.
I took in her wide, frantic gaze and tried not to feel disappointed over how uncomfortable she was to have me in her space.
“Mac,” I said softly, cupping her face in my hands. “You have to stop freaking out. Everything is okay. You don’t need to put on a show. This isn’t trivia night fighting for the town’s benefit. This is your family. They love you. We can just go in there and eat. You’re the one making this weird.”
She winced. “I know. I can’t help it.”
“Do you need an orgasm to calm down?”
A surprised laugh burst out of her. Then her shoulders relaxed by degrees until they were no longer up around her ears. She smiled at me—a real one, red-stained lips stretched wide. “I’m sorry. I don’t like being surprised. Or ganged up on.”
I placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I know. But we’ve got this.”
We returned to the dining room and joined the others just as Patty and Becca placed the last of the dishes on the table. Maggie said grace, and then the chaos resumed. Conversations and clinking silverware, dishes passed from hand to hand .
I had a full plate and Mac at my side, her knee a comforting weight against mine beneath the table.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Larry said abruptly from across the table.
I paused with a mashed-potato-loaded fork in midair.
“Mac made those spuds, and she probably poisoned them, knowing you’d dig right in,” Larry lamented.
Grinning, I said, “Well, thanks for trying to keep me alive.”
“I don’t have the energy to bury a body tonight,” she deadpanned. “My sciatica’s been acting up.”
Everyone laughed, Mac included. After that, I could see the remaining tension ease out of her. Her cousin’s teasing had restored order, returned everything to its rightful place. If they all were reminded that we hated each other, then we were back on comfortable ground.
Briefly and bitterly, I wondered what they’d all do if I kissed the hell out of Mac right in front of them. I was pretty sure Becca would cheer.
I shouldn’t feel disappointed. Things were going well. Everyone was laughing and talking. Mac was enjoying herself now.
But as good as the food was, my stomach felt sour with the weight of my lies. I was tired of hiding the truth. With my awareness came my inability to ignore the way I felt. I wanted to drag Mac outside and confess. Tell her I loved her and I wanted to come to dinner here every Sunday for the rest of our lives.
However, I made myself focus. I listened to the conversations and joined in when I could. I didn’t think about Mac’s knee pressed against mine beneath the table, a silent everything’s okay, they don’t know tapped out in unspoken code.
With my hand in my hoodie pocket, I toyed with the keyboard letter I’d stolen earlier in the day. And I worked out what I would say when it was time to bury the secrets and lies.
Later that night, after I thanked Maggie for dinner and said my goodbyes, I turned down Mac’s offer to drive me back to the orchard .
Instead, my thoughts kept me company as I walked through the Clarks’ property and back down across the highway to my truck.
I could tell Mac was confused and disappointed. We did typically spend most nights together. But I didn’t want to lose my nerve. If I followed her home or saw her asleep in my bed, I’d do anything to keep her there. Even keep playing these games.
Part of me thought she wasn’t ready. Her reaction tonight at potential discovery had peeled back a particularly revealing layer. And this was her family—the people who loved her best. What did it mean that she’d been so fearful of their reactions?
But I was going to talk to her and soon. She needed to know I loved her and I wanted to do this for real.
I’d woken just before five in the morning, unable to get back to sleep. Especially when there wasn’t a reason to keep me in bed, like a smart-mouthed brunette.
It was nearing seven when I finished up a batch of shortbread bars as a thank-you for Maggie’s hospitality. The kitchen smelled like butter and sugar, and it eased some of the restlessness in me.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I abandoned the sink and the dirty dishes there when I saw the notification.
MacKenzie: Did you seriously steal the letter D from my keyboard?
I laughed out loud into the quiet apartment, thinking about the small, pale square sitting on my bedside table right this minute.
Me:
MacKenzie: You are an infant.
Me: Nah. A toddler, at least.
I watched as three dots appeared, indicating she was typing. They stopped and started twice more.
Me: You laughed. Admit it.
MacKenzie: I will do no such thing.
MacKenzie: Give me the D, Brady.
Me: Anytime, honey. Just say the word.
MacKenzie: Jesus. You stole that letter just so you could make that joke.
Me: I have a commitment to comedy, Macintosh. Don’t be jelly.
MacKenzie: Maybe this calls for a hostage situation. Perhaps I’ll steal something from you. Get ready for payback.
Oh, she’d already stolen something, alright.
I typed, I can’t wait .
I could feel the edges of my smile as I stared down at the phone in my hand. I was glad we still had this. The surprises, the silliness, the fun, the competition.
I thought, hopefully, I could spend a lifetime giving her hell and making her like it—making her love it.
As I eagerly awaited whatever retaliation was coming my way, I opened the Chatter app and drafted another fruitless post that would never see the light of day. Maybe this was like therapy for me—a way to express myself in a healthy way without fear or judgment.
Ah, well, whatever it was, I was doing it.
@JuddsFamilyOrchard: @GrandpappysApples, Hostage negotiations are open. I have a slightly used, decent condition keyboard letter in exchange for your fierce and equally tender heart. You’ve already stolen mine. Don’t think you need two.