Chapter 20
twenty
MAC
The good thing about having a secret relationship was that when you went through a breakup, well, that was a secret, too. There wasn’t anybody to try to make you feel better or to shit-talk your ex. My friends and family just assumed I was my ornery self or experiencing a monthlong bad mood, which was, frankly, not unheard of.
Larry was still pining over Kayla, so she wasn’t one to pass judgment. Her moods were just as unpredictable as mine.
When I’d walked out of Brady’s apartment three weeks ago, I’d given myself one day to wallow. I didn’t deserve a pity party or to drown my sorrows in ice cream and sad movies. It had been my idea to break things off. I was the one who’d gotten scared by my own feelings for someone I was never supposed to feel those types of things for in the first place. And when I thought about how Brady had tried to handle the situation and manage me, it just made me feel that much more manipulated by forces outside my control.
So far, I’d avoided the places we both frequented. Now that the farmers’ market was back in season, I casually checked in with Candace to find out who was working the Judd’s booth and tailored my schedule accordingly. I didn’t go to bonfires at Abby’s anymore. Nor did I attend trivia nights at Trailview. My life was smaller than I liked it, but it felt like a fair trade-off. At least, until I could see Brady in public again without wanting to simultaneously burst into tears and strangle his neck.
He’d stopped posting on Chatter. All the content there was curated for promotion at the orchard.
It was probably wrong of me to wonder how he was or what he was doing. I didn’t have the right. But I’d heard through the grapevine that Brady had gotten a new truck and a clean bill of health. And Buck Adams had gotten his license revoked.
The fight with Brady kept me up at night sometimes. It was stupid to dwell on it and why his words had struck such a blow. But as I struggled to sleep, I often replayed the things he’d accused me of. I didn’t think I hated my hometown or wanted to move away. Not really. Yet I couldn’t reconcile the ideas I’d had in my youth and adolescence. That getting out was the escape route to something more, something better. Rationally, I knew that my parents weren’t losers. I didn’t see Larry as a disappointment or Abby or anyone else who’d stayed.
Sometimes, the qualities we admire in others only look like weaknesses in ourselves.
There was probably some complicated psychological reason our brains did that—found shortcomings and underlined them in bright red permanent marker—but all I knew was it made me feel like a failure.
Maybe it was because I’d never even tried to leave. I’d never entertained the idea of living elsewhere or working somewhere new. Even as a teenager, I hadn’t applied for college. I’d watched my peers write essays and fret over volunteer work to beef up their applications. I’d always known the farm was my future.
It was like Brady had seen all my hypocrisy and self-loathing and thrown it in my face. He was my opposite in so many ways. He’d seen the world and chosen home. I’d been too apathetic—too complacent—to even do that much.
The postcards and the travel magazines and all my browser tabs of hypothetical travel destinations mocked me, highlighting how truly disappointing I was. I’d created some fantasy version of myself and hidden her away. The horrible irony was that who I really wanted to be was a tourist—same as the ones I barely tolerated on a daily basis .
What did it say about me that I resented the people who found something to love about my hometown when I couldn’t find it within myself to do the same? I’d always told myself that the leafers didn’t appreciate the land and the residents and our livelihood, the simplicity of it, the value in it. But truthfully, I didn’t understand how the thousands of tourists we entertained on the farm every year chose to make their way here—a tiny, podunk town in the mountains of North Carolina—when there was a big, wide world out there to be explored.
“Are you coming in or what?” Larry shouted from the porch of Will and Becca’s house, jolting me out of the punishing thoughts currently running on a painful loop.
It was our May book club meeting, and I didn’t want to be here. No disrespect to Becca, but I just wasn’t in the mood for socializing. I hadn’t even read the book. I’d made it to chapter two, where the hero had been described as having messy brown hair and piercing blue eyes, and had slammed the book shut, unwilling to read any more.
But Larry stayed on the porch until I exited the Jeep and made my way up the steps.
“It’s a small crowd,” my cousin offered, probably to help get me in the door. Or maybe to indicate there would be less casualties for my shitty mood. “Becca made lime punch,” Larry added helpfully.
I nodded and reached for the doorknob.
“Mac . . .”
I finally faced my cousin when her voice trailed off.
“Did something happen?” she asked quietly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Larry scrutinized me, and I knew what she saw. Dark circles beneath my eyes from lack of sleep. A messy bun on top of my head from lack of motivation. And a blank expression on my face from a lack of anything more to offer.
“What about you?” I said. “Did you talk to Kayla yet?”
It was a low blow, but it did the job. Larry winced and looked away. “No.”
Then I felt like shit for bringing it up, even as a distraction .
I reached out and pulled Larry into a hug, squeezing her hard. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into her shoulder.
After a moment, she returned the embrace, hands below my shoulder blades.
“I gave you a chance,” she said softly before releasing me and stepping back.
“What?”
“Nothing!” Then she opened the door and went inside. “Let’s get in there before Candace eats all the pizza rolls.”
Confused and disoriented, I followed.
Larry had been right. It was a small group gathered for our monthly meeting. Only Becca, Chloe, Larry, Bonnie, Candace, and Joan were in attendance.
I felt a little weird being around Brady’s sisters. But it wasn’t like they knew about us. Plus, maybe they’d mention him, and then I’d?—
Never mind. I needed to stop that train of thought before it derailed and killed all the passengers.
There were approximately six pepperoni pizza rolls left, and Larry and I split them. We settled next to each other on the small patterned loveseat in Will and Becca’s living room just off the kitchen.
The ladies talked about the book. I stayed quiet since I didn’t have anything helpful to add. It was a little difficult to do, seeing as there were only seven of us, but Becca was good at directing the conversation, and Candace had big feelings about this one, so she talked a lot.
“I think it’s really interesting,” she was saying, “how irresponsible the hero comes across. Even at the end of the book, it was like his character arc hadn’t really changed. He was the same good-time guy who didn’t take responsibility for his own actions and forgot things and meant well, bless his heart.”
“I agree.” Chloe nodded. “You can be as charming as you want, but there has to be something behind it. Something meaningful or the effort is hollow.”
“And he was super immature,” Joan added dispassionately.
“Yes!”
“Oh my God. So immature! ”
“Definitely.”
The chorus of responses had Candace giggling. “You know, he actually reminds me of Brady.”
I shifted a little in my seat.
Joan whacked her sister on the arm. “God, you’re right. Just the general air of doesn’t-give-a-fuck. The selfishness and the way he lets everyone do everything for him.”
I could feel my brows drawing together. Wait, just a minute .
“Exactly! That.” Candace nodded emphatically and then reached for her drink. “I mean, he’s not a billionaire like the guy in the book, but other than that, identical.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Glancing around the seating area, I was shocked to see Becca, Chloe, and Bonnie nodding along.
“That’s a little harsh,” I blurted without meaning to.
Candace paused, the punch cup halfway to her face. “What’s that, Mac?”
I swallowed, feeling my face heat. “I just think that comparing Jeremy?—”
“Gerald,” Larry corrected from my side.
“Right, Gerald.” I blinked, aware that everyone was now staring at me, waiting for me to elaborate. “I don’t think Brady is how you described that guy ... Gerald. I disagree.”
“Oh?” Becca asked. “How would you describe him, Mac?”
“Well,” I licked my lips, “he’s not selfish at all. He’s actually very thoughtful.” There’d been the random texts throughout the day to check on me and see how work was going. One time, after we’d talked about Italy and how I wanted to go there, he’d sent me an article about the best must-see underrated tourist spots on the Amalfi Coast. And then another time, he’d brought breakfast to my office because I’d told him I’d slept through my alarm and had been running too late to eat.
“And the charm thing isn’t an act or for show. He’s genuinely a nice person who likes people,” I added .
Becca’s eyes widened, but she nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
I would because Brady’s sisters needed to hear this and appreciate him, damn it. He loved them and talked about them all the time. “It’s wrong to say he doesn’t care or want to take responsibility. He was so worried about the orchard when the vandalism was happening, before he knew it was Amos. He installed all those cameras and the security system, and he didn’t let Candace work a single closing shift by herself. And—and Amos!”
I was on a roll now. “He gave that little shit a second chance. He didn’t want Amos to have a juvenile record, and I know he worried that he’d made the wrong decision. But Amos’s mother was so grateful. He’s basically mentoring that kid and guiding him down the right path, giving him a great male role model when Amos doesn’t have that in his life.”
I was breathing hard, and I wasn’t sure why. Everyone was still staring at me, but I forced myself to take a stabilizing inhale and address Candace and Joan, where they sat beside one another. “Your brother does mean well. He’s a really good person. He cares about you both and your parents so much. And the orchard, too. He—he loves his life working with y’all. And I think it’s shitty to sit here and criticize him and compare him to that asshole Jeremy?—”
“Gerald,” Larry corrected again.
I shot her a glare. “Gerald. Whatever.”
Candace was wide-eyed, her long brown ponytail bobbing in time with every nod of her head. Joan watched me with a little smile on her face that made me suddenly very uneasy.
I glanced around the room, taking in the other pleased expressions before landing on Becca, who grinned broadly.
“Thank you for that, Mac,” she said, pleased as lime punch. “But I meant, how would you describe Gerald? The hero? You know, from the story we all read and have been discussing for the last forty minutes. If you’d rather talk about Brady Judd, we can do that too, I suppose.” Her smile somehow got even brighter. “I’m not opposed.”
Realization dawned as heat rushed to my cheeks. The urge to run right out of here with a pocket full of pizza rolls was admittedly strong .
Larry must have noted the tensing of my muscles for flight because she placed a staying hand on my knee. “I think you’d better tell us what’s going on, Mac.”
My eyes darted between the gathered women, specifically the ones who were Brady’s blood relatives. “I—it’s complicated.”
“Mac,” Becca said gently. “Try. It might help.”
Instead of laying out everything that had happened with Brady, another truth forced its way from between my lips. “I think I’m scared. I think ... I’m scared to let myself be happy here. That maybe I’m stuck, and I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean by ‘here’?” Joan asked, face impassive but tone patient and curious.
My eyes scanned the space, unsure how to put all my tangled feelings about my life into words that made any sort of sense. My attention caught on the far wall, on the pictures of my family going back generations. My great-grandfather William, riding a tractor. The great-grandmother I’d never met, standing on the front porch of this very house, holding a teacup and saucer. A similar picture but of my cousin Will, his arm draped around Becca’s shoulders as she laughed in the frame. A shot of Grandma Nola and Grandpa Junior on their wedding day. My parents behind the counter in the General Store. A childhood photo of me and Larry and Will sitting in front of a honeysuckle bush, covered in dirt and sticky from nectar.
“Home,” I answered finally. “I feel like I failed some sort of test, ending up in Kirby Falls. Never leaving. Never applying myself. I realized a while ago that I was just coasting along, content to put in my time and then clock out and go home. But our farm—our life—is so much more than that. I just didn’t see it, or, maybe, I didn’t feel like I was a part of it until recently.”
I looked at these women who had all ended up in Kirby Falls one way or another, and guilt twisted my insides.
“Are you ashamed, Mac?” my sister asked. Bonnie was a woman who’d married her high school sweetheart and taught at the same elementary school she’d attended.
“No,” I answered reflexively, not intending to offend or belittle anyone in the room. “I don’t know. ”
And I didn’t know, not really. I had good neighbors, and I liked living out in the country. I wouldn’t have made it in a big city. I needed the mountain air and the fields and the scope and range of the life I led. I liked trivia night and bowling league and book club and listening to bands at local breweries. My life wasn’t small by any means. But I didn’t know whose standard I was living by.
“You know,” Candace said, “I think there’s a stigma surrounding small towns. People think they automatically equate to small-mindedness. That people who’ve been raised on farms aren’t educated. It’s in the media and, honestly, it’s part of growing up. I went to college with people who thought they were better than me. Had professors who were surprised to learn I was from a tiny town in Western North Carolina. I hid my accent and other things that would out me as a person from a rural area for a long time. Not because I was ashamed of where I was from, but because they were.”
I nodded because I understood that. I thought of the tourists who came through and said our town was “quaint” or the ones you’d overhear calling us hillbillies. Both comments were offensive in different ways.
“But,” Candace continued, “after a while, I realized it didn’t matter. I wasn’t really going to change anyone’s mind about me by being confrontational or defensive. I couldn’t change their worldview for them. It would only make them cling to those beliefs even harder. They could believe whatever stereotype they wanted. Because where I wanted to be—where I was meant to be—was right here.”
“There are any number of reasons why people stay in their hometown,” Joan offered. “Some just fit better there than anywhere else.”
“Some get married too young and never have the means or the backbone to leave,” Chloe said solemnly.
Larry squeezed my knee again. “Some folks have everyone they love right there with them and never have any desire to move away.”
“Some can’t stay away no matter how hard they try,” Candace said with a smile.
“Some people aren’t able to envision any other future for themselves,” Bonnie said, her face unbearably honest and open. I felt my throat go tight.
“Some make a home for themselves with the family they choose,” Becca added, blue eyes wet with unshed tears .
“And none of it is right or wrong,” Joan concluded. “Sometimes, it’s just the way things work out. But don’t fall under the impression that those of us who stay aren’t living rich, fulfilled lives. We all have our own stories to tell, wisdom to impart, and a legacy to uphold. Even you, Mac.”
The things they shared reached deep inside me and tugged hard. I was so very fortunate to have these women in my life. To have a family who loved and supported me. Friends who accepted me. A community I belonged to.
“Are you happy?” Larry asked earnestly. “Would you be happier somewhere else? Because that’s okay if that’s the way you feel, Mac. You wouldn’t lose us or?—”
“No,” I interrupted, feeling the truth of it in my bones. “This is my home. It’s where I want to live my life, with the people I love.” And I knew who that included, whether I’d planned for him or not.
“Then give yourself permission to be happy here,” Candace said, smiling gently.
“I’d like to travel more,” I admitted.
“Then fucking travel more,” Larry said emphatically. “And take that Brady Judd with you.”
I met her challenging gaze. “He hates me.”
“We know. We know.” She rolled her eyes. “You guys hate each other.”
“No,” I confessed. “Now he really does hate me. We were ... seeing each other. Secretly, for months, but then I—I got scared. I broke his heart, I think.” Broke mine too , I didn’t add.
As I searched the faces of everyone in the room, it was telling that no one really seemed all that surprised.
“Then, maybe,” Larry said, “it’s time to say you’re sorry.”
Five other women nodded along before Becca piped up, “And a grand gesture couldn’t hurt.”
Brad y
“Candace, I really don’t want to be here,” I said from the backseat of Mercer’s truck, where I’d been kidnapped and was being held against my will.
“Well, too bad, big brother. Nola and Junior invited our whole family, and we’re going.”
Mercer met my eyes in the rearview mirror. He winced and focused back on the road.
It was Memorial Day weekend, and the Clarks were throwing their annual party out on Lake Archer.
But I didn’t have it in me. I had no desire to play cornhole or ride Jet Skis. I didn’t want to grill hamburgers or eat Maggie Clark’s tortellini pasta salad, which was saying something. And I definitely didn’t want to see Mac.
It had been just over three weeks since we’d spoken. I didn’t know what was left to say. She’d wanted to break things off, so I needed to let her. Seeing her today would be torture.
You didn’t stop loving someone just because you were angry and hurt. I knew Mac was hurting, too, and that was, maybe, the worst part of all. Because I knew she loved me back.
Still, I couldn’t be the one who tried to fix this. She had to reach her own conclusions and, ultimately, live her own life, with or without me.
If you chased someone long enough, all you’d do was eventually wear them down. And where was the love in that?
So when Candace and Mercer had practically wrestled me into the truck today, I’d been quietly panicking and loudly protesting. I’d even tried the door handle at a stoplight and they’d put the damn child locks on.
“Stop pouting,” Candace called as she slipped her sunglasses on.
“I liked it better when you lived in a different state, butthead.”
She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “No, you didn’t, buttface.”
“Jesus,” I heard Mercer mutter. Then we turned onto a bumpy gravel road that would take us out to the Clarks’ private property overlooking the lake .
To add insult to injury, the day was beautiful. May in Western North Carolina could be unpredictable, but the sun was shining bright on the water, and Mercer’s windows were down, letting in the lakeside breeze.
Nola and Junior’s property sat well above the shoreline. Their house was positioned on an overlook, but there was a trail with several switchbacks that led down to their private dock. The party wasn’t being held at the house, though. They’d built a large pavilion nearby for entertaining, a big covered open-air structure that housed a dozen picnic tables. It also held hammocks and swings that faced the water. There was a fully functional kitchen attached as well as a renovated bathhouse next door.
I knew the matriarch and patriarch of the Clark bunch spent a good deal of time out here during the summer months, and it was a beautiful place.
As I reluctantly climbed from the backseat of the truck, I took in the rolling mountains in the distance, the dark water shimmering in the sunlight, and the tiny islands that dotted the landscape. I could see how it would be a peaceful place, meditative even. That was, if there weren’t seventy-five neighbors making a ruckus as they drank and played yard games.
I could hear the buzz of Jet Skis, and I watched as pontoon boats trawled and speedboats zipped across the surface of the water.
“Here,” Candace said, pushing a covered dish into my chest. “Carry that.”
“You know, had I planned on attending, I would have prepared my own dish,” I sniped. “Not whatever you threw together.”
“That is strawberry yum yum pie,” she said pointedly, as if I should be so lucky to carry it into a potluck. “And Mark made it.”
“Oh, good. At least it’ll be edible.”
My sister glared at me. “Let’s go find our hosts and say hello.”
Pie plate in hand, I stopped walking, remembering suddenly the day I’d panicked and installed a birdfeeder rather than tell Nola Clark I was dating her granddaughter.
Mercer and Candace turned to face me.
“I, uh, I’m going to take this to the kitchen. Y’all go say hello. I’ll catch up. ”
Then I speed-walked by them, my shoes eating up the gravel as I made my way beneath the covered patio. People were milling about everywhere, talking and eating. Plastic tablecloths flapped in the breeze, held down by plates of delicious-looking food. Kids I didn’t recognize stacked giant Jenga blocks on the lawn beside the pavilion.
Despite my mood, I nodded to folks who greeted me. A few people asked how I was feeling.
I assumed they meant my mostly healed head injury, and not my still-broken heart.
I caught sight of Will Clark and his best friend, Jordan Rockford, manning a pair of grills, and wondered if I could hide out with them all afternoon. Will leaned back from the heat as the flames hissed and jumped. Jordan wore a ridiculous apron that made it look like he was dressed in a hula skirt and a coconut bra.
I’d heard that Jordan and his girlfriend, Chloe, had gotten engaged a few weeks ago. And as if summoned by my thoughts, Chloe dropped off a platter of veggie burgers on the worktable next to the grills. The redhead grinned and pinched Jordan’s backside on her way back to the kitchen. Her fiancé called out to her, something that made her throw her head back and laugh even as she scurried off.
I felt like a jealous, pathetic loser as I watched the lovey-dovey exchange. I wouldn’t be hiding out with those two, in any case.
Sighing, I kept moving toward the kitchen. When I was about ten feet away, Mac breezed through the open doorway, a platter of fried chicken in her hands.
I took a step back on instinct, certain I’d step on the pieces of my shattered heart, expecting to feel the crunch of them beneath my feet.
She turned without seeing me, making her way to the long buffet table while I stood staring like an idiot. She looked—she looked gorgeous. Her long, dark hair was up in a sleek ponytail. She had on a bright yellow button-up that was thin and gauzy. It was tucked into—I swallowed hard—cutoff jean shorts.
If there was heartbreak or unhappiness on her face, I couldn’t find it. No dark circles beneath her eyes or any overarching misery. She was smiling at Lettie Louise Walker as she dished up some macaroni and cheese for the older woman.
“Brady. ”
I jumped, nearly fumbling the pie in my grasp.
“Oh, Lord,” Maggie Clark said as she reached out to grab the covered dish. “Let me take that, sugar.”
I felt my cheeks heat, relatively sure Mac’s aunt had just caught me staring at her niece like a creeper.
She smiled. “Actually, why don’t you come with me?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
I was put on cornhole duty, and honestly, I was grateful for the task. Maggie set me up at a table with a list and an envelope for money. People were buying in for doubles tournament play for five bucks each. The winnings would go to the top two teams. Pairs would be chosen at random, and a bracket would be made by Maggie herself. I was just supposed to sit there and take the money and write down the names.
Fifteen minutes into my appointment, Patty, Mac’s mom, brought me a huge plate of food. “Sorry you got put to work, Brady. I can take over for you if you’d like.”
I smiled, genuinely this time. Patty was a sweet one—must be where Bonnie got it from. “No, ma’am. I like staying busy. It keeps me out of trouble.”
She patted my shoulder. “I’ll be back with dessert for you.”
Before I could stop her, off she went.
As I sat alone at the table with my clipboard, I didn’t catch sight of Mac again.
Eventually, Maggie made her way back to me. “Oh, shoot,” she said, eyeing the sign-up list. “We have an odd number. You’ll play, won’t you, Brady?”
Damn it, I did not want to play cornhole. I was hoping Candace and Mark were ready to go. But when I did a quick search of the area, I found my sister over at the beer pong table chugging away.
Resisting a pained groan, I replied, “Uh, sure. I can do that.”
Maggie smiled at me and patted my cheek. “Thanks, sweet pea. I owe you one.”
Well, it turned out Maggie Clark owed me more than one. She owed me an explanation for the knife in my back, because when she announced the pairs for the cornhole tournament ten minutes later, my name was right next to Mac’s.
I stood staring at the neat lettering on the chalkboard and tried to figure out how the hell I was going to get out of this.
“Maggie,” I said.
She gave me a distracted “Hmm?” from where she sat, handing out beanbags and organizing the chaos.
The giant Jenga blocks and the bocce- and ladder-ball equipment on the side lawn had been moved to make room for the eight pairs of wooden boards facing one another with some twenty-odd feet in between.
“Maggie,” I tried again. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t think I can play after all. Can you find a replacement for me?”
She checked off something on her clipboard before smiling sweetly at me. “No.”
I blinked in surprise.
She was already back to handing out beanbags as people shuffled in and around me.
I opened my mouth to respond, sure I’d misunderstood her, when a voice came from behind me.
“What’s the matter, Judd? Afraid you don’t have what it takes?”
My jaw clenched, and I turned to find Mac casually tossing a red beanbag in one hand. Her grin was all challenge, and, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t trying to get out of this forced partnership too.
“No,” I said reflexively. Old habits die hard, apparently.
“Good. Because I always make it to the final. Let’s do this.” She threw the bag and spun on her heel.
I probably would have caught the damn thing if I hadn’t been staring at her ass in those shorts. Instead, it bounced off my chest and hit the ground.
Sighing, I retrieved the bag and followed her to our assigned lane, dread and misgiving keeping me company .
How could she be fine with this? Did she really think we could go back to the way we were? I didn’t want to bicker and fight. Hell, it was hard enough to look at her. I figured if I tried to carry on a conversation, or God forbid, trash-talk, then I’d probably lose all my resolve and beg her to give me another chance.
Our opponents were already waiting for us.
“Hi, honey!” My mom waved from beside the far board facing the lake.
I approached, and she gave me a tight hug around the waist. “Mom, have you ever even played cornhole?”
She grinned. “Nope. But Patty made it sound like fun.”
I glanced across to the other board and saw Mac standing next to her own mother, who gave me a wide smile.
I waved woodenly and then sighed again. Random assignments, my ass.
Well, there was one way out of this mess. I’d just throw the game. It wouldn’t be my finest moment, but it would get me away from Mac. That worked for me.
“Can we take a few practice tosses?” Mom asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
Then I watched as my mother tossed a one-pound blue beanbag about six feet wide of the board. Her second attempt wasn’t much better. It went well over the target. Mac actually had to dart out of the way to avoid being hit.
God, throwing this game was going to be harder than I thought.
We skipped the coin toss and just picked our lanes. I had no problem with Mac and Patty taking the board opposite me, alternating tosses to try to get them in the hole of the board near my feet.
Patty only managed to get one on the board. Mac landed two in the hole and two on top, giving our team a score of seven right out of the gate.
I went next and missed the board on all four tosses.
Brushing the dust off my hands, I made a yikes face. “Guess I should have taken some practice tosses too. ”
Mac’s gaze narrowed on me before watching my mother land two points for Team Mom.
The next turn had our score climbing to sixteen, thanks to Mac, and Mac alone.
When I flubbed another three tosses, Mac held up her hands. “Time-out!”
“There’s no time-out in cornhole,” I argued.
“Well, excuse me if I don’t trust your knowledge of the sport. You clearly have no idea how to play,” she said, striding across the lawn separating us.
“That’s okay!” Patty called happily. “I need another drink.”
“Oh, me too!” Mom declared and hurried off.
“What are you doing?” Mac said when she stood toe to toe with me.
Ignoring her angry eyes and her legs in those shorts, I crossed my arms and looked down my nose at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, you are throwing this game on purpose, and it’s really fucking obvious because our moms are terrible.”
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Funny how our moms got paired up and we got partnered together too. I’m starting to think Maggie didn’t pick these names out of a hat after all.”
Mac blinked, then scowled. “It doesn’t matter. Just stop cheating.”
I leaned down to scowl back. “I am not cheating. Maybe I’m rusty, okay?” My eyes narrowed further, daring her to call me on it. “Maybe something is affecting my performance.”
She tilted her pointed chin and rose onto her tiptoes. “I’ve never known your performance to be affected.”
My mouth dropped open. Was she—? Did she just?—?
“Alright, kids!”
My mom’s voice had us springing apart from where Mac and I had gravitated toward one another.
My teammate shot me one more vicious look before marching back over to her side of the lawn .
I had one last toss to complete my turn.
There was a big part of me that wanted to tank this match and be done with this whole damn day. It was practically my adolescent pastime to try to mess with Mac and keep her from getting what she wanted. If she was going to get in my face and sling insults, my natural inclination was to get back at her, though. Then, there was the competitive idiot who lived inside me. He wanted to get her goat and give it a tug.
So I hefted the beanbag in my right hand, kept my eyes on hers, and sank it into the hole on the opposite board without even looking.
Her victorious little smirk made something flicker to life in my chest. Something that had been cold and dark since she’d walked out three weeks ago. I worried there’d always be some part of me that craved her attention, yearned for it.
Mac wrapped the game up on the next turn, hitting twenty-one points easily. The moms gave us hugs and wished us luck in the tournament. Then they ambled off together to grab more drinks with umbrellas in them.
In the next round, we faced off against Mason Gentry and the tourist-turned-resident Becca Kernsy. Her whole face lit up when she saw the two of us.
Mason was a high school junior and a pretty good baseball player. He was also staring at Becca like she was a Disney princess.
Despite playing against her friend, Mac had her game face on. When it was my turn to toss, I swung my arm back, took a step forward, and heard her call out, “Foot fault!”
I stared at Mac incredulously. “I’m on your team!”
She winced. “Right. Shit, sorry.” Then louder, “His foot was fine!”
Becca shrugged and grinned. “Today is the first time I’ve ever played. I have no idea where your feet are even supposed to go.”
Mason didn’t object when I resumed my turn because, again, he was mooning over the blond opposite him.
Mac and I won the round easily.
Becca hugged me hard afterward. “Good luck. I’m pulling for you. ”
I patted her back awkwardly as Mason glared at me over her shoulder.
We had a few minutes until the next round of the tournament started. There was a low stone wall around the perimeter of the lawn. I sat down and stared out at the water, feeling confused and wrung out.
The sun was setting, turning the sky shades of pink and orange. Café lights strung over the lawn clicked on right as Mac climbed over the wall. She passed me a bottle of beer and sat down next to me. Not so close that our shoulders brushed, but not so far that I couldn’t remember how it felt when they did.
“The next game will be tough,” she said, then sipped from her own bottle.
Mac looked soft and warm in this light, her cheeks and the bridge of her nose a little pink from being out in the sun this afternoon.
As difficult as it was to be around her like this, I relished it. After weeks of silence, here she was, right beside me. She’d been egging me on and teasing me, smiling my way. We were having fun, and I had to admit that when forced to choose between nothing and something ... I’d pick something every time.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, yeah? Who are we up against?”
“Mattie and Seth.” She pointed over my shoulder. “They’re just finishing up.”
Turning, I followed where she’d indicated. The game must have just wrapped because the two players were high-fiving one another.
Mattie was Matilda Bartholomew, the owner of Mattie B’s downtown. She was a badass behind the bar who didn’t take shit from anyone. We locals had managed to keep Mattie B’s a hometown secret by review bombing on social media. The leafers mostly hit Magnolia Bar as a result, and that worked for all of us.
Mattie was also a regular star on the rec league softball circuit. And her current cornhole partner was just as good. Seth Rockford was Jordan’s teenage brother. He’d played baseball since he was a toddler, so he’d likely have a good arm and aim.
I slowly spun back to face Mac. “How do you want to play it?”
She swallowed and looked out at the water. “Come out swinging. They only need a few turns to put it away. We keep it as close as we can. ”
I nodded and decided I wanted her attention back on me. “I think you should play across from Seth and unbutton the top two buttons on your shirt.”
Her attention snapped to my face, gray eyes flashing. “I’m not doing that. He’s seventeen years old.”
I grinned and let my eyes dip purposefully to her chest. “Exactly.”
Mac shook her head and whacked me in the stomach with the back of her hand, but when she stood and climbed back over the low wall, she was smiling.
Somehow, we eked out the win. Even without the distraction of Mac’s cleavage. And when she walked over to me after the game wearing a huge grin, I didn’t hesitate to pull her in for a hug.
All the remaining partygoers crowded around to watch the final match. People cheered and chatted. Neighbors sat on the low wall surrounding the lawn and spectated.
I sort of always felt like I lived in a Hallmark movie, what with our picturesque tourist town and small community. Looking around at everyone gathered, I wondered how Mac felt, if she resented the close-knit group. How she could probably name nearly everyone in the crowd just like I could.
Before the game resumed, I stared at her across twenty feet of grass. She was smiling at whoever had her attention. Another person called out to her, and she ran over and gave a high five. She didn’t look unhappy. She looked like she fit.
I swallowed hard and picked up four red beanbags.
Unfortunately, we got our asses handed to us in the final round by our seventy-year-old former high school biology teacher, Mr. Ammons, and my sister Joan, of all people.
We shook hands with the winners, and I was surprised when Joan pulled me in for a hug. She gave me a rare smile before she headed off into the crowd.
“Well,” Mac said, coming to stand next to me. “Good game.”
I nodded. “Yeah, good game.”
A wave of sadness washed over me. I didn’t know where Mac and I went from here. So I turned and started walking to the parking lot .
My heart felt tender and bruised. I realized I didn’t want to have fun with her. I didn’t want to revert back to our long-standing history. And more than anything, I didn’t want to forget the last six months. It felt like trading one for the other, and I was ready to let go.
I’d force myself to be mature about it someday, when it didn’t hurt so much just to be near her.
Mac found me five minutes later, standing in the spot where Mercer’s truck had been parked eight hours ago.
I had my hands on my hips, staring at the gravel as if it had betrayed me.
“Hey!” she called. “You forgot your winnings.”
I saw the cash she held out in my periphery, but I didn’t turn. “Just keep it.”
After a moment, she said, “Candace and Mercer left a while ago.”
I didn’t respond because of fucking course they did.
“I’ll give you a ride,” she offered.
I closed my eyes. “Fine.”
It felt weird to climb into her Jeep. I fumbled with the seat belt, unsure where to look or what to do with my hands. In all my years of knowing Mac, I couldn’t remember feeling this uncomfortable around her.
She turned on the headlights and bumped along the gravel, but we didn’t make it far. As soon as her grandparents’ lake house came into view at the top of the hill, she pulled into the driveway that wound around the side, out of view of the pavilion, and parked.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She pivoted in her seat to face me. “I wanted to talk, Brady.”
I released a humorless laugh. “I’ve already been kidnapped once today. I’m not really in the mood.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I frowned over at her. “You know? ”
But she ignored me. “Brady, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I ended things that way. When you got in the accident—” Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
I had to resist the urge to reach for her, to comfort her when what she’d done had hurt me worse than the front end of Buck Adams’s truck.
Mac sniffed and composed herself. “After the accident, I got scared. So scared. I’ll never forget looking through the glass and seeing you unmoving and bleeding. And knowing that I loved you so fucking much, I didn’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
I watched her struggle through the admission, knowing she meant it. Her loving me wasn’t a surprise. Hearing her admit it was, though. But it didn’t bring me satisfaction to know she’d been scared or confused. I didn’t feel vindicated. I just wanted her to be happy. I wanted us both to be happy.
“But you were right.” She nodded. “About everything. I never anticipated falling for you, and I did what I always do when I’m insecure or off-balance. I lashed out and rejected those emotions. Pushed them away by force, and you right along with them.”
This was what I’d hoped for. Her admission. Her self-awareness. But I told the foolish heart vibrating wildly in my chest not to get ahead of itself. “So what changed?”
She took a breath. “I realized I have unhealthy expectations for myself. And it turns out, some of my very favorite people were born and raised and still live in this town. I’m sorry I punished you for something that’s broken in me.”
I gave in and reached for her hand. “You’re not broken, Mac. Do you want to move away? Do you think that would make you happier?” I hated that it might be true, but I knew I’d go with her if she asked.
She was already shaking her head, though. “No. Kirby Falls is home. I like my job at the farm. I feel good about where I’m at. I love my family and my friends. And I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you. If you don’t think you can forgive me or if you don’t want to be?—”
I cut her off by closing the distance between us and pressing my lips to hers .
She made a sound, one of relief tinged with desperation, and a moment later, I felt her warm tears against my cheek.
I rested my forehead against hers. “I can forgive you. It’s okay, Mac.”
She pulled back and opened her eyes. They glistened silver in the low light of the Jeep’s interior.
I swiped the moisture from her face and smiled. “You admitted you love me.”
Mac laughed, a surprised, happy sound. “I do. I love you. I want to go on a date without an asterisk. I want to get a tattoo of your name on my butt. I want you to call me stupid nicknames for the rest of my life. I don’t want to be without you. Somehow, someway, you’re my best friend and my worst enemy, and I never want that to change. We can fight forever if you want, Brady. Just promise you’ll love me too.”
I kissed her again and then pulled back suddenly when my brain caught on something.
“Wait, was all this—today—your plan? Did you grand gesture me?”
“Yes,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Have you ever read a romance novel?” I asked incredulously.
She straightened away from me. “Yes. Have you?”
“Of course I have. So your idea of a grand gesture was to fight with me about cornhole and wear teeny-tiny shorts to torture me?”
Mac tucked a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. “The shorts were Becca’s idea.”
I shook my head, thinking back to her tight hug and her whispered I’m pulling for you . She hadn’t been talking about cornhole at all. “God, she looks so sweet and innocent. Diabolical.”
Then my mouth dropped open. “So, this whole thing? My sister and Mercer?”
“I had to get you here. And also strand you here.”
“And Maggie needing one more player? And assigning teams?”
Mac grinned .
“Wow. Just wow,” I said, amazed by the level of deviousness and oddly endeared by it.
She threaded her fingers through mine, serious-faced now. “I just figured, you fell in love with me back then, before. Through all the pranks and arguments and bickering. I thought this”—she gestured around us to the lake, the day, the plan, everything—“felt more like us. That it would mean more than showing up at your door with an apology and my heart in my hands. I wanted you to remember who we’ve always been to each other. How integral. How vital. I know you wanted to keep us a secret?—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “That was a mistake. I was never ashamed of you. I don’t actually want to hide us from anyone.”
“I know.” Mac squeezed my hand. “I know that now. But it’s okay to remember how we got here. It’s okay if people bring up our history, like how we tried to kill each other with Elmer’s glue fifteen years ago. It’ll just make a good story for the grandkids someday.”
My happiness was too big to be enclosed in such a small space. I could feel how wide my smile was, the dimple creasing my cheek. “We have lots of good stories.”
“Yeah, we really do.”