Again, that voice inside my head made itself known. MacKenzie Clark wouldneverbe just another girl.
I swallowed with some effort. My throat was probably just dry from all the hush puppies. “Okay, so just treat her nice?”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tease her or give her shit. Don’t try to trip her or accuse her of having back hair.”
“That was one time! And I was twelve.”
My friend shook his head in disappointment. “So when you see her again, maybe pay her a compliment. Tell her she looks nice or you like her outfit. Talk about the weather or other safe subjects. And for the love of God, don’t mention the paintballing incident or accuse her of destruction of property.”
I nodded. “Right. Okay. I can do that.”
Abby didn’t appear convinced.
“What? I can. I will,” I amended, standing.
“Keep me posted,” Abby said, opening his laptop. “And, Brady—” I turned from where I’d reached the door. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it.”
The following day, I got the chance to test the hypothesis, to put Operation Nice Guy into action.
It was funny because most people in Kirby Falls actually found me to be a pretty nice person. I was definitely the most popular Judd sibling. Though, that wasn’t a hard contest to win. Joan—bless her heart—was not a ray of sunshine. My older sister just didn’t have it in her. She was no-nonsense and too practical for her own good. She had high expectations for everyone around her, and generally, no one ever managed to measure up. Candace was nice enough, but before returning this summer, she’d been gone for over seven years. She was basically out of the running.
I was funny and approachable, and I got along with everyone. Well, everyone except for Mac.
But not tonight. Tonight, I would charm the pants off the ornery woman.
Great, now I was thinking about getting her pants off.
Clearing my throat, I made my way to where a bunch of ladies were gathered at the picnic tables at the orchard. The area had been decorated with white tablecloths, and a small pumpkin and paint supplies sat at each place setting. There was also a food table with bottles of wine and an elaborate charcuterie spread. Someone had dragged over and set up the outdoor heaters. Those would feel nice. Now that the sun was on its way down, the temperature would drop.
I’d spotted Mac when I’d parked my truck. Her Jeep was two spots over, alerting me to her presence tonight at Candy’s paint-and-sip event. Plus, I could pick out Mac’s dark hair and red lips anywhere—even across a field.
She was surrounded by what looked like friends, co-workers, and most of her family. I spotted Larry plus Mac’s mother, Patty, and her aunt Maggie in among the group of ten or so women.
As I drew closer, sudden nerves took hold. I reached into the pocket of my vest and fiddled with the loop of my key chain.
Mac was talking to my sister, holding a corkscrew and opening a bottle of wine. Her hair was long and loose, curled in a way that looked effortless but probably took half an hour. She wore jeans, and her black jacket hid the rest of her.
I could be nice to Mac. Iwouldbe. I’d be on my very best behavior.
With Abby occupying one shoulder like an angelic reminder, I led an internal chant to compliment her, be attentive, and be charming. Then I took a deep breath to steady myself.Say you like her outfit, tiny Abby whispered in my ear.
But then, as I approached, the devil took over my mouth, and I blurted out, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to arm her?”
Mac turned at the sound of my voice, and I saw fire in her eyes as she took me in. It was the first time she’d looked at me since that night in my truck. The first kernel of attention I’d had in two weeks. Her reaction stirred a familiar satisfaction, but there was something else too—a building heat, an awareness, the aching knowledge I now had that the skin of her neck was incredibly smooth.
Her stormy eyes narrowed, and I heard a low growl as she kept her attention on me.
Positive reinforcement at its finest.
So, like an idiot, I kept going. “And you’re giving her wine?” I glanced at Candy. “Wow, sis. No self-preservation instinct in you at all. She’s probably using her access tonight to case the joint.”
I could hear the faint high-pitched sounds of distress coming from the direction of my shoulder. Tiny, imaginary Abby was likely having a conniption fit.
Mac glowered. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Brady Judd. I did not vandalize your property. It was probably someone else who finds you painfully annoying.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, throwing in a smirk for good measure.
“Yeah. We have a club and everything,” she stated matter-of-factly. “We meet on Tuesdays down at the library. Only room big enough to hold us all.”
