by Teri Wilson
“Clean up on aisle one!”
* * *
Three hours, four baking pans and a few batches of applesauce later, Madison sat across the kitchen table from her aunt Alice, poking her fork into another bite of warm apple crumble.
“This is delicious. I regret nothing,” she said as cinnamon and sugar melted in her mouth.
“Nothing?” Her aunt lifted an amused brow as she meticulously covered one of several homemade apple pies with a sheet of nonstick aluminum foil. “Not a single thing?”
Madison had regrets. A few of them, to be honest. She most definitely regretted having to spend most of what was left in her paltry bank account on bruised apples, but she was trying her hardest to look on the bright side—at least she had pie.
So much pie!
It almost made interacting with Jack Cole worth the trouble. Emphasis on almost.
“This—” she waved a forkful of hot apple filling in Aunt Alice’s direction “—is delicious. You’re a goddess in the kitchen. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, we couldn’t let all those apples go to waste now, could we?” Alice stood and added the foil-wrapped pie to the other three lined up on the butcher-block island in the center of the big farmhouse kitchen. Toby pranced at her feet, resplendent in a lacy knit sweater decorated with tiny crochet flowers.
Madison smiled. “Seriously, thank you. I’ve never made a pie before. It was fun.”
She’d almost been in tears when she’d arrived back at Aunt Alice’s big yellow house, with its crisp white trim and red brick chimney, carrying her half-dozen bags of sad apples. Moving to Vermont had been a mistake. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Things were supposed to be easier in Lovestruck. Gentler. She was supposed to have time to regroup here and breathe a little bit until the perfect job in fashion journalism came along, and instead, she’d been messing things up at every turn.
How was this possible? Wasn’t small-town life supposed to be peaceful and idyllic?
The apple disaster had been the last straw, her rock bottom. But then Alice had taken one look at the contents of her grocery bags and suggested they bake a pie. Strangely enough, it was just what Madison needed. She’d had no idea how soothing baking could be. She liked the feel of the rolling pin in her hands and the predictability of knowing she could mix sugar and butter and flour and an hour later, end up with something sweet and delicious.
It made her believe in herself again, just the tiniest bit.
“Never?” Alice’s hand stilled as she wiped down the countertop with a blue-and white-checked dishrag. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Of course you haven’t. Your father...”
Madison held up a hand. “It’s okay. I promise. Dad was great. He just wasn’t much of a baker.”
“You’re right about that.” Alice sighed. “At any rate, I’m glad I could teach you something new.”
“Me, too.” Madison stood to rinse her plate.
“And I’m glad you’re here, even if the barn apartment didn’t quite work out. You can stay as long as you like, dear. That’s what family is for.”
“Thank you.” Madison smiled.
It wasn’t the first time Alice had told her as much since she’d arrived from New York. Her aunt had repeated the sentiment every day, probably because every time she did, Madison reminded her the move was only temporary.
She didn’t this time. It felt wrong tonight, somehow.
That’s what family is for.
Was it? It had been a while since Madison herself had relied on family. She’d forgotten how nice it could feel to be part of a bigger whole.
“Actually, there’s something else I might need help with.” Madison ran a soapy sponge over her plate, focusing intently on the suds.
“Anything, dear.” Aunt Alice scooped Toby into her arms, and he craned his neck to sniff at Madison’s hair. She’d probably smell like apples for the rest of her life. “What is it this time? Peach pie? Blueberry?”
Madison wished her favor was pie related. Sadly, it was not. “My editor thinks I need to spend some time with children.”
She’d been living on borrowed time since Mr. Grant had made the suggestion, but she couldn’t keep putting it off with recipe columns. She was supposed to be the parenting expert, not a food columnist.
“Oh.” Aunt Alice’s brow furrowed. “What does he have in mind, exactly?”
“I honestly have no idea, but I have to come up with a plan. I hardly know any adults in Lovestruck, much less children.” She glanced at Toby. Did three-year-old hairless dogs count? Doubtful.
Aunt Alice put him back down on the ground so she could flip through the wall calendar pinned to the refrigerator with a Vermont tourism magnet that said I scream, you scream, we all scream for maple syrup. She tapped her pointer finger on one of the weekend squares. “You could always volunteer at the library. They have story hour on Saturday afternoons.”
“Really?” Madison brightened. An hour a week wasn’t much, but it was something. “Do you think they’d let me do it?”
Alice patted her shoulder. “I can put in a good word for you.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Things were finally looking up.
Tomorrow’s paper would be the turning point. Madison had sent an email to Mr. Grant an hour ago, and he’d already gotten back to her. Everything was already set into motion. Her run-in with Jack Cole at the market may have been her rock bottom, but she was already bouncing back.
No thanks to Lovestruck’s finest.
“Although if you want some experience with infants, you could always come to the baby booties class I’ve got going on at the yarn shop.” Alice shot her a hopeful glance.
Madison winced. “I don’t know the first thing about knitting. Or crochet. I haven’t picked up a skein of yarn since the last time I came to visit.”
She felt terrible admitting as much. As a little girl, she’d loved spending time at Main Street Yarn, making basic knit hats on a plastic loom while Aunt Alice helped customers.
“You didn’t know how to bake an apple pie until an hour ago.” Her aunt shrugged.
Fair point. “Will there be babies there?”
“A few. But even better, there will be new moms. You might be able to line up a babysitting job.”
It was worth a shot. At the very least, she could write a column or two about knitting baby items. “Count me in.”
“Perfect!” Alice clapped her hands, and Toby let out three yips in rapid succession. “Class starts tomorrow night. I think this will be just what you need. No one needs more help than new moms do.”
And then, just as Madison grabbed her laptop and headed off to the guest room, her aunt added with a snort. “Except maybe new dads.”
Chapter Four
Dear Editor,
This letter is in response to the recent correspondence from Fired Up in Lovestruck regarding my column last Tuesday, “Five easy applesauce recipes for your infant or toddler.” According to Fired Up, the first recipe listed in the article was “bitter to the point of being inedible.”
Since Fired Up seems especially interested in the accuracy of my column, might I make a gentle suggestion? Followed correctly, the recipe yields a deliciously mild applesauce, perfect for babies. A common mistake when making applesauce is failing to remove all of the apple’s seeds. This happens most often when using a food processor, which is understandable since cooking the apples with their skin is advisable in order to keep important nutrients as well as give your applesauce a nice, rosy color. Removing the seeds is quite important, though, because they are tannic. As a result, cooking them with the apples will leave the applesauce with a bitter flavor.
I would suggest that Fired Up try the recipe again. If my dear reader still considers the recipe too bitter, a dash of good old-fashioned Vermont maple syrup could
be added. But if my suspicions are correct, Fired Up is the bitter one. Not my applesauce.
Sincerely,
Queen Bee
“What’s all this?”
Wade’s question startled Jack so much that he nearly hit his head on the inside of the refrigerator in the firehouse’s kitchen where he was busy stacking Tupperware containers of homemade applesauce. Yesterday had been his day off, and when he hadn’t been busy changing diapers or warming up bottles of formula, he’d been at the stove, trying to use up all the apples he’d purchased after the apple avalanche at the Village Market. Two tiny babies could only eat so much applesauce, though. And if fourteen years as a firefighter had taught him anything, it was that a group of guys stuck under one roof together for any period of time would eat just about anything.
“It’s applesauce.” Jack waved a Tupperware bowl in Wade’s general direction. “Want some?”
“No, thanks. I just ate.” Wade narrowed his gaze at the packed refrigerator shelves. “How much did you make? I thought you were trying out recipes for the girls. This looks like enough applesauce to feed an ar—”
Jack tensed as Wade’s voice drifted off. He had the distinct feeling he was about to be busted in a major way. Couldn’t a man make a few gallons of homemade applesauce without getting the third degree from his coworker?
Note to self: find some regular hobbies.
“Tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it does.” Wade shook his head. “My God, it does, doesn’t it? Fired Up in Lovestruck. I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Jack slid a bowl and spoon across the counter toward Wade. Maybe if he could trick his friend into stuffing his face, they wouldn’t have to talk to each other, and he could avoid this painful conversation altogether.
“It sure seems like one.” Wade peeled the lid off the bowl and peered at its contents. “You’ve basically started an all-out war with a local reporter.”
“Hardly.” Jack swallowed. “It’s more of a minor skirmish, not a war.”
“Dude,” Wade said around a mouthful of applesauce. “She wrote a letter to the editor of her own newspaper calling you bitter. Everyone in town is talking about it. That’s not normal. None of this is normal.”
He had a point. Still, Jack had actually felt relieved when he’d spotted her letter in the Bee. She’d called him out, and rightfully so. He’d definitely tossed the apples into his food processor, seeds and all. And now he had apples coming out of his ears—more than enough to experiment with, thanks to his recent flirtation in the produce department at the Village Market.
Thinking about it again, something hardened deep in his gut. He hadn’t been flirting, or more accurately, if he had, it had been purely accidental. He had neither the time, nor the desire, for a woman in his life—especially a woman like the wild-haired beauty he kept bumping into.
Liar. You might not have the time, but the desire is another matter entirely.
Their fingertips had touched as they’d reached for the same apple, and boom. Jack had been hit with a longing so raw and so deep that he’d nearly kissed her right there in the produce section. It was insane. They didn’t even know each other, and he was fairly certain she despised him.
Scratch that. She definitely despised him.
At least the new development in his ongoing feud with Queen Bee had helped keep his mind off his new crush. In the hours he’d spent making applesauce, he hadn’t thought about her big doe eyes or bow-shaped lips more than a handful of times. Ten, tops.
Liar...again.
“You’re not going to tell Cap, are you?” Jack said, gaze flitting in the direction of the apparatus bay where he’d last seen his boss inspecting one of the rigs.
Wade arched a brow. “Why not, since it’s completely normal and healthy to be arguing with a woman you don’t know via the local paper?”
Jack sighed.
“Fiiiine.” Wade pointed his spoon at Jack. “But swear to me you’re getting a night nanny. I have to believe all this nonsense is just temporary insanity brought on by single fatherhood and lack of sleep.”
Jack raked a hand through his hair. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. I called that service that Brody’s sister recommended, and none of the résumés they emailed me were acceptable.”
Maybe he was being overprotective, but nothing was more important than his girls. As much as he needed some help, he was having a hard time imagining letting a stranger take care of them. So far only Jack himself and other family members had watched over them.
Of course, that demographic included his ex-wife, and odds were, anyone the nanny service sent to him would probably be more interested in the twins than Natalie ever had been.
“Not a single one of them?” Wade tossed his spoon into the now-empty bowl with a clang. “I don’t believe that for a minute. You’ve got to let go, man. Just a little bit.”
Let go. It sounded so easy. So...doable. Except he’d been holding on so tightly to things for so long that relaxing his grip seemed impossible.
“I’ll try,” he conceded as he inserted a pod into the coffeemaker.
Wade brushed past him on the way to the refrigerator. “Nope. No trying. Either you hire the next applicant for the night nanny position, or I tell Cap about your secret identity.”
“You’re going to blackmail me into turning my children over to a complete stranger?” His head ached. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for this.
“A competent stranger,” Wade countered. “Are you forgetting that you’re going to be at home while he or she takes care of the girls? It’s just part-time, while you sleep.”
“I’m aware,” Jack said, then took a long, fortifying sip from his coffee cup.
“Good. Either you hire the very next person who applies for the nanny job, or I’ll tell everyone at the station about your cute little pseudonym.” Wade slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ll thank me later. Deal?”
Jack nodded, only half paying attention, because his mind had begun to stray again. Apples tumbled through his thoughts and with them, a sublime ache. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be attracted to a woman, to wonder what it might be like to bury his hands in her hair and kiss her silly. He’d forgotten how good they smelled, especially this woman, like warm honey and apples...like home. He’d forgotten so damn much.
“Deal,” he said absently.
Ready or not, Jack Cole was starting to remember.
* * *
Seeing her rebuttal letter printed in the paper gave Madison a definite thrill.
Take that, Fired Up.
Sure, it was an unconventional approach to dealing with the problem, but the Lovestruck Bee had only itself to blame. Its mandatary print-every-letter-to-the-editor policy had finally worked in her favor. She was practically skipping through the office when Mr. Grant tapped her on the shoulder and told her he needed to speak with her in his office.
Her stomach lurched. As much as she liked her boss, being called into his office was never a good thing.
“Yes, sir.” She tightened her grip on her coffee cup as she followed him through the maze of desks toward his corner office overlooking Main Street.
Her mug was emblazoned with the words Busy Bee and featured a cartoon black-and-yellow honeybee zipping around with a pair of oversize glasses on its little bee face. It was part of the office kitchen’s collection of bee-themed coffee cups. The day before, she’d sipped her hazelnut blend from a mug that said Bee Happy. She hoped this morning’s Busy Bee message was a sign she wasn’t about to bee fired.
“Sit.” Mr. Grant waved a hand toward the worn leather chair opposite his desk.
Madison took a deep breath and sat down.
“I’m going to be honest,” her boss said, glancing out the window as he spoke. Across the street a few retirees w
ere lined up in rocking chairs on the porch of the library. Farther down Madison could see the pristine brick exterior of the firehouse, Engine Co. 24.
Her gaze lingered on the fire truck parked out front, shiny and red, like a perfectly ripe apple. She wondered if Lieutenant Cole and his dreamy blue eyes were inside the building doing something heroic like sliding down a pole or walking around shirtless, covered in soot.
Or maybe he was off somewhere saving a kitten in a tree. Ugh, why did he have to be a firefighter? It made him infinitely hotter.
No pun intended.
Mr. Grant cleared his throat, dragging her attention back to the matter at hand—her possible imminent termination.
She squirmed in her chair. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“Right. Well.” He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “I’m sure you know why I wanted to speak with you.”
The Busy Bee mug shook slightly in Madison’s hands. Coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “This is about my letter to the editor.”
He shot finger guns at her. “Bingo.”
Her stomach took another tumble, but at the same time she realized Mr. Grant was smiling. Why was he smiling?
Her boss wasn’t exactly the smiley type, which meant this was either an uncommonly friendly firing or he actually had something positive to say.
“It was a brilliant idea,” he said.
“It was?” Madison sat up a little straighter. “Right. I mean, it was.”
“Positively brilliant.” Mr. Grant’s smile grew wider. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook all day. My email in-box is full. Until this morning I didn’t even realize such a thing could happen.”
“Do you want me to help you clear it out?” she said, still unsure where exactly this meeting was headed.
“What? No.” He shook his head. “I want you to keep it up.”
She blinked. “Keep what up, exactly?”
“Keep arguing with Fired Up in Lovestruck in the letters-to-the-editor section. The readers are eating it up.” He cupped a hand to his ear. “Do you hear that? It’s the sound of phones ringing out front. You have fans now.”
