by Teri Wilson
Beside Madison, Jack’s breath hitched, and it was suddenly too much for her to take. She wanted to throw her arms around him and join in the celebration. She wanted to capture the moment, snap a picture and paste it into a baby book with pink satin trim. She wanted to tell Jack that he was the very best father these two precious girls could ever want.
She didn’t do any of those things, obviously. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been right, because this was a family moment, and Madison wasn’t family. She was only the reporter who’d faked her way into a part-time night nanny job to further her career. To top it all off, her boss now wanted her to purposefully write something over-the-top ridiculous to court her worst critic.
So while Jack tended to his daughters, she slipped quietly out of the bathroom to let them have their moment and did her best to remind herself who—and what—she really was.
Chapter Nine
Dear Editor,
Are my eyes deceiving me, or is the subject of Queen Bee’s latest column really How to Bedazzle a Diaper?
I didn’t want to write this letter. I really didn’t, but out of concern for the safety and well-being of the children in our community, I feel compelled to point out the obvious: bedazzling a diaper is dangerous. The “charms, rhinestones and glitter” that Queen Bee seems to think will make a disposable diaper “more aesthetically pleasing” are, in fact, choking hazards.
Also, disposable diapers are made of synthetic materials that are completely inappropriate for use with a hot glue gun. Honestly, this latest attempt at journalism is so egregious that I’m officially calling on you, the editor, to print a retraction clearly pointing out the dangers involved with diaper bedazzling—which I’m pretty sure isn’t an actual thing.
Sincerely,
Fired Up in Lovestruck
Dear Editor,
While I’m disappointed to read that Fired Up in Lovestruck didn’t appreciate the whimsical nature of my most recent column, I can’t say I’m surprised.
Perhaps Fired Up missed the following note, which was included in fine print at the end of “How to Bedazzle a Diaper”?
Note: Queen Bee recommends bedazzling a diaper for special occasion photo shoots only—birthdays, #babymilestones, #selfiesaturday and the like. Not appropriate for everyday wear or use without close supervision.
Might I suggest a name change for Fired Up? I think Uptight in Lovestruck is still available.
Sincerely,
Queen Bee
Editor’s Note:
The Lovestruck Bee does not condone or endorse gluing or in any way affixing small decorative items to disposable diapers. Not even for #babymilestones Instagram posts.
Dear Editor,
Thank you for your recent statement on diaper bedazzling.
Now...
Who’s going to tell Queen Bee that babies, by their very nature, are incapable of participating in #sefliesaturday?
Sincerely,
Fired Up in Lovestruck
Madison sat at her desk, sipping her maple latte and feeling as if she was wrapped in a heavy blanket of cinnamon, sugar and shame.
Her ludicrous column about diaper bedazzling had worked. Mission accomplished—Fired Up in Lovestruck had taken the bait, and Mr. Grant was practically walking around the office on air. She should be thrilled, probably. But she couldn’t help feeling like the biggest hack in the universe.
Obviously, she didn’t think infants should be crawling around with rhinestones glued to their backsides. Honestly, she’d meant the whole thing more as satire than an actual craft project, hence her disclosure at the end of the article. If any of her readers actually managed to hot glue something onto a Pamper without melting it, she figured they would snap a cute photo and then toss the thing straight into the nearest trash can.
Mr. Grant had printed her endnote in the tiniest font imaginable, though. In her original draft, she’d typed the footnote in bold. No wonder Fired Up had gotten himself more fired up than ever. She didn’t blame him one bit.
How long was she supposed to keep this up? She wasn’t sure she could keep intentionally writing nonsense. It felt wrong on multiple levels. She was proud of the more helpful columns she’d penned lately. After a recent story on bedtime rituals for babies, she’d even gotten a few nice letters from parents, which she’d tacked to the wall of her cubicle. They’d made her almost as happy as a trip to the Vogue closet.
And now all that good writing had been shot down by a glue gun and a handful of glitter.
What would Jack think if he knew about this?
She stared forlornly into her coffee. Jack Cole had nothing whatsoever to do with her career, so she wasn’t sure why she’d all of a sudden begun to worry about his opinion.
His opinion mattered, though. It mattered more than it should, which terrified Madison. She cared too much about what he thought. She cared too much about him, period.
They’d nearly kissed two nights ago, and she’d hardly been able to concentrate on anything else since then. Other than diaper bedazzling, of course. She was distracted beyond reason. Case in point: she didn’t notice Mr. Grant had come out of his office carrying a bullhorn until his gruff roar boomed throughout the room like it was the voice of God.
“Gather round, hive. I have important information.” He waved everyone toward the center of the room and stood with his arms crossed, waiting for the worker bees to obey.
Madison glanced around, wondering whether this was a normal occurrence or something out of the ordinary. She’d yet to set eyes—or ears—on the bullhorn during her tenure at the Bee. Frankly, it seemed like overkill. They were a small-town paper with less than twenty total employees.
“It’s got to be good news,” Nancy, the food columnist, whispered as she shot Madison a grin. “He usually only pulls that thing out at the holiday party when he’s about to distribute the Christmas bonuses.”
Intriguing.
Madison joined her colleagues in the middle of the bullpen, standing on the fringe of the group until Mr. Grant called her forward.
“Madison, get up here. We’ve got you to thank for this.” He smoothed down his dreadful brown tie. It was so comically out of fashion that Madison was beginning to think it was cute. Endearing, in a way.
She’d clearly been away from Park Avenue too long.
“Yes, sir.” She made her way through the small crowd to stand beside him, more curious than ever.
“As all of you know, Madison’s column has been attracting a lot of attention lately, which has given the Bee some great exposure. Everyone in Lovestruck has been buzzing about Queen Bee and her archenemy, Fired Up.” Mr. Grant waggled his bushy gray eyebrows, and titters of laughter went up from the crowd.
A trickle of unease snaked its way up Madison’s spine. She wanted less of Fired Up in Lovestruck in her life, not more. In fact, she would have been thrilled if he just disappeared altogether. Oh, how she wished her boss felt the same way.
I never should have written that diaper story.
What could possibly be next? Toddler hair extensions? Botox for babies?
“I’m pleased to say that a lot more people are going to be buzzing about your column really soon, Madison—millions of people, believe it or not,” her boss said. He spoke his next words into the bullhorn, so they echoed throughout the Bee’s quaint newsroom loud enough to peel the sunny yellow paint off the walls. “Because you’re going to be on the Good Morning Sunshine show tomorrow morning!”
His announcement was met with stunned silence for a second, and then everyone burst into cheers and applause. It all just sounded like white noise in Madison’s head as she tried to make sense of what Mr. Grant had just said. Good Morning Sunshine was a national television show, filmed in New York. It had millions of viewers. Watching it was a morning ritual for half the country. Surely she wasn’t supposed to get on national televi
sion and talk about a troll who seemed to have some strange obsession with her little local column. Just the thought of doing so made her hands shake so badly that she could barely hold on to her latte.
“Good Morning Sunshine?” She swallowed. “What do you mean, exactly?”
Mr. Grant shrugged. “It seems one of the producers has family here in town and got wind of your war of words with Fired Up in Lovestruck. They want to do a story on you two.”
“How is that even possible? We don’t even know who Fired Up is?” There had to be some mistake. She couldn’t go on Good Morning Sunshine and talk about diaper craft projects. She’d never get a job in fashion again.
“They like the anonymity angle. They want to read some of the letters to the editor on air and do a short interview with you. At the end of the segment, they’re going to call on Fired Up in Lovestruck to step forward and identify himself.” Mr. Grant wagged a finger at her. “I told you people loved the chemistry between you two!”
Chemistry?
“Mr. Grant, please. I’m not sure this is such a great idea. Isn’t it starting to seem less like a newspaper and more like an episode of The Bachelor?” Or God forbid, Bachelor in Paradise.
“Of course not. It’s starting to seem like an episode of Good Morning Sunshine.” He laughed, as did all of Madison’s colleagues.
She didn’t blame them, really. A segment on the most popular morning show in the country would put the Lovestruck Bee on the map. Subscriptions would go through the roof. Those Christmas bonuses that Mr. Grant loved to pass out would probably be bigger than ever.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible. Perhaps once she had a chance to wrap her head around the idea, she could get on board with the hosts Samantha Williams and Meghan Ashley laughing it up over her lame attempts at parenting advice and Fired Up in Lovestruck’s painfully blunt assessment of her maternal instincts. She just needed a little time to catch her breath and come up with a plan.
She also needed to come up with a killer outfit, because if she was going to become a national laughingstock, she was damn well going to look good doing it.
Mr. Grant clapped his hands to get everyone to quiet down. “All right, everyone. Let’s get back to work. We still have a paper to get out tomorrow morning.”
Right. One thing at a time. Madison’s next column was only halfway finished, and she needed to get it turned in before she could think about her mortifying television debut. She turned to follow Nancy back toward their shared cubicle, but her boss tapped her on the shoulder before she could get very far.
“I didn’t mean you, Queen Bee,” he said. “You have a plane to catch.”
Her latte felt like it was curdling in the pit of her stomach all of a sudden. “Today? I can’t. I have a column to finish. I can’t just leave town without any notice. I need time to prepare. I... I have my knitting class tonight.”
She was grasping at straws with that last excuse, but come on. Mr. Grant would never throw her to the Good Morning Sunshine wolves without any chance to prepare.
Then again, maybe he would.
“Your segment is first thing tomorrow morning. You fly out of Burlington in three hours.” He adjusted the knot in his adorably awful tie. “Get ready, Queen Bee. By this time tomorrow, everyone in America will know who you are.”
* * *
In an unprecedented night of activity, Jack’s shift had three overnight calls before his day off. The first two were ambulance assists—one for an elderly man who’d suffered a fall in his cottage near downtown Lovestruck and the other in a motorcycle accident way out on the interstate. The third was a three-alarm fire two counties over, in a town so small it was serviced by a volunteer fire department.
What started as an electrical fire in the attic of an antiques warehouse store spread quickly, and in the end, rigs from all the neighboring counties showed up to help. They’d managed to save most of the furnishings, but the entire building and all of its contents suffered heavy smoke damage.
Jack, Wade, Brody and Cap returned to the station covered in black grit and grime. Jack shrugged out of his turnout gear, peeled his T-shirt off and scrubbed his face at the bathroom sink before collapsing into one of the bunk beds. The wakeup bell was scheduled to go off at six-thirty—barely an hour away.
He felt like he’d just closed his eyes when the bell sounded, but he got up, swigged a few cups of coffee and filled out a report on the motorcycle accident in the half hour remaining before the end of his shift. Once all the members of the B team had arrived, he waved at Wade, more than ready to head home.
It was his off-duty day, which meant he’d get to see Madison later. Finally. Three days and nights had never felt so long before. She’d disappeared after their almost-kiss in the bathroom. One minute she’d been there, and the next, he’d looked up from the twins and she was gone. He’d had no idea what to make of it.
They’d shared something in that bathroom while his daughters splashed in the tub—something intimate, something important. He didn’t want to ruin it by pressuring her into explaining why she’d slipped away. He just wanted to hold on to the memory of her face in his hands, the delicious ache that had come over him when her lips parted and the trembling softness in her voice when she’d whispered to him.
I trust you.
He could have lived on that memory until the day he died, but he’d realized something during the past three nights at the firehouse. He didn’t want to live on memories anymore. He wanted to live, period. And he definitely wanted to finish what he and Madison had started.
At least he’d managed to convince himself that she wasn’t Queen Bee. The asinine diaper article had all but settled that question. He couldn’t imagine Madison writing something so ridiculous. She might not know her way around a shaker of baby powder, but he didn’t think for a minute that she’d ever put Ella or Emma in harm’s way. If that had been the case, he never would have hired her.
That diaper bedazzling train wreck of a column had been completely irresponsible. He’d had to write another letter to the editor. It was his civic duty, plain and simple. And now Queen Bee was the very last person in Lovestruck he wanted to waste his time thinking about.
He climbed into the driver’s seat of his car—a dad van, because what else would he drive?—and checked his phone before cranking the engine. The night before had been so chaotic that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d glanced at it, and apparently, Madison had been busy blowing up his phone while he’d been putting out fires.
He had three text messages from her, two missed calls and a voice mail. Jack wasn’t sure which to investigate first. The last time she’d been so anxious to get in touch with him, she’d tried to get him to fire her, so the flurry of notifications on the screen of his iPhone felt like a bad sign.
Up and down Main Street, the sleepy town of Lovestruck was waking up. Shopkeepers were opening their doors, and the usual morning crowd at the Bean hovered around the entrance, sipping drinks and making morning chitchat. In the distance, cool blue mist clung to the base of the Appalachian Mountains, making the horizon look like a watercolor painting. Jack took a deep breath and tapped the text message icon on his screen.
There’s something I need to tell you.
That first message was enough to make him skip the rest and go straight to the voice mail. Her message wasn’t any more forthcoming, though. She just said she’d had to go out of town unexpectedly and would see him later tonight for her regularly scheduled nanny shift. She’d call if she ran into unexpected travel delays and she apologized in advance for “anything that caught him by surprise” between now and then.
Jack went still as stone in the front seat of his van. He stared down at the phone in his hands, willing it to somehow provide him with more information. The screen faded to black, mocking him.
Anything that caught him by surprise...
Wha
t did that mean, exactly? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
He tried returning her call, but it rolled straight to voice mail, so he tucked his phone away and drove home as the sun rose high in the sky, bathing the town in the glittering morning light.
Ella and Emma were wide awake, smearing mashed bananas on the trays of their matching highchairs when Jack walked through the side door and into the kitchen. They were both so immersed in pulverizing their breakfast that they didn’t bother looking up when he entered the room. Likewise, his mom was glued to the small television he kept near the end of the kitchen counter for the occasional moments when he felt like getting caught up on world events or watching UVM football while he washed bottles or strained vegetables.
“Hello?” he said when no one seemed to notice him.
“Jack!” Sarah Cole flew across the kitchen, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward the television. “You got home just in time. You’re not going to believe this.”
He was dead on his feet, in no mood for perky morning programming and he could already see the garishly bright set of Good Morning Sunshine over his mom’s shoulder. But when he got a closer look at the woman sitting on the pristine white sofa next to Meghan Ashley, he suddenly understood her sense of urgency.
It was Madison, right there on national television. She’d done something to her hair. It was sleek and smooth, falling over her shoulders in a glossy curtain, but he would have known her anywhere. What he didn’t know was what she was doing on one of the most popular TV shows in the country.
The words from her text message flashed in his head like a neon sign. There’s something I need to tell you. He was beginning to think he might know what it was.
“So, Madison, tell us why you’ve been writing your column for the Lovestruck Bee under a pen name.” Meghan Ashley smiled from ear to ear as the bottom dropped right out of Jack’s world.
A little bar that read Madison Jules, Lovestruck, Vermont’s Queen Bee, flashed across the bottom of the television screen while Madison answered Meghan’s question. Jack tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but his heart was suddenly beating so hard that a terrible roar pulsed in his ears. Letters were popping up on the screen—his letters—one, then another and another, until they filled up the entire space.
