A Firehouse Christmas Baby

by Teri Wilson

  “Since today. It was a gift from Jack. I came by at lunch to drop it off. I thought I’d surprise you and Nick, but you weren’t here.” A dimple flashed in his left cheek.

  Ugh, did he have to look so thoroughly pleased with himself?

  “That was really thoughtful.” Her lips curved into a tight smile. “It just would have been really nice to know it was here.”

  “No worries. Your secrets are safe with me,” he said.

  But was her heart? That was the million-dollar question.

  “Come into the living room. I’ve got another surprise for you two.”

  “Is it more surveillance equipment?” she said flatly.

  Wade laughed as he turned and walked away.

  Focus on his socks. If anything can make him seem less attractive, they should do the trick.

  But she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from straying to the way his T-shirt stretched across his broad back as he moved. Or how charmingly rumpled he looked.

  Wait. Was that a pine needle poking out from his thick brown hair?

  “Ta-da,” he said, gesturing toward a blue spruce tree standing in the corner of the room. The evergreen was tucked by the window, so tall and elegant that it nearly scraped the ceiling.

  Felicity gasped. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “I had to inspect the Christmas-tree lot today for work. They passed with flying colors, by the way. While I was there, I kept thinking about the tiny tree back at your apartment. I thought you might like to have one here, too.” His expression turned slightly sheepish, and Felicity thought this might be the side of Wade she liked best of all—not the flirty, confident firefighter everyone in Lovestruck knew and loved, but the tender side of him. The vulnerable side. The side no one got to see but her.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I think it’s perfect.” I think you’re perfect.

  Her head swirled with a lovely combination of Christmas-tree scented air and longing. What was it that she’d just promised Duchess?

  I’m not going to fall in love with him. I promise I’m not. Ever.

  She took a step toward him. Duchess would forgive her if she kissed him, right? Just this once.

  But as she drew closer to him, she caught sight of a flash of pink over his shoulder. It was a bubblegum-hued lump on the floor, tucked halfway beneath the sofa, as if someone had tried their best to hide it but couldn’t completely banish it from view.

  No. Felicity’s heart sank. Duchess had struck again.

  “My Birkin!”

  * * *

  “What’s a Birkin?”

  Wade wasn’t sure what was happening, but it definitely wasn’t good. For a second, Felicity had been looking at him like he was as magical as Santa and all nine of his flying reindeer, and the next, she’d run across the living room in a panic.

  “What’s a Birkin?” She stared at him, agog, as she clutched her big pink handbag to her chest. Images of Linus and his blanket from A Charlie Brown Christmas flashed through Wade’s head. “You cannot be serious right now.”

  He held up his hands. “You’ve got to help me out here, babe.”

  Whatever a Birkin was, Wade wasn’t a fan, seeing as it had just interrupted the most intimate moment he and Felicity had ever shared. Still, he hated to see her so upset. Surely there was something he could do to get this evening back on track. They had a tree to decorate, popcorn strings to make, maybe even a little slow dancing in the soft glow of the tree lights. Somewhere around here, he had his mom’s old collection of Christmas albums. Was there any sort of chaos that couldn’t be calmed by The Carpenters’ “Merry Christmas, Darling”?

  Wade’s body tensed at the memory of Felicity’s aching promise that he’d overheard on the baby monitor. I’m not going to fall in love with him. I promise I’m not. Ever.

  Right, so he probably shouldn’t be thinking about slow dancing—especially since he had no intention of falling in love, either. He and Felicity were just two people who happened to be raising a baby together. Temporarily. He wasn’t sure why he was going around buying Christmas trees and doing yoga in his spare time.

  “Does this make things clear for you?” Felicity thrust her bag toward him.

  Uh oh. Duchess had evidently acquired a taste for bubblegum-pink leather.

  “So a Birkin is a purse,” he said calmly.

  She glared at him so hard that Santa was probably writing his name on the naughty list in permanent black ink. And then she stormed past him toward the guest room and slammed her door with enough force to rattle the windows.

  It looked like Wade would be decorating the tree solo. Merry freaking Christmas.

  Chapter Ten

  Later that week, with her uniquely embellished—thanks to Duchess—Birkin bag slung over her shoulder, Felicity took a deep inhale of coffee-scented air. The interior of the Bean smelled fantastic, even though commingled somewhere with the rich holiday aromas of espresso beans, gingerbread and peppermint mocha, there was still an underlying base note of maple. She was still in Vermont, after all. Maple syrup was pretty much what glued Lovestruck together.

  Not technically true, Felicity admitted to herself. Her time in Vermont had certainly been adventurous, but in addition to giving her a crash course in small-town life, the past couple weeks also made Felicity realize that the glue holding the Lovestruck community together was its people. As intrusive as it could be, it was also sort of...nice.

  Wade was the hometown hero, and now everyone else in Lovestruck seemed to be falling in love with Felicity by association. Every night, crowds swarmed to the living nativity scene at the Christmas festival. Lovestruck moms kept popping by the yoga studio to drop off holiday baked goods and tell Felicity what a perfect Mary and Joseph they were. It would have been just lovely if she and Wade were a real couple. A family.

  But they weren’t, and now all the attention was making it harder and harder for Felicity to remember why she’d insisted on the no-romance rule. Since the baby-monitor incident and the near-kiss by the Christmas tree, she’d renewed her commitment to not let herself fall for him. The damaged Birkin had saved her. Every now and then, though, she couldn’t seem to remember why.

  To protect your heart, remember?

  Right. Her heart. She glanced at Nick, tucked in his puffy little snowsuit beneath a soft flannel blanket in his new stroller—the most recent hand-me-down from one of Wade’s fellow first responders. Lately it sort of seemed that her heart no longer resided deep inside her chest, nor did it reside in her pink Birkin. She felt more like it lived in tiny onesies and the hand-knitted baby bootees that Madison’s aunt Alice kept bringing to gentle yoga class.

  Would it be so bad if she agreed to keep caring for Nick after the holidays? Not at all, which was precisely the problem. The longer this arrangement lasted, the harder it would be on her when it ended.

  Felicity placed her order and pushed Nick’s stroller to her favorite corner booth, all the while glancing over her shoulder in case the Lovestruck moms happened to be around. She hadn’t allowed herself to set foot inside the Bean since the last awkward encounter. But a girl could only go so long without proper coffee, especially when she was getting up every other night to take care of a baby.

  Don’t you mean every night? Her face went warm as she thought about how she and Wade had continued handling the late-night shifts together instead of taking turns. That probably needed to stop. And it would...soon.

  Maybe.

  “Excuse me.” A throat cleared nearby as a shadow fell over Felicity’s table.

  She nearly jumped a mile in her seat. Ugh, she was supposed to be looking out for the moms so she could hide instead of daydreaming about Wade and his irresistibly broad shoulders.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the owner of the shadow said. Not one of the moms, as it turned out,
but an unfamiliar man in a finely tailored suit with a camel-colored scarf wrapped around his neck.

  Felicity blinked, stunned into silence by the sight of exquisite wool cashmere. She hadn’t caught a glimpse of Armani menswear since the day she’d left Manhattan. Oh, how she’d missed fashion.

  “You’re Felicity Hart, right?” He offered her his hand for a shake. “Brad Walker from Lovestruck Real Estate.”

  “Oh, right. We’ve talked on the phone, and your assistant, Betty, has been really helpful since I moved to town. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” She stood to take his hand.

  “Please sit.” He smiled down at Nick, sleeping soundly in his baby carrier. “If this is a bad time, we can chat later. I didn’t realize your son was asleep.”

  Felicity’s heart gave a little squeeze. Her son. “It’s fine, really. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

  He nodded. “Yes, actually.”

  “Have a seat.” Felicity waved toward the leather bench opposite the table from her. It wasn’t as if she was in a hurry. Mornings at the studio had finally picked up, thanks to Alice’s knitting group and the guys from the fire department. But from about ten a.m. onward, her days were free and clear.

  Caring for Nick had provided a nice distraction, as had spending time with Wade. Neither of those situations would last forever, though. At some point, she was going to have to stop living in a holiday fantasy world and deal with her very real, very complicated life.

  The barista called her name and Brad volunteered to fetch her coffee. He returned with two steaming cups, slid across from her and handed her the one topped with whipped cream and nutmeg.

  “Thanks.” She took a sip of her gingerbread latte and braced herself for whatever Brad wanted to discuss with her.

  She’d paid her rent on the studio, hadn’t she? Had she gotten so wrapped up in her temporarily charmed life that she’d forgotten? Surely not. Maybe he had a problem with the fact that she wasn’t actually living in the attic apartment anymore. Although, was that really necessary? Main Street in Lovestruck seemed as safe as could be.

  “Thanks for taking a few minutes to chat.” A tiny furrow appeared between Brad’s eyebrows. “I hope this discussion doesn’t prove to be too awkward—”

  Felicity’s stomach churned. Uh oh. This couldn’t be good.

  “—but we’ve had some interest in the space your yoga studio currently occupies.”

  Felicity’s mouth opened and then closed again. What was he talking about? “I don’t understand. Someone already wants to rent the space when my lease runs out?”

  She’d just moved in a month ago. Who chose commercial space to rent nearly an entire year in advance?

  Brad shook his head. “No. They want to rent the space sooner than that. Much sooner—just after the first of the year, as a matter of fact. Don’t worry, the space is yours. You’ve got a contract and of course we’ll stand by that, no matter what. But this client has made it clear that they’d be willing to buy out the rest of your lease.” He shrugged. “I guess I felt like I had a responsibility to let you know.”

  “Oh, wow.” Felicity swallowed. “I, um. I don’t know what to say.”

  Not once had she considered that she might have an opportunity to get out of her lease. She’d made an impulsive decision based on a broken heart, a weekend yoga retreat and serving as Madison’s maid of honor, and she’d thought she was stuck with it for life. A full calendar year, at minimum. And here was Brad, like an Armani-clad angel, offering her the most unexpected Christmas gift of all—a way out.

  Once Christmas was over, Nick could be placed in a real home with real parents. She would be free to leave Wade’s house and walk away from Lovestruck altogether, if that’s what she wanted.

  Is it what I want?

  Felicity gave Brad a wobbly smile. She suddenly had no idea what she really wanted. Lovestruck had finally started to feel like home, but all of that would change after Christmas.

  “You don’t need to say anything.” Brad held up his hands. “I’m just the messenger here.”

  “Can I ask what sort of business would take the studio’s place?” She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know. She couldn’t imagine any type of shop or business in the pretty, serene space she’d created. She only set foot on the special bamboo flooring in her sock feet.

  Maybe it was some sort of dance studio, though. Or a florist or vintage dress boutique. Someplace cheery and pretty.

  “A hardware store,” Brad said.

  Her shoulders sagged. “Oh.”

  “A nice, stable hardware store, though. Part of a national chain.”

  Ugh, it was getting worse by the second.

  What did she care, though? By the time they moved into her dreamy yoga studio, she could be back in New York, working at another slick fashion magazine. Back where people knew not to let their dogs gnaw on Birkin bags.

  “Can I think about it?” she heard herself say.

  Brad’s eyebrows rose. “Sure. I honestly didn’t think you’d be interested. I was just letting you know as a courtesy.”

  Felicity’s gaze dropped to the melting whipped cream atop her coffee. “The studio has been more of a challenge than I anticipated.”

  Everything in Lovestruck had...almost everything, anyway.

  “I see. Sorry to hear it.” Brad reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and then slid a crisp, white business card toward her across the table. “Sleep on it for a few days and give me a call if you have any questions.”

  If she had any questions?

  Right now, questions were pretty much all she had. What she really needed were answers.

  * * *

  “This can’t be right.” Wade squinted at his cell phone.

  Clearly he’d typed the incorrect words into his search engine. Either that, or his results were popping up in some type of foreign currency.

  “What?” Jack glanced over his shoulder at the neat grid of handbags on the screen of his iPhone and snorted. “Are you in the market for a handbag?”

  “Duchess chewed on one of Felicity’s purses.” Wade sighed. “Her ‘Birkin.’ It’s a thing, apparently.”

  A thing that cost ten thousand dollars on eBay, evidently. Pre-owned. How was that even possible? Wade’s first car cost less than half that amount.

  “Her Birkin?” Jack winced as he tossed the new edition of the Lovestruck Bee on the firehouse’s big kitchen table and dropped into the chair beside Wade. “You’re in big trouble, man. Huge. Do you have any idea how much those things cost?”

  Wade glared at him. “Since when did you become an expert on Birkin bags? I’d never even heard of them until the other night.”

  “Since I married a fashion reporter.” Jack shrugged and grabbed an apple from the big wooded bowl in the center of the table. “I’ve learned a few things in the past few months.”

  “Like what, exactly?”

  “Like women wear nude-colored shoes because it’s supposed to make their legs look longer, wearing white after Labor Day is now socially acceptable and Birkin bags are pretty much the most expensive handbag on the market.” Jack snapped his fingers. “Oh, and those things you call your house socks are bad. Really, really bad.”

  Ouch.

  Was everyone in Lovestruck talking about his socks? You have much bigger problems than socks, my friend. “Who even are you right now?”

  “Madison loves this kind of stuff, and I’m a good listener.” Jack bit into his apple with the carefree ease of a man who wasn’t in the market for a ten-thousand-dollar handbag.

  Wade envied him—possibly for more reasons than he wanted to contemplate. “I get it. You’re husband-of-the-year. But how does that help me replace Felicity’s bag?”

  “I guess it doesn’t,” Jack said.

  Wade sighed.


  “Look, you’re never going to be able to replace it. Not unless you’ve amassed a vast personal fortune that’s somehow escaped my notice.” Jack finished off his apple and stood to toss the core into the trash.

  “I need to make it up to her somehow.” Wade’s gut churned.

  Felicity had dozens of other handbags. Heck, he’d warned her about Duchess’s naughty streak—several times. The first few pairs of chewed-up stilettos probably should have been a warning sign. He’d picked up that purse and put it out Duchess’s reach himself on more than one occasion. This was not his fault.

  Except Duchess was his dog now. Not his mom’s, but his. He’d even begun to like the little devil, naughty streak and all. But even the fact that the dog was ultimately his responsibility didn’t really matter. What mattered most was the look on Felicity’s face when she’d found the teeth marks on the bag—the tears that glittered in her moody blue eyes. She’d just seemed so utterly defeated that all Wade wanted to do was make it right.

  “So much drama,” he muttered. “Over a purse.”

  “A twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse,” Jack said, oh so helpfully.

  “No.” Wade shook his head. “No way. I just saw some online for half that price.”

  Jack nodded. “Ah, you must have been looking at used ones.”

  Wade stared at him for a long beat. “Seriously, you could not have picked up all of this fashion knowledge by osmosis.”

  There was no way he was that good of a listener. No one was.

  The tips of Jack’s ears turned cherry red. “Madison reads her copies of Vogue to the girls. They seem to like it, so...”

  The truth at last.

  Wade let out a bark of laughter at the thought of his rough and tumble firefighting friend reading Vogue aloud to his twin baby daughters. Even so, a strange warmth seemed to grab hold of Wade’s heart. He had to admit it was kind of sweet.

  Jack busied himself scrubbing an invisible spot off the kitchen counter in an obvious effort to ignore Wade’s amusement as Cap strolled into the room.