CHAPTER 4—DAMIAN
***
Alessandro: Ava would love to see Uncle Damian tonight.
Damian: I'll be there.
BEFORE LEAVING FOR her book club, Mom kissed my cheek. "You've worked hard in therapy. I see it. Christmas isn't easy, but you're not alone." Encouraging words, but the Swans Cove Christmas Market is still my worst nightmare—tinsel, blinding lights, and too many Santa hats. But the nightmares from the Ghost of Christmas Past can fuck right off. Tonight's about Ava, making sure this kid has a better Christmas than I did when I was eight.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Carlos's name flashes on the screen, but Ava's tugging at my sleeve, pointing excitedly at the waffle stand and I silence the call. Him wanting me to join the volunteer firefighter poker night can wait.
"And the swan said... forever and ever," she says, voice high and excited. Cinnamon and sugar waft over us, making my stomach growl.
"The swans said that, huh?" I cock an eyebrow, biting back a grin. Kid's got some imagination.
"Of course. They're swans. They stay together forever," Ava says, eyes bright. "Did you know my Dad is here tonight?" I smile. Her dad's one of the good ones—he and Aisling co-parent like pros, even with Alessandro in the mix.
"But he doesn't ice skate," Ava adds, tugging on my jacket. Her glove leaves a sticky smear - probably leftover candy cane. "Are you going to ice skate with me?"
"Hmm-hmm," I grunt, handing her the steaming waffle wrapped in a napkin before biting into mine.
Damn if it isn't good - crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, with the right amount of sweetness.
The sugar hits my bloodstream, and I feel myself loosening up. Maybe it's the waffle or Ava's non-stop chatter, but the lights don't seem so in-your-face, the carols not quite -sharp-nails-on-a-chalkboard annoying.
A few stalls down, Alessandro and Aisling huddle close, sharing a steaming drink. The way they look at each other makes a guy almost believe in happy endings.
Almost.
Maddie's curls catch my eye, snowflakes in her hair. Our eyes meet, and it's like someone cranked up the Christmas lights. Maybe I'll stick around a bit longer. For Ava's sake, of course.
"PRINCESS MADDIE!" AVA'S voice cuts through the chatter of the crowd. I follow her gaze to see Maddie wobbling on her skates like a newborn colt. Fuck if it isn't adorable. Except she's got her camera up in the air. Is she filming herself?
When she hears Ava call out her name again, she waves to the camera and turns it off before we're even close to her. I appreciate that. And I'm sure Aisling and Alessandro do, too. Knowing their complicated relationship with social media. On the sidelines, I spot James, Diane, Ed, and a few other faces from the Swans Cove Gazette. They're all grinning, giving Maddie encouraging thumbs-up. Huh. Guess the Ice Princess is starting to thaw some hearts around here.
"Come on, Uncle Damian!" Ava pulls me with her—except Ava is actually good at ice skating and I'm clearly not. Staying upright shouldn't be that much of a challenge.
As we wobble across the ice, my watch vibrates. A quick glance shows multiple notifications on the @SwansCoveShelter account. Great. Probably more "Merry Christmas" messages from well-wishers who think holiday cheer pays the bills. I swipe them away, irritation simmering under my skin. If only these people knew how much the shelter actually needs—
My train of thought derails as Maddie laughs at something Aisling said as she helps her toward the boards. It's a warm, throaty sound that hits me right in the chest. I'm so distracted that I don't notice the small ridge in the ice until it's too late.
"Fu—dgickle." I bite off the curse, remembering Ava's presence. I flail, arms windmilling like I'm trying to take flight. In a desperate grab for stability, I latch onto the closest thing - which happens to be Maddie's waist.
We crash to the ice, Maddie landing on top of me, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I barely notice the cold because Maddie's warmth is everywhere.
"You okay?" I growl—but she's laughing—like she can't believe this is happening but also like she's having some sort of moment. I can't help but tuck a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering on the rose tattoo for a beat too long. There's something about the way she looks at me right now that tugs at something deep inside, something I haven't felt in a long time.
"I'm fine." We're both still not moving, just staring into each other's eyes.
After a bit, I give her my half-grin, the one that has her sucking a breath in. "Is this how you greet all your neighbors? Or am I special?" I drawl and her cheeks flush pinker than Ava's gloves. Maddie usually put up this professional front— she doesn't let many people see past the practiced smiles and efficiency. Oh, she can make you feel like you're part of her world—but it's the world she defined. Yet, I could write an encyclopedia about the different shades of red her skin can take.
"You wrapped your stupidly strong arms around me and I went down on you." Her voice is breathy. "I mean you went down. And you took me down on you. You know what I mean."
"Oh, I think we both went down."
For a moment, we're frozen there, lost in our own little world. I swear I can hear her heart racing, matching the drum solo in my chest. Her lips are so close I can almost taste the cinnamon hot chocolate on her breath. All I'd have to do is lift my head a little...
"Are you making snow angels?" Ava's innocent question shatters the moment like a sledgehammer to an icicle.
Maddie blinks, looking dazed. "Uh, not exactly, sweetie," she says, voice wobbling more than her skating. She tries to push herself up, somehow manages to knee me right in the family jewels.
I let out a grunt that's half pain, half strangled laugh. "Easy there, Bambi. We're both fond of that particular piece of equipment."
Maddie glares at me, but her lips are twitching. It's one of those moments where everything's hanging in the balance, where either one of us could lean in, close the gap between us, and just let whatever this is take over. But then Ava calls out to her mom, and the moment's gone, slipping through my fingers like sand.
I watch as Maddie turns her attention to Ava, her expression softening in an instant, but that tension between us doesn't disappear like it should. The cold air bites at my skin, but it doesn't cut through the way she does, slicing into all the places I've kept buried. The rink's laughter fades. I breathe in—big mistake. Maddie's scent fills my lungs, and I have to resist the urge to pull her close. Keep it light, keep it safe. It's better that way.
"Come on, Uncle Damian!" Ava's voice pulls me out of my head, and I plaster on a grin, shoving all that other crap down deep where it belongs.
"Mommy, Princess Maddie is breaking Uncle Damian's equipment." Ava announces, her voice full of innocent glee. And damn if that doesn't bring another surge of laughter to my throat. That and a strange pang of longing.
Aisling glides over, graceful as a swan among flailing ducklings.
"Alright, you two," she says, not even trying to hide her amusement. "Let's get you up before you scar my daughter for life or melt the ice with all that heat."
As we untangle ourselves, my watch buzzes again. This time, it's a text from Carlos: "Shlt3r xxxy! Pi3 please @ Ch3s.
I squint at the message, trying to decipher it. Looks like Carlos is having issues with his phone again. Last time, he was trying to tell me about a new volunteer and somehow it came out as "New vulture ate my car." I shake my head, making a mental note to check in with him later.
But right now, Maddie winces as she puts her skate back on the ice, drawing my attention back to her.
"You okay?" It's already the second time I ask her in less than five minutes, but concern overrides everything else. There's something about her that makes it impossible not to care, even when I know better.
She's tough, though. I can see it in the way she brushes off the pain, the way she pushes through. But that's what worries me. People who are tough don't know when to stop, when to ask for help. I'm the last person who should be worrying about anyone else, but here I am.
"I'm fine," she says, but I can see she's favoring her right ankle.
I instinctively reach for it. "Let me take a look at that."
"Are you a doctor now, too?" Maddie raises an eyebrow.
"Add it to my resume, right after vampire," I drawl. She rolls her eyes, but that smile she's been trying to hide? It's playing peek-a-boo and I don't even need to be the one bringing it out, I just want to see it. I frown at the thoughts taking over my mind—it's this Christmas crap. It must be.
"You might want to rest it for a few seconds," Aisling calls over, twirling with Ava. "I can come with you. The Reindeer Race is about to start—her dad is in it but Alessandro can take Ava to watch him."
"Nah, that's okay. Have fun with this little ice genius. I'll grab a waffle."
I hold myself to the boards. "I'll go with you."
Ava giggles. "Uncle Damian reaaaaaaaallly like waffles. He already went with me."
"And that's our cue to go." Aisling chuckles as they skate away, but we can hear Ava tell her, "They're swans, too."
Maddie and I? Swans? Definitely not.
"You're not scared of being seen with the town's latest scandal?" Maddie clears her throat. "People already think you inspired that letter."
"Well, I did. Plus I'm not scared. I eat scandals for breakfast."
After giving our skates back, we head to the vendors, I find myself asking, "So, how are you holding up?"
She tenses, then shrugs. "My foot? It's fine."
"No, I mean... the letter."
"Still breathing. No stakes through the heart yet."
"Yeah, well, if anyone tries, remind them I've got dibs on that," I mutter.
That gets a laugh out of her – a real one, not the forced chuckle she usually gives. "My hero," she says dryly.
We grab waffles and settle on a bench. The silence isn't comfortable, exactly, but it's not as charged as it used to be.
"You know," I start, surprising myself. "When I first got here, someone dug out some info about my real parents. People wouldn't shut up about my past either."
Maddie looks up, curiosity replacing the guarded expression she usually wears. "Yeah?"
I shrug, aiming for nonchalant. "Well, when your parents are the funny Bonnie and Clyde who capture everyone's attention and make hearts melt... people have opinions. At least my folks stuck to petty theft and never hurt anyone." This second waffle is even better than the first. I bite into it again before adding, "Turns out people eventually find someone else to gossip about. Give it time." She nods, considering, and I can see something shift in her eyes—something that makes me wonder if I just let more slip than I meant to.
I take another bite, using the waffle as an excuse to keep my mouth shut, keep my thoughts from spilling out all over the place. It's better this way, keeping things simple
"Thanks," she says quietly, like she's not sure she wants me to hear it.
This time when my phone vibrates in my pocket, I pick it up because I need this moment for my mind to stop melting around her. Carlos joined the volunteer shelter community last month—heading the "Volunteer Firefighter Calendar With Puppies" fundraiser—which definitely did a splash. But he's not volunteering at the shelter tonight, so I'm half-expecting that invite to poker again.
"What's up?" I say, turning away from Maddie.
Carlos's voice is tense. "I'm covering for Sam at the shelter. We've got a situation. Chesapeake County's had a pipe burst. They need to relocate at least thirty animals by tomorrow morning."
"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my hair, analyzing in my mind what we need to do, how quickly we need to do it. "We need to start prepping tonight."
"We need to have a few meetings first."
"Of course. Great. More paperwork. I'll be there."
I hang up, turning back to find Maddie watching me with concern.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
I hesitate, weighing how much to share. "The shelter's in a tough spot. We're about to get overloaded with animals and we're already at capacity."
Maddie's eyes light up. "I could help! I could write about it, get the word out—"
"I don't think that's a good idea," I interrupt, my tone sharper than intended. I see her enthusiasm falter and feel a pang of guilt, but I press on. "We need to handle this carefully."
"But why?" she persists, leaning forward. "More exposure could mean more adoptions, more donations—"
I clench my jaw, feeling my patience wearing thin, thinking about all the animals who need help and all the paperwork that I need to ensure get filled. Nena—the shelter director—is on well-deserved holidays and her second in command is still kind of new and he's going to need support. "It's not that simple. There are protocols, considerations—"
"Which I could help with if you'd just let me," she counters, her voice rising slightly. "Why are you being so resistant?"
My chest tightens as I struggle to maintain my composure. "Because this isn't some feel-good story for your column or social media. These are real animals that need real help. I know you have a contest deadline, but please."
"Really?" she snaps, yanking her arm free. Her eyes narrow, and I see the moment she decides to strike. "You're so focused on control that you're blind to how it's affecting everything around you. I'm trying to help. But you? You're hiding behind those shelter animals because it's easier than letting someone in. You might actually be hurting the very pets you're trying to save—just because you don't trust me or like me or whatever."
Her words hit like a hammer, shattering my defenses. I want to argue, to tell her she's wrong, but the truth sticks in my throat. I've been hiding—so focused on control that I've forgotten what it means to let someone in. Seeing the disappointment in her eyes hurts more than I want to admit.
"I thought we were past this," she continues, her voice softer but no less sharp. "I thought you finally saw me as more than some shallow writer. But I guess it's easier for you to push people away than to admit you might actually care."
As she walks away, still favoring her right foot, her words echo in my head, leaving me with a sinking feeling. Is my need for control doing more harm than good—to the animals, and to her?
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over her name. One call could fix this—a quick apology for snapping at her and maybe asking for help. She's got the skills, and I need all the help I can get. But needing help is one thing; needing someone is another. And this isn't a relationship. She's just a neighbor who leaves Post-its I can't wait to read. Her damn Post-its...
I should call. But instead, I shove the phone back in my pocket. Not now. I've got thirty animals coming and a shelter at capacity—paperwork, volunteers, and literal dog shit. But as I walk, I can't shake the feeling I'm making a mistake.
By the time I arrive at the shelter, chaos is in full swing. Volunteers are everywhere, scrambling to make space for the incoming animals. I pull out my phone to check the latest updates and see an email notification from the shelter's account. It's from Maddie.
"Damian,
I reached out to a few contacts. Three vets have agreed to help with the influx. Their contact information is attached.
Maddie."
Despite my harsh words, she didn't back down. She's helping anyway.
But as I'm about to put my phone away, a notification pops up. Maddie's latest post tagging the shelter and using #DearSantaWithLove is trending. @NotSoCrabbyNews even reposted it, praising her for rallying support.
I look around the bustling shelter and back at my phone. Despite what she thinks, I'm starting to like her. And that's a problem. Because no matter how much she helps, she's still leaving.
Merry Fucking Christmas.