CHAPTER 7—MADDIE
***
Rose: Sounds like Vampire 2.0 needs some hands-on tutoring?
Becca: I could teach it a thing or two. Dinner to compare notes, Rose?
Maddie: Really? I'm so glad I can provide entertainment.
I SHAKE MY HEAD AT my sister and Becca's back-and-forth. They've been playing Pickleball together every Saturday morning. My sister's been more relaxed since they moved the filming to New York. I wish I could say the same for me. Every time I think about Damian's eyes looking at those dogs, it's like a knot tightens in my chest, a mix of frustration and longing I can't quite shake off.
And his apology? It seemed sincere. But why does it matter so much? I've dealt with difficult people before—pushed through their judgments and kept my focus. But with Damian, it's different. It's like he sees through the polished version of me, right down to the parts I'm not ready to admit to anyone, least of all myself. That scares me. But it also... pulls me in, like the warm of a fireplace on a frosty December morning.
I can't afford distractions, yet here I am, distracted.
"How many listens?" Aisling asks, tilting her head as I plop onto her couch. The Christmas tree lights blink in the corner, like they're trying to Morse code some secret message. Probably "Maddie's an idiot."
Alessandro and Damian are out for the night. Some former bodyguard thing or Navy SEAL turned gym owner thing or brooding and sexy secret society thing. And why do I have this urge to go all "Follow me into the wild world of hot and grumpy men" podcast and crash their little party? It's not like I'm dying to see Damian or anything.
Did I check to see if he left me a Post-it before heading out to Aisling's? Yes. Did he leave me one? Yes. Did it make me smile? Ding, ding, ding. Did you know vibrators predate electricity? Maybe Dracula got one for Christmas.
I'm definitely not thinking about how Vampire 2.0 can't quite hit the spot like the real deal. Maybe I should invent a vibrator with actual large and calloused hands that would growl into my neck. Or go full sci-fi and create some alien tech with suction cups and oak-tree strength and just the right amount of stubble and—
"Mads? You okay there?" Aisling's voice snaps me back. "You seemed lost. Thinking about a certain grumpy neighbor? That certain grumpy neighbor who I'm pretty sure hasn't seen anyone since you moved in Swans Cove." She clears her throat. "Just sharing facts, you know."
I feel my face heat up, sitting straighter, uncharacteristically relieved to hear that Damian's been... single, I guess. "What? No. Absolutely not. I was ... checking stats." I bury my nose in my phone, crossing everything I can cross the screen's glow hides my Damian-shaped blush.
"He hasn't been big on relationships since Alessandro's known him, and they've known each other for almost ten years, but he's a really good guy. Grumpy. But good." She settles next to me—both she and I bonded over our love for true-crime podcasts, a dry sense of humor and books. Granted, her soon-to-be husband was trying to find her a friend before Halloween—but I'm glad it worked out that way.
"Hmm-hmm." I'm not going to fish more information. I'm not.. So instead, I clear my throat. "We're up from a thousand listens per episode to ten thousand for this one." I double check the numbers, counting the zeros again. "Yep. Ten thousand people listened to how I published the wrong letter..."
Aisling's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow! That's wild, Mads!" She leans forward, curiosity written all over her face. "Wait, does that mean you passed the 'Legends of Hollow Bay' podcast?"
I go down the list and nod. "Maryland's Eastern Shore's podcasts for the win."
"That's amazing!" Aisling exclaims, her voice warm but with a hint of her usual dry humor. "Who knew your accidental overshare would be such a hit?"
My stomach does a weird flip-flop thing. "Yeah, turns out public humiliation is kind of my jam. And it's ratings gold. At least in this one I'm not the villain."
My attempt at a joke lands about as well as my attempt at Aisling's famous lava cake. "Totally winning at this local columnist thing."
I burrow deeper into the throw blanket, catching a whiff of Aisling's fabric softener. It's different from the one in our building. The one that always makes me think of—nope, not going there.
Aisling's expression softens. "You know, I used to think I had to be perfect all the time. Not social-media perfect but like perfect-perfect. Not ask for help. Not show any weakness. Be strong for everyone." She pauses. "That almost cost me the family bakery."
"You were amazing on the #SweetsForLove show" I start, but Aisling waves her hand dismissively.
"Well, I did totally lose it toward the end." She chuckles. "What I'm saying is, I work hard. I'm good at what I do. But I still needed help and support and... friendship." She pauses, a genuine smile replacing her usual guarded expression. "And someone who sees past all the sugar coating. Sometimes the best recipes come from happy accidents, you know?"
"I mean.... I swear Alessandro looks at you like you're his favorite dessert," I add, feeling a twinge of something I'm not ready to name.
Aisling lets out a light chuckle. "He's definitely mine." She stands up. "More cake? We can toast to your podcast success and my ability to not turn into a human candy cane from stress."
"Sounds good." I let my gaze trail around Aisling's place. While my apartment is a veritable wonderland right now, hers is decked up with more than twinkling lights. It has a warmth that goes beyond wreaths and tinsel. It's in the mismatched ornaments, each with a story. The crayon drawings by Ava stuck to the fridge. It's a home, not just a place to live.
"You know," I start, mulling over different ideas as Aisling plops back down next to me. "Maybe this isn't a total disaster. I mean, sure, I basically told the whole town that Vampire 2.0—my vibrator—and I have hit a "it's complicated" part of our relationship. But people are listening. They care. Like they cared about my peri-menopause and menopause series."
"That was amazing," Aisling says.
I pause, fiddling with the edge of my sweater as I gather my thoughts. " I could use this. I've been thinking about the shelter and those senior dogs that have been waiting for homes since before I even got to Swans Cove. Damian mentioned they've been having issues with the capacity at the shelter." I take a breath. "What about 'Furever Home for the Holidays'?"
Aisling quirks an eyebrow. "Clever. But we're a week away from Christmas. You're going to need help. And someone with actual hands, you know. Not just battery-operated assistance."
I sputter, nearly spitting out my wine. "Did you-"
"Make a vibrator joke? Yes, yes I did." Aisling's face is deadpan, but there's a glimmer in her eye. "You know, Sorcha has a lifetime supply of those. Sponsorship perks."
"Oh, I know! What if they made romance novel-themed vibrators?" I suggest. "They don't only buzz... like a Bridgerton one that growls Anthony's lines, or a cowboy one with a lasso!" Aisling's laugh is infectious, and I can't help but join in, even as a part of me wonders why I keep layering jokes over my thoughts of Damian. Maybe it's because the humor keeps things light, manageable—keeps me from acknowledging just how deeply he's gotten under my skin. It's easier to keep things breezy than to dive into the feelings I'm not quite ready to face.
Aisling blinks. Once. Twice. "Madison Smith, you terrifying genius."
But then, the truth hits me like a ton of bricks. I groan, slumping into the couch. "Oh god. My favorite romance novel is written by Damian's mom."
"My Favorite Viscount?"
"Hmm-hmmm."
Aisling's mouth gapes open before bursting into laughter, nearly spilling her tea. "Oh, Mads." She wheezes between giggles. "That's... that's priceless. Does Damian know you're, um, invested in his mom's writing?"
I nod. "He does. He saw the highlights and everything." I don't tell her how Damian is better than any and all book boyfriends. At least when it comes to orgasms. I don't know about the rest. Right?
"And I thought having Ava tell Alessandro all about my favorite book boyfriends was embarrassing." She lifts an eyebrow. "On the other hand, he was up for the challenge of proving me wrong." Her eyes get that faraway look like she's remembering something precious. And she shakes her head. "Wait. Vampire 2.0. Does your favorite vibrator have a vampire cape? And it can nibble and has a deep, raspy voice?"
I groan inwardly, wondering how I managed to get myself into this situation. This is definitely not the kind of investigative journalism I imagined doing when I came to Swans Cove. But then again, nothing about this town has been what I expected.
"Kill me now?" I peek at her, feeling my face burning hotter than her confection oven. "Or better yet, can we pretend I'm in a slasher film and this is all a bad dream before the final girl wakes up?"
"Can't," she says with a smile. "Who else would come up with vibrator book clubs? Plus, I need to see how this plays out. It's better than any rom-com I've watched lately."
I throw a pillow at her, but I'm fighting back a smile. Maybe it's not so bad after all. At least it'll make for a good story someday... if I survive the embarrassment.
Her eyes narrow slightly. "But something is bothering you. And it's not dreaming up a new vibrator based on a romance novel your very hot and grumpy neighbor's mother wrote."
I let out a chuckle. "What gave it away? The bags under my eyes?" I gesture dramatically to my face. "Courtesy of a certain someone blasting music at all hours... even when he has company over." I pause, noticing Aisling's expression shift. She's frowning now, like she's wrestling with whether to say something. The silence stretches, and I fill it nervously. "I actually saw Sorcha at Damian's yesterday. Ryan too, and..."
Aisling's face relaxes, but I feel my own body tensing, bracing for... something.
"Imani," Aisling supplies gently. "You saw Imani at Damian's place."
I nod, trying to keep my voice casual. "Yeah, her. Damian told me she's a friend."
"She's a great friend," Aisling continues. "Lives on the West Coast. Engaged, actually. To one of Ryan's former teammates." Aisling hesitates.
"She's the daughter of his lawyer," I continue for her.
And she nods. "He told you that, too." She gives me one of those knowing looks I will interpret in my sleep. I rub my heart necklace between my fingers, remembering the flash of vulnerability in Damian's eyes when he first told me about his past. His jaw had clenched, like he was waiting for judgment. There was none.
"Yeah," I say softly, more to myself than to Aisling. "He doesn't shy away from talking about it, but it's not... personal, you know? Like he's sharing the part of himself he's already shown the world, but not the gooey center underneath." I shake my head. "Not that this man has anything gooey."
Aisling lifts an eyebrow. "Speaking from... experience?'
I feel my cheeks flush yet again. "I mean... You know what I mean."
Aisling's laughter spills out again. This time there are tears forming in her eyes. "Well," she says, trying to catch her breath. "I don't know Damian that well. Not like you. I didn't invite him in that way. You know, as a vampire."
It takes me a second to catch her meaning, and then I'm laughing too, remembering those two "moments" I spent with him. If only she knew how "invited in" Damian had been...
"That vampire bit is going to follow me forever, isn't it?" I groan.
When we finally calm down, Aisling wipes her eyes and says, "Now, how about we plot your next career move over some hot chocolate? I might even have some candy canes to make it extra festive."
"I want hot chocolate!" Ava's sleepy voice drifts down the stairs, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. Aisling's daughter appears, her hair mussed from sleep, a drowsy smile on her face. Behind her, like tiny furry bodyguards, her two dogs trot faithfully: Storm and Loki.
"Do you think she...?" I murmur and Aisling shakes her head.
"She has a white sound machine to help her sleep and she's been waking up around this time to cuddle with us in bed. She did that two years ago a lot." She smiles at her daughter. "Always coming with me in the middle of the night. Right now, though, it's ten pm... one of the dogs may have woken her up."
"They're good boys," Ava says.
The pups bound over to the couch, tails wagging furiously as they leap up beside me. Their enthusiasm is infectious, so different from a certain grumpy neighbor I know. I scratch behind their ears, their warmth seeping into my hands.
Ava's eyes focus on me and she yawns. "Did you know Uncle Damian is a vampire?"
From the kitchen, Aisling lets out a groan. "Ava-love."
"Daddy Sandro told me!" Ava insists, her voice rising with indignation.
At the mention of 'Daddy Sandro', I watch Aisling's face soften, her eyes melting like chocolate chips in fresh-baked cookies. It's a look I've seen before – love, pure and simple.
"He told you?" Aisling steps inside the living room, a hand on her waist.
"I heard him..." Ava continues, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Hmm-hmm." Aisling raises an eyebrow, her tone skeptical but fond.
Ava giggles, caught out. "Okay. I was hiding on the stairs listening." She leans in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "And he asked if Uncle Damian wanted to be Vampire 3.0."
Heat rushes to my face, and I bury it in my hands. I'm pretty sure I'm giving Rudolph a run for his money in the red-nose department right now. Through my fingers, I peek at Aisling, silently pleading for help. But she's laughing.
"I mean... Mads, what do you think?" she asks, leaning against the wall.
I drop my hands, trying to regain some composure. "I think we should definitely have cookies with that hot chocolate."
Ava claps her hands, her face lighting up. "Princess Maddie is right!"
Princess Maddie. It's funny how the nickname Princess used to be filled with bitter memories of kids taunting me, pulling my chair from under me, writing Ice Princess insults on the bathroom walls. But between Ava's awe and happiness and even Damian's, um, more explicit use of it, it warms something inside me. I may not be invited to Formula 1 parties, but I have a friend in this town. Two friends, actually.
As Ava's dogs snuggle closer, their warm bodies pressed against my legs, an idea starts to form. "I think I know what I could do for my article."
Aisling looks up from stirring the hot chocolate, the rich, chocolatey aroma filling the kitchen. "Furever home for the holidays, right? As I said it's a great idea."
"But it's not new," I say, my mind racing. "And you're right about timing and all. You know... I think I should suggest a twist to it: Christmas-Eve-Adoption-Thon, help organize it and write about it."
Aisling pauses, lifting her wooden spoon from the simmering pot. A drop of chocolate falls, landing on the pristine countertop. "But aren't you too close to the subject then?"
I shake my head, excitement building. "Not if I do a feature. Something more personal. Something more... me."
Now, I have to decide which 'me' to put forward. The one who has to win, or the one who simply wants those pups adopted before New Year? Or maybe both. And I have to get Damian on board.
As if reading my mind, Aisling chirps in with a knowing smile. "Hm... I'm pretty sure a certain vampire can help with that."
"Make sure he doesn't bite though!" Ava chimes in, giggling.
"Hmm-hmm," is all I can manage in response. Suddenly, I'm picturing Damian in my bedroom, his lips on my neck, teeth grazing my sensitive skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. His calloused hands roam my body, setting every nerve ending on fire. I can almost feel his warm breath on my ear, his gravelly voice whispering things that make me blush.
Oh boy. It's not hot chocolate I need, it's a dip in the icy waters of the Bay.
I shift on the couch, trying to dispel the image and the heat pooling low in my belly. The dogs look up at me, curious about my sudden movement. I clear my throat, hoping my face isn't as flushed as it feels. "So, um, those cookies?" I ask, my voice a bit breathier than usual.
Aisling raises an eyebrow, clearly catching on to my flustered state. "Coming right up, Vampire Princess. Though I think you might need something stronger than cookies to cool off those thoughts."
She's not wrong.