CHAPTER 17—MADDIE
***
Hey I'm Spike—and I'm looking for a friend. I don't hear right. And my sight isn't what it's used to be but I'm not grumpy. Just happy. My tail wags for you. And I'm ready for Christmas. #DearSantaWithLove
"HMM-HMM," I MURMUR to my therapist on the Zoom call. "But I can't write..."
"You can," she counters gently. "You've been writing those social media posts as pets, haven't you? That's still writing, Maddie. Now, I have a different exercise for you."
I raise an eyebrow, curious despite myself.
"I want you to write three Dear Santa letters by hand" she continues. "Think of it as exploring your past, present, and future - like the ghosts in 'A Christmas Carol'."
"Write letters by hand?" I repeat, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. The last time I wrote something so personal, it went public in the worst way possible. My mind flashes to that letter mentioning Vampire 2.0. But the way she says it—gentle, encouraging—makes me think this might be different. Maybe it's not just about writing. Maybe it's about finally facing what I've been avoiding for so long. I nod slowly, more to convince myself than her. "Okay, I'll try."
My therapist nods, her expression gentle. "That's all I'm asking, Maddie. Just try. Remember, there's no right or wrong way to do this."
We end the call, and I sit for a moment, staring at the blank document on my screen. The cursor blinks mockingly, and I close my laptop with a sigh. Maybe I need a change of scenery.
I stand up, running a hand through my hair. "I'll be back later, Fluffyball," I murmur, grabbing my keys to head out to the O'Connor White Elephant Gift. I lock my door and head down the steps, lost in thought about the task ahead. As I reach the landing, I nearly bump into Damian, who's exiting his apartment at the same time.
This man is edible. He must have just taken a shower—and he's wearing a sweater that highlights his broad shoulders. Barkey is scratching the door and Damian reopens it. "I'll be back, buddy. Go sit."
He turns back to me, his gaze traveling slowly down my body before meeting my eyes, his gaze hot enough to melt the winter chill. I swallow hard, remembering how those eyes had looked at me in the utility closet, filled with hunger and something deeper.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. My breath catches as he steps closer. But then Barkey does what he does best... bark and Damian opens the door again, telling me. "I just walked him but I'm going to leave the Doggie TV on for him. He's been staying with my mom at the B&B for a bit. Been so busy but she's got another book event tonight," Damian explains.
We start walking, our conversation drifting from shelter strategies to books and Formula 1 races. I find myself relaxing, enjoying the easy banter we've developed. It's a far cry from our initial antagonism. I sneak glances at his profile, noting how his usual scowl has softened. There's an urge to reach for his hand, to bridge that final gap between us. But uncertainty holds me back. We're in uncharted territory now, somewhere between friends and something more.
Damian clears his throat after I tell him how people in this town really appreciate him. His hand finds the small of my back guiding me away from an ice patch. "You know," he says, his voice low and gruff. "I've been meaning to tell you. Those #DearSantaWithLove letters... You see people. Really see them. That's... rare."
"Um..." I don't know what to say. It feels like he's looking straight into my soul—and it's both unsettling and... grounding.
We pause at the corner just before Aisling and Alessandro's street. The small-town Christmas charm envelops us - twinkling lights strung between lampposts, wreaths adorning every door. From the nearby park, the faint strains of "Silent Night" drift on the crisp air, mingling with the enticing aroma of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts from the Christmas market.
"And I see the way you strive to be perfect," he continues, his breath visible in the cold. He reaches up, adjusting my Santa hat that's slightly askew. His fingers linger, trailing down to the nape of my neck. "Really. I get it. Like if you can control success, people will love you. And I don't know if you see but Aisling's smiled even more since you've become friends. You're appreciated. Your kindness, your humor, the way you make people feel heard - it's not just in your writing. It's who you are. And even if you stumbled," he murmurs, his lips close to my ear. "They'll be there to catch you. I'll be there to catch you."
His words are so unexpected, so genuine, that they send a warmth coursing through me, right down to my toes. It's been so long since anyone really noticed me—noticed the small, quiet things I do. I'm so used to putting on a front, being the perfect version of myself that I forget what it's like to be truly seen. I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Because when I look at myself in his eyes, I see parts of myself I had forgotten and parts of myself I didn't realize I had.
Something inside me crack open and the words slip out before I can stop them. "I can't write. Nothing except those posts as pets," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm not even sure what I want to do. What to do." It feels like I've just admitted the biggest failure of my life, like I'm not even me anymore. The relief is almost immediate, though—a strange, unexpected lightness in my chest. And then Damian pulls me close, holding me in a way that's both strong and gentle, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself lean into him. I've been carrying this pressure, and now, in his arms, it doesn't feel quite so unbearable. It's like I've finally found a safe place to land, and I don't have to hold it all together by myself anymore.
"I don't know why I blurted that out," I mumble into his chest. "You clearly have a lot of issues during Christmas time, and here I am making it all about me."
He pulls back slightly, his hands on my shoulders. "Maddie," he says, his voice low and firm, with an undercurrent of intensity. "How do you not see everything you're doing? For the shelter, for me, for everyone?"
His eyes search mine as he continues, "You noticed Mrs. Johnson needed help carrying her groceries last week. You've been leaving coffee for the night shift at the shelter. Hell, you even remembered Barkey's favorite treat."
I blink, surprised he's noticed these small gestures.
He shakes his head, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Writing or not, you're making a difference. The words will come back. But in the meantime, you're still you."
A shiver runs through me, and Damian notices immediately. Without a word, he unwraps his scarf and gently loops it around my neck. The wool is warm from his body, and I breathe in his scent.
"Better?" he asks, his hands lingering on the scarf.
After I nod, the warmth of his scarf around my neck, I feel another confession bubbling up. "I only have two #DearSantaWithLove letters left," I admit, my voice small. "And then what am I going to tell my boss? The Contest? My parents?" I groan, frustration seeping into my voice. "Ugh. I'm almost thirty and I still care about what my parents think..."
Damian's mouth quirks up in a half-smile, his eyes softening slightly. "I'm over thirty and I'm still dealing with parents’ issues, too," he says, his voice gruff but understanding. "It doesn't just magically go away."
I lean into him slightly, drawing strength from his solid presence. "Yes, but your issues are... I mean, they're bigger," I say, my voice hesitant.
Damian's jaw tightens for a moment, then relaxes. He takes a deep breath before speaking, his voice low and measured. "My therapist taught me something important," he says, his eyes meeting mine. "Pain isn't a competition. Your struggles are valid. Comparing them to mine or anyone else's doesn't help."
He pauses, his hand finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. "And you know what? I'm grateful for what I have now. My mom, this town, the shelter... you. Doesn't mean the past doesn't hurt, but it helps to focus on the good stuff, too."
His words wash over me, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding through me. This glimpse into Damian's thoughts, his willingness to share what he's learned, it feels like a gift. And the fact that he included me in his list of good things? It makes my heart skip a beat.
I squeeze his hand back, a small smile forming on my lips. "Look at you, all emotionally intelligent," I tease gently. "Should I be worried the Grinch's heart is growing three sizes?"
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "The magic of Madison Smith? But I mean, I'm still not a Christmas fan, Princess."
I'm still reeling from our conversation, from the vulnerability we've just shared, when I notice several pairs of eyes darting to our hands. We slowly unlink them
Damian groans softly, leaning in close. "I'm pretty sure there's a bet on when we're going to get together," he whispers.
"Not if?" I ask, my heart doing a little flip-flop at the implication.
"Nope. When," he replies, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Alessandro opens the door before I can say more. "Hey man! Mads!"
Inside, it's like a Hallmark movie come to life, if Hallmark movies had more wine and inappropriate gifts. Aisling's sisters are giggling in the corner, Ryan's trying not to drop Aisling's tower of cookies, and Liam is chatting with Sophie, the new teacher who's been helping with his surprise daughter. She and Ava are spending the night at their grandparents'.
The aroma of Ryan's cooking hits me like a delicious tidal wave. Crab poppers with blue cheese, Old Bay-seasoned shrimp, Crab dip with bourbon.
"Let's grab some food and talk strategy," Alessandro says, ushering us towards the kitchen/dining room. Somehow, Damian ends up next to me, his thigh pressed against mine. Each tiny movement sends jolts through me like I'm at the starting line of a race I've already DNF'd once before. But this time I want to find a way to keep racing.
As we brainstorm, I can't help but notice how seamlessly Damian and I work together, finishing each other's thoughts, building on each other's ideas.
"Wait," I say. "Until we know exactly what Ocean City is planning and what their goals are, we're kind of back to square one. We need to have our schedule tight. Because we're not trying to win against Ocean City, we're trying to get as many pets adopted and fostered, right?"
Damian nods, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Maddie's right. It's about the animals, not some competition."
There's a chorus of agreement, and suddenly everyone's pitching in ideas for the Adopt-a-thon schedule.
Laughter ripples through the group, and I feel myself relaxing. These people, they're becoming more than just subjects for my articles. They're becoming... friends.
"Speaking of," Alessandro pipes up after a while. "How's your article for the contest coming along, Maddie?"
I freeze, panic rising in my throat. But before I can stammer out a response, I feel a warm pressure on my thigh. Damian's hand, giving a gentle squeeze.
"Hey, Sorcha," he says, smoothly changing the subject, "you wouldn't happen to know any suppliers who make Maryland flag-themed Christmas sweaters for dogs and cats, would you? Could be a hit at the Adopt-a-thon."
As Sorcha launches into a detailed explanation of her connections in the pet fashion world, I shoot Damian a grateful look. He winks back, his hand still on my thigh, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
"I think we've got a solid start," Alessandro says finally, glancing at his watch. "Time for some White Elephant fun?"
As we move to the living room for the gift exchange, Damian's hand brushes mine. "Nice work, Princess," he murmurs, sending a shiver down my spine.
I gulp, trying to focus on the gifts and not on how much I want to kiss that smirk off his face.
Alessandro murmurs to Aisling to go first and when she unwraps a gift that turns out to be a "Clone-A-Willy Glow in the Dark Kit", I almost spit my sparkling water.
"Sorcha!" Aisling laughs, blushing furiously.
Sorcha grins. "What? I've got lifetime supplies. Sharing is caring!"
The room explodes in laughter and groans and I sneak a glance at Damian, catching him mid-chuckle. The sound does things to me that could inspire romance novels for centuries to come. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us.
"Who wants to go next?" I ask, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. Anything to distract myself from imagining Damian and glow-in-the-dark... activities.
When it's finally my turn, I reach for Damian's gift without hesitation.
"Looks like someone's curious," Damian murmurs. And he's not wrong.
I unwrap it carefully to find a small cat toy - a fuzzy mouse wearing a Princess Peach crown. I burst into laughter, my face flaming.
"Oh my god," I manage between giggles. "You didn't."
Damian's eyes meet mine. "I thought Fluffy might enjoy it," he says innocently, but his smirk tells a different story.
Sorcha tries to steal my gift when it's her turn for her cat, but I clutch the toy to my chest. "No, no, no. Please. I'll keep this one," I say, still laughing.
Sorcha raises an eyebrow. "Ok. But there's a story there."
"No. Just..."
Aisling adds, unaware of the entire background story of what exactly Damian calls Princess Peach. "She was wearing a Princess Peach costume for Halloween."
"Uh-uh. That's it," I mumble.
Damian catches my eye, his gaze heated. "Is it?" he murmurs, just for me. "Glad you're keeping it."
And smiles when he picks my gift: a little vampire dog toy.
As the party winds down, I linger, not quite ready to leave this bubble of warmth and laughter. In New York, I'd be the first to duck out, already planning my next networking move. Here, I'm surprised to find myself savoring every moment.
When Damian offers to walk me home, I accept, ignoring the knowing looks from Aisling and Alessandro.
The crisp night air nips at our cheeks as we walk but I feel warm.
"Remember that word game from when you first arrived?" Damian asks, breaking the comfortable silence.
I grin. "You mean when you almost smiled? How could I forget?"
He rolls his eyes, but I catch the hint of a smirk. "Round two? No interview this time."
We trade favorite ice cream flavors (his surprising choice of bubblegum makes me snort) and guilty pleasure movies. When I admit to loving Sharknado, Damian stops in his tracks, staring at me before bursting into laughter.
"We're gonna need a bigger chopper," I quote in my best action hero voice.
Damian grins. "Sharks in a tornado. Sharknado. Simply stunning."
We're both laughing so hard, I have to lean on him to stay upright.
Suddenly, a window above us slams open. "Some of us are trying to sleep!" Mrs. Johnson's voice rings out. Then, in a stage whisper clearly not meant for us, "Locelli, you won't believe this. They're right outside!"
There's a muffled response, and Mrs. Johnson clears her throat. "Oh, Maddie, Damian! I didn't see you there. Are you two... out for a late-night stroll?" The forced casualness in her tone is almost comical.
We exchange a glance, biting back smiles. "Just heading home, Mrs. Johnson," I call up, trying to keep a straight face.
"Together?" she presses, phone still visibly in hand.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Johnson," Damian says firmly, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.
As the window shuts, we hear her excited whisper, "Locelli, you'll never guess..."
Damian leans in close. "We're going to be the talk of the town, Trouble."
I can't help but giggle, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting me. "As if we weren't already."
Nearing our building, he suggests I talk to his mom about my writer's block. "She cares and really likes you," he says softly, brushing a kiss on my cheek. "I've got to run to the shelter - new litter of puppies."
"I could help," I offer, trying not to sound too eager.
He shakes his head. "Just grunt work. Get some rest, Princess."
I nod, fighting disappointment. As he turns to leave, I catch his hand. "Damian? Thanks. For everything."
He squeezes back, smiling. "Anytime, Peach-y. See you tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it," I reply.
As I watch Damian walk away, something deep inside me stirs, making me want to stay, to fight for whatever is growing between us. But the weight of the contest and my dwindling letters pulls me back to reality. I came here to win, to prove something, but now... I'm not sure what winning even means anymore. Heading up the stairs, Damian's words echo in my mind, "I'll be there to catch you." It's comforting, but also terrifying. Because if I let myself fall—really fall—I don't know if I'll be able to pick myself back up again.