Chapter 7 Maddrian Fanfic Now Available #2
I’ll have you know I WOULD still have a flip phone if Maya hadn’t upgraded my phone against my will. Also she’s reading over my shoulder right now and says to tell you she’s team #Maddrian
Not sure our ship name should be so… Maddox-central.
Maddox
It’s better than #Adriox
Okay that one sounds like a cleaning product. Fine. Maddrian it is.
Maddox
There is no Maddrian. It’s a made-up word for a made-up thing.
Sure, but tell that to the 847 people who used the hashtag in the last hour.
Maddox
I’m turning my phone off now.
Wait! Before you go full hermit mode… for tomorrow’s Christmas tree cutting, remember to dress warm. And maybe try to look less like you’re attending your own execution?
Maddox
I enjoy a lecture on warm clothing from someone who owns more Speedos than sweaters.
How do you know about my Speedos… has someone been scrolling social media incognito?
There was a pause, and I wondered if I’d annoyed him or embarrassed him. Or both. But a few minutes later, I got a response.
Maddox
Of course I checked you out before agreeing to do business with you.
Checked me out. I like the sound of that, Sullivan.
Maddox
Your *account*. And since it seems you can’t go a week without posting a cheesecake thirst trap shot, I’ve had my eyeballs seared by several images of you wearing nothing but dick mittens.
I… don’t even know how to respond to that. Dick mittens?
Maddox
“Budgie smugglers” seemed too complimentary. Like you had something live and worthwhile in there.
Are you fishing for a… budgie pic?
Maddox
This conversation has gone in a horrific direction. If you send me a pic of your… budgie… I will print it out and post it on the bulletin board at the hardware store. Which reminds me, I have work to do. Goodbye, Hayes.
Wait! One more thing…
Maddox
What?
Tomorrow when we’re cutting down trees and being all ruggedly authentic… try to remember you’re supposed to be the grumpy one. I have a reputation to maintain.
Maddox
Trust me. My grumpiness is very authentic. Especially at 9 AM.
Perfect. See you tomorrow, mountain daddy.
Maddox
I’m blocking your number.
No you’re not
Maddox
*sigh* No I’m not.
My cheeks continued to hurt the rest of the afternoon and evening. When I ran back to town to grab takeout for dinner at Timber, I ended up meeting several locals who all welcomed me and congratulated me on the success of the first posts.
While I enjoyed my time meeting new people, the way I usually did, I was low-key disappointed the place seemed to be missing one ornery photographer.
I checked my phone off and on all evening in hopes of seeing more of his snarky texts, but there weren’t any. For the first time in a very long time, I hurried to bed early.
Morning couldn’t come fast enough.
When my alarm went off, I showered and dressed carefully, selecting pieces from Nordique’s premium collection—brown wool trousers, the exquisite cream Maribel sweater that came up high on my neck, and the camel overcoat that had prompted an unexpectedly heated stare from Maddox the day he’d agreed to be my videographer.
A look that had lingered just long enough to make me think about it later. In the shower.
I added the scarf and my new boots and styled my hair with less product than usual, going for a more touchable look that would work with the casual vibe of a Christmas tree farm.
“Stay luxe,” I reminded myself with a mental eye roll. Nordique’s unnecessary instruction echoed in my mind as I assessed the final look in the mirror. The outfit walked the line perfectly—upscale enough for the brand positioning but practical enough for a winter outing.
The Pinecone was already bustling when I arrived at 8:55. I’d intentionally come early, partly to avoid another “you’re late” lecture from Maddox, but mostly to prepare myself mentally for spending the day with him. I needed coffee and a game plan.
Sadie spotted me as soon as I walked in and waved me to “my” table—apparently, I now had a designated spot as well as a “usual” breakfast. Small towns were weird.
She returned moments later with a steaming mug of coffee, oat milk creamer, and, to my surprise, a plate covered in an omelette with a side of fruit. “Figured you’d want something a little lighter today. Your special someone likes his eggs over medium. Should I get that going?”
I nearly choked on my first sip of coffee. “My— Sadie, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong idea. Maddox isn’t my ‘special someone.’ We’re colleagues. Working together.”
Sadie’s knowing smile didn’t falter. “Sure, honey.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that but was saved by the bell—literally—as the door jingled and Maddox himself walked in. His expression darkened considerably when he noticed how many people were watching him walk toward me.
“Morning,” he said tersely, yanking off his coat.
“Welcome to the gauntlet,” I murmured. “Maybe we should have met somewhere else.”
“Everywhere would have been the same.” Maddox dropped into the chair across from me. “This town’s gossip network works faster than Instagram’s algorithm.”
As he settled in his seat, he eyed my outfit with a critical gaze that lingered just long enough to make my skin warm. “That’s what you’re wearing to cut down a Christmas tree?”
I glanced down at my carefully chosen ensemble. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you’re attending a board meeting in Aspen. Everything, if you’re actually planning to drag a tree through the snow.” His tone was mocking, but his eyes traveled up and down my sweater again before he picked up his coffee.
“It’s Nordique’s premium collection,” I explained. “The whole point is luxury that functions in winter settings. ‘Where luxury meets legacy,’ remember?”
His eyes rolled so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “Don’t come crying to me when you get sap on your thousand-dollar pants.”
“They’re only four hundred,” I corrected, then immediately regretted it when his eyebrows shot up.
“Only four hundred,” he repeated flatly. “For pants. That you’re wearing to a tree farm.”
“I didn’t pay for them, Maddox. But it’s my job to make them look good in rugged settings,” I defended. “That’s literally why I’m here.”
Something flashed in his eyes—maybe annoyance, maybe something else—before he looked away. “You might have considered warning your date this was a luxury tree-cutting adventure.”
“My date can dress himself however he likes,” I shot back, unable to resist a small smirk. “Unless you’d like me to dress you, Maddox?”
“Fucking Christ,” he muttered under his breath. His voice dropped low on the curse, and it hit me in the solar plexus.
Was a grumpiness kink a thing?
As Sadie approached with a tray, Maddox’s face lit up. “Morning, Sadie. I could kiss you right now for that.”
Sadie set down his coffee and breakfast—eggs over medium, as predicted, with sourdough toast and a side of bacon. Then she glanced back and forth between us with a knowing look that made Maddox’s ears turn pink. “Kiss me? I don’t think so.”
“Uh. I think we’re good here for now,” I said quickly before Maddox simply got up and stormed out.
She sighed happily. “You sure are. You two enjoy,” she said with meaning so thick you could spread it on toast. “Take your time.”
As she walked away, Maddox stabbed a piece of egg with unnecessary force. “Great. By dinner, half the town will think we’re engaged.”
“Would that be so terrible?” I asked lightly, trying to keep the conversation from derailing into his usual grumpiness. “Being engaged?”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth, eyes locking with mine in a way that made my breath catch. For a moment—just a moment—something vulnerable and yearning crossed his face.
Then it was gone, replaced by a teasing eye roll. “Engaged in general? Not terrible at all. Engaged to a man who wears budgie smugglers for a living? Terrible doesn’t begin to cover it.”
I laughed, putting a hand to my chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Sullivan. And here I thought we had something special. My business manager thinks so, too, not to mention half the damned internet.”
“Ah, and people on the internet are always right,” he retorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile.
“Where’s Maya?” I asked, changing the subject. “I thought she was helping with the camera work.”
“AP Calculus test,” he replied, taking a bite of toast. “Just you, me, and the tripod today.”
The implications of being alone together hung in the air between us. Yesterday, Maya had been our buffer, the third presence that kept things professional and distanced.
Sort of.
I tucked into my meal, not particularly worried that we’d have to manage the filming on our own, but something about it must have concerned Maddox because he seemed to feel like he needed to reassure me.
“Don’t worry. I can handle it on my own as long as you’re willing to get creative with me on the angles and shots. I’ll walk you through it.”
“Gee, thanks, oh Wise One. Show me the ways of shooting video without a cameraman,” I said, unable to avoid sarcasm. “You do know I’ve been creating content on my own for five years, right?”
“Content,” he said with a sniff of disdain. “Well, today we’re creating footage with actual substance.”
“Right. As opposed to my usual empty, soulless nonsense?” I leaned forward slightly in challenge.
Maddox met my gaze steadily. “Your words, not mine.”
“You know, for someone who claims to value authenticity, you’re awfully quick to judge work you haven’t even seen.”
“I’ve seen your social media,” he countered. “Rooftop pools. Celebrity chef openings. Designer outfits in perfectly lit settings. It’s well executed, yes. But it’s also…”
“What?” I pressed when he hesitated.
His eyes darted away, then back to mine. “Safe. Controlled. Everything in its perfect place. No real moments.” He shrugged and took another bite of food.
The assessment stung, partly because it echoed my own doubts in quiet, late-night moments.
But it was one thing for me to think it and another for him to judge. “And you’re an expert on real moments?”
“I know them when I see them.” His voice softened unexpectedly. “Like when you laughed yesterday. Not the perfect Instagram laugh—the real one, when you forgot you were being filmed.”
As we finished up the remaining bites of breakfast, I suddenly felt exposed, as if he’d seen something I’d worked hard to keep hidden. The careful construction of Adrian Hayes, Luxury Lifestyle Influencer, had cracks—and somehow, in less than two days, Maddox Sullivan had found them.
“We should go,” I said, signing the receipt Sadie had brought and reaching for my coat. “Don’t want to be late for our tree date.”
“Not a date,” he corrected, standing while taking a final sip of coffee.
“Right,” I agreed, trying to ignore the inexplicable disappointment that flared at his insistence. “Just work. Rule Three—you and me… not a thing. I get it.”
As we headed for the door, I noticed several patrons watching us, whispering behind menus and coffee mugs. Maddox noticed, too, his shoulders tensing as he pushed through the exit.
Outside, the morning air was crisp and cold, biting at my cheeks and nose. Maddox’s truck was parked nearby—an older-model Ford that somehow suited him perfectly: practical, sturdy, no-nonsense.
The inside of his truck was surprisingly clean, with worn but well-maintained leather seats.
A small photo was tucked into the visor—Maddox, a younger Maya, and two smiling adults who had to be their parents.
They looked happy, the kind of genuine happiness that hadn’t been a part of my own family life.
“That’s a great photo,” I said softly as Maddox started the engine.
He glanced up, and his expression turned wistful for an instant when he realized what I was looking at. “Thanks,” he said gruffly and left it at that.
We drove in silence for a while, the town giving way to snow-dusted fields and then dense pine forest. I watched out the window as the landscape transformed, more beautiful and wilder than any backdrop I’d used for content before.
“Oh, wow! It’s snowing!” I said excitedly as delicate flakes began to drift down. I traveled to cold-weather destinations plenty, but snow was one of the few things I missed from my childhood in Connecticut.
“Just flurries,” Maddox said, but his tone had lost some of its edge. “Supposed to pick up later.”
I pressed my face closer to the window, watching the snowflakes dance in the morning light. “It’s beautiful.”
“You act like you’ve never seen snow before,” he remarked, glancing at me curiously.
“Not much since I was a kid,” I admitted. “LA snow is just sad rain that got ambitious.”
A sound escaped him—something between a snort and a chuckle. When I looked over, his face had gone soft again, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, but the almost-smile lingered. “Just… sad rain that got ambitious. That’s actually pretty funny.”
“I have my moments,” I replied, unreasonably pleased at having made him laugh. “I’m not just a pretty face in expensive pants.”
His eyes flicked to me, then quickly back to the road. “Never said you were.”
The acknowledgment hung in the air between us, neither of us quite brave enough to address it directly. Instead, we lapsed into silence as the truck wound its way up the mountain road, the snowfall gradually intensifying around us.
By the time we reached the Christmas tree farm, a light blanket of white covered the ground, transforming the landscape into something magical—like a scene from a holiday movie, but better because it was real.
And inexplicably, I found myself more excited about spending the day cutting down a Christmas tree with grumpy Maddox Sullivan than I had been about any carefully planned content shoot in recent memory.
Which was very, very good for the project.
And very, very bad for my professional detachment.
#ChemistryAsContent #NoFannin #YourUsual #Maddrian #TwoMenAndATripod