CHAPTER 21—MADDIE
***
Damian: Meet me at the shelter at 2pm? It's poster-making time. Also Grant should have news at 3pm.
Maddie: On my way...
ROSE LEFT RIGHT AFTER lunch after a whirlwind 24 hours in Swans Cove—and based on the chat she had with Becca before leaving, they're going to be more than alright.
I've been ... trying to write. And it's still going nowhere.
"Did you know I started writing hockey romcoms because I was stuck in my Regency romances?" Lady Grey—who insisted I call her Sarah—pulls a notebook from her purse. "I have so many notebooks. Sarra Cannon has those planner systems... The author community is full of resources. Like Becca Syme's Better Faster Academy or Claire Taylor's podcast. I'm part of an online writing group, too. And have you heard of Ines Johnson, Theodora Taylor, or L. Penelope? They all offer online classes. Oh, and Margie Lawson! I took her courses when I was struggling. They helped tremendously."
She pauses, her eyes softening. "I was trying too hard to fit one mold, one author career. Then my contracts weren't renewed. I took a part-time job and started self-publishing. It wasn't easy, but I needed to show Damian that adapting and persevering were possible. And I started putting into practice everything I learned. What worked for me. I paused. Instead of going, going, going. I implemented strategies. I think it was Becca who said that you're truly learning when you're applying what you're learning."
"Ed keeps on telling me I need to live life. He offered me a job more in the editing department, but it's not what I want to do... And the Not-So-Crabby-News has been sharing my posts and building me up."
"Are you worried about disappointing them?"
"Maybe. I'm worried about not wanting the prize. I'm worried about winning. And winning has always been my identity. Plus, writing is my job. I need to pay the bills."
"Maybe you have more options than you think. More careers. More dreams?"
Sarah leans in, her voice gentle but firm. "Maddie, you need to tell Ed you're struggling. He's your boss, sure, but he's also rooting for you. He can't help if he doesn't know."
My stomach drops. "But what if—"
"What if you were giving advice to a friend?" Sarah interrupts. "What would you tell them?"
I pause, the question catching me off guard. "I'd... I'd tell them it's okay to ask for help. That everyone has rough patches." The words feel strange coming out of my mouth, but also... right?
Sarah nods, a smile playing on her lips. "Exactly. So why is it different when it's you?"
I fiddle with my spoon, avoiding her gaze. "I just... I've always been the one who has it together. Who wins."
"Oh, sweetie," Sarah says, reaching across to squeeze my hand. "You're still that person. But even winners stumble sometimes. It's how you get back up that counts."
Her words hit me like a gentle wave, washing away some of the tension I've been carrying.
"Your work at the shelter," she continues. "What has fueled you these past weeks? Of course, I'm not telling you to shelve your dreams. All I'm saying is that dreams can shift. And maybe travelling the world isn't what you want to do right now or..."
"I want to have more of an impact."
"Your journalism did have an impact."
"But it's hard to follow-through, right? It's hard to know... and I know journalism is needed. Local journalism, too. I understand facts matter. Because they really really do. I also want to ...do more community work. Know at the end of the day what I accomplished."
And so, when I go home, I write to the Not-So-Crabby-News Award team and to Ed.
ED WAS UNDERSTANDING—REMINDING me he's got eight articles I have filed that he can use. And he asked me to take one of my former posts and continue writing as if I was writing to the same person. To not have a blank page.
The Christmas-A-Thon (or as Ava adorably dubs it, the "Furry Friend Forever Happy") is now two days away, and my to-do list rivals Santa's naughty-or-nice scroll in length. Especially as we're waiting for whatever grand plan Ocean City is putting together. Today is the day we find out. I tried my contacts there—but while they've shared pictures of the event being put up; they don't know much more about the event itself. The movie is doing a countdown on their social media.
Like we're doing, too.
But we're getting flooded into the uptick in posts.
I push open the shelter door, nearly stumbling into a winter wonderland meets crisis control center. The community room is packed: Aisling and Sorcha are huddled over a laptop, Ryan's hanging decorations, Lady Grey and Aunt Locelli are arguing over treat recipes, and Carlos is coordinating with some ladies from the fitness class. Even Liam, Sophie, and Liam's daughter are here, sorting through donated toys.
Amidst the chaos, I spot Nena Jones, the shelter director, fresh from her anniversary trip and looking slightly shell-shocked. "Welcome back to the madhouse," I mouth, and she gives me a wry smile.
But it's the sight of Damian that stops me in my tracks.
"Wow," I blurt out, choking back a laugh that threatens to turn into a full-on snort. "Are you auditioning for Twilight: The Christmas Special? And seriously, did you empty a Michaels on your way here?"
There stands Damian in all his six-foot-plus glory, every inch of grumpy muscle hidden beneath a furry werewolf costume. The lopsided Santa hat perched on his head and the obscene amount of tinsel wrapped around him make him look like the love child of Jacob Black and a Christmas tree.
Ava peeks out from behind Damian's legs, her face split in a grin that screams 'mission accomplished'. "It's for the Furry Friends Forever picture!" she announces proudly.
"Oh kiddo, you're definitely onto something here," I say, snapping a pic. Damian growls, more Chihuahua than Rottweiler. "You okay if I post this?"
"Sure, wait." He puts the mask on so he's not recognizable. "What's the caption?" he grunts, playfully pawing at Ava and takes off the mask again.
I show him my hastily crafted caption: "Breaking News: Local Grumpy Hero Goes Furry for Charity. Stay tuned."
His eyes scan the words, and then it happens. That chuckle. Low, rumbling. The sound reverberates through me, and I swear my heart forgets how to beat for a second.
"Nice," he says, and I fight the urge to brush my lips against his jaw. Because that would be weird.
"Are you Uncle Damian's girlfriend?" Ava asks, her innocent question catching me off guard like a jump scare in one of my favorite horror flicks.
The room goes silent, and I swear I can hear my heart doing some F1 racing in my chest. Every eye is on us, from Lady Grey's raised eyebrow to Carlos's poorly concealed grin. Oh, fantastic.
"W-what?" Damian and I stammer in unison. My cheeks flush, and I fight the urge to fan myself. When did it get so hot in here?
Ava, oblivious to our discomfort, continues, "Well, Daddy Sandro laughs like that when Mommy whispers something in his ear."
I open my mouth, then close it, feeling like a fish out of water. Me, Madison Smith, usually armed with a snappy comeback for any situation, rendered speechless by a kid's assumption. The thing is, I know I'm not just here for a story anymore. These people, this place, they've become... important. More than important. But admitting that out loud in front of everyone? It's like facing down a deadline with a broken laptop and no coffee. Absolutely panic-inducing.
Aunt Locelli, never one to let a moment pass without commentary, leans in with a conspiratorial whisper that's somehow loud enough for the whole room to hear, "You know, I've got a new column idea. 'Love Bites: A Vampire's Guide to Romance in Swans Cove.' What do you think, dears? Care to be my first interview subjects?"
A chorus of poorly suppressed snickers ripples through the room. I catch Lady Grey and Mrs. Johnson exchanging meaningful glances, and Carlos suddenly becomes very interested in a nearby poster. Great. Has the whole town been speculating about us?
"Any news from Grant about the Ocean City event?" I ask—trying to change the topic, but Damian shakes his head.
"Not yet."
Ava claps her hands—after a few seconds of twirling around the room—oblivious to the tension in the air. "Also did you know? Today is Uncle Damian Day." she chirps.
I shake my head, trying to refocus. "Uncle Damian Day?" I repeat, not sounding like a frog which I consider an achievement based on the tightness in my throat, weirdness in my chest, trying to connect the dots. "Oh, is it your birthday?" I blurt out, internally cringing at my eagerness. "Happy birthday!"
From the corner of my eye, I see Aisling and Lady Grey suddenly perk up, alarm flashing across their faces. They start moving towards us, but it's too late.
"No, his birthday is on Christmas Day," Ava explains matter-of-factly. "But Daddy Sandro said we don't celebrate Uncle Damian's birthday that day."
Aisling reaches us just as the words leave Ava's mouth, her hand gently landing on the girl's shoulder. Lady Grey's eyes dart between Damian and me, concern etched in the lines of her face.
I blink, surprised. "You were born on Christmas?". A few months ago, I might have fired off a dozen follow-up questions, my journalistic curiosity overriding everything else. But now, seeing the way Damian's shoulders stiffen, the sudden tightness in his jaw, I bite my tongue. Whatever story lies behind his Christmas birthday, it's clearly not one he's eager to share.
Damian's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. For a split second, I see a flash of something in his eyes – pain? anger? – before it's masked by his usual gruff exterior.
"Yeah," he grunts, his voice rougher than usual. "Christmas baby. Real special."
The tension in the room is palpable, and I can tell from Aisling and Lady Grey's expressions that we've stumbled into sensitive territory. And I find myself wanting to comfort him, to smooth away the lines of tension etched across his face.
"Well," I say, trying to inject some lightness into the tense atmosphere, "I guess that makes today even more special, huh? Uncle Damian Day and all that."
Damian's eyes meet mine, a flicker of something - gratitude, maybe? - passing through them before his usual guard slams back into place.
"You got that right," he says, ruffling Ava's hair. "Now, how about we make this the best Uncle Damian Day ever by creating some unicorn-worthy adoption posters?"
Ava nods enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing under her unicorn headband. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes. We got glitters and everything."
As Ava chatters on about her plans, I notice the room slowly coming back to life. Sorcha busies herself with her camera, pointedly not looking our way. Carlos and Ryan exchange a glance before loudly discussing poster layouts. Lady Grey gently steers Aunt Locelli towards the refreshment table, effectively cutting off what was sure to be another quip.
For the next half hour, our makeshift art studio buzzes with activity.
The table disappears under a rainbow explosion of art supplies, the scent of markers mingling with glitter glue. Damian, clearly overheating, has shed the top half of his werewolf suit. Now he's a furry centaur in reverse - all man from the waist up, and good lord, what a man. That black t-shirt highlights every ripple and curve of muscle. I force my eyes away, reminding myself I'm a professional.
But it's his gentleness with Ava that has my heart doing cartwheels. As he helps her craft a poster, suggesting "Fur-ever Homes Needed," I can't help but contrast this moment with my fast-paced city life. Here, I feel... peaceful. Content.
The realization hits me like a snowball. There's no winning or losing now. Just being.
As we clean up, my fingers brush against Damian's, sending a jolt through me. I knock over some markers, and as Damian steadies me, I notice glitter on his cheek. Our eyes lock, tension crackling between us.
Damian's phone buzzes, breaking the moment. His brow furrows as he reads the message.
"Grant is waiting for us in Ocean City. They started setting up and he thinks he found someone for us to talk to. Maybe..."
"Maybe that's a good thing," I finish for him.
"Exactly. Want to go, Princess?"
"Yep. Give me a second to grab my coat and purse."
Ava's face falls. "But... but it's Uncle Damian Day! What about our posters?"
Aisling steps in, her voice gentle. "Ava, honey, why don't you stay here with me? We can finish those adorable posters—"
"No way!" Ava's lower lip trembles. "It's Uncle Damian Day. I wanna go too!"
I catch Damian's eye, silently asking what he thinks. He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. And I turn to Aisling raising an eyebrow. She answers the same way—which means it's a go.
"Alright, kiddo," Damian says, ruffling Ava's hair. "Field trip it is. We've got a car seat, and we'll be back before dinner. Right, Maddie?"
I nod, grinning. "Absolutely. Team Swans Cove, assemble!"
"Yes!" Ava cheers, twirling in a glittery tornado.
As we gather our things, the magnitude of what we're doing hits me. The Christmas-A-Thon is just days away, and this could change everything.
"Hey," Damian's voice is soft. "You good?"
I take a deep breath. "Yeah, just... processing. You know, a few months ago, I'd be all about using this for the contest. But now?" I glance at the kennels, feeling a rush of determination. "Now I just want to make this work for the shelter, for these animals."
Damian's eyes soften. "We've come a long way, huh, Princess?"
"We sure have, Bitey," I say, nudging him playfully.
His phone buzzes again. He reads the message, eyebrows rising.
"What's up?" I ask, leaning in to see.
"Grant says they have something big," Damian says. "Winter wonderland, virtual pet adoption system. People can sponsor shelter pets from anywhere."
"Virtual adoptions?" My mind's already spinning with possibilities. "That could be amazing for us. How do you think it works?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Damian says, a determined glint in his eye. "This could be huge for our shelter, for all shelters really."
I nod, feeling a surge of excitement. "We could learn so much from this. Maybe even incorporate some ideas into our event?"
"Exactly," Damian agrees, his hand finding the small of my back. "It's not about competing anymore. It's about finding the best way to help these animals."
"Together," I add, smiling up at him.
"Together," he echoes, and the warmth in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat.
As we head towards Ocean City, I realize that this unexpected turn of events isn't a challenge to overcome - it's an opportunity to learn and grow. And somehow, that feels like the biggest story I could ever be part of.