CHAPTER 30—MADDIE
***
Family Chat: Merry Christmas! We love you, Maddie. Can't wait to meet Damian soon.
Rose: I've met him. Ask him about his pink towel. Merry Christmas!
WE'RE BACK IN OUR LAUNDRY room, the walls plastered with colorful Post-its - our own personal art gallery of snarky comments and inside jokes. My eyes catch on one particular note, and I can't help but giggle.
"Do you remember when you wrote that I tasted like peaches and cream?" I ask, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
His eyes darken as they roam over me. "I wasn't wrong."
And I feel heat pool in my belly. "Care for another taste test?" I tease, my voice huskier than intended. But then shake my head. "No, no, no. Gifts. Presents. Surprises. Sex after."
"Yes ma'am." He gives me a smile that has my heart swell in my chest. It's a smile that tells me he cares. He truly cares. Oh, he loves me. But he also really likes me. And that makes me giddy.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. As much as I'd love to follow through on that taste test, we have other plans. Time to focus on the reason we're here.
We exchange gifts, and as I unwrap mine, I see a small, exquisite painting. It's Fluffy, looking regal as ever—even with his scars and his half-tail, sporting a heart necklace that's eerily similar to the one I always wear. My vision blurs a little, and I blink rapidly.
"How...?" Damian and I look up at the same time, and I'm pretty sure my smile is wobbling like Jell-O at a kids' party. "This necklace, it means so much to me."
Damian's voice is soft, almost reverent. "I've seen you rubbing it when you're stressed, sad, and happy. I thought Fluffy needed one too." He pauses, looking down at his own gift - a framed picture of him and Pan, his first dog and Lightning, his first cat. "How did you manage this?"
"I asked your mom," I admit, feeling a little sheepish. "She had some old photos..."
"This is perfect," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "This, the piano, the F1 poster... you didn't have to do all this."
I reach out, taking his hand in mine. "I know," I say softly. "But I wanted to. You... you, my grumpy Grinch, you made Christmas everything I never knew I needed."
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. Here we are, in a laundry room of all places, exchanging heartfelt gifts and admissions.
"You know," I say. "For someone who hates Christmas, you're pretty good at this whole gift-giving thing."
Damian pulls me close, his warmth enveloping me. "What can I say? You're a good influence, Princess."
As I lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, those moments are the best gifts I could have ever asked for.
In addition to the notes around us, there's another piece of writing burning a hole in my pocket, something I need to share with Damian...
I clear my throat, sounding about as graceful as I did during last night's karaoke fun. "You know those Dear Santa letters we wrote?" I start, my heart doing a jig in my chest. "I wrote one to my present self, and I... I think I want to share it with you. Right here, before we go back downstairs. If that's okay?
He kisses my cheek in that way he does: soft, sweet, and sexy, then nods encouragingly.
I perch on the washing machine, unfolding the letter with shaky hands. Damian leans against me, his warmth reassuring.
"Dear Santa," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damian's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. I take a deep breath and continue.
"Not long ago, I told you that being in Swans Cove and lusting after the Grinch's hotter, grumpier cousin wasn't in my five-year plan. That all I wanted was success..."
I pause, glancing at Damian. His lips quirk into that half-smile I've come to adore.
"Well, spoiler alert: I had it all wrong. Success isn't just about bylines and viral stories. It's not about being the best or constantly proving my worth. Though I'll never say no to winning at F1."
Damian's thumb traces circles on my hand, encouraging me to go on.
"It's about connecting with people – really connecting – and letting them see the real you, flaws and all. It doesn't matter if it's many or a select few."
The washing machine rumbles to life, and I yelp like I'm auditioning for a B-grade horror flick. Real smooth, Maddie.
"Looks like even the appliances agree with you, Princess," he teases. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in slightly. The warmth of his touch seeps through my clothes.
"I may have forgotten I had scheduled a wash..." I shake my head, clearing my throat. "I came to Swans Cove chasing a story, but I found so much more. I found a community that welcomed me, terrible karaoke skills and all. I found purpose in giving a voice to those who can't speak for themselves at the shelter."
Damian's eyes soften, and is that pride I see? Be still, my heart.
"And the biggest plot twist of all? I fell for the town Grinch. Turns out, there's a heart of gold under all that grump and muscle."
His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer.
"And you know Santa? Damian's shown me that it's okay to be vulnerable, to let someone in. He's taught me that strength isn't about having it all together, but about facing your fears head-on. His love has given me the courage to be myself, to find more purpose in my work, and to truly believe in happy endings – even the messy, imperfect ones. So, Santa, this Christmas, I'm asking for the courage to keep being authentically me. To keep working toward what I want and not what I think others want for me."
I look up, meeting Damian's intense gaze.
"To love fiercely and unapologetically – both the four-legged friends at the shelter and Bitey. Because now I know—that's the best Christmas gift ever. Sorry, Vampire 2.0, you've been demoted to backup. Turns out, nothing beats the real Damian Mack experience. Who knew grumpy could be so... earth-shattering?"
As I finish reading the letter, the weight of everything I've said hangs between us, and for a moment, all I can do is hold my breath. Damian's thumb traces gentle circles on my hand, grounding me in the here and now.
This is it, I think—this is what I've been searching for. Not just the love of a man who makes my heart flutter and my body sing (not off-key unlike my attempt at karaoke), but the feeling of being seen, truly seen. I lift my eyes to his, and the intensity there nearly takes my breath away.
"Maddie," he growls, his voice rough with emotion. "You're enough, Princess. Just as you are."
I laugh softly, shaking my head. "You know, Bitey, when I first got in Swans Cove, I never imagined I'd be sitting in a laundry room, reading love letters to the town grump who looked at me like I was someone he'd never trust with his dog."
Damian chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Barkey loves you...and I remember, I didn't have him when we first met."
"True. You looked at me like I was preventing you from watching a finish in Monaco."
He shakes his head. "I looked at you like someone who still let old scars run his life more than he realized." He gives me a kiss on the cheek. "And I never thought I'd be looking forward to Christmas. Yet here we are, surrounded by tinsel and that Christmas plug-in diffuser that's still in the room."
I lean into him, breathing in that intoxicating mix of his cologne and fresh laundry. "Here we are indeed. Enemies-to-lovers for sure...It's my favorite trope from now on."
"Mine, too. Then. Because this is good," Damian murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on my back that make me shiver. "Really fucking good."
"It is," I agree. "And you know what? I can't wait to see what else Swans Cove has in store for us. The shelter events, the community projects, maybe even that column idea Aunt Locelli's been pestering me about..."
Damian pulls back slightly, eyebrow raised. "The vampire romance advice column? You're not seriously considering that, are you?"
I grin. "Well, I do have some firsthand experience now."
He groans, but I catch the smile he's trying to hide. "What am I going to do with you, Princess?"
"Love me," I say simply. "Just like I love you. Grumpiness, secret magic tricks, and all."
Damian's eyes darken, his gaze dropping to my lips. "I do, you know. Love you," he says, voice low and husky. "Even when you drive me wild with your slasher movies and desire to be right."
"What? Me?"
"Hmm. You." His hand slides up my thigh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I shiver, leaning into his touch.
"Good," I breathe, my heart racing. "Because I plan on driving you wild for a very very long time."
Damian growls softly, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Promise?" he whispers.
His teeth graze my earlobe, just a little, just enough to make my breath catch, and I nod—because honestly, if I try to speak right now, I'll probably just make some kind of ridiculous sound. I'm already melting into him, and I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what kind of promises I'm making.
I'm making all the promises to him, to myself, to us.
His stubble scrapes against my neck, and I can't help the way my toes curl in my fluffy socks in response—seriously, how does he manage to make even that feel so... good? When his mouth finds that spot just below my jaw, hot and open and oh-so-perfect, I'm done for. I tilt my head, giving him better access, because why not just go all in at this point?
Just then, my phone chimes with a text. I ignore it. Except Barkey starts barking downstairs and I know we got to take him for a walk. I reluctantly pull away from Damian's intoxicating touch and check my text.
It's from Ed: "Great job on the latest shelter piece. And read your ideas for the podcast. They're great."
I show the message to Damian, feeling a surge of pride that has nothing to do with external validation and everything to do with making a real difference.
"Looks like you're in high demand," Damian says, pride evident in his voice. "I'm not surprised."
"Well I'm exactly where I want to be," I reply, snuggling closer to him. "Right here, with you, in this wonderfully adorable small-town that's become home."
"Merry Christmas, Bitey." I give him a soft kiss.
"Merry Christmas, Princess."
He helps me off the washing machine, and I manage to stumble right into him—like we're recreating that incident at the ice rink except this time I'm the one holding on to him not to fall and unlike last time, we stay upright—his steady grip pulling me closer. But I know, even if I fell, he'd be here to help me up. Just like I would do for him. Because we're a team.
I glance down at our hands, fingers intertwined, and even though our matching Phoenix tattoos are hidden under layers of fabric, I can feel them there, just like I can feel how much we've both changed, how much we've risen from the ashes of who we used to be—like two people who finally figured out they're better together than apart.
Damian's grip tightens just a bit, and when I look up at him, there's that look again—the one that's full of promises and desires and all the emotions that make my heart skip a beat.
And I know this life we're building together is not the story I was supposed to write, but the one I am going to live (the Bitey and Princess Love Edition): sometimes stubborn and not always perfect, supportive and sweet, and absolutely ours.
And it's only just beginning.