Baby Lessons

by Teri Wilson

  And she’d looked a little panicky before she’d picked up Emma. Ella, damn it! Now she’s got you mixing them up. But once his baby had been in her arms, Madison’s whole body seemed to sigh, and Jack had never wanted to kiss a woman so badly in his life.

  He threw the duvet aside and climbed out of bed. Once he took a quick look around to make sure everything was safe and sound, maybe he’d be able to sleep. He’d act like he needed a glass of water or something. Nothing out of the ordinary about that, right?

  Sure. Because the only thing keeping you awake at night is fire safety. It has nothing at all to do with the fact that you’d walk through a burning building just to kiss the woman who’s puttering around your house while you lie in bed alone.

  His teeth clenched as he pulled a T-shirt over his head and tugged it into place. After days, weeks and months of rigidly controlling everything around him, he’d allowed himself to become the oldest and worst sort of cliché—a dad who was hopelessly attracted to the nanny. He wondered what Queen Bee would have to say about this most inconvenient turn of events.

  A lot, probably.

  In fairness, he’d been attracted to Madison before she’d become the nanny. He didn’t really understand it. He’d gone months without thinking about any sort of physical intimacy at all, and then just the brush of Madison’s fingertips had nearly dragged him to his knees. It defied logic. He ached for her.

  He desperately wished he didn’t—then, and especially now. If forced to justify his predicament to Queen Bee, he would have said it didn’t really matter if he found his nanny attractive because nothing would come of it. Ever. His family came first, followed by his job. There was nothing left of him after that—not even enough for a brief physical encounter and certainly not enough for a relationship. That was the sad truth of the matter.

  Queen Bee would probably roll her eyes and call him a liar, not that he had much stock in her opinion. Still, the thought was infuriating.

  He slammed the dresser drawer shut and stalked out of the bedroom. The hallway was dark, and even though he’d been moving about the shadows of his home every single night since the twins had been born—six months of late-night feedings, six months of midnight diaper changes and bottle washing—he stubbed his toe on the baseboard as if he’d suddenly wandered into the unknown. Lost.

  He cursed under his breath and limped toward the kitchen, blinking against the assault from the overhead light in the den. Something seemed off. The room was empty. Madison and the girls were nowhere to be seen, but it looked like a baby powder bomb had gone off. Just about every surface was covered with a thin layer of the stuff.

  Jack sneezed three times in rapid succession. Then he shook his head in an attempt to rattle his sinuses free and sneezed again. Once he was able to fully breathe, he took a closer look at the mess. Half a dozen diapers littered the floor. Weirdly, they seemed clean. They were just sort of...mangled? Most of the self-adhesive strips were doubled over and stuck to themselves. Jack stared down at the mess and shook his head.

  Clearly, Madison had never changed a diaper before. He knew the signs well. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. There was one very important difference between his situation and Madison’s, though. Jack had never insisted he’d make a great night nanny.

  A darkened iPad had been abandoned in the middle of the diaper debris. He bent to pick to up, dusted the baby powder from its screen and pressed the home button. A diagram with directions for mixing baby cereal flashed to life. Jack sighed. He was almost afraid of whatever disaster awaited him in the kitchen.

  Rightly so, as it turned out. The sink was full of half-empty bottles, the microwave door was open and a bowl with the hardened remains of rice cereal sat on the rotating tray. Of course. Where Madison Jules went, disaster followed. Why would he have expected anything less?

  Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to have to fire her. He didn’t have much of a choice, did he? The mess didn’t matter, but the implications of it most definitely did. She’d clearly never been anyone’s nanny. He’d bet good money on the notion that she’d never babysat anyone before, either.

  This is what he got for thinking with his heart instead of his head and going all tender inside at the thought of Madison as a motherless little girl. Had he learned nothing from the Natalie fiasco? His heart couldn’t be trusted. It got him in trouble every time.

  Not qualified.

  Not qualified at all.

  He was off the hook. He could go back down the hall where she was probably creating more mayhem in the twins’ bedroom and fire her right that second. Even Wade would have done the same.

  For some reason he wasn’t in much of a hurry to do so. Instead, he flipped on the faucet and let the water get steaming hot. Then he went to work, washing bottles and putting them in the electric steamer, any hope of getting a proper night’s sleep lost, once and for all.

  Once the kitchen was put back together, he tackled the den. Half an hour later he had baby powder in personal places he hadn’t even realized he possessed, but his home was somewhat orderly. He took out the trash, picked up Madison’s iPad and walked with purpose toward the nursery. He’d simply hand her the tablet and let her go. Surely, she’d understand. On some level, she’d probably even be relieved.

  Or, she’d hate him even more. Either way, he was doing the right thing. No question.

  But his footsteps slowed as his daughters’ bedroom came into view. A faint sliver of light was visible beneath the closed door, and he waited for a long moment with his hand on the doorknob, straining to hear Madison’s voice or the quiet swish of the gliding rocking chair. He heard nothing, just the hushed fury of his own heart, pounding in his chest. Too fast. Too hard.

  He turned the knob as slowly and quietly as he could, then gave the door a gentle push. It opened with a muffled groan, and a thick lump formed in his throat at the sight of what he found inside.

  Madison was fast asleep in the glider with a twin tucked into the crook of each elbow, his babies pressed snugly against her soft curves. Ella and Emma were dressed in their fanciest set of matching pajamas—ultrasoft white onesies scattered with tiny pink rosebuds and a profusion of pink satin ruffles. Their names were spelled out in swirling embroidery on their tiny chests, and even though Jack suspected Madison had dressed Ella in Emma’s pajamas and vice versa, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

  He’d made the same mistake on more than one occasion, and it hardly seemed like something to complain about because his girls looked perfectly content, perfectly happy. Moonlight poured in through the big picture window, bathing their sweet faces in silvery light. Ella’s fist wrapped tight around one of Madison’s slender fingers, and Emma made the snuffling little lamb noises that she only made when she was in her very best mood.

  This. Jack swallowed hard. This is what matters most.

  Not the baby powder explosion, not the mess, not even the learning curve. Connection mattered. Love mattered. And if there was even the possibility that his daughters might find that with Madison, who was he to take it away?

  He opened the YouTube browser on the iPad, clicked on a medley of lullabies and placed the tablet gently on the table beside the glider. He studied Madison’s features—so damned beautiful, like something out of a dream in the lavender light of the full moon. Who are you? he wondered. Who are you, really? What strange twist of fate had brought him such an inexperienced nanny, and why did he want so badly for her to stay?

  It was late, and he was suddenly tired again. Maybe more tired than he’d ever been, so he snuck out of the room and walked the quiet, lonely path back toward his bed.

  And for the first night in a very long time, Jack Cole slept like a baby.

  Chapter Six

  Dear Editor,

  In response to the most recent letter written to this newspaper by Fired Up in Lovestruck, I submit the following
:

  Three Reasons Why I Refuse to Accept Fired Up’s Apology:

  1. Fired Up in Lovestruck continued his ceaseless attack on my work in the second paragraph of the letter, effectively negating any goodwill he’d managed to foster with his brief, two-sentence apology.

  2. A proper apology should be directed at the person who was slighted, not that person’s employer.

  3. Listicles are a thing. Get used to it.

  I could go on, but three seems like a nice place to stop—a perfectly thorough list, by any definition.

  Sincerely,

  Queen Bee

  “So how was it?” Aunt Alice slid a bowl of oatmeal topped with a generous helping of cinnamon-baked apples in front of Madison, then turned her attention back to her knitting.

  Beneath the table, Toby pawed at Madison’s shins. She didn’t bother pushing him away, nor did she take a bite of the breakfast her aunt had so lovingly prepared for her. She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to.

  She’d never been so exhausted in her life. She was tired to the bone. It was a miracle she’d even managed to make her way home from Jack’s house.

  “Coffee.” She pushed herself to her feet and shuffled toward the kitchen counter. “Now.”

  The clickety-clack of Alice’s knitting needles came to a halt. “Oh, dear. It was that bad?”

  “I just...” Madison shook her head. Words failed her, and that never happened. She made her living off words! “Those twins are adorable, but wow. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me how much work babies are? I can’t even hold them properly, unless they’re asleep. How do actual parents do this?”

  No wonder Jack Cole was so cranky all the time. He was completely outnumbered in his own home.

  “Um, isn’t that precisely what Fired Up in Lovestruck tried to tell you two weeks ago? Don’t you remember? It was right after your column about which babies to follow on Instant Pot.”

  “Instagram,” Madison said between gulps of coffee.

  Looking back, maybe that column hadn’t been her best. Entertaining, certainly. But helpful in any way when it came to actual parenting? Not so much.

  No wonder Mr. Grant wanted her to get some hands-on experience with children. After the first half hour at Jack’s house, she’d been ready to pack it in.

  She couldn’t go back there. Absolutely not.

  “Are you sure it’s Instagram? Instant Pot sounds more familiar.” Aunt Alice frowned.

  “I’m sure. You look at pictures on Instagram. I’m not entirely sure what an Instant Pot is for, but it involves cooking.” That was her problem in a nutshell, wasn’t it? She knew nothing about domestic life—not about cooking or cleaning or what kind of hair appliance might burn down a barn, and even less about babies.

  She’d had to Google just about everything—how to heat up a bottle, how to change a diaper, what to do when they cried. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible if she hadn’t been outnumbered. But there were two of them. She hadn’t stood a chance. The only time she hadn’t been on the verge of tears was when she’d fallen asleep in the massive swishy chair in the twins’ bedroom, a baby in each arm.

  That chair was a godsend. Whoever had invented it should be awarded a Nobel Peace Prize...or three.

  “Anyway, I can’t believe you’re quoting Fired Up in Lovestruck. I’m more furious than ever at that creep.” She refilled her mug to the brim.

  At this rate it was going to take half a pot to make it through breakfast and get to the office on time. She needed a shower, too. Her hair was dotted with cereal, and she didn’t even want to identify the mustard-colored stain on her blouse. Coco Chanel was probably rolling in her grave.

  “Why?” Alice brushed past her to scoop Toby’s breakfast out of the bag of premium dog food she kept in the pantry. Like everything else in Vermont, it was maple-flavored. “You proved your point about the applesauce. He apologized, didn’t he?”

  Madison rolled her eyes. “Please. That was hardly an apology.”

  In truth, Fired Up’s lame attempt at saying he was sorry didn’t have anything to do with her current indignation. She was angry at him because his letters were the reason she was working two jobs at the moment.

  But mostly, she was furious because he’d been right about her all along.

  She knew that now. One night caring for Jack Cole’s little girls had taught her a thing or two. Mostly, it had confirmed the fear she’d managed to bury deep inside all her adult life—she wasn’t cut out to be a mother.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked hard. She’d been on the fast track since she’d graduated from Columbia, determined to make a name for herself in Manhattan. She’d always loved fashion and for a while, she’d thought about going to Parsons School of Design. Her dad had been the one to steer her toward fashion journalism instead, suggesting it might the safer choice. The secure choice.

  She’d thought she’d simply been emulating her father. He’d been a powerhouse, a corporate legend. Madison had been less than a year old when her mom died, so she had no idea what kind of man Edward Jules had been before fate had cast him into the role of single dad. The father she’d grown up with had been one who’d taught her to work for a life built on a solid foundation. Taking the safe and logical route meant never having the rug swept out from under you. It meant security. It meant control—inasmuch as life could be controlled.

  Madison adored her dad, so of course she’d chosen to follow in his footsteps. She’d found a way to pursue her dreams of a job in fashion the smart way, the practical way. She was her father’s daughter, through and through. But despite all her efforts to safeguard her life, she’d been laid off. Since her dad’s fatal heart attack five years ago, her career had been her entire life. And she’d lost that life in the blink of an eye, in the same sort of heartbreaking efficiency with which she’d lost her father.

  Madison had been so busy trying to get her life back that she hadn’t stopped to think about everything she’d given up for her success.

  Until now.

  She knew her dad’s intentions had been good. He’d only been trying to protect his little girl from further pain. Further loss. But maybe there was more to life than simply feeling safe and secure. After all, a life without loss was a life without love.

  So yeah. In a moment of weakness, she’d seen those two sweet babies and they’d reminded her so much of herself at their age that she’d actually wanted the nanny job. She’d wanted to dote on Ella and Emma and perhaps find a part of herself that had been lost all those years ago.

  What a fool she’d been. There wasn’t a maternal bone in her body. No wonder her parenting column was such a disaster that a critic had made it his own personal mission to make her life miserable. Fired Up in Lovestruck knew the truth.

  “I’m going to quit,” she said quietly.

  Aunt Alice’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Your column?”

  “No, of course not. The nanny job. It’s—” Madison swallowed around the lump in her throat “—it’s just not for me. I don’t have time. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I thought it was only two or three times a week? Just the nights that Sarah’s son has off from the fire station.”

  “It is.” Madison shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “But look at me. I’m a mess. I’ve had maybe three hours of sleep and I have to work today. At my real career.”

  “Okay, then. Whatever you think is best, dear,” her aunt said, supportive as always.

  But her heart wasn’t in it. Madison could hear the slight hint of disappointment in her tone, and it was like an arrow to her heart.

  Join the club, she wanted to say. No one was more disappointed in Madison than she was in herself.

  Maybe she should tell her aunt about the baby powder explosion she’d created when she’d dropped the container and it had bounced from the end tab
le to the sofa to the floor. Or perhaps she should share the fact that it had taken her four tries to get the rice cereal right and probably glued a bowl permanently to the inside of the microwave in the process. Even the clothes had been tough to figure out. Did infant pajamas really need 10,000 snaps?

  As for the diaper situation...it was beyond description.

  As humiliating as those mistakes had been, nothing had been as mortifying as waking up just before dawn, stumbling into the den and realizing that at some point during the night, Jack had gotten up and cleaned every inch of the mess she’d made. The sight of the pristine kitchen had nearly made her weep from shame. He was going to fire her. Obviously. Any sane person would.

  Her only saving grace had been the fact that Sarah showed up promptly at six in the morning, before Jack had even emerged from his bedroom. By some miracle, Emma and Ella had also been asleep in their cribs. Sarah couldn’t stop gushing about what a wonderful job she’d done, and Madison just couldn’t take it. She’d slunk away before Jack even made an appearance.

  And now here she stood in her aunt’s kitchen, too ashamed to admit the truth: she was a horrendous night nanny, and Jack’s baby girls deserved better. They deserved the world.

  Madison took a bite of her oatmeal. It was delicious, but for some silly reason, the homey flavors of nutmeg, cinnamon and apples made her want to cry all over again.

  She looked up, and her aunt cast her a questioning glance.

  Are you sure you want to quit?

  The question was written all over the older woman’s face. Even Toby was looking at her with wide, penetrating eyes.

  “I just can’t do it,” Madison said, and it might have been the most honest thing she’d uttered all morning.

  * * *