by Teri Wilson
Wade rolled his eyes. “That’s really helpful.”
“The child needs more than off-key nursery rhymes. He probably needs baby formula.” Cap pulled a face. “And he definitely needs a clean diaper.”
Diapers. Of course. Wade probably should have thought of that first thing. And formula, too, obviously. “I know you think I’m terrible at this, but it’s just until you get in touch with the social worker and a local foster home is secured. It’s temporary.”
“Very very temporary. I’m probably breaking a law or two as we speak.” Cap heaved another huge sigh. “Why don’t you run out to the Village Market and get some baby supplies? I need to get that social worker on the phone ASAP.”
“Sure, no problem,” Wade said, feeling a bit more confident now that he had an actual plan of action. Like most firefighters, he was a big fan of organized preparation. All it took to master an emergency situation was a calm demeanor and a clear-cut plan.
As if the baby had a point to prove, he curled his hands into tiny fists and let out a piercing cry.
Make no mistake, mister. You’re not in control. I am.
Wade offered the screaming bundle of joy to Cap. “He’s all yours. I’ll be right back.”
Cap let out a sardonic laugh and held up his hands. “Whoa there, Mary Poppins. I’m not looking after him. He’s your responsibility now.”
Wade just stood there, not knowing quite what to do.
“Temporarily,” Cap added. Then he jerked his head in the direction of the apparatus bay. “Take the SUV. There should be a car seat out in the supply closet. You remember how to use one of those, don’t you?”
Of course, he did. The station offered free car seat checks every other weekend. Wade knew more about child safety devices than most of the actual parents in Lovestruck. He’d just never had the need for one before, nor had he ever had to drive anywhere with a fragile two-week-old tucked into the back seat behind him.
“Sure.” He shrugged one shoulder. Village Market was just down the street. How hard could it be to run a quick errand?
“Good luck. I’ve got calls to make.” Cap dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them into Wade’s outstretched hand. Then he stalked toward his office, leaving Wade and the baby alone together.
Wade’s gut tangled in a knot as he looked down at the unhappy infant. He could do this. He just needed to follow the plan. Step one: car seat. Step two: diapers and formula.
And probably baby bottles. And maybe a pacifier. Did babies this small even use those? He had no idea, but he sort of wished he had one on him at the moment. Was it bad that he wished for one? Probably...
Definitely.
Good grief, what was he doing?
“We’re off,” he called. Cap was probably just bluffing, trying to rattle some sense into him so he’d back down and agree to take the infant to Burlington—to follow procedure, as he’d been trained to do his entire career.
But if Cap was bluffing, he didn’t let on. Wade’s only answer was a resounding silence.
“Okay, kiddo, it’s just you and me,” he murmured, shifting the baby boy into a cradle hold. He felt like he was trying juggle some precious piece of artwork, crafted from spun glass. “But don’t get used to it.”
* * *
At least the car seat went in smoothly, other than the fact that it took Wade three times longer than usual to get it fastened with a living, breathing baby strapped inside. During the short drive to Village Market, he probably maxed out at fifteen miles per hour. Every tiny pothole felt like a crater, but they made it. And, by some miracle, the baby was sound asleep upon their arrival.
Wade almost hated to get him out of the car seat at that point, so he sat inside the LFD utility vehicle for a second, listening to the infant’s snuggly sleep sounds. For a tiny thing, he sure made a lot of noise. It reminded him of his mom’s ten-year-old Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Duchess. Duchess snored loud enough to peel the paint off the walls.
Wade would know—he’d become Duchess’s doggy dad when his mom lost her battle with breast cancer last year. Not caretaker, not owner. Not even the somewhat-tolerable pet parent. In her will, his mom had declared him Duchess’s doggy dad. He liked to think she’d chosen the phrasing because she’d wanted to make him laugh. It had...and then once he’d gotten home from that first meeting with her estate attorney, he’d buried his face into the dog’s soft fur and wept.
The aptly named Duchess was a royal pain in the backside. The snoring was just the tip of the iceberg. She chewed things and she liked to bark. A lot. She was also partially deaf, which supposedly explained all the barking. According to the vet, she couldn’t hear herself bark, so just kept at it in an effort to make certain she was expressing herself. Wade wasn’t sure he bought that explanation. Either way, he loved that dog simply because she’d meant the world to his mom. She liked to call Duchess the grandchild she’d never had.
Wade’s gaze remained glued to the rearview mirror, which he’d angled to afford himself a clear, unobstructed view of the sleeping baby. A lump formed in his throat as he took in the infant’s tiny little fists and the delicate furrow in his brow, as if the child felt as confused and angry about his current set of circumstances as Wade did. As if he knew.
Wade cleared his throat, to no avail. The lump remained, and somewhere in the back of his head, he heard his mom’s voice—the teasing tone she’d always used when she talked to the dog but was really trying to pass along a message to Wade.
The grandchild I never had...
Did his recent preoccupation with the baby in the back seat have something to do with losing his mom, knowing he’d never given her the one thing she wanted so badly near the end? Undoubtedly. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted to do right by the child, especially since fate or some other unseen force kept throwing them together. At the moment, doing the right thing meant food and diapers—sticking to the plan, not indulging in introspection. While he was at the market, he should probably pick up some dog food, as well—the special, poultry-free kind that cost a significant portion of his paycheck. Duchess was allergic to chicken and turkey, because of course she was.
“Come on, little one,” he said as he climbed out of the driver’s seat and unfastened the buckle holding the small baby in place.
Wade moved as slowly as he could, doing his best not to wake the infant. The snoring bundle felt warm, heavy with sleep. Wade was hoping to make the market run as speedy as possible, for several reasons. First, he needed to get back to the station and attend to the infant’s needs. Second, he really didn’t want to be spotted shopping in the baby section of Village Market. If he did, the Lovestruck rumor mill would never let it go.
Never ever.
Fortunately, the small mom-and-pop grocery store was virtually empty, thanks to opening night of the Christmas festival. It was probably winding down for the night by now, but Wade was able to move stealthily through the store, even while having to push his grocery cart one-handed so he could keep a firm grip on the baby. He tossed a few cans of Duchess’s high-end dog food into the basket and then hauled his cart toward the diaper aisle as fast as he could.
And that’s where he was busted—spotted at once by a cluster of the moms who liked to gather outside the Bean, balancing hot maple lattes in the cup holders of the strollers they pushed up and down Main Street every morning. Only instead of yoga pants and puffy coats, they were all dressed in the official holiday-themed Lovestruck mom uniform of gaudy Christmas sweaters, skinny jeans and chunky snow boots with fur trim. And every one of them lit up like a Christmas tree as their gazes strayed from Wade’s flushed face to the baby in his arms.
Wade froze, a reindeer in headlights.
“Wade?” one of them said. It was Diane Foster, the redhead who called the fire department every au
tumn to ignite her heater’s pilot light, even though all it took was a simple flip of a switch. “Wade Ericson, is that you? With another baby?”
“Um, no.” He shook his head as if the blanket-wrapped child in his arms was imaginary. The women exchanged curious glances with one another. “I mean, yes. But it’s not what—”
His words were immediately drowned out by a chorus of squeals.
“Oh. Em. Gee!”
“Aren’t you just the cutest?”
“Wade Ericson, you are the sweetest man in Lovestruck. Sweeter than pure Vermont maple syrup.”
But it’s not what you think.
Who was he kidding? This situation was precisely the sort of thing his baby-centric fan club would swoon over for days. He didn’t even want to think about how they would react if they knew the little boy in his arms wasn’t just any baby, but was in fact the baby—the very infant that the entire town had been obsessed with for weeks.
Wade’s jaw clenched. They couldn’t find out. No way, no how. The poor kid had been through enough already.
“Ladies, please.” He held the pointer finger of his free hand to his lips. “You’ll wake the baby.”
“Oh, right. Silly us.” Diane Foster pressed a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. “So sorry.”
“It’s just that you look beyond adorable holding that baby,” one of the other moms said.
Everyone nodded.
“Just precious,” Diane added, and then her left eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Who did you say the sweet little tot belongs to again?”
He hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. Wade wouldn’t know how to answer that question even if he wanted to, which he most certainly did not.
“I’m babysitting for a friend.” He flashed the moms a wink, because he figured the only way to get out of this encounter without divulging any factual information would be to flirt his way through it.
Predictably, it worked like a charm. Copious amounts of eyelash fluttering followed. A woman holding a jumbo-sized box of Pampers and wearing a sweater with a sequined Grinch face on it sighed.
“Your friend is one lucky lady,” she said.
Wade needed to get out of here. Things were getting weird. He glanced up and down the aisle. He’d never seen so much baby paraphernalia in his life. It was going to take him an eternity to figure out the barest baby necessities, and now he was going to have to do it with an audience. Unless...
“I don’t suppose you ladies could help me figure out what this little tyke needs? I’m kind of in a hurry.” He flashed the moms a smile.
Bingo. Ten minutes later, his cart was overflowing with diapers, formula, bottles, baby wipes and a few other items that he’d never heard of before but were absolutely essential, according to the moms. He’d figure everything out once he got back to the station.
He blinked hard when he saw the total on the little machine at the checkout and then swiped his credit card as fast as he could. His fan club was lined up behind him at the register, but he was nearly home free. So long as the baby kept snoring, he could make a clean getaway without having to answer any more questions.
See, he thought to himself. This isn’t so hard. He gave the moms a parting wave for good measure.
And then his cell phone rang.
The baby began to stir as Wade steered his cartful of bags out of the way. When he dug his phone out of his pocket, Cap’s name lit up the illuminated screen. He had no choice but to take the call.
“Hello. Sorry, Cap. I know it’s taken a while, but I’m leaving Village Market and I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
“That’s not why I’m calling,” Cap said. “I have news.”
Wade’s heart began to ricochet around in his chest. He also couldn’t help noticing that his left arm was getting sore from cradling the infant. How was that possible? He worked out every day at the firehouse. Maybe he was on the verge of some sort of cardiac episode.
Or maybe you’re afraid of saying goodbye to the child you’re holding.
No. He refused to believe it. There had to be a certified foster home someplace nearby with a family willing to look after a baby for the holidays. Who would say no to a newborn at Christmas?
“What’s the news, Cap?” Wade inhaled a ragged breath. Please don’t say there’s no room at the inn.
“You’re not going to believe this. We’ve got one registered foster home here in Lovestruck.”
“That’s fantastic.” Wade felt himself smiling like a kid on Christmas morning.
“It is...and it isn’t,” Cap said. “Believe it or not, the foster parent is Felicity Hart.”
Wade went still. Felicity had gone through foster parent certification? That certainly explained why she’d been so great with the baby. But why hadn’t she said anything when they’d been discussing trying to place the infant with a foster family in Lovestruck? She’d been so quiet.
Wade’s gut churned.
And then she ran.
“I’m sorry, Wade.” Cap cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his tone was less businesslike and gentler. “The social worker gave her a call, and she said no. She said she just can’t do it.”
“That can’t possibly be right.” Wade closed his eyes. The moms were staring at him again, and he couldn’t take it. Not now. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, son.”
It was the son that broke him. No one had called Wade that since his mother passed, and now here he was with a homeless baby in his arms. A baby he was suddenly powerless to help. A baby who deserved to be called son...by someone, somewhere.
And then, as if he knew, the little boy in Wade’s arms began to cry.
Chapter Four
What have I done?
Felicity burrowed deeper into her bathrobe as she sat on her sage green velvet sofa and stared blankly at the Hallmark Christmas movie rerun currently playing on her television screen. She’d opened a bottle of dry cabernet and crawled into the bathrobe—from an insanely expensive luxury brand favored by Chrissy Teigen, which Felicity had received as part of her Christmas bonus from Fashionista—the minute she’d hung up the phone a little over an hour ago.
She should have never answered the call to begin with. The words State of Vermont flashing across the top of her cell phone screen should have been enough to run for cover. But instead of declining the call and activating her do-not-disturb setting, she’d gone ahead and answered it. She just hadn’t been able to help it. Her heart hadn’t let her.
At least she’d managed to say no. She couldn’t take on a foster child. There was simply no way. Her emotional state was far too fragile to let another baby into her life, and even if she wanted to care for the tiny infant, her living situation in Lovestruck was hardly ideal.
She glanced around her tiny efficiency apartment and winced. She’d done her best, but no amount of lavender paint and repurposed French country-style bookshelves could make the cramped space look like anything other than what it was—the converted attic space perched above her yoga studio. As it turned out, the Realtor had been using the term converted awfully loosely.
The sloped ceiling meant that Felicity could only stand fully erect at one end of the room, and the kitchen area was comprised of a single-burner stove, a decrepit microwave and a sink with about half as much room as her Hermès Birkin bag. She couldn’t possibly care for a baby in this environment. She could hardly care for herself.
Looking back, she should have probably saved some of the money she had paid her contractor to finish out the yoga studio and gotten a proper apartment before draining every last drop of her savings account. But the studio was beautifully serene, with blond bamboo floors and soothing periwinkle walls. The surround sound system was so realistic that when she played her birdsong playlist, it legitimately seemed as if songbirds flitted around the room. Felicity just knew every
yogi in town would love the space as much as she did.
Spoiler alert: there were no yogis in Lovestruck. Not a single one, if her dwindling bank account was any indication. Namaste.
Still, saying no to the social worker had been a struggle. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the baby boy’s sweet, innocent face. His delicate fingers. The wisps of soft blond hair on his perfect little head. Every time she took a breath, she imagined his baby powder scent.
She was losing it.
She reached for the wine bottle for another pour, but just as the deep red wine began to spill into her glass, the buzzer rang downstairs.
Well, this is a first. Felicity frowned into her cabernet. Who would possibly be dropping by the yoga studio at eleven p.m.?
Or ever, actually. Her last three classes had attracted zero participants. Even Madison hadn’t been in class for almost a week. Between her job at the local paper and doting on her new family, she just didn’t have the time.
For a hot second, Felicity thought about not answering the bell. The odds of finding someone down there in need of a late-night emergency one-on-one yoga session were slim to none. But she couldn’t afford to turn away even a sliver of business. Sheer desperation, coupled with another ring of the bell, propelled her to her feet.
“I’ll be right down,” she called, ducking to avoid the exposed beam that ran the length of her ceiling.
The narrow stairway that led down to the studio never failed to freak her out just a little bit in the evenings, mainly because Lovestruck was so quiet this time of night. It was such a stark contrast to Manhattan, which always did its best to live up to its reputation as the city that never sleeps. Lovestruck, on the other hand, seemed to roll up the sidewalks and turn out all the lights right after dinner. And dinner was typically served at five-thirty, not nine p.m.
Felicity had been a Vermonter for two whole weeks, and she’d yet to grow accustomed to it. So she wrapped her robe more tightly around her frame and padded across the smooth floor of the yoga studio, mildly alarmed at the sight of a distinctly male silhouette standing on the other side of the frosted glass door.