by Teri Wilson
You’re fine. There are no serial killers in Vermont.
Were there?
She squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she’d once almost been forced to pepper spray Elmo in Times Square after he’d gotten a little too aggressively friendly. She’d walked away from that incident just fine. Surely she could handle Lovestruck after hours.
But when she swung the door open and took in the tortured expression on Wade Ericson’s chiseled face, her confidence took a major hit.
“Wade.” She gave him wobbly smile. Why did she feel like crying all of a sudden? “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. Bits of snow glittered in his close-cropped beard, and the ivory cable-knit fisherman’s sweater he was wearing was frayed around the edges. His coat was unbuttoned, exposing a tiny hole that had formed near his left shoulder where the yarn had begun unraveling.
Felicity couldn’t take her eyes off the spot. That’s exactly how I feel, she thought. Like I’m unraveling. The strange sensation had started the moment the panicked teen had placed the baby in her arms, and she couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard she tried. If anything, it was growing worse.
“Can we talk?” Wade said, and then he cleared his throat in what seemed like an attempt to disguise the ache in his tone.
He’s unraveling, too.
Felicity was desperate to say no. Opening the door any wider would be just like opening her heart, and she just wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t sure she ever would be.
But there was no way she could say no—not after what they’d been through together tonight. “Come in. It’s freezing out.”
A flurry of snowflakes and crisp winter air ushered him inside, and Felicity pulled the door closed behind him, locking the dead bolt with a click that echoed throughout the empty studio. Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker.
She turned around, and Wade was right there, close enough for her to breathe in his campfire scent. She had a sudden craving for roasted marshmallows.
“Um.” Felicity took a small backward step and averted her gaze, but Wade was everywhere—reflected in the studio mirrors on all sides. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”
Seconds later, they were inside her tiny apartment, which wasn’t much better. Wade seemed to take up every bit of available space.
“Can I get you something? Wine, maybe?” She waved a hand toward the opened bottle of red sitting on a tray on top of the tufted ottoman that pulled double duty as her footrest and coffee table. A tiny Christmas tree sat beside it, decorated with a string of white twinkle lights and smooth round satin ornaments.
Wade’s gaze settled on the green glass bottle with a vacant stare, and Felicity gnawed on her bottom lip. This was worse than she’d thought. The poor guy was too shell-shocked to form a response.
“I’ll just grab you a glass. Sit,” she said.
She gave his chest a gentle, wholly ineffectual shove. Despite its uselessness against his brick wall of a torso, Wade took the hint and lowered himself onto her velvet sofa.
“I didn’t realize you lived above your yoga studio,” he said quietly as she poured his wine.
“It’s supposed to be temporary,” she said, cheeks going warm.
Why was she apologizing for where she lived? The same apartment in the most desirable parts of Manhattan would rent for a small fortune.
But they weren’t in New York. They were in Lovestruck, where white picket fences and farm houses with gabled roofs were all the rage. And as much as Felicity hated to admit it, she wanted those things. She was tired of the chaos and noise of the city. She felt like she’d been running on a hamster wheel for the entirety of her adult life, and she wanted off. Becoming a foster mother had changed her in so many ways, all for the better.
The irony of it all was that she’d never wanted a baby. She’d been perfectly happy living her best life as the beauty editor at Fashionista, single girl about town. Growing up on a steady diet of The Devil Wears Prada and Sex and the City reruns had led her to the Big Apple, where she’d made each and every one of her dreams come true.
And then her sixteen-year-old cousin had gotten pregnant and begged Felicity for help. What was she supposed to do? Lori’s parents had tossed her out of the house, so Felicity let her move in for a while. After all, she was just a kid—a kid who’d always hero-worshipped Felicity. Somehow, as the weeks and months passed, Felicity became more and more invested in Lori’s pregnancy. She was all Lori had, and on the foggy, gray morning when her baby had been born, it had been like the clouds parted for Felicity. She’d fallen in love with the baby girl on sight. When Lori had told the hospital she wanted to give her up for adoption, Felicity didn’t have to think twice about signing up for foster care training. The baby was family—her family. And she had been ready to claim her as her own and take care of her after Lori moved back home.
Raising a baby in Manhattan wasn’t easy, but Felicity had figured it out. She’d done her very best for six precious months, and right when she’d thought her life had changed for good, everything had come to a screeching halt. At the eleventh hour, Lori had changed her mind. Even though she’d never so much as changed a diaper or even visited Felicity since the baby was born, she hadn’t wanted to sign the adoption papers. She’d wanted to raise the baby on her own. Overnight, Felicity had gone back to being alone. She hadn’t known how to go back to the person she’d been before. She’d tried, but she just couldn’t do it.
And then Felicity had met Madison, and every time her new friend had mentioned Lovestruck, Vermont, the reverence in her tone spoke to something deep inside Felicity. In her darkest moments, the idea that someplace like Lovestruck could even exist had been the one thing that kept her going.
If only she could go there someday...
If only she could wipe the slate clean and leave the past behind...
If only.
Vermont was supposed to be her fresh start, her new beginning. And her fresh start was not supposed to involve falling in love with another baby. She couldn’t go through that again. It would break her this time.
Felicity sat down beside Wade and folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “Listen, I know why you’re here. You obviously found out that I’m on the list of regional foster parents, and you want me to reconsider taking care of—” she paused before she blurted out the words that were on the tip of her tongue. Our baby boy. The sweet abandoned infant wasn’t hers, no matter how natural it felt to hold him in her arms. And he certainly wasn’t theirs. She and Wade were practically strangers. “—the baby boy.”
“You’re not just on the list. You are the list.” Wade turned a tender, almost apologetic, smile in her direction.
Oh. She took a sharp inhale. Oh, wow.
The social worker hadn’t shared that information with her. Still, what was she supposed to do? Set up a crib in her semi-converted attic space and promise herself not to get attached this time?
Too late.
She stared down at her trembling hands. “I, um...I didn’t know that. And now you’re here to try to change my mind.”
He gave her chin a gentle tap with his fingertips until she met his gaze. “You can relax, Felicity. That’s not why I’m here.”
Wait. What?
She blinked. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He withdrew his hand to reach for his wineglass, and the reflection from the lights on the Christmas tree seemed to dance and swirl in the ruby-red liquid as he brought it to his lips.
Felicity was suddenly overly aware of the press of his warm thigh against hers. She and Wade had never touched each other so casually before, and now in the span of five minutes, she’d given him a playful shove and he’d cupped her face with his fingertips, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. It felt...nice.
Nicer than it should have.
Her brain told her scoot away—even just an inch or so—but she couldn’t seem to make herself budge. They’d shared something today. Something intimate, in its own special way. Maybe that explained her sudden urge to rest her head on his broad shoulder, close her eyes and bury her hands in that cozy cable-knit sweater of his, as if it were a security blanket.
“Why are you here, then?” she finally asked, fiddling with the sash of her bathrobe in a pathetic attempt to occupy her wandering thoughts.
“I just wanted to thank you for everything you did today. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into all of this, I promise I didn’t.”
So he truly wasn’t going to try to convince her to take care of the baby, at least short-term. A quick stab of something that felt too much like disappointment hit her square in the heart.
“It’s not your fault. It just—” she shrugged “—happened.”
Right. Except they’d been dressed as Mary and Joseph, and the baby was the very same one Wade had delivered a few weeks ago. Those were two awfully gigantic coincidences. No wonder she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that destiny had played a part in placing that baby into their hands.
She took a deep breath. “I can’t be his foster mom.”
Wade slid his gaze toward her. “I know. You said no, and I respect that.”
“I mean, look around.” She threw up her hands. “This place isn’t fit for a family.”
“No argument there,” Wade said, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a tiny, almost imperceptible grin. “It’s rather cozy, though.”
Felicity stood, crossed her arms and frowned down at him. “Stop it. I know what you’re doing.”
Wade dragged himself to his feet, obliterating her fleeting sense of superiority. Then he angled his head toward her. His gorgeous, gorgeous head. “And what would that be, exactly?”
“You’re trying to use some sort of reverse psychology on me.” She lifted her chin, putting her mouth dangerously close to his. Within kissing distance, almost.
Focus. No one is thinking about kissing.
She cleared her throat. “It’s not going to work.”
Liar, liar. Pants on fire. It was sort of working, and one of them was definitely thinking about kissing—maybe even both of them.
Wade arched a brow.
Ugh. He might be beautiful and gallant and heroic, but he was also infuriating. “Truly, it’s not. I’m probably not even going to end up staying here in Lovestruck.”
She hadn’t intended to blurt that out. She hadn’t even allowed herself to consciously think about a future anyplace else. But if her yoga studio didn’t start attracting clients soon—even just a handful of them—she might not be able to pay her rent on the studio. So much for the old adage that if you could make it in New York, you could make it anywhere.
“But you practically just got here,” Wade said.
“I know, and it was a stupid whim. Apparently Lovestruck isn’t exactly a yoga hotspot. I should have done more research before I packed up and moved here.” Fled was more like. Felicity had been running away from New York as much as she’d been running toward Lovestruck. She should have known Vermont wouldn’t be the utopia she’d thought it was after visiting for Madison and Jack’s wedding. No place was perfect.
“You need clients?” Wade’s forehead crinkled. “That’s why you might leave?”
“Yes, I need clients. I’m pretty desperate, actually.” Felicity would have thought such an admission would have been more painful to articulate, but not after today. Her problems didn’t seem quite as important anymore. Nothing had changed, and somehow everything had, all in one day. “I’m just not really desirable foster parent material at the moment.”
“Understood.” Wade nodded, and his gaze flitted around the apartment before settling on the small Christmas tree in the center of the room. There was only a sliver of space between his head and the ceiling, and they weren’t even anywhere near the sloped section of the attic. “Although, if it’s your apartment you’re worried about, you and the baby could always stay with me.”
Felicity stared at him as if he’d just sprouted another head. Stay with him...as in live together? He couldn’t be serious.
Wade shrugged one muscular shoulder, as if he’d just suggested they go out for a casual coffee or hot chocolate date instead of sharing a home and raising a child together. “But I guess that’s off the table, because you’ve already made up your mind.”
Had she?
Oh, right. She had.
Everything was starting to feel a lot less cut-and-dried than she’d thought it was since Wade’s earlier bombshell.
You’re not just on the list. You are the list.
She’d told the social worker no, and now the baby would be turned over to the state and Wade would probably never see him again.
Felicity nodded, but she wasn’t altogether sure what she was agreeing with anymore.
“Thanks for the wine. I should probably get going. I know it’s late, but I just wanted to say thanks, and I guess I also wanted to make sure you were okay.” He smiled at her, and it felt like her heart was being squeezed in a vise. “It’s been quite a day.”
“It sure has.” She tried her best to smile back at him, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Tears filled her eyes, and she bit down hard on her bottom lip.
She couldn’t let Wade Ericson see her break down. He didn’t want to know how she was doing—not really. Her emotional baggage was far heavier than he could possibly imagine.
“Bye, Felicity.” He took one of her hands and squeezed it tight.
For an instant, Felicity could picture the two of them in one of Lovestruck’s fairy-tale cottages, complete with a white picket fence and a glittering Christmas tree by the window—a real one, with strings of popcorn and cranberries hanging from its branches. And next to the tree, bathed in the golden glow of the twinkle lights, stood a bassinet.
Wade released Felicity’s hand, and the crazy daydream disappeared as quickly as it had come to her. She clutched the front of her bathrobe for dear life and thanked her lucky stars he was leaving. She needed to get her bearings. Wade had been right—they’d had quite a day.
But it wasn’t all bad. In fact, at times, it had been rather nice.
“Wait,” she said as he started to make his way down the stairs.
Wade glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes seemed a little less blue than they had before. The touch of green in his irises shone bright, like a spark of Christmas hope. “Yes?”
“I’ll think about it. If the social worker will let me sleep on it, I’ll give her my answer tomorrow.” What was she saying? She couldn’t do this. Somewhere deep down, though, she had a feeling she might want to. Maybe, just maybe, she needed that sweet baby boy as badly as he needed her. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Five
Wade stared into his coffee early the following morning, thinking about Felicity in her oversize bathrobe and wondering if she was tucked into her little attic apartment thinking about him.
Probably not. She seemed more like the chai tea type, not that her morning choice of beverage was any of his business. He just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. And the baby, of course. Felicity and the baby. The baby and Felicity. His mind was a jumbled mess. It didn’t help matters that he couldn’t seem to picture one of them without the other. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Felicity standing outside the firehouse in her blue silk robe, cradling the baby in her arms as snow fell around them—gentle and ethereal, like feathers shaken loose from a pillow.
For Wade, Felicity and that sweet child were now forever intertwined. He needed to get past that, somehow. He wanted to get past it. He just wasn’t sure how.
He took a gulp of hot
coffee, relishing its bitter burn. Like everyone else in Lovestruck, he preferred a splash of maple syrup in his coffee—sometimes, he even liked a dollop of that surgery sweet flavored creamer that the other firefighters all pretended not to drink, even though they went through gallons of it down at the station. But this morning he was punishing himself. Vermont’s favorite baby-saving hero didn’t deserve maple syrup, and he definitely didn’t deserve fancy creamer.
Duchess knew. Wade wasn’t sure how, but the dog seemed very aware that he’d done something despicable. The furry little Cavalier King Charles spaniel usually sat right at his feet when he stood at the kitchen counter and drank his first cup of coffee in the morning. On a typical day, she’d paw at his feet and gaze up at him with her melting brown eyes until he gave her a nibble of bacon. Or three. Because yes, Wade was a total softy.
Not today, though. Once Duchess finished her bowl of premium poultry-free, gluten-free, genuine Angus beef filet mignon dog food, she padded right past him to steal his spot in his favorite recliner. Currently, her chin was propped up on the arm of the chair while she watched snowflakes dance against the windowpane, refusing to look at him.
“You’ve proven your point,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
Contrary to what he’d told Felicity, he’d absolutely shown up on her doorstep last night to try to convince her to take in the baby. He’d wanted to check on her, too, because she’d definitely seemed rattled when she’d left the firehouse. But he’d also had an agenda, and now he felt like a grade-A jerk.
All it had taken was one look at her tearstained face for him to see that she hadn’t made her decision lightly. Clearly there was more to her story than he knew, and he needed to step back and respect her choice. Which he was doing now. One hundred percent.
Wade wasn’t sure where the offer to let her and the baby move in with him had come from. He’d been exhausted on every possible level—emotionally, mentally, physically. Otherwise, he’d never have made such an absurd suggestion. Bachelor life suited him. He wasn’t made for commitment. Most of the single women in Lovestruck knew this about him. Although, it had been a while since he’d felt like dating. Heck, he still hadn’t quite adjusted to caring for a silly dog. What sort of rational person asked a stranger to live with him, anyway?