Baby Lessons

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