Baby Lessons

be the sort of person who’d knit baby booties or read to kids in her spare time.
But she’d definitely be the type who wouldn’t know how to change a diaper. Or properly mix baby cereal. Or heat up a bottle.
“She’s not my reporter. Don’t say that,” Jack said, even as a terrible dread gathered in the pit of his stomach. “We just write letters to each other. Hostile letters. Queen Bee is a complete and total stranger.”
Wade nodded.
Subject dropped, they got back to work as Madison kept turning the pages of her storybook. Jack couldn’t help but follow along as he went through the motions of the inspection, but the timeless words she read aloud only reminded him of an ache that was becoming harder and harder to deny.
Somebody has been sleeping in my bed.
He could picture her there—her wild hair fanned over his pillow, her warm brown eyes looking up at him as he touched his lips to hers. He wanted her. He’d wanted her since the moment she’d reached over and plucked the apple out of his grocery cart like it was forbidden fruit. He’d nearly kissed her right then and there.
His throat went dry as he did his best to swallow the memory deep down, along with the ridiculous fantasy of Madison in his bed. It was never going to happen.
Especially if Queen Bee wasn’t such a stranger, after all.

Chapter Eight
Dear Editor,
Have you stopped printing the letters from Fired Up in Lovestruck? It’s been days since the last one appeared in the paper. I think I speak for the entire town when I say that we miss the banter between him and Queen Bee.
Sincerely,
Bored in Lovestruck
Dear Editor,
I just flipped through the entire newspaper and couldn’t find a single letter from Fired Up in Lovestruck or Queen Bee. Can I get a refund?
Sincerely,
Ripped Off in Lovestruck
Dear Editor,
Bring back Fired Up in Lovestruck!
Sincerely,
The Residents of Lovestruck Senior Center
Tuesday morning, after a blissful few days of silence from her nemesis, Madison was once again in the hot seat in Mr. Grant’s office.
“Great. Now we’ve managed to anger the entire senior community of Lovestruck.” Her boss wadded up his latest copy of the Bee’s front page and threw it at his computer monitor. It bounced back toward him, narrowly missing his face.
Madison winced. “Maybe it’s not so bad. People are still talking about the column. That’s good, right?”
“It’s not good,” Mr. Grant said flatly. “Not good at all. Subscriptions are down. Yesterday we had almost a dozen cancellations. Can you guess why?”
Madison shook her head. “Honestly, sir. I’d rather not.”
Good grief, how was this happening? She’d lived in this town less than a month, and somehow she’d become responsible for the impending failure of the local paper.
Although, it wasn’t actually her fault at all. It was his. Fired Up in Lovestruck had created this terrible mess, and just when Madison had figured out a way to work it to her advantage, he’d pulled a disappearing act.
At first, his silence had been a welcome relief. The short letter he’d addressed to her personally was still tucked into the pocket of her sweater, which she’d taken to wearing pretty much all the time. She couldn’t help it. It was cozy and comfortable, and recently, it had begun to smell like Ella and Emma, fresh from a bath. Her former coworkers at Vogue would have probably died if they’d seen her pulling it on over her trendy Kate Spade jumpsuits and polka dot dresses, but there was zero chance of that happening since Madison was still stuck in Vermont.
So yeah, she needed a security blanket and the hand-knit sweater fit the bill. She didn’t want to think too hard about why its baby powder and gentle lavender bubble bath scent made her want to close her eyes and breathe deep, because that was just...odd. She was a fashion journalist, not a parenting reporter. And definitely not an actual nanny.
The letter in her pocket proved that she was a professional—at least that had been her takeaway when she’d first read it. Her luck was turning around. Any day now, she’d get the call to go back to her regular life. Sooner or later, a position in fashion would open up, and when it did, she’d be on the first plane back to Manhattan.
Meanwhile, though, she’d apparently managed to anger her boss and the greater population of Lovestruck through no fault of her own whatsoever.
Damn you, Fired Up in Lovestruck.
Whoever that know-it-all man was, he was wreaking havoc on her day-to-day existence.
“We have to do something.” Mr. Grant massaged the back of his neck, giving Madison a clear view of the sweat-stained armpits of his dress shirt. Lovely. “You have to do something.”
She really did. Gruffness aside, she liked Mr. Grant. He reminded her a bit of her father. She felt bad being responsible for the sorry state of his dry cleaning, much less his newspaper. But how was she supposed to lure Fired Up out of hiding?
There was only one surefire way.
She sighed. “I’m going to have to write something really ridiculous. You realize that, don’t you?”
Mr. Grant smiled. “Yep.”
“Something even worse than the ‘Top Ten Infants to Follow on Instagram,’” she said.
It seemed like a century had passed since she’d whipped up that silly article. Her recent columns had been filled with useful information, thanks to Jack Cole and his twins. Now she was going to have to take a giant, humiliating step backward.
“I’m sure you can come up with something far worse.” Mr. Grant’s smile grew wider. “I have faith in your ability to craft something truly terrible and frivolous.”
Madison wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or insulted. Damn you again, Fired Up in Lovestruck. “Yes, sir.”
“Get to it. I need it by the end of the day.” Mr. Grant waved a hand toward the bullpen.
Oh, joy.
Maybe it was a good thing she wrote under a ridiculous pseudonym, after all.
Since his run-in at the library with Madison, Jack had spent every