Plus, she was so out of practice using a hair straightener that she’d already burned herself three times—most recently on the thumb of her right hand, which was wreaking havoc with her ability to tweet, Snapchat, Insta and post to all the other myriad social media outlets that she was responsible for in her new position.
New York hates me.
She stared blankly at the glass brick walls of her cubicle. Madison didn’t really believe New York hated her, but she was beginning to come to terms with a most inconvenient truth—the lifelong love affair she’d had with Manhattan just didn’t feel the same anymore. She’d gotten used to moseying down Main Street and sipping her maple latte on the way to work in the morning instead of cramming herself into the subway and jostling for sidewalk space. She missed waking up with a hairless dog curled up beside her and the clickety-clack of Aunt Alice’s knitting needles late into the night. Most of all, she missed Jack.
She missed him so much that she’d begun Googling the Lovestruck Fire Department’s webpage multiple times a day just to see his face. She’d gaze wistfully at his headshot until her cubicle mate—Felicity, Fashionista’s assistant beauty editor—would clear her throat, reminding Madison that she was supposed to be tweeting about the cape dress that Meghan Markle had just worn instead of daydreaming about the fireman she’d left behind.
“Who is he, exactly?” Felicity asked as she sashayed into their tiny shared space early Monday morning.
Madison blinked. She’d been daydreaming about her life back in Lovestruck—again—and hadn’t realized Jack’s chiseled features were lighting up her browser.
“Oh, um. No one, really.” She jammed at the escape key until he disappeared and the hot pink Fashionista logo took the place of his strong jaw and dreamy blue eyes.
“I just thought I’d ask since you’ve looked at his picture so much in the four days you’ve worked here.” Felicity winked at her as she lowered herself into her chair. Her lipstick was the same color as Jack’s fire engine, and the Chanel jumpsuit she had on probably cost more than Main Street Yarn made in an entire month. “Not that I blame you. He’s certainly hunky.”
“You should see his little girls. They’re six-month-old twins.” Madison wondered how long she’d remember Emma and Ella’s tiny little toes, their baby-soft scents and the impossible softness of their skin. She couldn’t imagine ever forgetting those tiny details.
“Twins?” Felicity’s perfectly lined eyes widened. “Wow. That’s sweet, but I’m not really a baby person.”
Madison nodded. “I get it.”
She did get it, even though she found it slightly odd that Felicity kept a framed photo of an infant on her desk, despite not being a baby person. But everything else about Felicity screamed fashion plate, and there were dozens of other items on her desk that were completely non-baby related—a carefully curated collection of perfume bottles from Jo Malone, candid pictures from Fashion Week, no less than four engraved lipstick cases from Guerlain Paris. Madison couldn’t imagine a baby in the pretty woman’s arms, no matter how hard she tried.
Not that she was judging her in any way. Quite the contrary, actually. Just a month or so ago, Madison had been Felicity, and it was a perfectly wonderful way to be. Madison had been happy back then. Content. But then she’d gotten fired, moved to Lovestruck and now everything had changed. She’d changed, and now she wasn’t so sure she belonged at a place like Fashionista anymore.
Every time she stepped off the elevator into the sleek lobby, she wondered what was going on at the Bee. Had Brett finally found an investigative piece to work on, or was he still working the maple syrup and bake sale beat? What new recipes had Nancy whipped up for her food column? Was Mr. Grant still rocking his awful brown tie?
Most of all, though, she wondered if she’d made a mistake when she’d refused to forgive Jack for not telling her sooner that he’d been writing the letters from Fired Up in Lovestruck. She told herself repeatedly that she’d done the right thing, but it was getting harder and harder to remember exactly why she’d been so hurt and angry with him. She hadn’t been 100 percent truthful, either—certainly not in the beginning. The letters Jack had written hadn’t exactly been complimentary, but they hadn’t been downright cruel, either. What was that old saying about sticks and stones?
Words will never hurt me.
Her heart wrenched. Jack’s words had hurt her. She wished they hadn’t, but they had. More than anything, she wished there was a way for him to take those words back.
“I’m off to the break room for a pressed juice. Want me to bring anything back for you?” Felicity lingered at the entrance to their cubicle.
“No, I’m good. Thank you, though.” Madison forced herself to smile, and once Felicity was gone, she redirected her attention to actual work.
She posted a few snaps of various leopard print shoes and had just started crafting a graphic with shopping links on how to get Reese Witherspoon’s latest red carpet look for less when Felicity came flying back to the cubicle, pressed juice sloshing everywhere.
“Madison!” There was a blob of green liquid right in the center of her jumpsuit’s bodice, but Felicity either didn’t notice or she didn’t care.
Alarm bells started ringing
