Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 4

Four

BAILEY

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Tonight is the official kickoff for the Christmas decorating competition.

The grand ballroom of the Historic Holly Inn buzzes with anticipation as I step through the ornate double doors. The cold December air clings to my coat as I peel it off.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, inviting glow over the polished oak floors, their light dancing off the gilded mirrors that line the walls. It’s as if I’ve stepped into a scene from a Victorian Christmas card, all elegance and timeless charm.

I clutch my purse tighter, my fingertips tracing the seams.

As I make my way to an empty chair, the air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional tinkling laugh, a soundtrack of excitement and nervous energy. This gathering is a who’s who of Benton Falls. The owners of the hotel are here, along with Mayor Evelyn Green, a reporter from the local paper, and several business owners, including the Rimerez family, Mrs. Pennington, and Pastor Daniel Robert.

I’m so caught up in taking in my surroundings that I nearly jump when a voice chirps beside me. “Oh, isn’t this exciting?”

I turn to see Gladys practically vibrating with enthusiasm. She’s wearing a navy blazer over a white blouse and a pair of fitted jeans. Her hair is down, and she pats the top of her head as if she’s looking for something up there. Maybe she had a clip-in earlier. Despite my earlier reservations about her, I’m grateful to have someone to talk to.

“Hi, Gladys,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. There’s something about her that’s oddly comforting.

She beams at me, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’m going to help you win this contest, you know. We’re going to create something so magnificent, so awe-inspiring, that they’ll have no choice but to give you that grand prize.”

I’m taken aback. Help me? How is she going to help me? Before I can ask any clarifying questions, a tinkling chime emanates from her pocket. Gladys pulls out a phone—though it looks like no phone I’ve ever seen before, all sleek and shimmery—and answers with a bright, “Blessings Hotline, this is Gladys. How can I help you?”

I blink in surprise, watching her out of the corner of my eye even as the room begins to quiet down. At the front of the ballroom, Victoria Holbrook takes the stage, her presence immediately commanding attention. She owns the Inn and is what my mamma would call a mover and a shaker. She’s also a vision of elegance.

Her raven-black hair is swept into an impeccable updo, providing a dramatic contrast to her olive complexion. Deep brown eyes, reminiscent of rich cocoa, survey the room with a mix of warmth and shrewdness. She stands at 5’7", her posture speaking of a woman accustomed to navigating both high-society galas and small-town charm with equal grace.

Her tailored burgundy dress complements her warm skin tone perfectly, and when she speaks, her melodious voice, with its slight husky quality, fills the room.

I want to be this woman. She’s not trying to intimidate anyone, she is just so incredible that my insecurities feel like they have a spotlight shining on them.

“Welcome, everyone, to the annual Holly Inn Christmas Decorating Competition,” Victoria begins. We all clap, and she pauses to smile at us. “I’m thrilled to see so many talented designers here tonight, both familiar faces and new.”

As Victoria begins to explain the rules of the competition, I try to focus, jotting down notes in my ever-present sketchbook.

“A snow day for the kids’ math test?” Gladys whispers into her phone next to me, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Well, I suppose we could arrange a small blizzard, but you know how the weather department gets when we meddle too much. How about we settle for a perfectly timed power outage instead? Much easier to explain, and the kids still get their extra study time.”

I shake my head, wondering if I’m hearing things. Blizzards? Weather department? What kind of job does Gladys have?

Victoria’s voice cuts through my confusion. “The deadline for completing your designs will be December 17. Judging will begin that afternoon, with winners announced at a gala that evening. The grand prize, as you all know, is $10,000, which is provided by the Holbrook Family Trust, started by my Great-grandfather, J. Marley.”

A collective murmur ripples through the crowd. Ten thousand dollars... the thought makes my palms sweat. I hadn’t given much thought to the prize, because for me, this means so much more, but $10,000 is nothing to sneeze at. Since leaving the city, I’ve been making enough to pay the bills and occasionally dipping into my savings. It would be nice to have a $10,000 nest egg in the bank.

“Now, let me introduce you to our contestants,” Victoria continues, her eyes scanning the room. “First, we have our returning champions.”

She gestures to a tall, willowy woman in the front row. She stands with practiced poise. “Evelyn Winters, our local florist, and three-time runner-up. Evelyn’s designs always bring a touch of natural elegance to our competition.”

Evelyn gives a graceful nod, her piercing green eyes scanning the room with a mix of warmth and competitive fire. I’ve seen her work in her flower shop, and her arrangements are always breathtaking. There’s a determined set to her jaw that tells me she’s not settling for runner-up this year. I can’t wait to see what she does. I’m certain it will include live plants and flowers, and it should be amazing.

“Next, we have Marcus Chen, one of Bentonville Falls’ top real estate agents, and a newcomer to our competition.”

A man in his early fifties with a mop of unruly black hair and warm brown eyes behind stylish glasses waves shyly from the front right of the room, his kind face creasing into a nervous smile. I’ve seen Marcus around town, always impeccably dressed but with an approachable air that must serve him well in his profession. He’s wearing a charcoal suit today with a pastel blue shirt.

“And, of course, Olivia Sanchez, art teacher at Bentonville High and last year’s People’s Choice winner.”

A petite woman with a vibrant purple streak in her dark hair grins widely, giving a little bow. The light catches on the paint splatters on her hands, a testament to her hands-on approach to art class. I wish I’d had a teacher like her when I was in high school. It wasn’t until college that I really found my calling.

“Let’s not forget Logan Brown, our three-time champion,” Victoria adds, and I feel my shoulders tense involuntarily. “Logan’s designs have become something of a local legend.”

I pointedly avoid looking in Logan’s direction, even as I hear a smattering of applause and murmured compliments. Three-time champion.

“And finally, a warm welcome to our newest competitor, Bailey Parker. Bailey made quite a name for herself in the big city before moving to Benton Falls, and we’re thrilled to have her this year.”

I feel heat rush to my cheeks as heads turn in my direction. I half-stand, my knees too weak to hold me up. Victoria’s warm smile finds me in the crowd. “We’re excited to see what fresh perspective you’ll bring to our little competition, Bailey.”

I manage a nod, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth—again. I glance at Logan. The man has the audacity to wink at me. My already unsteady legs give out, and I land on my backside in the chair with a grunt. My cheeks burn, and I drop my gaze.

As Victoria continues with the rules, Gladys’s phone chimes again. She answers with the same greeting, though she’s speaking much quieter this time. “Yes, that should be fine,” she says, then adds with a chuckle, “I can’t guarantee your teenager will suddenly love doing dishes, but I can arrange for a little extra patience and maybe a spark of appreciation for clean plates.”

I can’t help myself. My curiosity is spilling over. “What was that?” I hiss, trying not to draw attention to us. I do not need to get on Victoria’s bad side, if she has one.

Gladys tucks her phone away, looking completely unperturbed. “My other job. I’m covering for an angel who wanted to go to her great-granddaughter’s wedding.”

Great-grand … daughter’s ?

Before I can process this bizarre statement, her phone chimes. “I think I’ll take these outside.” Gladys stands, already answering as she walks out. “Blessing Hotline...”

I stare after her, my mind reeling. Angels? Blessing Hotline? What on earth is going on?

My confusion is interrupted by the sound of someone settling into Gladys’s vacated seat. I turn, only to find myself face-to-face with Logan Brown.

My heart does an unwelcome little flip as I take in his appearance. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and his deep green eyes seem to sparkle in the chandelier light. He’s wearing a soft-looking sweater in a rich forest green that brings out the warmth in his skin tone.

I let out an audible groan before I could stop myself. Logan’s response is a grin and a wink that sets my pulse racing in a way I absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

To my surprise—and, if I’m honest, slight disappointment—Logan doesn’t try to start a conversation. He simply sits there, his presence irritating, as Victoria wraps up the meeting.

“Remember,” Victoria says, her voice taking on a note of excitement, “the Holly Inn will be hosting the high school’s Christmas Ball on December 20–go Tigers! The winning design will set the stage for what I’m sure will be a magical evening for our students.”

As she says this, I notice Olivia Sanchez perk up, her entire face lighting up with ideas. No doubt she’s already thinking of how to create something her students will love. Evelyn Winters is scribbling notes furiously, probably planning how to incorporate flowers that will still be fresh for the ball. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head as she plots her path to victory.

Marcus Chen looks a bit overwhelmed, but there’s a determined set to his jaw. He’s tapping his pen against his notepad. Despite his initial nervousness, there’s a glimmer of excitement in his eyes that makes me think he might be a dark horse in this competition.

And Logan? When I dare to glance his way, I find him looking thoughtful. Those green eyes focused on Victoria as if he’s already won this thing. There’s a quiet confidence about him that infuriates me for no apparent reason.

As soon as the final words are spoken and we applaud, Logan stands and leaves without a backward glance. I stare at him. Did he really just leave? Without a word? That seems so unlike him.

What is wrong with me? I shake my head, angry at myself for even noticing his behavior or changes in his behavior or that his sweater was soft enough to fall asleep on. I mean, not while he was wearing it, obviously. That would mean that we were napping together. I don’t nap with anyone. I hardly sleep these days. Why am I thinking about this? Why am I thinking about Logan at all, let alone feeling disappointed that he didn’t talk to me?

He’s getting in my head. Darn it! That’s what he meant to do.

I gather my things, preparing to leave the warmth and sparkle of the ballroom for the cold December night outside; I can’t quite shake the image of those green eyes and that wink from my mind.

Logan Brown might be handsome, but he’s also standing between me and that grand prize. And nothing—not his charming smile, not his annoyingly perfect sweater, and certainly not the way my heart seems to stutter when he’s near—is going to distract me from my goal.

Aaand there’s Logan.

I can’t escape the man. His tall figure is easily visible as he strides purposefully toward the fire station. Is he headed for a shift? What, exactly, do firefighters do when there’s not a fire? The ease with which he carries himself is attractive.

No, it’s not , I tell myself. And if it is, it’s because I want some of that swagger. Not some of Logan’s swagger; I want my own. I rub my forehead. I’m thinking in circles.

The competition has officially begun.

Let the games begin.