Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 7

Seven

BAILEY

T he winter air nips at my cheeks as I hurry towards the Historic Holly Inn, my arms laden with boxes of supplies. I should have bought the red wagon that was on display too. Not to decorate with, but to transport stuff.

Gladys was gone before I came out this morning. I’m worried about her. I’d hoped to feed her a warm meal, if you can call brown sugar-cinnamon oatmeal a meal. I don’t like the idea of her wandering around town trying to keep warm. She’s confused—thinking she’s an angel and all. And, while I’m flattered she feels like she’s my angel, I don’t think she should be alone. Especially at Christmas.

I’ve deliberately chosen this early hour, hoping to avoid any unwanted encounters or distractions. The less time I have to spend around Logan or the other contestants, the better.

As I approach the grand entrance of the inn, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead. This contest means everything to me, a chance to prove myself, to show the world that my vision has value. But as I climb the steps to the entrance, a familiar knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. What if I’m not good enough? What if my ideas are too unconventional too strange for the judges to appreciate?

Shaking off these thoughts, I step through the doors.

A cheerful voice crosses the distance from the check-in desk. “Good morning! You must be here for the decorating contest. The ballroom is just down the hall to your left.”

She’s way too chipper for this time of day. I guess that’s why she took this shift. To each their own.

I nod my thanks, not wanting to yell over to her and disturb the guests. The whole building feels like it’s still sleeping. I bet if I close my eyes and listen, I can hear it breathe.

I push my way through the ballroom doors, once again wishing I’d bought the wagon.

Five identical Christmas trees are arranged around the room, each awaiting transformation at the hands of the contestants. Our spaces are set off by tape on the floor. I may not have gotten a fireplace but the window in my corner will provide natural light while I work.

I make my way over, carefully setting down my boxes. As I begin to unpack, I can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. I don’t know if I’ll use all the ornaments I’ve made over the last couple of days. I’ll probably end up donating a few to local charities or something.

The sound of the ballroom doors opening makes me freeze. I look up, my heart thrumming as I see Logan enter the room. He looks good. Dressed in a black Henley and jeans and thick-soled shoes, he could go out and cut a load of firewood or cozy up by the fireplace with a book. Darn him for always looking perfect and put together.

He pauses for a moment, taking in the grandeur of the space, before his gaze lands on me. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he makes his way over.

“Morning,” he says, his deep voice carrying easily across the quiet room. “Looks like we had the same idea about getting an early start.”

I force a tight smile. “Looks like it.”

Logan sets his things down right on the tape line between our two assigned spots. He’s close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne, a warm, woodsy fragrance that’s irritatingly pleasant. I steal a glance at him as he unpacks, unable to ignore how good he looks in a charcoal-colored shirt that highlights his broad shoulders and well-defined arms. The firefighter's physique is certainly working for him.

I shake my head, annoyed at myself for even noticing. As I watch him methodically organizing his supplies, I can’t help but remember Mrs. Pennington’s words about what a good person he is.

But then, people said the same things about my ex-boyfriend, didn’t they? And look how that turned out. A familiar bitterness rises in my throat at the memory.

As we work side by side in silence, the air between us seems to crackle with unspoken competition. I can feel Logan’s eyes on me occasionally, probably trying to figure out what I’m planning. Well, he can look all he wants. I’m not giving anything away.

I pull out my sketchbook, flipping to the pages where I’ve outlined my design. It’s bold, modern, a far cry from the traditional Christmas motifs I’m sure Logan will be using. I pull out a can of aerosol snow. I’m going to have to spray the tree to turn it white. I hope they don’t mind. I roll out a drop cloth and move the tree on top of it.

“You’re spraying the tree?” Logan asks.

I nod and point at the other trees around the room. “They’re all the same. I want mine to stand out.”

He looks from my tree to the others and then his. “But Christmas trees are supposed to be green.”

“Not all of them,” I say through a smile. With that, I shake the bottle and then start spraying. I don’t know if I’ve insulted him by pointing out that all the trees are the same, or if I’ve given him something to think about.

The next hour passes in tense silence as more contestants begin to arrive. The ballroom gradually fills with the sounds of rustling paper, clinking ornaments, and muted conversations. No one talks to me and I don’t make the effort to talk to them. A part of me yearns for friendly chatter, to feel like I’m part of the group. Why is it so hard for me to just get along with people?

Just as I’m about to lose myself in a spiral of self-doubt, the ballroom doors open and a familiar voice rings out. “Good morning, everyone. Oh my, isn’t this exciting?” Gladys comes in, her presence instantly brightening the atmosphere. As she makes her way through the room, greeting contestants with genuine warmth, I feel some of the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. Gladys is my friend. She’s being kind, but I know she’ll end up at my station and probably stay there. There’s a sense of security in that.

When Gladys reaches me, her smile is radiant. “Look at all you’ve done,” she says in awe. “Your tree is beautiful.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I’m doing my best,” I reply, gesturing to my half-unpacked supplies.

Gladys’s gaze flicks between Logan and me, a knowing look in her eyes. “Are we all getting along this morning?”

My cheeks burn. “For the most part.”

“Good. Good,” she mumbles as she moves on to greet Logan.

He smiles easily at her. “Gladys, you look like an angel this morning.”

I’m facing my tree and I roll my eyes. He’s such a flatterer. I steal a glance at Gladys. She’s changed her clothing. Instead of the heavy sweater she had on last night, she’s wearing a turtleneck and pair of slacks. She must have a stash somewhere. Do homeless people do that? I don’t know. I can’t even say that she’s homeless. Maybe she’s staying at the assisted living center, though she’s much too young for that.

As the morning wears on, I find myself struggling to take the next step in decorating. The white tree towers in the corner, mocking me. Every time I reach for an ornament or a strand of lights, I second-guess myself. Is this the right color? Will this pattern work? The more I overthink, the more paralyzed I become. I don’t want to string the lights and then have to take them off the snow-covered tree. That would make a huge mess and I’d have to spray the tree again.

“I’d love to grab a box of doughnuts,” Gladys says as she accepts a crisp bill from Logan. “I’ll be back before you can yell Hark!”

Logan chuckles.

I catch myself chuckling too. She’s carrying this angel thing all the way.

I glance over at Logan’s tree, which is already starting to take shape. His design is somewhat traditional, as I expected, but there’s an undeniable elegance to the navy blue and silver motifs. It’s not lost on me that these are the local high school’s colors. It’s a little spot on for my taste, but with the hotel’s owner being an alumni, his color choice may give him the advantage. Each ornament seems perfectly placed, the lights twinkling just so. A pang of envy shoots through me, quickly followed by a wave of frustration with myself.

“You seem to be having trouble.” Gladys’s gentle voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. She’s holding open a doughnut box, the offering too sweet to pass up, even though Logan bought them.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I just... I can’t seem to make what’s in my head translate to reality.”

Gladys nods understandingly. “Sometimes, when we’re too in our heads, we lose touch with our heart, with the source of our creativity.” She places a comforting hand on my arm. “Why don’t you try something for me? Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

I hesitate for a moment, feeling silly, but something in Gladys’s warm gaze convinces me to try. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Now,” Gladys continues, her voice soothing, “center yourself. Focus on your breathing. Let go of all the doubts, all the fears. Just be present in this moment.”

As I follow her instructions, I feel a sense of calm washing over me. The bustling sounds of the ballroom fade away, and in my mind’s eye, I’m standing in front of the white tree, just like I am in real life. Except, in my head, I’m alone.

“This isn’t a competition. You’re decorating this tree to showcase its beauty, to bring the joy that it represents to life. What would you do first?”

I mentally glance down at the ornaments and lights tangled at my feet. Suddenly I know. “I’d light it up. White and brilliant. Like hope.” No sooner have I said the words than I can see the tree shining brightly.

“That’s it,” Gladys encourages. “Let the inspiration flow through you. This is God working through you to create something beautiful.”

I open my eyes, feeling a renewed energy. The design that seemed so elusive before now feels within reach. “Thank you, Gladys,” I say softly, overcome with gratitude.

She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “Your talent is a gift from God—trust it.”

As Gladys moves away to offer doughnuts to the other contestants, I turn back to my tree with newfound confidence and take a big bite of the vanilla cake goodness. For the first time since arriving at the inn, I feel truly centered and ready to create.

I set my doughnut on a napkin off to the side and reach for a strand of ultra-bright white lights. As I hang them on the tree, I steal a glance at Logan. He’s focused intently on his work, his strong hands delicately arranging a garland. For a moment, I allow myself to admire his dedication and his obvious passion for what he’s doing.

Evelyn pulls out a portable speaker. “Does anyone mind if I play some holiday tunes?”

“Go right ahead,” I say at the same time everyone else agrees.

The deep, happy voice of Michael Buble croons through the air. I like his old-time feel with a new twist. Kind of reminds me of me. I smile at the thought.

My tree begins to take shape, a vision of modern elegance with unexpected pops of color. Silver and ice blue dominate, but I’ve incorporated splashes of coral and deep purple that catch the light in surprising ways. As I step back to assess my progress, I feel a sense of pride swelling in my chest. This is me, my vision, brought to life.

I chance another look at Logan’s tree. Norman Rockwell has nothing on this guy. Navy and silver ornaments glisten among pine cones and berries. There’s a Christmas train in a box nearby. I can already see it making circles around the base of the tree. Despite our different styles, I find myself appreciating the skill and care evident in every detail.

As if sensing my gaze, Logan looks up. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I see a flicker of admiration in his green eyes. I startle. He offers a small smile and a nod. To my surprise, I find myself returning the gesture.

The tension that had been crackling between us all morning eases slightly.

Gladys appears at my side once more, her presence as warm and reassuring as ever. “Your tree is coming along beautifully, Bailey,” she says, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “You’ve truly captured the spirit of Christmas in your own way.”

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks at her praise. “Thank you, Gladys. I couldn’t have done it without your help earlier.”

She shakes her head. “Oh no, dear. This is all you. I just reminded you to trust in yourself and in the gifts you’ve been given.”

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to truly believe in my abilities, to trust that my vision has value. “It’s not always easy,” I admit softly.

Gladys’s eyes are full of understanding. “Faith rarely is, Bailey. But that’s what makes it so powerful. When we choose to believe, even in the face of doubt and fear, that’s when miracles happen.”

Her words resonate deeply within me. I think about how close I came to giving up this morning, how my own self-doubt nearly sabotaged me before I’d even begun. And yet, here I am, creating something I can be proud of. I raise my arms over my head and stretch.

“Why don’t you take a little break and check out the gardens?” She points to the window that overlooks the manicured gardens. There won’t be any flowers this time of year, but I have been curious about the statues and ice sculptures since I read about them on the website.

“I think I will. Do you want to come?” I ask, surprising myself. I feel like I’ve put myself out there, walked to the edge of a cliff without knowing it.

Gladys lights up. “I would like that very much.”

Relief washes through me. I set down my supplies, take the last bite of the doughnut, and brush off my hands.

CRASH!

I whip around to see Marcus staring at the floor where pieces of glass are scattered around his feet. “Oh no!” My hands fly to my mouth. “What was it?” I ask out loud.

He drops his hands to his side. “Just some baubles. I don’t dare move, though.”

Gladys pats my back. “You go on out for that walk. I’ll get a broom.” She points at Marcus. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

She darts off. “I guess I’m on my own,” I mumble. Although, this time, it doesn’t feel so alone. I pick up my coat and button it on my way out.

I wander along the winding garden paths, lost in thought. The events of the morning play through my mind—my initial defensiveness, the tension with Logan, Gladys’s wisdom and encouragement. For so long, I’ve held onto my hurt and anger like a shield, using it to keep others at bay. It feels good to let them down. I hadn’t realized how much energy it took to hold them in place until I relaxed.

I turn a corner and bump into a solid body. Hands grab my arms to steady me, and I look up and into Logan’s green eyes. He seems surprised to see me, hesitating for a moment before letting me go.

“Sorry,” we say at the same time, and then we both laugh.

I’m surprised at myself and the sound of laughter coming from me. Is it weird that my own laugh sounds foreign? I can’t remember the last time I felt light enough to laugh.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your walk. They asked us all to leave for a bit while they clean up the glass.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder as he talks.

“No problem. I don’t own the garden or anything.” I wave my hand around—the feeling awkward—and hurry to tuck it back into my pocket. Words I need to say bounce around in my head and press against the back of my throat.

“Logan,” I say, my voice softer than usual. He leans in, trying to hear me better, and I can smell his cologne again. It’s good. Soooo good. “I... I wanted to apologize for how I spoke to you earlier, well, pretty much since I met you. It was uncalled for.”

Logan’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he breaks into a wide smile. “Thank you, Bailey. I appreciate that.”

An awkward silence falls between us. A moment ago I could barely hold in the words, and now my brain decides to empty out. I shift from one foot to the other, uncertain of what to say next. Logan clears his throat. “Your tree... umm. I think the snow was a good idea. It will stand out and that’s always a good thing in this competition.”

His words catch me off guard. “Oh, um, thank you,” I stammer. “Yours is beautiful too. Very classic, but in a good way,” I’m quick to add.

Logan chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “High praise coming from you.”

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, but for once, it’s not from anger or embarrassment. “Well, don’t let it go to your head,” I tease, surprised by my own playfulness.

Logan’s smile widens, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the man the whole town seems to adore. Kind, genuine, and with a warmth that radiates from within. It’s... disconcerting, to say the least.

Evelyn comes around the corner looking stunning in a cream-colored long wool coat.. “There you two are. They cleared it for us to go in, but they said to be careful because they had to mop the floors.”

“Thanks,” I tell her. She’s said you two , which means she was looking for both of us. Which makes me feel included and not invisible. It’s kind of a wonder to me how those two little words make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“We should probably head back,” Logan says, gesturing toward the inn.

I nod, falling into step beside him as we make our way to the ballroom. The silence between us is comfortable now, no longer charged with tension.

As we reenter the warm, festive space, I’m struck by how different everything looks. The place is a mess of packing material, decorations, glue guns, staple guns, scissors, and scraps—but it’s beautiful too. Not everyone started with their tree. Olivia has a ladder up and is trying to hang a giant bauble from the ceiling. I hope she has more of those. They’re stunning. Although, upon closer inspection, the glitter lines aren’t straight. Maybe she had her students' help, which is awesome if she did. Getting them involved in the contest would be very confidence building.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly absorb the magic of the moment. I’m starting to feel like I’m part of something that’s bigger than my corner of the room, and I like that. I’m sure it’s because Logan is so nice and Evelyn came looking for me and Gladys is my constant cheerleader.

As the day progresses, I find myself more relaxed, more open to the festive atmosphere around me. I even exchange a few friendly words with other contestants, offering compliments on their designs and receiving warm praise in return. It’s a novel experience, this feeling of being part of a community rather than an outsider.

Every now and then, I catch Logan’s looking at me. Each time he smiles and then looks away again, intently focusing on his work. There’s a warmth in his gaze that I hadn’t noticed before, or perhaps hadn’t allowed myself to see.

I’m struck by how different I feel compared to this morning. The knot of anxiety that had been my constant companion for the last year has loosened.

Gladys follows my stare to Logan, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She doesn’t say anything but I know what she’s thinking. I turn away quickly so that she won’t embarrass me by pointing out again the fact that Logan is handsome—again.

Logan clears his throat and I look up to see him standing on the tape line between our spaces.

“Yes?” I croak. The moment feels charged. He’s fiddling with an ornament hook and his eyes are meeting mine and then looking away again. I wasn’t nervous before but I suddenly am now.

“Every year I put together a team from our competition to compete in the Ice Games. Would you like to be on my team?”

Could he be more adorable in this moment? On his team? I mean, that’s just about the cutest thing a full-grown man has ever asked me.

“The Ice Games?” I ask for clarification. It sounds cold. While I’m no wimp, I’m not one to do a polar bear plunge either—no matter how many scientists say it’s good for me.

“It’s only Benton Falls’ biggest winter competition in existence today.” He puffs out his already impressive chest. “It’s sponsored by the fire department. We aren’t allowed to compete together.”

“Because that would be incredibly unfair,” I butt in while motioning toward his body. “Who would stand a chance?”

He gives me a cocky grin with a little smolder thrown in. “Thank you.”

Goodness—overconfidence looks good on him.

“In order to be in the games, we have to compile a team of our own. I’m always here if I’m not at the station so I started teaming up with the competitors. It’s a great day out of the office, we all decompress a little, and it’s for a good cause.”

My first instinct is to decline, to retreat to the safety of solitude. But then I remember the warm feeling of belonging, and I realize that I want more of that.

“Okay,” I hear myself say, surprising both Logan and myself.

His smile moves up into his eyes. “Great! We’re meeting at the park at seven tomorrow morning.”

I feel a flutter of nervous excitement in my stomach. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to be part of a group, to open myself up to potential friendships, and I’m terrified.

My stomach rumbles and I realize that I haven’t had a thing to eat except a doughnut. I gather my coat and head out to grab a sandwich from Engine 24 Subs next to the fire station. I’m guessing the owner is or was a firefighter. I’ll have to ask him if he’s entering the games.

Wow. That feels different, too. Curiosity about the people around me is new.

But good.

It feels really good because I used to talk to people behind the counter all the time in the city. I wonder if any of them miss me or wonder where I went.

I’ve wondered that for a long time too.

I approach the fire-engine red door and grab the shiny brass handle. The smell of freshly baked bread and deli meat grabs me by the hunger pains and pulls me inside. I still don’t know what the Ice Games are. Will we be playing hockey with blocks of ice? But I’m excited to find out.