Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 9

Nine

BAILEY

I make my way to my assigned station in the ballroom, trying to ignore the curious glances from the other competitors. A folding table nearby holds the supplies I’ve brought—boxes of unconventional ornaments, spools of ribbon in unexpected colors, and an assortment of craft materials that probably look like junk to anyone else but represent infinite possibilities to me.

The hotel doesn’t allow us to work on Sundays, so we all had a break after the Ice Games. I took a long, hot bath and soaked my sore hip. It has a nasty bruise, but seems to work okay. I slept in yesterday morning and let my head rest for most of the day. I tried not to look at screens and didn’t read any fine print. I did go to services with Mrs. Pennington.

My rest and rehab seems to have been worth it as I feel rejuvenated and ready to jump in. The only problem with being alone is that I felt myself slip back into the doubts. I struggled not to second-guess everything that happened at the games, including but not limited to the way Logan seemed to track me with his eyes, pay special attention to me, and find reasons to touch me in a casual way. Like when he set his chin on my shoulder and whispered his strategy for the relay game or when he put his hand on my side to steady me on the logs, even though I didn’t need his help.

Logan is already unpacking his supplies with methodical efficiency. His station exudes classic Christmas charm—red and green ornaments, garlands of pinecones and berries, and what looks like a collection of vintage decorations. The sight of his traditional approach irritates me. It’s exactly the kind of safe, crowd-pleasing design that always seems to win these contests.

He told me yesterday that he sees me as a risk-taker. Does that mean he also doesn’t see me as a romantic possibility? That, perhaps, he feels we aren’t compatible? Would he reject me because of my style?

So many questions and I had way too much quiet time to consider them all yesterday. I’m looking forward to getting my hands on some craft supplies today and keeping myself busy.

On my other side, Olivia, the high school art teacher, is a whirlwind of creative energy. Her purple-streaked hair bobs as she arranges her supplies, which include old vinyl records, colorful wires, and what appears to be a box of dismantled electronics. Her tree is already draped with strings of funky, handmade paper chains. The sheer boldness and somewhat messy approach works—I’m not sure how it’s working, but it does. Good for her.

Across the room, Marcus Chen looks a bit overwhelmed. His area is meticulously organized, with mood boards and color swatches neatly arranged. I can see sketches of what looks like a minimalist, modern take on Christmas decor. He’s even sewn a slipcover for an overstuffed chair he stole from the lobby. It’s something that would go gangbusters in the city at my old design house. They’d absolutely love it.

Finally, my gaze lands on Evelyn Winters’ station. The florist has transformed her area into a veritable garden of winter wonders. Buckets of exotic flowers and foliage surround her tree, their subtle fragrances adding to the sensory tapestry of the room. Evelyn herself moves with graceful purpose, her red hair catching the light as she weaves natural elements into her design with ease. She’s the only one of us who doesn’t seem stressed or overwhelmed, and I wish I knew her secret.

As I turn back to my own station, I catch Logan’s eye. He offers a friendly smile and a nod, which I return with a lot more ease than I had last week. It would be so easy to let him distract me from my work. The very fact that I’m craving his attention is a warning bell sounding in my brain. I was the same way before, always striving to get a certain man’s attention. Which makes me pull back now. Even though I’m fully aware that Logan isn’t like my ex, not even close, I’m still me. I was the one who messed up before. I was the one who fell for his manipulations, and I was the one who gave him all my heart. I’m not absolving him of misusing and abusing it; I’m just taking responsibility for not protecting myself.

I feel like I’m back on that balancing log. If I go too far into myself, I lose out on all the fun that comes from things like the Ice Games. If I put myself out there without thinking, without paying attention, then I could get trampled on. It’s a delicate balance.

The room fills with the sounds of rustling paper, clinking ornaments, and the occasional exclamation of frustration or triumph.

As I reach for a spool of shimmering silver ribbon, my elbow knocks against a box of delicate glass icicles I’d placed precariously close to the edge of the table. Time seems to slow as I watch the box teeter, then fall. I brace myself for the inevitable crash, but it never comes.

Instead, I find Logan there, the box safely in his hands, having caught it just in time. “Careful there,” he says with a gentle smile.

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and an emotion I’m not ready to name. “Thanks,” I mutter, taking the box from him. Our fingers brush for a moment, and I quickly pull away, unsettled by the jolt of electricity that shoots up my arm and demands my attention. I tell it to calm the holly down because I may like Logan, but that doesn’t mean I have to act like it.

Logan lingers for a moment, his green eyes curious as he surveys my supplies. “Is that coral? Bold choice.”

I bristle. “I’m feeling it this year.”

“That’s great.” He smiles in a way that totally disarms me. How does he do that? How does he get past my hard candy shell to the gooey goodness inside so easily?

The warmth of his smile melts, and I realize that there is a note of uncertainty in his voice. “Do you think I shouldn’t use coral? Is it one of the judges’ pet peeves or something?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing like that.”

I look over my half-decorated tree and then turn back to him. “What? Tell me.” I can take it—er, I think I can take it. I’m not really sure how I feel right now except that I’m gearing up for battle.

“If it were me, I’d use some more traditional elements, even simple ones like stars or candy canes, in the off-season colors.” He shrugs.

My mouth falls open. “I’m not you,” I fire back.

He nods. “That’s true.”

I grit my teeth and manage to hold back my retort. A victory in and of itself—for me, anyway.

Logan’s brow furrows. “There’s a reason certain colors and themes are associated with Christmas. They evoke feelings of warmth, family, togetherness. Your design is technically impressive, but it’s missing that emotional connection.”

“Just because you can’t understand my vision doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Not everyone wants the same cookie-cutter Christmas experience year after year.”

Logan’s eyes widen, hurt flashing across his face before it’s replaced by a hardening resolve. “And not everyone wants Christmas to feel like a modern art exhibit,” he retorts.

Our voices have risen, drawing curious and concerned glances from the other contestants. I’m vaguely aware of Olivia and Marcus exchanging worried looks while Evelyn watches our exchange with raised eyebrows.

“The spirit of Christmas isn’t about following a formula,” I argue, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “It’s about bringing light and beauty into the world in new ways. Just because you can’t see beyond your narrow definition of what Christmas should look like doesn’t mean my vision is any less valid!”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a familiar voice cuts through our heated exchange. “What seems to be the trouble here?”

We both turn to see Gladys approaching, a look of concern on her face. I feel a flash of guilt at the worry in her eyes, but it’s quickly overshadowed by my lingering anger and frustration.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I mutter, turning back to my tree. “Just a difference of opinion on design choices.”

Gladys looks between Logan and me, her brow furrowing. “Let’s all take a deep breath. Remember, the spirit of Christmas is about harmony and understanding, not—“

Her words are cut off as she takes a step, bumping into my supply table. I watch in horror as a cascade of events unfolds—the table wobbles, sending a box of delicate glass ornaments tumbling to the floor. In her haste to catch them, Gladys knocks into Logan’s station, causing a string of lights to unravel and tangle around her feet.

For a moment, the ballroom is filled with the sound of breaking glass, and Gladys’s startled yelp as she loses her balance, arms windmilling. Logan and I both lunge forward to catch her colliding with each other in the process. I’m thrown off, and I spin just enough to see that I’m headed for a pile of broken ornaments. Hours in the emergency room, having them pulled out, and possible stitches flash across my future.

Logan’s arm comes around me as quick as lightning; he pulls me to his side, grunting as I slam into him. He’s got Gladys with his other arm, and we’re all going down.

We end up in a heap on the floor, Logan taking the brunt of our fall but somehow managing to land out of the danger zone. Man, this guy is good at saving people. The room is silent. I don’t dare move. There’s broken glass and lights everywhere. I’m breathing hard, and Logan’s chest is heaving under my hand.

Gladys begins to laugh.

I’m too stunned to make a sound. Logan saved me.

His deep laughter joins Galdys’s. His belly is shaking, and he winces as she slides away from him.

I think of how the three of us must have looked going down, and I start to laugh too. “We’re ridiculous,” I say as I push off his chest to sit up. As we untangle ourselves, I catch Logan’s eye.

He grins up at me. “It’s the best, right?”

I shake my head and get to my feet, offering him a hand up. He takes it and almost pulls me over as he gets up. He’s just so much muscle.

“Are you alright?” he asks Gladys, helping her to her feet.

She nods, still giggling. “Oh my, what a mess I’ve made. I’m so sorry. Let me help clean this up. At least I know where they keep the brooms.” She hurries out and comes back with cleaning supplies.

As we begin to pick up the scattered ornaments and untangle the lights, I feel the heat of my anger slowly dissipating. In its place, a familiar sense of shame begins to creep in. Why do I always let myself get so worked up? Why can’t I just explain my vision clearly without getting defensive?

I chance a glance at Logan, who’s carefully sweeping up. His brow is furrowed in concentration, but there’s a softness to his expression that wasn’t there during our argument. I feel a pang of regret for the harsh words we exchanged.

“Logan,” I say softly, surprising myself. He looks up, his green eyes wary but not unkind. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just... this design means a lot to me, and I don’t always know how to explain it properly.”

Logan’s expression softens further. “I’m sorry, too.”

I feel a warmth spreading through my chest at his words, a mixture of relief and gratitude. He’s not at all like my ex. I need to just let that guy go. “Thank you,” I murmur.

As we finish cleaning up the mess, I can’t help but feel like something has shifted between us. The tension has eased.

Gladys beams at us, her eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes me wonder if her clumsiness wasn’t entirely accidental.

I find myself looking at my tree with fresh eyes. Maybe Logan had a point about incorporating some warmer elements. And maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to blend my unique vision with a touch of traditional Christmas magic. If that’s the case, I’m going to need more supplies and will probably have to go back to the superstore. That’s not entirely bad—like an accountant in the office supply store, I geek out over the sheer number of options available to me there.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a flurry of activity. The tension in the room has eased, replaced by a spirit of friendly competition and mutual respect. I overhear Olivia and Marcus exchanging tips on how to deal with hot glue strings while Evelyn offers to order any fresh flowers we might need before the deadline.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow through the ballroom’s tall windows, I put the finishing touches on my tree. Stepping back, I take in the full effect. It’s everything I had envisioned and more. I’ve left holes for the ornaments I have yet to purchase.

As the evening winds down and we begin to pack up our supplies, I find myself lingering, not quite ready to leave the magical atmosphere we’ve created. Logan approaches, a warm smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “Marcus wants to get a burrito, and Olivia says she’ll absolutely die without a churro. Do you want to come to dinner with us?”

I hesitate for a moment. But then I remember the spirit of camaraderie we experienced after we lost the Ice Games. That dinner was really nice. It felt good to eat with people instead of in my tiny kitchen all alone.

“I’d love to,” I hear myself say, and the smile that lights up Logan’s face is brighter than any Christmas star. I can’t quite believe that it means that much to him that I would be there, but it’s nice to sit with that thought for a while.

“Are you coming, Gladys?” I ask as I put on my coat.

She shakes her head. “I have an appointment with my teacher. But you all go ahead and have a good time.”

I’m not surprised by the things she says anymore. Angels. Teachers. Her reality is hers alone, though it seems to be filled with love and light.

As we leave the Holly Inn, the night air filled with the promise of snow, I feel a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long time. This isn’t the big city, and I’m not at the top of the design world pyramid, but I’m … I think the word is happy .

I decide not to dissect it all and just live in the moment. Tomorrow may be different, but for now, I’m going to just let this feeling wrap around me and carry me to a plate of warm enchiladas smothered in cheese.