Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 11

Eleven

BAILEY

I step out onto the street, the happy notes of Feliz Navidad fading behind me. Logan comes through the door just as I stuff my beanie on my head. “You didn’t have to walk me home,” I protest lightly. “I live next door.” I point up at the tree in my window that glows for all to see.

He hooks my elbow with his. “You do live next door, but I had a feeling you wanted to take the long way home.” He tugs me in the opposite direction.

“How did you know?” I feign shock.

He shrugs in false modesty. “Just a feeling. I’m pretty good at reading people. It comes with being a firefighter.”

“I didn’t know that was part of the job description.” I’m thoroughly enjoying our banter, and I don’t want to go back to my apartment yet. I readjust our arms so I’ve threaded mine through his and lean into him.

He smiles down at me. “Easily one of the top five requirements. There’s reading people, understanding the complicated ball of crazy that is a cat stuck in a tree, the ability to polish an already spotless vehicle for hours on end without losing your mind, not to mention living with a bunch of guys who will fill your shampoo bottle with blue dye if the occasion calls for it.”

I widen my eyes. “Has the occasion called for it?”

“Several times,” he confirms.

I laugh. On our left is the town square, all lit up. I like that they leave the lights on until midnight. I don’t know who is in charge of turning them off, but bless them for staying up. We stick to the other side of the street, passing Hank’s Department Store and heading for the church.

“What are your plans after the contest?” he asks. “Are you staying in town?”

I pause and look up at the inky sky. “I’d like to. Benton Falls is growing on me. I don’t know how much they need another designer in town, but I could increase my online consulting and make it work.”

“I think you should.”

I don’t commit either way. I need to make it through the contest before I decide which doors are truly open to me.

“Will you tell me about your entry for the contest? What inspired you?”

Taking a deep breath, I begin to explain my concept. This time, instead of rushing through or getting defensive like I have with him in the past, I take my time, choosing my words carefully. “I wanted to create something that captures the magic of Christmas, but in a way that feels fresh and unexpected,” I say, using my hands as I talk. “The silver and blue represent the crisp winter air and the way moonlight glints off fresh snow. But the gold and choral symbolize the warmth of hearth and home.”

As I speak, I can see understanding dawning in Logan’s eyes. “It’s like... capturing that moment when you leave a holiday party, but you still have the warm light on your back. The contrast makes both elements more powerful.”

His words send a thrill through me. He gets it. He really gets it. “Yes, exactly,” I exclaim, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. “Christmas isn’t just about the memories we have; it’s about making new ones.”

Logan’s smile widens. “I think I was so focused on recreating the Christmases I remember from childhood, I forgot that part.”

As we continue to discuss our ideas, I find myself relaxing more and more. Logan listens attentively, asking thoughtful questions and offering suggestions that actually enhance my vision rather than trying to change it. In turn, I find myself genuinely curious about his design choices, seeing the beauty in his more traditional approach.

We’ve walked around the town square four times and I have so many more questions for him. “It must be challenging,” I say, “balancing two such different careers.”

Logan nods, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “It can be. But I love them both, you know? The adrenaline rush of firefighting, the way it pushes me to my limits... and then the peace I find in creating something beautiful. They balance each other out.”

Logan’s hand finds mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through me. We stand there for a moment, the connection between us palpable. All I can focus on is the warmth of Logan’s hand in mine, the understanding in his deep green eyes.

And then, before I can process what’s happening, Logan leans in and kisses me.

His lips are soft and warm against mine, the kiss gentle and hesitant. For a split second, I’m frozen in shock. But then, almost instinctively, I find myself responding, my free hand coming up to rest on his chest.

The moment is over almost as quickly as it began. Logan pulls back, his eyes wide with a mix of emotions—desire, confusion, and a flash of panic. “Bailey, I... I’m so sorry,” he stammers, taking a step back. “I don’t know what came over me. That was completely inappropriate.”

I stand there, my mind reeling, unable to form words. Logan runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks flushed. “I should go,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ll... I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone, leaving me standing alone in front of my building. I’m not even sure how we got here. My lips are still tingling from the kiss, and my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Part of me wants to run after Logan, to tell him it’s okay, that I felt something too. But another part, the part that’s been hurt before, that’s built walls to protect myself, holds me back. I make my way inside, replaying the moment over and over again as I get ready for bed. Hearing his apology echoes through my mind, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through my window, I’m no closer to understanding my feelings. All I know is that something has shifted, and there’s no going back. The walls I’ve built around my heart are starting to crumble. It should be a good thing, but I’m scared to see him today.