Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 12

Twelve

BAILEY

T he next day, we’re back at it in the ballroom. Only, instead of trying to connect with my fellow contestants, I keep my head down and work. Logan arrived before I did. He gave me a quick wave hello and then got right back to work. Unlike me, he doesn’t have bags under his eyes. However, also unlike me, he’s probably used to being up at all hours and not sleeping through the night. Stinking firefighter superpowers.

Olivia stops by my station around ten with a tray of coffee, her purple-streaked hair bobbing as she admires my color scheme. “Bailey, this is absolutely stunning,” she gushes, her eyes wide with admiration as I take a cup. “The way you’ve blended the cool tones with those unexpected pops of warmth—it’s genius!”

I mumble a thank you, my cheeks flushing at the praise as I try to hide behind my cup. Her voice is so loud that it fills the space and echoes back to us. She gives me a pat on the back as she walks by. I turn, catching Logan watching our interaction, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The hours tick by, and gradually, the ballroom begins to empty as contestants head out for lunch. Soon, it’s just Logan, and me left in the vast space. I want to talk to him, but he’s concentrating, and I don’t want to interrupt. I’m incredibly aware of his movements, the rustling of his Henley as he moves, and the scent of his cologne, which is absolutely delicious.

I can’t stop thinking about that kiss, and I need to clear the air, or I’m going to lose my mind.

I sigh and set my project down, and walk over to the tape line on the floor, being sure to stay on my side of the line. “Logan?”

He looks up from where he’s wrapping a gift in shiny red paper.

“I think we should talk about … uh … last night.” Oh gosh! That sounds so bad. “I mean, about the kiss.”

His ears turn red.

Shoot. I don’t mean to embarrass him, but we need to have this conversation, or I will explode. I’m not kidding. I’ve never heard of anyone spontaneously combusting over a kiss, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to happen if we don’t clear the air.

“What I mean to say is, it happened and we can either let things get awkward between us or we can not…let things get weird. Between us. I mean.” I can’t seem to say a full sentence. “I don’t want them to be. Awkward, I mean. You know, like I am right now because this is the longest I’ve talked about anything without stopping since I met you and I would really appreciate it if you would jump in here. We can still work together and not have to be all...” I wave my hands like a crazy person, then drop them quickly.

Logan studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to my relief, he nods. “You’re right,” he says, offering a small smile. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and we can’t let anything distract us from that. Let’s just put it behind us and move forward.”

I feel a weight lift from my shoulders, even as a tiny part of me feels an inexplicable twinge of disappointment. I realize that I wanted him to fight for me. Some part of my brain, the part that sits in the attic and reads romance novels, wanted him to surge forward and wrap me in his arms and tell me he would never let me go, and then kiss me until New Year’s.

“Great,” I say, returning his smile. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” My face flushes. I certainly hope he has no idea what goes on in my head.

With the air cleared, we fall into a more comfortable rhythm. The rest of the crew comes back, bringing us both sub sandwiches, which was really nice of them, considering we didn’t even ask.

As we all work, the conversation flows easily.

“So,” Marcus says as he weaves ribbon through a garland, “what made you want to become a designer, Bailey?”

The question catches me off guard. “I’ve loved creating things for as long as I can remember,” I admit, my hands busy filling a vase with layers of different colored ornaments. “As a kid, I was always the one making elaborate decorations for the holidays. Christmas was my favorite, though.”

Olivia’s eyes light up with interest. “Really? What kind of decorations?”

I hesitate for a moment, unused to sharing this part of myself. “Well, one year, I created this entire miniature Christmas village,” I say, warming to the subject. “I used cardboard boxes, paint, and whatever craft supplies I could find. Each little house had working lights, and I even made tiny people to populate the village.”

“That sounds incredible,” Logan says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “How old were you?”

“Ten,” I reply, a small smile tugging at my lips at the memory. “My family thought I was crazy, spending so much time on it. But when it was finished... the look on their faces made it all worth it.”

Olivia’s smile is warm and encouraging. “It must have been amazing. Do you still have it?”

I shake my head, a tinge of sadness coloring my voice. “No, unfortunately. It didn’t survive a move a few years later. But I’ve always dreamed of recreating it someday, maybe on a larger scale.”

“You should,” Logan says earnestly. “I bet it would be incredible.”

His words send a warm glow through me.

“What about you?” Marcus asks Logan. “What are your favorite Christmas memories?”

Logan’s expression softens, a faraway look in his eyes. “Christmas was always a big deal in my family,” he says, his voice warm with nostalgia. “My mom would go all out with the decorations, and my dad... he played Santa for the neighborhood kids.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, picturing a young Logan.

“It was,” Logan agrees. Then, his voice grows quieter. “The Christmas after my dad passed away... that was tough. I was sixteen, and suddenly, I felt like I had to be the man of the house, you know? Take care of my mom and my sisters.”

I feel a pang in my chest at the vulnerability in his voice. Everyone slowed down to listen.

Logan nods, his hands stilling on the branch he’d been adjusting. “It was. But you know what? That Christmas, the whole neighborhood came together to support us. People brought food, helped with decorations... One of the other dads even stepped in to play Santa that year.”

As Logan shares more stories from his past Christmases, I find myself seeing beyond his confident exterior. I begin to understand why he’s so eager to help others and serve Benton Falls. They were there for him in his hour of need. What would it be like to live in a place like this? To set roots down and raise a family here? The prospect is intriguing.

The hours slip by unnoticed as we work and talk, sharing stories and laughter. The tension from earlier in the day has completely dissipated, replaced by a warm camaraderie that feels both surprising and somehow inevitable. The other contestants head out around dinner time to be with their families. I’m content and creating, and the time slips by.

“I can’t believe how late it is,” I say, glancing at my watch in disbelief. “We’ve been talking for hours.”

“Hey, it’s snowing,” Logan exclaims.

I glance out the window and see that he is right. Not only is it snowing, it’s snowing hard, and the wind howls. “That looks scary.”