Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 16

Sixteen

BAILEY

T he bell above the door of Sweet Haven Bakery the old me would have done just that, but it’s nice to let him get the tab. Although I vow to get it next time.

As we hurry out of the bakery, the bell jingling behind us, I’m acutely aware of Logan’s warm hand still clasping mine. The touch sends a thrill through me, and suddenly, I’m hit with a pang of regret. Why did I agree with him that we should keep things professional? The memory of his lips on mine flashes through my mind, and I’m swamped with regret.

We make our way to my apartment, where I change into more suitable outdoor clothing. Then we head out to take a look at the house so we’ll know what decorations to grab from his storage unit. Our breaths form small clouds in the air. Logan fills me in on the family we’re helping—the Johnsons. Mark, the father, had lost his job a few months back, and with three young kids to support, they’ve been struggling to make ends meet.

“They’re good people,” Logan says, his voice warm with affection. “Always the first to help out their neighbors, even when they don’t have much themselves. It’s been hard seeing them go through this.”

I squeeze his hand gently. Even after changing clothes, he took my hand again. I’m trying not to read too much into it.

“That’s it.” He nods the direction of the house and then faces forward. I turn to look and he lets out a startled noise. “Don’t let them see you look,” he hisses.

I jerk my face forward again, caught up in the serious sneakiness. I look around, trying not to be obvious, and manage to catch a couple glimpses of the Johnson’s house.

When we reach the end of the block, we turn around and go back. This time, I’m ready with my phone out, and I snap a picture. We get around the corner, and I burst into giggles. “That was way more intense than it needed to be.”

He grins. “But more fun, yes?”

“Yes!” I wrinkled my nose at him and bounce as we walk. “I need to see this mysterious storage unit of decorations you claim to have.”

His eyes widen. “Are you suggesting that I do not hoard Christmas decorations? I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”

“There is no hoarding without proof of hoarding,” I challenge him.

He walks faster. “Woman, you have no idea the level of my Christmas cheer.”

We continue to flirt—and yes, it’s totally flirting on my part. I don’t even care if he’s flirting back or just having fun. I’m free and open, and it feels right.

We make it to his truck that’s parked at the fire station, and then we’re at the storage unit on the edge of town. I like his truck. It’s clean and not new, but well taken care of, –like I imagine most things in Logan’s life are. He’s the kind of guy who probably cleans his dishes and cleans the sink daily.

The storage unit is organized like an influencer’s pantry. I stand at the entrance and fold my arms. “This is not hoarding. This is a whole different sickness.”

He glances at me, concerned.

Before he can get too worried, I add, “Don’t ever get treatment, I think it’s beautiful.”

He grins. “That’s right.” Logan finds the outdoor-suitable items quickly.

As we load boxes into his truck, ideas start to form, and we bounce them off one another. Logan’s eyes sparkle with interest. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll use these for the Johnsons’ yard.” Strings of multicolored lights, garlands, and boxes of ornaments fill every available space in the bed of his truck.

His words send a warm glow through me, so different from the dismissive reactions I’m used to when sharing my ideas. I was right; he’s not the kind of man I’m used to. Why didn’t I look for guys like him before? I mean, the muscles are one thing, but the validation he so easily offers is attractive in its own right.

“Ready to play Santa?” he asks as we climb in.

I laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “Lead the way, Mr. Claus.”

The drive to the Johnsons’ house is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft strains of Christmas carols from the radio. We park across the street from their house. It’s mostly dark, with only the flickering light of a television in an upstairs room. I’m guessing that’s the parents’ bedroom. It’s past nine o’clock, so hopefully, everyone is settled down for a long winter’s nap.

“Alright,” Logan says as we climb out of the truck. “Let’s do this.”

For the next several hours, we work to transform the Johnsons’ yard into a winter wonderland. I string the icicle lights along the eaves of the house, creating a shimmering curtain of light…I hope. We don’t dare plug anything in until we’re all done for fear of alerting the Johnsons. Logan tackles the trees, wrapping them in multicolored strands that make them look like they’re glowing from within.

We hang oversized ornaments from tree branches. “This feels like one of those decorating challenges you see on TV where they have to make something blindfolded, or they’re given a weird element they have to incorporate into their design.”

He grins. “It’s kind of a fun challenge.” His eyes dip to my lips, and my heart stutters. Before either of us can do something unprofessional , I take a step back.

“I’m having a good time, too.” I laugh quietly and move on to the next project.

Garlands of pine and holly adorn the porch railing, filling the air with the fresh scent of evergreen. “What did you spray these with?” I ask as I sniff my gloves that are now covered in the smell.

He groans. “I can’t remember, but it’s never going away.”

As we work, we fall into an easy rhythm, anticipating each other’s needs and moving in sync.

Despite the cold, I feel warm from the inside out. Logan’s gentle teasing and warm smiles make my heart flutter in ways I’d almost forgotten it could.

We finish just after midnight.

“Are you ready to plug it in?” I ask.

He sucks air through his teeth. “Pray that it all works.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper a prayer. I open them at the exact moment Logan pushes the plug into the outlet. The lights kick on, and I gasp as a winter wonderland brightens around me. The trees twinkle with hundreds of lights, ornaments glitter in the early morning light, and a path of illuminated candy canes leads to the front door.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, awe evident in my voice.

Logan nods, a satisfied smile on his face. “It really is. Bailey, I can’t thank you enough for this. You’ve made such a difference for this family.”

I turn to face him, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. “ We did this,” I say softly.

Logan’s eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by the intensity of his gaze. Slowly, he reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his touch sending shivers down my spine. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” he murmurs.

My heart is pounding so loudly that I’m sure he must be able to hear it. “Yeah,” I whisper, “we do.”

For a moment, we stand there, the air between us charged with unspoken words and possibilities. Someone jiggles the door handle, the sound so loud in the middle of the night.

“Run!” Logan whispers urgently, grabbing my hand. We dash across the yard, stifling our giggles as we duck behind a large snowbank. My heart races. They didn’t see us, did they?

We peer over the top of our snowy hideout just as the front door creaks open. Mr. Johnson emerges first, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His jaw drops as he takes in the transformed yard. Mrs. Johnson appears behind him, followed closely by their three children, all in their pajamas. The image is priceless, and I will never forget it.

“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Johnson breathes, her voice carrying clearly in the still night air.

The youngest child, a little girl no more than five, lets out a squeal of delight. “Santa came early,” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I watch the family explore their newly decorated yard. The children’s laughter rings out like silver bells, their faces alight with wonder. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson hold each other close, their expressions a mixture of joy and disbelief. This, I realize, is Christmas. It’s that feeling that I miss every year because I’m so busy.

The intensity in Logan’s gaze makes my breath catch. For a moment, I’m lost in the depths of his green eyes, seeing the same wonder and joy reflected there that I feel in my own heart.

Reluctantly, we tear ourselves away from the heartwarming scene and make our way back to Logan’s truck. The cab is frigid as we climb in, our breath fogging up the windows. Logan starts the engine, and soon, blessed warmth begins to seep from the vents.

Exhausted but exhilarated, I can’t help but feel like this is the most important thing I’ve done in years. I want more of this feeling. I want more time with Logan.

I also want to sleep.

I settle against the door, not even caring that the window is as cold as ice.

Logan glances over at me. He chuckles. “Lightweight.” He squeezes my knee.

I huff. “Not all of us are used to hero work,” I mumble, my limbs already dropping into sleep mode. My eyes drift closed.

“You’re something special, Bailey,” he says quietly, and I’m not sure if he meant for me to hear him or not. I can’t let this moment pass, though.

“Logan,” I begin hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I think... I think I might have been hasty about something.” Where I was exhausted before, now my heart hammers, and my fingertips tingle.

He turns to me, curiosity evident in his expression. “Oh? What’s that?”

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “I probably shouldn’t have told you not to kiss me,” I admit, my cheeks burning despite the cold. That’s not exactly what I said, but the meaning is there, and if he catches it and tells me he thought I was right, I might melt into his seat with embarrassment.

For a heartbeat, Logan is perfectly still. Then, moving with a swiftness that takes my breath away, he puts the truck in the park right there in the middle of the street, cups my face in his hands, and presses his lips to mine.

The kiss is everything I remembered and more. Logan’s lips are warm and sure, tasting faintly of peppermint and promise. I melt into him, my hands gripping the front of his coat. He kisses me as though he’s been holding himself back for too long—like I’m the exact flavor of cocoa he’s been longing for, and I taste just right.

My hands move up to bury in his soft hair. I don’t want to pull back or hold back. I want him to know everything I’m feeling for him. He moans and deepens the kiss, taking me right along with him on this sleigh ride.

When we finally part, both a little breathless, Logan kisses my cheek and then my temple. “I’ve been wanting to do that again since we were snowed in,” he confesses, his voice husky.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Me too,” I admit, feeling lighter than I have in years.

Logan puts the truck back into drive, and then his hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining naturally. I scoot over into the middle seat and rest my head on his shoulder. I yawn and he chuckles again. I gaze out at the passing scenery, marveling at how much has changed in just one night.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not afraid of what the future might hold. Instead, sitting here holding Logan’s hand and the memory of joy we brought to the Johnson family fresh in my thoughts, I find myself looking forward to tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that.

Once my head hits the pillow, I might not wake up until next week, but then it will be Christmas, so that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Logan tips his head to rest his cheek on me for just a moment, and the tenderness of that move positively melts me. He’s a good man. I don’t know what I did to find my way here, but it feels like a miracle after all that I’ve been through.

I drift in and out of sleep, my thoughts all over the place. At one point, I can see Gladys sitting across from me, saying, “I’m your guardian angel.” A smile ghosts across my lips. I could almost believe that now.