Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 17

Seventeen

BAILEY

T he air is thick with the scent of pine, cinnamon, and the faintest hint of peppermint, creating a heady cocktail of holiday aromas as we all work to finish our designs in time. Soft strains of classical Christmas music, provided by Evelyn, float through the air, punctuated by the occasional tinkling of ornaments and the rustling of garlands.

I stifle a yawn as I adjust a glass icicle on my tree. The late-night decorating spree at the Johnsons’ house has left both Logan and me exhausted, but the warmth in my chest when I think about the family’s joy makes it all worthwhile. As I step back to survey my work, I can’t help but marvel at how different everything looks—not just my display, but the entire atmosphere of the competition.

My snow-covered tree stands tall and proud, a modern interpretation of Christmas magic. Silver and ice blue dominate the color scheme, with unexpected pops of coral and deep purple. Geometric ornaments are arranged precisely. Olivia’s mathlete- “ew”-older-brother’s-best-friend Axel will love it. I have a checkered patterned tree skirt with large round ornaments tucked under the tree as a flip on the old “presents under the tree” tradition and a raspberry-covered duvet. The walls are adorned with framed ornaments. I’m in the process of adding silver reindeer, puffballs, and feathers to soften the overall look.

To the left, Logan’s display is a testament to classic Christmas charm. Rich navy blues and gold fill the space with richness. Vintage ornaments hang from the perfectly shaped tree, while a miniature village nestles at its base, complete with tiny ice skaters on a mirror-like pond. The scent of pine needles wafts from his station. I smile to myself, still wondering what he sprays on his fake fir branches to get that scent. My gloves will never be the same.

Olivia’s area is a riot of color and creativity that perfectly matches her vibrant personality. Her tree defies tradition, its branches adorned with repurposed materials like egg cartons for baubles and candy canes glued to mismatched cups to make candle holders. She also has paint brushes dipped in glitter, origami poinsettias made from sheet music, and strings of colorful buttons. The whole display is crafty and tasteful, and I’m impressed she has pulled it all together.

Across the room, Evelyn’s station is a study in natural elegance. She’s started adding the floral touches—most of them fake, though she’s left holes where she’s going to fill in with fresh flowers right before the competition. Delicate orchids peek out from between pine boughs while garlands of baby’s breath and holly berries wind their way around the trunk. The scent of fresh blooms mingles with the evergreen, creating an intoxicating fragrance.

Finally, Marcus’s display showcases his keen eye for design and attention to detail. His tree is a sleek, minimalist affair in white and silver, with carefully placed ornaments that catch and reflect the light. Around the base, he’s created a stylized cityscape, complete with twinkling LED lights that mimic a starry night sky. It’s modern and sophisticated, much like the homes he sells.

As I make my way back to my station, I catch Logan’s eye. He gives me a warm smile that sends a flutter through my stomach despite my exhaustion. The memory of our kisses in his truck is still fresh, a secret warmth I carry with me.

“How’s it going over there, Bailey?” he calls out, his voice carrying a hint of playful challenge. “Ready to admit defeat yet?”

At first, I’m a little shocked. No one has trash-talked another competitor, not even once. We couldn’t make this competition into a television show because there’s no drama. But then I realize he’s teasing me, flirting in front of everyone, and I laugh, shaking my head. “In your dreams, Brown. My tree is going to blow the judges away.”

Olivia pipes up from her station, her hands covered in glitter. “Don’t count your presents before Christmas morning, you two. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve yet.”

“Oh please,” Evelyn chimes in, her elegant fingers arranging a spray of orchids. “We all know natural beauty trumps artificial every time.”

Marcus pushes his glasses up his nose, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Sometimes, less is more.”

The banter continues, filling the ballroom with laughter and good-natured ribbing. We’re all in a place where we’re proud of our work and what we’ve each been able to do. There’s no clear-cut winner, all our designs are so very different, and each one has its own beauty and charm. As I listen to my fellow contestants tease each other, I’m struck by how much has changed. Not between them, but inside of me. Instead of being on guard and ready to lash out, I feel warm and at ease. Even if one of these people were to ask me about my design, I think I could share with them what I did and why I did it without coming apart at the seams.

Gladys comes in carrying a box of doughnuts. “Hello everyone! Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” we chorus back.

She laughs. “That was in harmony.” She stops at my station first. “Isn’t this lovely? So much holiday spirit in the air. The room is practically buzzing with it.”

Before I can respond, Marcus approaches, curiosity evident in his expression. “I don’t think we’ve officially met,” he says, extending a hand to Gladys. “Are you part of the judging committee?”

I grin at Gladys. “Oh no, she’s my guardian angel.” The words slip out easily. Gladys beams at me.

Marcus takes the explanation at face value, shaking Gladys’s hand with a warm smile.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Gladys. Bailey’s lucky to have you watching out for her.”

As Marcus returns to his display with a doughnut in his hand, I catch Gladys watching me with a knowing twinkle in her eye. I feel a rush of affection for this quirky, wonderful woman who’s become such an important part of my life in such a short time. She wanders in and out, showing up when I need a kind word or a warm meal.

Logan and I exchange glances across the room, sharing secret smiles that speak volumes. I should be curled up under my tree, too tired to work. Instead, each time our eyes meet, my heart picks up speed, and sleep is the farthest thing from my mind.

The judges will be here tomorrow to determine a winner, but standing here in this moment, surrounded by laughter, twinkling lights, and the warm presence of people I’ve come to care for, I already feel like I’ve won something.

As I return Logan’s gaze, I silently thank whatever divine intervention brought me to Benton Falls and this crazy Christmas tree competition. Because here, amidst the pine needles and glitter, the ribbons and lights, I’ve found something I thought I’d lost forever: the courage to open my heart and believe in the Spirit of Christmas once again.