Bailey (Angel Institute #3)

Chapter 18

Eighteen

BAILEY

T he cheerful jingle of bells greets me as I push open the door to Ozark Grocers, a gust of warm, cinnamon-scented air enveloping me as I step inside. The store is a riot of festive colors and twinkling lights, and Christmas carols playing softly in the background. I take a deep breath, savoring the mingled aromas of fresh-baked cookies and oranges that seem to define the holiday season inside the store.

As I grab a shopping cart, I notice Mrs. Pennington by the produce section, carefully selecting apples. She looks up, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Bailey! How lovely to see you.”

I return her smile, genuinely pleased to see the kind-hearted owner of the Pampered Pooch Pantry. I’ve been so busy and keeping such strange hours that we haven’t met up for one of our usual chats. “Hello, Mrs. Pennington. How are you today?”

She approaches, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I’m just fine. But I hear I’m not the only one doing well these days. A little birdie told me you and that handsome firefighter, Logan Brown, have been spending quite a bit of time together.”

I feel heat rising to my cheeks, caught off guard by her comment. Logan and I haven’t made anything public, unless you count parking in the middle of the street and kissing late at night in public. Which, in a small town, might just be the definition of public . Still, it’s strange to learn that I’m a topic of conversation around town.

I guess we’ve been out to dinner with the rest of the contestants a few times.

And then there was the Ice Games.

Maybe I’m not as discrete as I think I am.

“Oh, um, we’ve just been working on the Christmas tree competition together,” I stammer, my voice sounding unnaturally high even to my own ears.

Mrs. Pennington’s smile widens. “It’s wonderful to see you two getting along so well. You make quite the pair.”

Before I can formulate a response, she pats my arm and moves on to the bakery section, leaving me standing there with my mouth slightly agape. I shake my head. It’s no big deal. Mrs. Pennington is my friend, so of course, she’ll be watching out for me.

I try to focus on my shopping list, making my way down the aisles. I’m so tired I could sleep in the frozen foods section. The store is bustling with activity, shoppers chatting and laughing as they stock up on holiday essentials. Christmas is about a week away, and no one wants to run out of goodies and baking supplies. As I reach for a can of cranberry sauce, I overhear two women talking in hushed, excited tones.

“That’s her,” one whispers. “I saw her decorating the Johnson house with Logan last night. They’re so cute together.”

“Oh, how romantic,” the other replies. “It’s about time Logan found someone.”

I nearly drop the can, my hands suddenly shaking. How do they know about the Johnson house? Something inside of me itches. It’s like a pinecone has made its way into my sweater and is scratching away at my good mood and clear mind.

I hurry away, trying to escape the ghosts of my past that are trying to capture me in their icy grip.

My cheeks burning, I round a corner and bump into Marcus.

“Whoa, careful there,” he says, steadying me with a hand on my arm. His eyes light up with recognition. “Bailey, just the person I wanted to see. I heard congratulations are in order?”

I blink at him, confused. “Congratulations? For what?” Did they announce the winners of the contest early? My brain is muddled, but I’m instantly angry that they would change the judgment without telling me.

Marcus grins, adjusting his glasses. “You and Logan … getting engaged. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.” He grabs my left hand and looks at it expectantly. “Wait, where’s the ring?”

“What? No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” I protest, my voice rising slightly, and I yank my hand away. “Logan and I…we’re not getting married!”

Marcus looks taken aback by my denial. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d heard—.”

I cut him off, feeling increasingly flustered. “It’s all gossip and misunderstanding.”

“But the way you two look at each other.” He pushes his glasses up. “It’s obvious how you feel.”

My eyes sting with angry tears. I feel like no one is listening to me. When I was a kid, and I’d try to explain my ideas to my parents, they’d talk over the top of me and brush me aside. Then they’d talk about me like I wasn’t there. I thought I’d gotten over that frustration, but I want to stomp my foot and demand Marcus listen—and hear—what I’m telling him.

Marcus holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. My mistake. Sorry about that, Bailey.”

As he walks away, I lean against the shelf, trying to calm my racing heart. I close my eyes, and a tear falls on each cheek. I brush them away quickly. I’m not a little girl , I tell myself, confused at why I’m having such a big reaction.

I hurry through the rest of my shopping, keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact with other shoppers. By the time I reach the checkout, my nerves are frayed.

The cashier, a young girl with festive reindeer antlers perched on her head, beams at me as she starts scanning my items. “Hi, Bailey. I just want to say I think it’s so cute how you and Logan are together now. You seem so much happier lately. I hope you two win the contest together. Wouldn’t that be a great story to tell your kids?”

I freeze, staring at her in disbelief. Even the teenage cashiers are talking about me? I don’t know this girl’s name; how does she know so much about me? I’m right back in my old design firm when people would stop talking when I entered the room. My skin crawls with the gossip. “We’re not... I mean, it’s not like that,” I mumble, fumbling with my wallet.

The girl’s smile falters slightly. “Uh. Okay. I—.”

I cut her off, perhaps more sharply than I intended. “Can we just finish the transaction, please?” I need to get out of here—and fast. I can’t take the pressure.

The girl nods, her lips pressed. I feel a pang of guilt, but I’m too overwhelmed to apologize. As I grab my bags and hurry out of the store, the festive atmosphere that had seemed so charming earlier now feels suffocating.

Outside, I take a deep breath, trying to make sense of what just happened. How did I become one-half of the town’s favorite new couple? And why does the idea terrify me so much?

As I walk home, my mind races. The whole situation feels eerily familiar, bringing back memories I’ve tried hard to forget. I remember how my ex had told everyone we were together before I was ready, how the social pressure had made me feel trapped in a relationship I wasn’t sure I wanted, and then getting out of it was harder than peanut brittle. Not to mention, it hurt like a road rash on my heart.

I reach my apartment, fumbling with my keys as I try to balance my grocery bags. As I step inside, I’m greeted by the sight of Gladys, humming cheerfully as she arranges a vase of poinsettias on my coffee table. I groan and set the grocery bags on the table.

“Bailey,” she exclaims, her face lighting up. “I thought I’d spruce up the place a bit. How was your shopping trip?”

I sink onto the couch. “Gladys, did you know the whole town thinks Logan and I are... together?” I can’t bring myself to say engaged. It’s such a big lie. I cover my face. What if he thinks I’m telling people we’re getting married?

Gladys tilts her head, her eyes twinkling. “Oh? How do you feel about that?”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. “People are looking at me differently, talking about me. I feel like I have no control over it.” There’s the issue. Control. The word lights up in my mind like a neon sign.

Gladys sits beside me, her presence comforting. “The only person you can control is yourself. Which makes worrying about what other people do seem silly, doesn’t it?”

I look at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says gently, “if you can’t control what people are saying, worry, stress, or sadness won’t change it—but they affect you.” She taps my chest. “In here.”

Her words, coupled with the tap to my chest, remind me of how my heart raced and how I felt closed in and panicky. “How do I stop caring about it?” I think back to all the nasty rumors my ex spread about me after we broke up and how it affected my career. “Their words can have an effect on my life.”

Gladys tips her head. “They can affect some things, but it’s our decision to let them affect our hearts or not. You have such a beautiful heart, Bailey.”

“I want to lock it away so I never get hurt again.” I pull my legs up to my chest and hug my knees.

Gladys puts her arm around my shoulders. “That would be a shame because when you do that, you also limit your influence. Was there anyone at your old design firm who lost a friend when you left.”

I lift a shoulder even as I think about Abby and Jen. They weren’t my best friends, but they were friendly, even when things got ugly. Maybe they could have used a friend, too. “Yeah.” I gulp, thinking of Logan. “What if I let people see the real me, and they don’t like what they see? What if I open myself up to Logan and he decides I’m not worth the trouble?”

Gladys takes my hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “Oh, my dear. That’s always the risk we take when we open our hearts. But isn’t the possibility of joy and love worth that risk?”

I sit there, letting her words sink in. The panic I felt earlier begins to subside, replaced by a tentative hope.

“You have so much to give; it would be a shame to hide from the world.” She squeezes me and then hops up. “Would you like some soup?”

I yawn. Now that my adrenaline has worn off, I’m exhausted, and my stomach hurts. “I think I’ll go to bed.” I stand up and go to my bedroom. “Good night, Gladys.”

“Goodnight. dear one.”

I smile softly and shut my bedroom door. Dear one. Is that me?

I want it to be. I just don’t think anyone who acts like a stray cat backed into a corner could earn the title. As I’m drifting off to sleep, I heard a small voice ask, “Who says you have to earn it? You’re dear to me.” It’s a warm voice, and it wraps around me like a blanket of comfort, lulling me to sleep.