“It’s for the decorating contest,” I explain, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about my non-traditional color scheme.
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Mrs. Pennington exclaims. She reaches over and touches one of the raspberry-colored bows. “So bright and cheerful.”
Her words soothe some of the lingering doubts. “Thank you,” I say softly. “I’m going for bright and cheerful.”
Mrs. Pennington pats my arm. “You just keep following your vision; it won’t steer you wrong.” With a wave, she continues on her way.
I nearly stumble into her words. They feel true, and I want them to be true, so much so that I ache. I watch her go, feeling a swell of gratitude for her unwavering support. She doesn’t know me, not really, but she’s honestly kind, and that is a balm to my ever-open wounds.
The next hour passes in a blur of holly berries and baubles. I’m carefully examining a set of modern, geometric tree ornaments when I hear that now-familiar deep voice behind me.
“Those are pretty.”
I whirl around to find Logan standing nearby, a reindeer antler headband perched atop his dark hair. The sight is so incongruous that I have to bite back a smile despite my annoyance at his presence.
“That’s kind of the point,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly.
Logan holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
His continued politeness only serves to fuel my irritation. Why can’t he just argue with me? It would be so much easier to dislike him if he’d stop being so... nice.
“You don’t have to pretend to like my ideas just to be polite,” I mutter.
“I’m not pretending,” he says. “I might not always understand modern design, but I can appreciate the creativity behind it.”
I’m not ready to accept his olive branch entirely, but I nod grudgingly. “Thanks; I guess it’s a good thing you’re not decorating my tree.” I tease and I’m surprised that it doesn’t come out rude. It almost sounds friendly.
Logan runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the antlers. He catches them with his other hand, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The glimpse of humor catches me off guard, momentarily diffusing some of the tension I feel. An awkward silence stretches between us. I shift my weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to say next. Logan clears his throat.
“Well, I should get going,” he says. “Good luck.”
As Logan walks away, I’m left feeling unsettled. Our interactions are so charged, at least on my end, veering between antagonism and something I can’t quite name. I shake my head, unable to understand why he keeps trying to talk to me when I’m obviously not good at it.
That’s not true,I tell myself.I talked to Mrs. Pennington just fine.
So it’s Logan who is the problem. I’m not sure I’m ready to dissect why that is.
I spend another half hour gathering the last of my supplies before heading to the checkout. As I wait in line, my gaze wanders to a display of delicate glass ornaments near the registers.
The drive home is a blur of swirling snowflakes and the gentle croon of Bing Crosby on the radio. The scent of fresh-baked dog treats wafts through the air as I gather my bags from the car. I’m trying to carry too much, and I feel like a partridge in a too-small pear tree when Logan comes out the door wearing his firefighter uniform and looks like a hero.
Daaaang!
“Need a hand with those?”
I’m staring. I’m staring open-mouthed and unabashedly.
Before I can protest, he’s already taking several of the heavier bags from my arms.
“I’ve got it,” I insist weakly. All of me is weak in the knees–including my lungs. They’re like half-inflated balloons sighing out the last of their oxygen.
Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you can get it, but I’m wearing the uniform, so I’m professionally obligated to carry things for people.”
I want to argue, but the relief in my arms is undeniable. “Fine,” I concede grudgingly. “Thanks.”
We make our way up the stairs in silence. When we reach my apartment door, I fumble for my keys, acutely aware of Logan’s presence behind me.
“Just set them down here,” I say, gesturing vaguely with my elbow once I’ve got the door open. “I can take it from here.”
