Logan complies, carefully placing the bags just inside the doorway. He straightens up, his gaze sweeping over the creative chaos of my living room—sketches pinned to every available surface, fabric swatches draped over furniture, and half-finished craft projects scattered about.
“Wow,” he says, and I brace myself for criticism. But when I look at his face, I see genuine admiration. “This is impressive. Did you bring the fabric with you or order it? Is that a painting? Do you paint? Did youmakethose ornaments?”
His words catch me off guard. “I… uh … yes?” I reply, unsure how to handle his unexpected enthusiasm and barrage of questions.
Logan laughs. “I’m not sure which question you answered. Sorry, I kind of geeked out there.” A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s fine. I get that, the geeking out.” I wave my hand, indicating the crafting projects strewn about the room. I really need to clean this place up if I’m going to have people over.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your work. Good luck with the contest, Bailey. I mean that.”
As he turns to go, I find myself calling out, “Logan, wait.”
He pauses, looking back at me.
“Thank you,” I say, the words feeling strange on my tongue. “For the help, I mean. And... for being interested in this. No one … I mean … thanks.”
Logan’s smile widens. “You’re welcome. If you ever want to get crazy with some craft sticks, I can hook you up with my dealer.” With that, he heads back down the stairs, leaving me standing in my doorway, more confused than ever about Logan Brown.
He looks like a firefighter model with all the muscles, but he acts like the boy next door who is just happy to stop by for a visit. It’s slightly, just the smallest amount possible, that he doesn’t know how gorgeous he is.
Which multiplies his handsome by ten–hundred thousand.
I shake off the dopey look on my face just in time for Mrs. Pennington’s head to appear as she climbs the steps. “I thought you could use a little pick-me-up after all that shopping,” she says, holding out the plate.
“That’s so thoughtful, thank you,” I reply, ushering her inside. The warm, buttery scent of the cookies fills the air, instantly making my apartment feel cozier.
Mrs. Pennington settles herself on one of my two barstools. I join her, helping myself to a cookie. The first bite is heavenly, soft and chewy, with just the right amount of chocolate chips.
“So,” Mrs. Pennington says, a knowing twinkle in her eye, “Are you and Logan…?”
I nearly choke on my cookie. “Friends,” I say, trying to sound casual as I continue to cough. I feel like the word friends is stretching the truth. We’re competitors. Colleagues at best.
Mrs. Pennington hums thoughtfully. “Logan’s a good kid. He’s got a big heart under all that firefighter bravado.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure he does,” I say noncommittally.
“I mean it,” Mrs. Pennington insists. “He’s always the first to offer help when anyone in town needs it.”
“He does seem helpful.”
Mrs. Pennington pats my hand. “I’m not trying to push you, dear. I just think sometimes we can be too quick to judge people based on first impressions.”
Her words hit uncomfortably close to home. Haven’t I been doing exactly that with Logan? Dismissing him as nothing more than an arrogant traditionalist?
“You might be right,” I say softly.
Mrs. Pennington beams at me. “I’d better get back to the shop. Come down if you need anything.”
After she leaves, I need to clear my head, so I decide to take a walk around the town square. Everything is lit up still, and it looks beautiful—like a movie set in real life.
My thoughts quickly shift to Logan. He seems so happy and confident, and I can’t help but think that his willingness to help others is connected to that. It’s the old chicken and egg argument. Does serving give you confidence, or do you have to have confidence to serve? I stop in front of the church and take in the nativity scene.
Suddenly, I know the answer.
I look around to see if there’s anyone I can help, but the streets are empty this late at night. I’ll have to keep my eyes open and see who God puts in my path.
Six
