GLADYS
The twinkling lights of Benton Falls’ town square shimmer before me, a kaleidoscope of colors against the velvety night sky. I need to connect with Bailey on a deeper, more personal level if she’s going to trust me. The state of my girl’s heart is so sad, mean, she doesn’t even trust an angel.
Christmas is rapidly approaching, and I’m acutely aware of the ticking clock. My first assignment as a guardian angel in training, and I’m starting to worry I might fail before I’ve even properly begun.
I fidget with the hem of my sweater. I can’t bring myself to put on one of the heavy coats I see people wearing. I think it would smother me. I round the clock tower and find Bailey staring up at it, a contemplative look on her face. She is a beauty, with her long dark hair and big eyes.
She notices me coming and walks toward me.
“Gladys?” Bailey calls out as she approaches, her voice hesitant.
It is dark and late at night. I’m sure she doesn’t want to meet up with a stranger out here. “Yes?” I respond. “It’s me.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with what she’s about to say. “I was just wondering... do you have a place to stay?”
“Like a place to stay on Earth?” I ask, buying myself a moment to think about what this means.
Bailey nods slowly, her hazel eyes searching my face.
I take a deep breath and decide that honesty is the best policy. “I don’t have accommodations at the moment,” I admit. I can’t lie, it’s against the angel code. Plus, lies are dark and sticky, and they attract other lies. I don’t like them.
Bailey’s expression softens, and I sense a wave of compassion emanating from her. It’s a beautiful feeling, warm and comforting.
“Well,” she says, the words coming out in a rush, “if you need a place to crash, you could stay on my couch. Just for tonight, I mean. If you want. It’s cold out there.”
I’m momentarily stunned. This is unexpected, to say the least. Bailey, who’s been so guarded and prickly, is offering me a place in her home? I would never have thought she’d be open to that.
It’s also more than just a kind gesture—it’s a chance to get closer to her, to understand her better, and to find a way to serve her.
“Are you sure?” I ask, giving her an opportunity to back out. I can’t mess with free will; this has to be her decision.
Bailey nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s cold out, and... well, no one should be alone at Christmas, right?”
My heart swells with joy at her words. This is progress, real progress. A cactus with a heart. “That’s very kind of you, Bailey. Thank you. I’d be happy to accept.”
As we walk to Bailey’s apartment, I can’t help but marvel at the way things are unfolding. Henry always says that God works in mysterious ways, and I’m starting to better understand what he means.
Bailey’s apartment comes into view, a charming old structure with the Pampered Pooch Pantry on the ground floor. The lights above the shop are on, and there’s a Christmas tree in the window. We walk up the stairs and to a landing where she fishes her keys out of her pocket.
“It’s not much,” Bailey says as she unlocks the door to her apartment, “and it’s a bit of a mess with all the contest preparations.”
As we step inside, I’m enveloped by warmth and the unmistakable scent of creativity, a mix of paint, fabric, and glue. The space is indeed cluttered, but in the most fascinating way. Every surface seems to be covered with sketches, fabric swatches, and half-finished decorations. It’s as if Bailey’s imagination has exploded outward, filling every nook and cranny with potential and possibility.
“I think it’s wonderful,” I say, unable to keep the awe from my voice. “Your creativity is truly remarkable, Bailey.”
She blushes slightly at the compliment, ducking her head. “Thanks. Um, make yourself at home. I’ll get some blankets for the couch.”
As Bailey disappears into what I assume is her bedroom, I take the opportunity to look around more closely. The living room is dominated by a large work table covered in sketches and materials for her contest entry. I finger a dull lime green swatch that’s laid next to a sparkling raspberry-colored one.
Bailey returns with an armful of blankets and a pillow. “Here you go,” she says, arranging them on the couch. “It’s not the Ritz, but it should be comfortable enough for a night.”
I’m touched by her thoughtfulness. Despite her gruff exterior, there’s a genuine kindness to Bailey. “It’s perfect,” I assure her. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”
She shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It’s no big deal. The bathroom’s down the hall if you need it. I’m going to turn in; got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I nod. “Goodnight. And truly, thank you.”
“Night, Gladys.” She gives me a small smile before retreating to her bedroom.
