Logan’s eyes widen, hurt flashing across his face before it’s replaced by a hardening resolve. “And not everyone wants Christmas to feel like a modern art exhibit,” he retorts.
Our voices have risen, drawing curious and concerned glances from the other contestants. I’m vaguely aware of Olivia and Marcus exchanging worried looks while Evelyn watches our exchange with raised eyebrows.
“The spirit of Christmas isn’t about following a formula,” I argue, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “It’s about bringing light and beauty into the world in new ways. Just because you can’t see beyond your narrow definition of what Christmas should look like doesn’t mean my vision is any less valid!”
Logan opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a familiar voice cuts through our heated exchange. “What seems to be the trouble here?”
We both turn to see Gladys approaching, a look of concern on her face. I feel a flash of guilt at the worry in her eyes, but it’s quickly overshadowed by my lingering anger and frustration.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I mutter, turning back to my tree. “Just a difference of opinion on design choices.”
Gladys looks between Logan and me, her brow furrowing. “Let’s all take a deep breath. Remember, the spirit of Christmas is about harmony and understanding, not—“
Her words are cut off as she takes a step, bumping into my supply table. I watch in horror as a cascade of events unfolds—the table wobbles, sending a box of delicate glass ornaments tumbling to the floor. In her haste to catch them, Gladys knocks into Logan’s station, causing a string of lights to unravel and tangle around her feet.
For a moment, the ballroom is filled with the sound of breaking glass, and Gladys’s startled yelp as she loses her balance, arms windmilling. Logan and I both lunge forward to catch her colliding with each other in the process. I’m thrown off, and I spin just enough to see that I’m headed for a pile of broken ornaments. Hours in the emergency room, having them pulled out, and possible stitches flash across my future.
Logan’s arm comes around me as quick as lightning; he pulls me to his side, grunting as I slam into him. He’s got Gladys with his other arm, and we’re all going down.
We end up in a heap on the floor, Logan taking the brunt of our fall but somehow managing to land out of the danger zone. Man, this guy is good at saving people. The room is silent. I don’t dare move. There’s broken glass and lights everywhere. I’m breathing hard, and Logan’s chest is heaving under my hand.
Gladys begins to laugh.
I’m too stunned to make a sound. Logan saved me.
His deep laughter joins Galdys’s. His belly is shaking, and he winces as she slides away from him.
I think of how the three of us must have looked going down, and I start to laugh too. “We’re ridiculous,” I say as I push off his chest to sit up. As we untangle ourselves, I catch Logan’s eye.
He grins up at me. “It’s the best, right?”
I shake my head and get to my feet, offering him a hand up. He takes it and almost pulls me over as he gets up. He’s just so much muscle.
“Are you alright?” he asks Gladys, helping her to her feet.
She nods, still giggling. “Oh my, what a mess I’ve made. I’m so sorry. Let me help clean this up. At least I know where they keep the brooms.” She hurries out and comes back with cleaning supplies.
As we begin to pick up the scattered ornaments and untangle the lights, I feel the heat of my anger slowly dissipating. In its place, a familiar sense of shame begins to creep in. Why do I always let myself get so worked up? Why can’t I just explain my vision clearly without getting defensive?
I chance a glance at Logan, who’s carefully sweeping up. His brow is furrowed in concentration, but there’s a softness to his expression that wasn’t there during our argument. I feel a pang of regret for the harsh words we exchanged.
“Logan,” I say softly, surprising myself. He looks up, his green eyes wary but not unkind. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just... this design means a lot to me, and I don’t always know how to explain it properly.”
Logan’s expression softens further. “I’m sorry, too.”
I feel a warmth spreading through my chest at his words, a mixture of relief and gratitude. He’s not at all like my ex. I need to just let that guy go. “Thank you,” I murmur.
As we finish cleaning up the mess, I can’t help but feel like something has shifted between us. The tension has eased.
Gladys beams at us, her eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes me wonder if her clumsiness wasn’t entirely accidental.
I find myself looking at my tree with fresh eyes. Maybe Logan had a point about incorporating some warmer elements. And maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to blend my unique vision with a touch of traditional Christmas magic. If that’s the case, I’m going to need more supplies and will probably have to go back to the superstore. That’s not entirely bad—like an accountant in the office supply store, I geek out over the sheer number of options available to me there.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a flurry of activity. The tension in the room has eased, replaced by a spirit of friendly competition and mutual respect. I overhear Olivia and Marcus exchanging tips on how to deal with hot glue strings while Evelyn offers to order any fresh flowers we might need before the deadline.
As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow through the ballroom’s tall windows, I put the finishing touches on my tree. Stepping back, I take in the full effect. It’s everything I had envisioned and more. I’ve left holes for the ornaments I have yet to purchase.
As the evening winds down and we begin to pack up our supplies, I find myself lingering, not quite ready to leave the magical atmosphere we’ve created. Logan approaches, a warm smile on his face.
