“I’m with the decorating competition.” I motion to the ballroom doors.
“That’s right.” She snaps her fingers and then gives me a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry, but we’re completely booked. You’re welcome to take a sofa or something out here with the staff.” She motions to the lobby. There are a few people already making up beds and claiming their spots.
The idea of sleeping in a room full of strangers by myself makes my skin itch. I can’t count on Logan staying; he has a job to do. I’ll have to make the best of the situation.
“Do you have any spare blankets or pillows we could use? Maybe we can sleep in the ballroom?” I ask tentatively. It’s heated and familiar. The floor isn’t soft, but I can survive one night. I hope Logan doesn’t mind—if he ends up staying, that is.
The housekeeper nods, her face lighting up at the suggestion. “Of course. That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll gather what we have and bring them to you.”
I really hope Logan stays. Not just because I’m clinging to him like Linus with his blanket, but because I like being around him. The kiss we shared was confusing but wonderful. I would have liked to do that again, but he acted like it was such a big mistake that I can’t find it in me to argue the point. If he thought it was a bad idea, then it most certainly was. I’m not in the habit of kissing men who don’t want to kiss me back.
As I wait for the supplies, I watch Logan talking on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. He takes several paces to the right and then spins and goes the other way, running his hand through his hair as he listens. Even in the dim emergency lighting, I can’t help but notice how the shadows accentuate his strong jawline and the intensity in his green eyes. He’s a force, that’s for sure.
Logan finishes his call and makes his way back to me. “The chief wants me to stay put for now,” he explains. “The storm is bad enough that they’re not sending trucks out. No one has called in anything more severe than the power outage. They’ll need extra hands in the morning to clean up and make the rounds, depending on how bad the storm gets.”
I nod, gesturing toward the housekeeper, who’s now approaching with an armful of quilts and pillows and a bag of food. “Thank you,” I tell her as I take an armload and pass it to Logan. “I thought we might need these. We can head back to the ballroom and try to make ourselves comfortable.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of Logan’s mouth. “Are we having a sleepover?” he asks, a note of teasing in his voice.
“My first one since I was seventeen,” I say, smiling.
The housekeeper hurries off to do a hundred other tasks she wasn’t counting on doing tonight. We make our way back to the ballroom, which now feels eerily quiet.
Logan and I find a spot near his tree, away from the drafty windows. “Let’s use this batting for padding.” He pulls out the roll of quilt batting that has been sitting in the corner since we started. I’m not even sure who brought it in here. We roll it out, and it’s just the right amount for the two of us. I start arranging my quilts and pillows.
“Here,” Logan says, pulling out a small bag from his supplies. “I’ve got some battery-operated tea lights. They’re not much, but they’ll give us a bit of light.”
He switches them on and places them around us in a circle. A soft, warm glow illuminates our little corner. The flickering light casts dancing shadows on the ornaments of our half-decorated trees, creating an almost magical atmosphere despite the circumstances.
We settle onto our makeshift beds. I sit crisscrossed and face him, and he does the same. “What do you think she found us for dinner?” I ask as I open the sack. Inside, I find granola bars, two individual-sized packages of trail mix, two hastily thrown-together turkey sandwiches leaking mayo, two bananas, and two bottles of water.
Logan stares down at it. Knowing how many street tacos he put away, I push as much of the food in his direction as I can. I keep a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water. “Eat up.”
He grabs his sandwich and takes a bite. “You can’t be full on just a sandwich.”
I wave my hand down my body. “Smaller package, smaller caloric needs.”
He chuckles. “We’ll see about that.” We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the possibility that he doesn’t want to open up to me. If kissing me was a mistake, I’m not sure where I stand with him. Friends? Teammates for the Ice Games? Competitors? I just don’t know, but we’re here, and we can’t stare at the floor all night and not talk. “Why did you become a firefighter?” I ask, genuinely curious. It’s a safe topic, nothing too personal, but one that might give me a glimpse into his character.
Logan’s eyes light up at the question, a spark of enthusiasm igniting in their depths. He shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly.
“It all started when I was a kid,” he begins, a nostalgic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I must’ve been about five or six. Our neighbor’s house caught fire, and I remember standing on our front lawn, watching in awe as these larger-than-life heroes in their bulky gear poured out of this massive red truck.”
His hands move animatedly as he speaks, painting the scene in the air between us. “The sirens, the flashing lights, the way they fearlessly charged into danger—it was like something out of a movie. But it was real, you know?”
I nod, finding myself drawn in by his sincerity and the vivid picture he’s creating.
“After that, I was obsessed,” Logan continues, chuckling softly. “I’d make my mom drive past the fire station just so I could peek at the trucks. I’d wear my plastic firefighter helmet everywhere—even to bed sometimes.”
His expression softens, a mix of fondness and something deeper, more serious. “But as I grew older, it became more than just a childhood fantasy of riding on the big red truck. I started to understand what it really meant to be a firefighter.”
Logan pauses, his gaze distant for a moment as if he’s looking into the past. “I learned about the dedication, the sacrifice, the brotherhood. I realized that being a firefighter meant being there for people on what might be the worst day of their lives. It meant having the chance to make a real difference.”
He meets my eyes again, and I’m struck by the conviction I see there. “Honestly?” He grins, a boyish excitement creeping back into his features. “That little kid inside me still gets a thrill every time I suit up and climb onto that truck.”
As Logan finishes his story, I find myself smiling, infected by his enthusiasm.
