“Bailey, that’s...” Logan pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. “That’s incredible.” A genuine smile spreads across his face, transforming his features. “They do have several trees and bushes all along the front of the house. I can’t believe I didn’t think about this, but I have half a storage unit full of decorations from years past.”
His enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself smiling back. He glances over at my coat and comfortable shoes. “You’ll need to change clothes. It’s too cold for these flimsy gloves.” He nodded toward the cotton gloves hanging out of my coat pocket. “I have ones you can use.”
I wave off his concerns. “I have better ones at home. This’ll be fun. I’m starting to get excited and I haven’t even seen the house yet.”
The look of admiration in Logan’s eyes makes my heart skip a beat.
Without warning, Logan stands, grabs my hand, and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go make some Christmas magic happen.” I tug back and grab the rest of his cinnamon roll, stuffing it into my mouth. He grins. “You’re right. We’ll need food.” He hurries to the counter and orders two bread bowls and creamy potato soup. “Will that be okay?” he asks as he hands over his card.
I nod, unable to talk around the food in my mouth. I would protest and tell him I could pay for my own; the old me would have done just that, but it’s nice to let him get the tab. Although I vow to get it next time.
As we hurry out of the bakery, the bell jingling behind us, I’m acutely aware of Logan’s warm hand still clasping mine. The touch sends a thrill through me, and suddenly, I’m hit with a pang of regret. Why did I agree with him that we should keep things professional? The memory of his lips on mine flashes through my mind, and I’m swamped with regret.
We make our way to my apartment, where I change into more suitable outdoor clothing. Then we head out to take a look at the house so we’ll know what decorations to grab from his storage unit. Our breaths form small clouds in the air. Logan fills me in on the family we’re helping—the Johnsons. Mark, the father, had lost his job a few months back, and with three young kids to support, they’ve been struggling to make ends meet.
“They’re good people,” Logan says, his voice warm with affection. “Always the first to help out their neighbors, even when they don’t have much themselves. It’s been hard seeing them go through this.”
I squeeze his hand gently. Even after changing clothes, he took my hand again. I’m trying not to read too much into it.
“That’s it.” He nods the direction of the house and then faces forward. I turn to look and he lets out a startled noise. “Don’t let them see you look,” he hisses.
I jerk my face forward again, caught up in the serious sneakiness. I look around, trying not to be obvious, and manage to catch a couple glimpses of the Johnson’s house.
When we reach the end of the block, we turn around and go back. This time, I’m ready with my phone out, and I snap a picture. We get around the corner, and I burst into giggles. “That was way more intense than it needed to be.”
He grins. “But more fun, yes?”
“Yes!” I wrinkled my nose at him and bounce as we walk. “I need to see this mysterious storage unit of decorations you claim to have.”
His eyes widen. “Are you suggesting that I do not hoard Christmas decorations? I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”
“There is no hoarding without proof of hoarding,” I challenge him.
He walks faster. “Woman, you have no idea the level of my Christmas cheer.”
We continue to flirt—and yes, it’s totally flirting on my part. I don’t even care if he’s flirting back or just having fun. I’m free and open, and it feels right.
We make it to his truck that’s parked at the fire station, and then we’re at the storage unit on the edge of town. I like his truck. It’s clean and not new, but well taken care of, –like I imagine most things in Logan’s life are. He’s the kind of guy who probably cleans his dishes and cleans the sink daily.
The storage unit is organized like an influencer’s pantry. I stand at the entrance and fold my arms. “This is not hoarding. This is a whole different sickness.”
He glances at me, concerned.
Before he can get too worried, I add, “Don’t ever get treatment, I think it’s beautiful.”
He grins. “That’s right.” Logan finds the outdoor-suitable items quickly.
As we load boxes into his truck, ideas start to form, and we bounce them off one another. Logan’s eyes sparkle with interest. “I can’t wait to see how you’ll use these for the Johnsons’ yard.” Strings of multicolored lights, garlands, and boxes of ornaments fill every available space in the bed of his truck.
His words send a warm glow through me, so different from the dismissive reactions I’m used to when sharing my ideas. I was right; he’s not the kind of man I’m used to. Why didn’t I look for guys like him before? I mean, the muscles are one thing, but the validation he so easily offers is attractive in its own right.
“Ready to play Santa?” he asks as we climb in.
I laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “Lead the way, Mr. Claus.”
The drive to the Johnsons’ house is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft strains of Christmas carols from the radio. We park across the street from their house. It’s mostly dark, with only the flickering light of a television in an upstairs room. I’m guessing that’s the parents’ bedroom. It’s past nine o’clock, so hopefully, everyone is settled down for a long winter’s nap.
“Alright,” Logan says as we climb out of the truck. “Let’s do this.”
