He’s a local favorite.
He’s too good-looking for his own good.
My ex was handsome, too.
And he knew it.
I stiffen as Logan continues toward us.
“What’s wrong?” Gladys asks, noticing my sudden change in demeanor.
I quickly gather my things; my earlier peace shattered. “That’s Logan Brown,” I whisper. “He’s won this contest three years running.”
“Why are we leaving?” Gladys looks confused as I start to stand.
“Because he’s insufferable, and I don’t want to talk to him,” I hiss, trying to make a quick exit.
“You know him then?” Gladys holds out her hand for me to help her up. I take her hand, and my whole body warms in the most pleasant way. It’s like a hug is in her grip.
“We’ve never met. But I know his type.”I almost married his type, I silently add. Ugh, there is no point in sharing my stupidity with this stranger.
Logan stands near his station. Of course, he got one of the three fireplaces in the room. I—the newcomer—was given a corner, which isn’t bad. I can do a lot to create a scene in a corner. I think a fireplace is a distinct advantage, though.
As we approach, I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the door ahead. Gladys, who has attached herself to me, looks him over as we pass by. “Goodness, he’s very good-looking. Have you seen him up close?” she whispers loudly enough that my cheeks burn.
I’ve seen enough of him. His six-foot-two, broad-shouldered frame is a lot to take in. His jawline is so sharp you could use it to slice chocolate, and his green eyes are like jewels.
Logan smirks to himself because, of course, he heard Gladys.
“Bailey,” he says as he turns toward me, his tone infuriatingly smooth. “Right?”
I stop in my tracks. “How did you know my name?”
“Your picture’s on the website. Congratulations on making it into the contest.”
“Thanks,” I reply through gritted teeth, willing this moment to be over. I don’t want to make nice with my competition, and I don’t want to stand here for a moment longer. The way he looks at me, like he’s interested in getting to know me better, makes me want to pull my claws out and warn him off.
But Gladys, to my horror, extends her hand to him. “I’m Gladys,” she says, shaking his hand with enthusiasm. “Congratulations on your past wins.”
Logan gives a self-assured nod. “Thank you.”
I can’t take it anymore. “He should enjoy them,” I say with a smirk of my own. “They’ll be his last.” Without waiting for a response, I push past him and out the door, leaving Gladys behind if she wants to stay and fawn over the pretty-boy decorator with the really great sweater. Where did he find the perfect shade of green to make his eyes sparkle like that? Who am I kidding? Some woman probably made it for him, each knit and pearl an act of devotion.
As I step out into the crisp winter air, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. That whole experience was weird. Like, really weird. What did Gladys say… something about being a guardian angel? If she was really my guardian angel, she would have known I don’t want anything to do with men right now. Why did she have to draw attention to Logan like that?
I shake my head. I don’t have time to worry about some strange woman or Logan Brown. I need to focus on this contest and creating the best display I can. This is my foot back in the door and a chance to step right over all the horrible press my ex spewed about me.
As I make my way back across the town square, I take in the garlands and twinkling lights that adorn every lamppost. But instead of feeling inspired, I feel a familiar defensiveness creeping in.
I’ve been hurt before, dismissed, and underestimated. It’s possible my insecurities started long before the ex-situation, though it’s really convenient to lay them all at his feet. I don’t want to think back to my childhood and dig up bones. What I need to do is win this contest on my own terms.
Alone.
No boyfriends to take credit for my work.
No, pretend best friends to seduce my boyfriend while I’m busy working.
And no guardian angels who turn their heads at a pretty face.
