Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~9 min read
Three days after the elevator incident, Jo knocked on Logan’s door with Olive and a container of blueberry muffins.
The nut-free kind. Triple-checked.
Logan answered in sweatpants and a t-shirt that had definitely seen better days, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Working, probably. The tattoo designs didn’t draw themselves.
His face softened when he saw her. “Abbott.”
“Hi. I brought peace offerings.” She held up the muffins. “And your final website mockups. I emailed them but I thought you might want to see them in person.”
“Come in.”
Jo entered his apartment—feeling less like an intruder now, more like someone who belonged there. Olive immediately trotted to her favorite spot on his rug and flopped down.
“She’s made herself at home,” Logan observed.
“She likes you. Even if you claimed to hate dogs.”
“I never said I hated dogs. I said I didn’t like them.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.” Logan took the muffins and gestured toward his couch. “Want coffee while we look at the designs?”
“Always.”
They settled on his couch with laptops and coffee. Jo pulled up the final website design—sleek, dark, with his tattoo work displayed like art in a gallery. Minimalist navigation. Video content showing his process. A booking system integrated seamlessly.
Logan stared at it for a long moment.
Jo’s stomach knotted. “If you hate it, I can—”
“I love it.”
“Really?”
“It’s perfect.” Logan scrolled through the pages, examining every detail. “This is exactly what I wanted but couldn’t articulate.”
“That’s my job. Translating vague ideas into visual reality.”
“You’re good at your job.”
The praise settled warm in Jo’s chest. “Thanks. The booking system integrates with your existing scheduler. Social media feeds update automatically. I set up Instagram and Facebook pages—you don’t have to manage them if you don’t want to. I can post your work weekly and respond to inquiries.”
“You’d do that?”
“It’s part of the package. Plus, your work deserves to be seen.”
Logan set down his laptop and turned to face her fully. “What do I owe you for all this?”
Jo pulled up her invoice. “Standard rate for branding package, website development, and first month of social media management.”
Logan looked at the number. Didn’t flinch. “Done. I’ll transfer payment today.”
“You don’t want to negotiate?”
“Why would I? It’s fair. You did incredible work.”
“Most clients try to talk me down.”
“I’m not most clients.” Logan’s eyes held hers. “And I value what you do.”
That warm feeling spread through her entire body.
“Well. Thank you. For being an actual decent client.”
“Thank you for making me look professional.”
They sat there, laptops forgotten, just looking at each other. Olive snored gently from the floor.
“Can I ask you something?” Jo said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you really say yes when I asked for help with Olive? The truth.”
Logan was quiet for a moment. “You want the real reason?”
“Please.”
“Because watching you panic about getting evicted made me want to fix it. Because you looked at Olive like she was worth saving even when everyone else had given up on her. And because…” He paused. “Because I saw myself in her. The anxious rescue nobody wanted. And I wanted to help.”
Jo’s throat tightened. “Logan—”
“I know I’m not good at the feelings thing. I’m better with actions. Fixing sinks, training dogs, making sure you don’t flood the building again.” A hint of a smile. “But the truth is, I stopped not-liking you pretty much immediately. And I definitely don’t hate Olive.”
“When did you stop?”
“The doormat incident. The first one.”
“When I was a soaking wet mess apologizing with an armful of paper towels?”
“You were trying so hard to make it right. Most people would have just apologized and left. You actually cared.” Logan scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the vulnerability. “It was… attractive.”
“My chaos was attractive?”
“Your heart was attractive. The chaos just came with it.”
Jo’s eyes stung. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Really? That’s sad. You deserve people saying nice things.”
“I’m starting to figure that out.”
They were close now. Close enough that Jo could see the variations of gray in Logan’s eyes, the way his pulse beat at his throat, the small scar through his eyebrow that she still wanted to ask about.
“So what now?” she whispered.
“Now I launch the website. You manage my social media. We see where this goes.”
“This being…?”
“Whatever we want it to be.” Logan’s hand found hers on the couch between them. “I know you’re scared. I know I’m not what you thought you wanted. But I think we could be good together, Abbott.”
“Even with all my chaos?”
“Especially with your chaos.”
Jo laughed, a little wet, a little overwhelming. “I’m going to disappoint you eventually. I overthink everything. I create problems that don’t exist. I flood bathrooms and break sinks and my dog pees on things.”
“I’m grumpy and intense and I don’t do feelings well. I’ll probably hurt you without meaning to. I work long hours. I’m not good at texting back. And I still have nightmares about losing Bear.”
“We’re kind of a disaster, aren’t we?”
“Probably.” Logan squeezed her hand. “But maybe we’re the right kind of disaster.”
“Is there a right kind?”
“The kind that makes you better instead of worse. The kind that challenges you. The kind that feels like home even when it’s messy.”
Jo’s heart squeezed. “When did you get so wise about relationships?”
“I’m not. I’m winging it. Terrified I’m going to fuck this up.”
“That makes two of us.”
“So we’ll fuck it up together.”
“Very romantic.”
“I’m trying here, Abbott.”
Jo laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. Logan’s arm came around her, pulling her closer.
This felt right. Sitting on his couch, Olive snoring, coffee going cold, just… existing together.
“Can I take you to dinner?” Logan asked quietly. “Like a real date. Not coffee in my apartment or training sessions or work meetings. An actual date.”
Jo’s heart raced. “Are you asking me out?”
“Attempting to. Not sure I’m doing it right.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a yes.” Jo tilted her head up to look at him. “When?”
“Friday night? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I pay attention.” Logan’s thumb traced circles on her shoulder. “I know you like art. And good food. And places that aren’t too crowded because they make you anxious. So I’ll plan accordingly.”
The fact that he’d noticed all that made Jo’s chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to falling.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Friday at seven.”
“It’s a date.”
They sat like that for another twenty minutes, just talking. Easy conversation about nothing and everything. Logan told her about a difficult client at the shop. Jo complained about a demanding project she couldn’t quite crack. Olive woke up, demanded attention from both of them, then fell back asleep.
Domestic. Comfortable. Right.
When Jo finally left, Logan walked her to the door. She paused in the hallway.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For being patient with me. For not pushing. For waiting while I figured out my feelings.”
“Like I said. I’m not going anywhere.”
He said it like a promise. Like something she could count on.
Jo went home with warmth in her chest and hope blooming like spring flowers.
Jo: He asked me to dinner.
Erika: A DATE???
Jo: A real actual date. Friday night.
Erika: I TOLD YOU THIS WAS HAPPENING
Jo: You were right. As always.
Erika: What are you going to wear?
Jo: I have four days to panic about that.
Erika: We’re going shopping. Tomorrow. No arguments.
Jo: I wasn’t going to argue.
Erika: Good. Because you need to look STUNNING for grumpy tattoo man.
Jo: His name is Logan.
Erika: I know but grumpy tattoo man is more fun to say.
Jo fell asleep that night thinking about Friday. About what it meant that Logan had asked her out properly. That this was becoming something real, something with potential.
The doormat wars felt like ancient history.
The plumbing disaster was a funny story instead of a mortifying memory.
Even the stupid avoidance schedule had served a purpose—showing them both how miserable they were apart.
And now they were here. On the edge of something that could be beautiful or could crash and burn spectacularly.
Jo was terrified.
But for the first time in a long time, she was also hopeful.
Because Logan Marchand had looked at her chaos and called it attractive.
Had seen her anxiety and stayed anyway.
Had watched her flood his bathroom, poison him with muffins, and create elaborate avoidance schedules, and still asked her to dinner.
If that wasn’t worth taking a risk for, nothing was.
Olive climbed onto the bed and pressed her face into Jo’s shoulder.
“You did this, you know,” Jo told the dog. “Your doormat obsession started everything.”
Olive’s tail thumped.
“I’m taking that as you being pleased with yourself.”
More tail thumping.
“Okay, fine. You’re a genius matchmaker. Happy?”
Olive licked her face.
Jo laughed and hugged her ridiculous, anxious, doormat-peeing dog.
Maybe chaos wasn’t always bad.
Maybe sometimes chaos was exactly what you needed to shake up your life.
To force you into the path of someone who saw your mess and thought it was beautiful.
Someone who fixed your sink and trained your dog and looked at you like you hung the moon.
Someone like Logan Marchand.
And maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something extraordinary.
The doormat wars were over.
Something much better was just beginning.
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