Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~10 min read
Jo stood outside apartment 3B holding a brand new doormat and seriously reconsidering her life choices.
It was 6 PM on a Thursday—what Erika called “acceptable neighbor interaction hours”—and Jo had changed outfits three times before settling on jeans and an oversized sweater that read “GOOD VIBES ONLY” in rainbow letters.
Subtle, she was not.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Ring doorbell. Hand over mat. Apologize briefly. Leave. Do not babble. Do not make eye contact for too long. Do not think about how good he smells—”
Wait, how did she know how he smelled?
Oh right. This morning when they’d been three feet apart, she’d caught a whiff of something woodsy and clean and thoroughly distracting.
Not helpful, brain.
Jo rang the doorbell before she could chicken out.
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Then the door swung open and there was Logan Marchand in all his grumpy glory, wearing gray sweatpants and a worn black hoodie that should have looked casual but instead looked like it belonged in some kind of “Hot Guys Being Cozy” calendar.
His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered.
Jo’s brain short-circuited.
“Hi!” Too loud. Way too loud. “I have your doormat. Replacement. As promised.”
Logan looked at the mat in her hands—sleek charcoal gray with subtle geometric patterns—then back at her face. Something flickered in his expression that Jo couldn’t quite read.
“You actually bought one,” he said.
“Of course I did. I said I would.”
“People say a lot of things.”
There was a story there, Jo thought. Something that made him assume people didn’t follow through. But now wasn’t the time to psychoanalyze her hot grumpy neighbor.
“Well, I keep my promises. Usually. Mostly.” She thrust the mat toward him. “Here. It’s water-resistant and has a non-slip backing. The reviews said it holds up well to ‘high traffic and adverse conditions.'”
Logan took the mat, his fingers briefly brushing hers. Jo’s skin tingled where they’d touched.
Get it together, Abbott.
“Did you seriously read doormat reviews?” Logan asked.
“I read all reviews. Compulsively. It’s a problem.”
The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I did. Olive destroyed your property. Four times. I owed you a replacement.”
“Four times that you know of.”
Jo’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I’m kidding.” At her expression, Logan added, “Bad joke. There were only four.”
“Oh my god, I almost had a heart attack.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Your face went completely white.”
Was he… being playful? This felt like playful. Jo didn’t know what to do with playful Logan.
A bark echoed from inside her apartment downstairs. Both of them looked toward the sound.
“Olive knows you’re here,” Jo said. “She has terrible FOMO.”
“FOMO.”
“Fear of missing out. She hates being left behind for anything.”
“Even doormat deliveries?”
“Especially doormat deliveries. She probably thinks we’re having a party without her.”
Logan glanced down the hallway toward the stairs that led to the lower floor. “Is she always this vocal?”
Uh oh. This felt like it was leading somewhere. Somewhere complaint-shaped.
“She can be. But I’m working on it. Training. Lots of training.” Jo was babbling again. “I bought this ultrasonic thing that’s supposed to help with barking, and we’re doing positive reinforcement, and—”
“Bring her up.”
Jo blinked. “What?”
“The dog. Bring her up.” Logan’s face was unreadable. “If she’s that upset about being left out.”
“You… want to meet Olive? The dog you hate? Who keeps peeing on your doormat?”
“I never said I hated her. I said I don’t like dogs. There’s a difference.”
“Is there though?”
Logan’s jaw ticked. “Are you bringing the dog up or not?”
Jo should say no. Should take this win and retreat before things got weird. But curiosity won out.
“Okay. Yeah. Give me two minutes.”
She practically sprinted down the stairs, heart racing for reasons she didn’t want to examine. Inside her apartment, Olive was doing zoomies around the living room.
“You are not going to believe this,” Jo told the dog, clipping on her leash. “We’re going to meet the grumpy neighbor. Please, please don’t pee on him. Or jump on him. Or do any of your usual chaos goblin things.”
Olive wagged her entire body in response.
“I’m taking that as a promise you absolutely won’t keep.”
They headed back upstairs. Logan was still standing in his doorway, the new doormat now placed precisely in front of his door. He’d folded his arms across his chest, which just drew attention to how broad his shoulders were.
Stop it, brain.
Olive’s tail started wagging faster as they approached. She strained against the leash, wanting to investigate this new person.
“Olive, sit,” Jo commanded.
Miraculously, Olive sat. Her tail was still going ninety miles an hour, but she sat.
“Good girl.” Jo looked at Logan. “You can pet her if you want. She’s friendly. Obviously. Too friendly, maybe.”
Logan didn’t move for a long moment. Just stared at the dog like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Then, slowly, he crouched down to Olive’s level.
And Jo’s heart did something weird and fluttery in her chest because this giant, grumpy, tattooed man was now eye-level with her dog, expression softening in a way she’d never seen.
Logan extended his hand. Olive immediately pressed her nose into his palm, tail threatening to create a small tornado.
“Hey,” Logan said quietly. Just that one word, but his voice had gone soft in a way that made Jo’s stomach flip.
Olive licked his hand.
And Logan—scary, grumpy, pee-mat-hating Logan—smiled.
It was small. Barely there. But it transformed his entire face, erasing the hard edges and revealing someone younger, warmer, almost… soft.
Jo was in so much trouble.
“She’s a good dog,” Logan murmured, scratching behind Olive’s ears in exactly the right spot. Olive’s back leg started thumping. “Just has bad taste in bathroom locations.”
A laugh burst out of Jo before she could stop it. Logan glanced up, and for a second their eyes locked. His smile widened slightly.
“Sorry,” Jo managed. “I just didn’t expect you to be funny.”
“I’m hilarious. You just haven’t been around long enough to see it.”
“Right. Between doormat incidents one and two, I missed all your best material.”
“Exactly.” Logan stood, giving Olive one final pat. The dog immediately sprawled onto her back, offering her belly.
“She wants belly rubs,” Jo explained. “She’s very demanding about it.”
Logan looked down at the dog, then back at Jo. “What happens if I don’t comply?”
“She’ll look sad. Then she’ll look at me. Then I’ll feel guilty and do it myself.”
“Sounds manipulative.”
“She’s very manipulative. It’s part of her charm.”
To Jo’s complete shock, Logan crouched back down and rubbed Olive’s belly. The dog’s tail went into overdrive.
“You’re really good with her,” Jo said without thinking.
Logan’s hands stilled for just a second. “I had a dog once. Long time ago.”
There was weight in those words. Something painful that Jo wanted to ask about but knew she shouldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever, depending on how this whole doormat situation played out.
“What kind?” Jo asked instead.
“German Shepherd. Named Bear.” Logan’s voice had gone distant. “Best dog I ever met.”
“What happened to him?”
Logan stood abruptly, shuttering whatever emotion had been showing on his face. “He passed. Few years back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It happens.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Dogs don’t live long enough.”
“No, they don’t.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Olive, oblivious to the shift in mood, rolled back onto her feet and shook herself off.
“Well,” Jo said, tugging gently on Olive’s leash. “We should let you get back to your evening. Thanks for being cool about the mat situation.”
“Thanks for actually replacing it.” Logan stepped back toward his door. “And maybe keep her on a tighter leash during bathroom breaks.”
“I will. Scout’s honor.”
“Still not a scout.”
“The sentiment still stands.”
That almost-smile was back. “Right. Well. See you around, Abbott.”
He knew her last name. How did he know her last name?
“How do you—”
“Mailbox. You wrote your name in gold Sharpie with little hearts around it.”
Oh god. She’d done that during her “everything needs to spark joy” phase last month.
“That’s… very observant of you.”
“I’m observant.” Logan’s eyes held hers for a beat too long. “Night, Jo.”
The door closed before she could respond.
Jo stood in the hallway, Olive sitting patiently at her feet, brain trying to process what just happened.
Logan had pet Olive. Smiled at her. Told her about his dog. Called her “Jo” in a way that sounded almost… affectionate?
No. She was reading into it. Grumpy guys didn’t suddenly become interested in their chaos-causing neighbors just because of one doormat delivery and some dog petting.
“Come on, Olive. Let’s go home before I do something stupid like knock on his door again.”
They headed downstairs, but Jo couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her head. The way Logan’s entire face had transformed when he smiled. The gentleness in his hands as he’d touched Olive. That distant look when he’d mentioned Bear.
Back in her apartment, Jo pulled out her phone.
Jo: Emergency. I think I’m developing a crush on grumpy doormat guy.
Erika: !!!!!!!
Erika: FINALLY
Erika: Tell me everything
Jo: He pet Olive. And smiled. And told me about his dog who passed away.
Erika: That’s it, you’re going to marry him
Jo: ERIKA
Jo: One smile does not a relationship make
Erika: No, but it’s a start. What’s his name?
Jo: Logan Marchand
Erika: Ooh, hot name
Erika: What does he do?
Jo: Tattoo artist I think? He mentioned it yesterday.
Erika: TATTOO ARTIST???
Erika: Jo this is a romance novel waiting to happen
Erika: Grumpy tattoo artist meets sunshine graphic designer
Erika: The dog brings them together
Erika: I’m dying
Jo: You’re getting ahead of yourself
Erika: Am I though?
Erika: You’re texting me about him. You never text me about guys.
Erika: Admit it. You like him.
Jo looked up at the ceiling, imagining Logan directly above her in apartment 3B. Was he thinking about their interaction too? Or had he already forgotten about it, moved on with his evening, dismissing her as just the annoying neighbor with the problematic dog?
Probably the latter.
But maybe—just maybe—there was a chance.
Jo: Fine. Maybe I like him a little.
Erika: I KNEW IT
Erika: Operation Grumpy Sunshine is officially underway
Jo: There is no operation
Erika: There’s always an operation
Erika: Step one: More interactions
Erika: Maybe you could borrow sugar? That’s a classic.
Jo: I’m not doing that
Erika: Coward
Jo: Realist
Erika: Same thing
Jo set down her phone and looked at Olive, who’d settled onto the couch with her favorite squeaky toy.
“This is your fault, you know,” Jo told the dog. “If you hadn’t peed on his doormat, I’d be living in blissful ignorance right now.”
Olive squeaked her toy in response.
“Yeah, you’re not sorry at all, are you?”
The tail wagged.
And somewhere above them, in apartment 3B, Logan Marchand was doing… whatever grumpy tattoo artists did in the evening. Definitely not thinking about his downstairs neighbor and her chaos-causing dog.
Definitely not.
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