Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~9 min read
Jo prided herself on many things. Her organizational skills. Her positive attitude. Her ability to find the good in any situation.
Her baking skills were not on that list.
But here she was at 7 AM on a Saturday, covered in flour, staring at what was supposed to be a batch of chocolate chip muffins but looked more like… volcanic rocks?
“This is fine,” Jo muttered, poking one of the muffins. It didn’t give. At all. “People like dense muffins. That’s a thing.”
Olive, lying on the kitchen floor in a patch of sunlight, gave her a skeptical look.
“Don’t judge me. You’re the reason I’m stress-baking at dawn.”
After the Great Escape Incident two days ago, Jo had been feeling guilty. Logan had been so nice—the hot chocolate, the dry clothes, not even being mad about the muddy doormat—and she wanted to do something to say thank you.
Erika had suggested flowers. Too romantic.
A gift card to a coffee shop. Too impersonal.
Homemade baked goods. Perfect! Friendly, thoughtful, not weird.
Except Jo had forgotten that her baking skills maxed out at slice-and-bake cookies.
She pulled out her phone and googled “can you eat burnt muffins.”
The internet was not encouraging.
“Okay, new plan.” Jo dumped the volcanic rocks in the trash and pulled up a bakery delivery app. “I’ll just buy muffins and put them in my own container. He’ll never know.”
Two hours and forty-five dollars later, Jo stood outside apartment 3B with a container of expensive bakery muffins, wearing her most casual “I definitely didn’t agonize over this outfit” outfit—denim shorts and a yellow tank top that Erika said made her look “like sunshine personified.”
She knocked before she could chicken out.
Logan answered in basketball shorts and no shirt, hair damp, clearly just out of the shower.
Jo’s brain blue-screened.
“Abbott.” Logan’s voice was rough, like he hadn’t been awake long. “It’s 9 AM on a Saturday.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to—” Jo thrust the container at him. “These are for you. Thank you muffins. For the other night. With the rain. And the hot chocolate. And not being mad about Olive.”
Logan took the container, looking at it like it might explode. “You made muffins?”
“Yes.” Technically not a lie. Someone had made them. “They’re chocolate chip. I hope you like chocolate chip. I should have asked if you had preferences. Do you have preferences? Are you allergic to anything?”
“Nuts,” Logan said. “I’m allergic to nuts.”
Jo’s heart stopped. “What?”
“Nuts. Tree nuts, peanuts, all of it. Why?”
“These have walnuts in them,” Jo whispered, horror dawning. “The muffins have walnuts.”
Logan looked down at the container. “Okay.”
“I almost killed you.”
“You didn’t almost kill me. You just brought me muffins I can’t eat.”
“Same thing!” Jo grabbed the container back. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m the worst. I stress-baked thank you muffins and didn’t even consider allergies. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to interact with humans.”
“You didn’t stress-bake these.”
Jo froze. “What?”
Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Still shirtless. Still distracting. “These are from Amelie’s Bakery. I can see their sticker on the bottom of the container.”
Busted.
“Okay, fine. I tried to bake muffins. They came out like hockey pucks. So I bought muffins. But the thought was genuine!”
“You bought me forty dollars’ worth of muffins I can’t eat.”
“I didn’t know about the allergy!”
The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched. Was he… trying not to smile?
“This is funny to you?” Jo demanded. “I’m having a crisis here.”
“You’re having a crisis because you brought me the wrong muffins?”
“Yes! I wanted to do something nice and instead I brought you poison!”
Logan did smile then. Full-on smiled, showing teeth and everything. “They’re not poison. They’re just muffins with nuts in them.”
“Same thing for someone with an allergy!”
“Abbott.” Logan’s voice softened. “It’s fine. The thought counts.”
“The thought almost put you in anaphylactic shock.”
“I didn’t eat them.”
“But you could have!”
Logan pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer. Close enough that Jo had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that she could see the water droplets still clinging to his collarbone.
Focus, Abbott.
“You’re really worked up about this,” Logan observed.
“Because I almost killed you!”
“You didn’t.”
“But I could have.”
“But you didn’t.” Logan took the container from her hands. “And honestly? The fact that you tried means more than you think.”
Jo’s heart did that annoying flutter thing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Most people wouldn’t bother.” Logan glanced at the muffins. “What are you going to do with these?”
“Eat my feelings, probably. Or give them to Erika. Or Olive, if I’m feeling vengeful about the doormat thing.”
“Don’t give chocolate to your dog.”
“I know that. I was joking.”
“Were you though?”
“Yes!” Jo paused. “Mostly.”
Logan shook his head, but he was still almost-smiling. “Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Come back later with nut-free muffins—doesn’t matter if they’re homemade or bought—and we’ll call it even.”
“You want me to bring you more muffins?”
“I want you to stop looking like you’re about to cry over baked goods.”
Was she about to cry? Jo touched her face. Maybe a little.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Deal. Nut-free muffins. I’ll read every ingredient label twice.”
“Three times, knowing you.”
“Hey.”
“Am I wrong?”
No. He was not wrong.
“Fine. Three times.” Jo started backing toward the stairs. “Sorry again. For the almost-murder-by-muffin situation.”
“Noted. And Abbott?”
Jo stopped. “Yeah?”
“Next time you want to do something nice, just ask if I have allergies first.”
“There’s going to be a next time?”
Logan’s expression was unreadable. “Seems like there usually is, with you.”
Before Jo could figure out what that meant, he’d closed the door.
She stood in the hallway for a solid thirty seconds, processing.
Then she pulled out her phone.
Jo: I almost killed Logan with muffins
Erika: WHAT
Jo: They had walnuts. He’s allergic to nuts. I didn’t know.
Erika: Oh my god
Erika: Did he eat them??
Jo: No thank god
Jo: But he asked me to come back with nut-free ones later
Erika: HE WHAT
Erika: Jo
Erika: He’s asking you to come back
Erika: That’s flirting
Jo: It’s muffin replacement
Erika: It’s an EXCUSE to see you again
Erika: Did you not pick up on that?
Jo: I was too busy panicking about the attempted manslaughter
Erika: Understandable but also YOU NEED TO GO BACK
Erika: With nut-free muffins
Erika: And maybe your A-game
Jo: I don’t have an A-game
Erika: Then develop one in the next 3 hours
Three hours later, Jo stood outside Logan’s door again, this time with a container of carefully vetted, triple-checked, definitely-nut-free blueberry muffins.
She knocked.
Logan answered wearing actual clothes this time—black jeans and a dark gray t-shirt that fit him in a way that should be illegal.
“Back with the nut-free goods,” Jo announced, holding up the container.
Logan took it, checking the label. “Blueberry.”
“Safe blueberry. I verified with the bakery staff. Twice.”
“Only twice?”
“I didn’t want to seem crazy.”
“Too late for that.” But he was smiling. “You want to come in? I was about to make coffee.”
Jo’s brain short-circuited again. “You’re inviting me in? On purpose?”
“Is that a no?”
“No! I mean yes. I mean—yes, I’ll come in. For coffee. Because you invited me.”
Smooth, Abbott. Real smooth.
Logan’s apartment looked the same as two nights ago, but somehow less intimidating in daylight. The plants on the windowsill cast leafy shadows across the floor. Sketches were spread across his coffee table—intricate tattoo designs.
“You’re working,” Jo observed.
“Just designing. Client wants a full sleeve.” Logan moved to the kitchen area, pulling out coffee mugs. “You take anything in yours?”
“Cream and sugar. Lots of both.”
“Of course you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just fits.”
“Because I’m sweet?”
Logan shot her a look over his shoulder. “Because you’re aggressively cheerful.”
“I choose to take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Too late. Already took it.”
That almost-smile was back. Logan poured coffee, doctored hers with enough cream and sugar to probably count as dessert, and handed it over.
They stood in his kitchen, drinking coffee at 1 PM on a Saturday, and Jo tried not to think about how domestic this felt.
“Can I ask you something?” Jo said.
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Why do you have so many plants? You don’t seem like a plant guy.”
Logan glanced at the windowsill. “I like keeping things alive. It’s calming.”
There was more to that story. Jo could tell. But she didn’t push.
“They’re beautiful,” she said instead. “You’re clearly good at it.”
“It’s just watering and sunlight. Not complicated.”
“Everything’s complicated if you overthink it enough.”
Logan studied her over his coffee mug. “You overthink a lot, don’t you?”
“Compulsively. It’s part of my charm.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Yes. Charm. I’m very charming.”
“You brought me poisoned muffins.”
“But I came back with safe ones! That’s character growth!”
Logan laughed. Actually laughed. The sound filled his apartment, warm and genuine, and Jo decided right then that making Logan Marchand laugh was her new favorite hobby.
“Yeah, okay,” Logan conceded. “That’s fair.”
They talked for another twenty minutes. Easy conversation about nothing important—his tattoo designs, her graphic design work, the building’s weird quirks, the best coffee shops in the neighborhood.
And when Jo finally left, carrying her empty container and a lingering warmth in her chest, she couldn’t stop smiling.
Erika: How’d it go???
Jo: We had coffee. In his apartment. And talked for like half an hour.
Erika: THIS IS HAPPENING
Jo: What’s happening?
Erika: You’re falling for grumpy doormat guy
Jo: I’m not falling
Erika: You’re absolutely falling
Jo: …maybe a little bit
Erika: I KNEW IT
And yeah. Maybe Erika was right.
Maybe Jo was falling.
Just a little bit.
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