Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~10 min read
The dog training was working.
Which was great news for Olive’s separation anxiety and Jo’s housing situation.
Less great news for Jo’s ability to maintain emotional boundaries around Logan Marchand.
Because spending two hours a day with him for the past week—watching him patiently work with Olive, seeing his face light up when she made progress, standing close enough to catch that woodsy scent every time he demonstrated a technique—had made Jo’s small crush bloom into something much more dangerous.
Something that felt a lot like falling.
And Logan seemed to be feeling it too. The way his hand would linger when passing her the treat bag. The way his eyes tracked her movements. The way their training sessions kept running longer than necessary.
It was becoming a problem.
Which was why, on day eight of training, Jo decided they needed to establish boundaries.
Professional boundaries.
Clear, defined, absolutely-no-crossing boundaries.
“We should talk,” Jo said as they wrapped up the afternoon session in the small park near their building.
Logan, who’d been watching Olive practice her “stay” command, glanced over. “That’s never a good opening.”
“It’s not bad. It’s just—we should talk about logistics.”
“Logistics.”
“I’m almost done with your website. Should be ready to present in a few days. And Olive’s doing so much better with the barking. Anderson said he hasn’t received any complaints since we started training.”
“Okay. So?”
Jo took a breath. “So maybe we should establish some boundaries. Professional ones. Since we’re working together now.”
Something shuttered in Logan’s expression. “What kind of boundaries?”
“Like… maybe we don’t spend quite so much time together? I don’t want things to get complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
You know how, Jo wanted to say. You feel it too.
But she couldn’t say that. Wouldn’t say that.
“I just think it’s important to keep things professional,” she said instead. “You’re my client. I’m your designer. We’re neighbors. We should probably maintain some separation.”
Logan was quiet for a long moment. Olive trotted over and sat at his feet, looking between them like she could sense the tension.
“You want to avoid me,” Logan said finally.
“I don’t want to avoid you. I want to establish healthy boundaries.”
“That’s the same thing dressed up in therapy speak.”
“It’s not—” Jo stopped. Regrouped. “Okay, maybe it kind of is. But I think it would be good for both of us. We’ve been spending a lot of time together and I don’t want either of us to feel weird about it.”
“I don’t feel weird about it.”
“You don’t?”
Logan’s eyes held hers. “Do you?”
Yes. Incredibly weird. Weird in the way her heart raced when he smiled. Weird in the way she found herself thinking about him at random moments. Weird in the way she wanted to kiss him every time he crouched down to Olive’s level.
“I think it could get weird,” Jo said carefully. “If we’re not careful.”
“So we’ll be careful.”
“That’s not—Logan, I’m trying to do the responsible thing here.”
“By avoiding me.”
“By creating a schedule! We could coordinate our building use. Like, I’ll use the gym in the mornings, you use it in the evenings. I’ll do laundry on Tuesdays, you do it on Thursdays. That kind of thing.”
Logan stared at her. “You want to schedule when we’re allowed to do laundry.”
Hearing it out loud, it did sound ridiculous.
“I want to make sure we’re not constantly running into each other,” Jo clarified.
“Because that would be terrible.”
“Because that would be complicated.”
“There’s that word again.”
Logan stood, closing the distance between them. Olive, sensing something important, stayed perfectly still at their feet.
“What if I don’t want to avoid you, Abbott?”
Jo’s breath caught. “What?”
“What if I like running into you in the hallway? What if I look forward to our training sessions? What if I don’t want to coordinate a fucking laundry schedule just to make sure we never see each other?”
Her heart hammered. “Logan—”
“What if I think you’re using ‘professional boundaries’ as an excuse because you’re scared?”
“I’m not scared.”
“You’re terrified. I can see it.”
He was right. Of course he was right.
“Okay, fine. Maybe I am scared. Because this—” Jo gestured between them. “Whatever this is, it’s happening really fast and I don’t know how to handle it.”
“So you want to schedule it away.”
“I want to slow it down before one of us gets hurt.”
“Who says anyone’s getting hurt?”
“Statistics. Common sense. The fact that I have a track record of relationships imploding spectacularly.”
Logan’s expression softened slightly. “What happened?”
“Nothing dramatic. Just… a series of guys who seemed great at first and then decided I was too much. Too anxious, too overthinking, too intense.” Jo laughed humorlessly. “My last boyfriend told me I ‘created problems that didn’t exist’ because I wanted to talk about our future after six months.”
“Sounds like he was an idiot.”
“Or I was too much.”
“No.” Logan said it firmly. “He was an idiot. And if he couldn’t handle you thinking ahead, he didn’t deserve you.”
The words landed like a physical touch. Jo’s eyes stung.
“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“I know you flooded my bathroom and brought me poisoned muffins and broke your sink trying to save money on a plumber. I know you adopted a rescue dog nobody else wanted. I know you put hearts on your mailbox because you think everything should bring joy. I know you’re enthusiastic and anxious and you overthink everything.” Logan’s voice gentled. “And I don’t think that’s too much. I think that’s exactly right.”
Oh no.
Oh no, she was definitely falling.
“Logan—”
“But if you need space, I’ll give you space. We can do the stupid laundry schedule. We can coordinate building usage like we’re hostile exes. Whatever makes you feel safe.”
Jo’s throat tightened. “Why are you being so understanding about this?”
“Because I like you. And I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for.”
There it was. Out loud. Undeniable.
“I like you too,” Jo whispered. “That’s the problem.”
“How is that a problem?”
“Because I’m your designer. And your neighbor. And Olive’s training buddy. And if this goes wrong, everything gets complicated.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Because it fits!”
Logan smiled. Actually smiled, full and genuine. “Okay. You win. We’ll make a schedule.”
Jo blinked. “We will?”
“Sure. If that’s what you need to feel comfortable, we’ll do it.” Logan pulled out his phone. “I’ll send you my typical building usage times. You send me yours. We’ll coordinate.”
This was what she’d asked for. So why did it feel like losing?
“Okay,” Jo said. “Good. That’s… good.”
“Great.”
They stood there in the park, Olive between them, the afternoon sun casting long shadows.
“I should go,” Jo said finally. “I have a client call.”
“Right. Work.”
“Yeah.”
Jo started to leave, then turned back. Logan was still standing there, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I wish I was braver.”
“You’re plenty brave, Abbott. You just don’t know it yet.”
That night, Logan sent over his building schedule. It was detailed, color-coded, and left exactly zero overlap with Jo’s typical routine.
Jo stared at it for a solid five minutes before forwarding it to Erika.
Jo: We made a schedule to avoid each other.
Erika: I’m sorry, you WHAT?
Jo: I told him we needed professional boundaries. He agreed. Now we have a coordinated calendar for building usage.
Erika: This is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.
Jo: It’s the responsible thing.
Erika: It’s the COWARDLY thing.
Jo: He told me he likes me.
Erika: AND??????
Jo: And I told him I like him too but we should still maintain boundaries.
Erika: Jo Annabelle Abbott
Jo: That’s not my middle name.
Erika: I know but you needed a full name scolding. What are you DOING?
Jo: Protecting myself.
Erika: From WHAT? A hot tattoo artist who fixes your sink and trains your dog and looks at you like you hung the moon?
Jo: He doesn’t look at me like that.
Erika: According to your own descriptions, he absolutely does.
Jo: It’s complicated.
Erika: Stop using that word. Nothing is complicated. You like him. He likes you. Date him.
Jo: What if it doesn’t work out?
Erika: What if it does?
Jo didn’t have an answer for that.
The schedule worked. For three days, it worked perfectly.
Jo used the gym at 7 AM. Logan used it at 7 PM.
Jo did laundry on Tuesday. Logan did it on Thursday.
Jo checked her mail at noon. Logan checked his at 6 PM.
They didn’t run into each other once.
It was exactly what Jo had asked for.
It was absolutely miserable.
By day four, Jo was checking the hallway before leaving her apartment like she was conducting a covert operation. The one time she thought she heard Logan’s door, she’d frozen like a deer in headlights until the sound passed.
This was ridiculous.
She was being ridiculous.
But she couldn’t seem to stop.
On day five, Jo came home from a coffee shop work session to find a note stuck to her door.
In Logan’s sharp handwriting: Olive barked for 5 minutes today around 2 PM. Might want to check in on her. —L
Jo’s heart sank. Olive had been doing so well. What had happened?
She called Logan before she could overthink it.
He answered on the second ring. “Abbott.”
“What happened with Olive?”
“Not sure. I heard her from my apartment. Continuous barking, not her usual pattern.”
“Shit. Okay. I’ll check on her. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Do you want me to—”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks though.”
Jo hung up before he could respond.
She found Olive pacing by the window, clearly agitated. No obvious cause. No signs of distress beyond the anxiety.
Jo texted Logan: She seems fine now. Maybe a loud noise spooked her? I’ll keep monitoring.
Logan: Let me know if it happens again.
Jo: I will. Thanks.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Logan: I miss our training sessions.
Jo stared at her phone.
Jo: Me too.
Logan: This schedule sucks.
Jo: Yeah.
Logan: Your idea though.
Jo: I know. I’m regretting it.
Logan: So let’s stop.
Jo: It’s only been five days. We should give it more time.
Logan: Why?
Jo: Because I’m scared and stubborn and I don’t know how to do this.
Logan: Do what?
Jo: Let someone in.
A long pause. Then:
Logan: Take your time, Abbott. I’m not going anywhere.
Jo fell asleep that night with her phone on her pillow and Olive pressed against her side.
The schedule was working.
They were successfully avoiding each other.
And Jo had never been more unhappy about getting exactly what she’d asked for.
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