Updated Nov 27, 2025 • ~12 min read
Murphy’s Law stated that anything that could go wrong, would go wrong.
Jo’s personal corollary added: at the worst possible time.
Which was why, on day six of successfully avoiding Logan via their ridiculous coordinated schedule, she found herself stepping into the building’s elevator at exactly the same moment he did.
They both froze.
“I thought you used the elevator at six,” Jo said.
“I thought you used it at noon.”
“I have a meeting. I’m running late.”
“Client emergency. Same.”
They stared at each other. The elevator doors started to close.
Logan stuck his hand out, stopping them. “You want to take the next one?”
Jo checked her phone. She was already ten minutes behind schedule. “I don’t have time.”
“Neither do I.”
“So…”
“So I guess we’re breaking the schedule.”
Logan stepped fully into the elevator. Jo followed, pressing herself against the opposite wall to maintain maximum distance. All of four feet in the small space.
Logan hit the button for the ground floor. The doors closed.
The elevator lurched downward.
Then stopped.
With a mechanical groan and a concerning clunk, they jerked to a halt between floors.
The lights flickered.
“No,” Jo whispered. “No, no, no—”
“Don’t panic,” Logan said, already pressing the emergency call button.
“I’m not panicking. This is my calm face.”
“Your calm face looks a lot like panic.”
The emergency intercom crackled to life.
“Building maintenance,” Anderson’s voice came through, scratchy but audible. “What’s the situation?”
“Elevator’s stuck,” Logan said. “Between floors three and four. Two passengers.”
“Let me guess. Ms. Abbott and Mr. Marchand?”
Logan looked at Jo. “How did he—”
“He’s very observant,” Jo said weakly.
“Sit tight,” Anderson said. “Repair service is backed up today. Could be up to two hours.”
“Two HOURS?” Jo’s voice pitched higher.
“Maybe less if we’re lucky. I’ll keep you updated.”
The intercom clicked off.
Two hours.
Trapped in an elevator.
With Logan.
This was fine. Totally fine. She’d survived worse.
(Had she though?)
“Okay,” Jo said, sliding down to sit on the floor. “This is happening.”
Logan leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed. “Guess the schedule is definitely broken now.”
“This is not funny.”
“Little bit funny.”
“We could die in here.”
“We’re not going to die. The elevator just stopped. The safety mechanisms are working. We’re fine.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I pay attention when Anderson does his safety walkthroughs.” Logan slid down to sit across from her. Their legs were almost touching in the small space. “We have air circulation. Emergency power. The call system works. We’re fine.”
Jo tried to take a deep breath. It came out shaky.
“You’re really scared,” Logan observed.
“I don’t like small spaces. Or being trapped. Or things not going according to plan.”
“So this is basically your nightmare scenario.”
“Yes. Absolutely yes.”
“What can I do?”
The genuine concern in his voice made Jo’s chest tight. “Distract me. Talk about anything. Just… not about being stuck.”
Logan considered. “Okay. Tell me about your worst date.”
“What?”
“Worst date. You brought up bad relationships the other day. Now I’m curious.”
“How is this distracting?”
“Is it working?”
Actually, yes. Jo found herself thinking about the question instead of the walls closing in.
“College sophomore year,” she said. “Guy took me to a restaurant, spent the entire dinner talking about his ex-girlfriend, then asked if I’d be interested in a threesome with her to help them ‘rekindle things.'”
Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “Jesus.”
“Right? I told him absolutely not, and he seemed genuinely confused about why I was offended.”
“What did you do?”
“Left. Walked three miles back to campus because I refused to let him drive me. Erika met me halfway with ice cream and terrible rom-coms.”
“Sounds like a good friend.”
“The best.” Jo pulled her knees up to her chest. “What about you? Worst date?”
Logan’s jaw ticked. “Last year. Set up by a friend. She spent the whole time on her phone texting someone else, then told me I was ‘too intense and not fun enough.'”
“That’s terrible.”
“It was honest, at least.”
“Honest doesn’t mean correct.” Jo studied him in the dim elevator light. “You’re not too intense.”
“No?”
“No. You’re focused. There’s a difference.”
Something softened in Logan’s expression. “Thanks.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Jo counted her breaths. In for four, out for four. The anxiety was manageable. Barely.
“Tell me about your dog,” she said. “Bear. You said he had separation anxiety too.”
Logan’s face transformed. Sadness mixed with fondness. “Got him from a shelter when I was twenty-three. He’d been returned twice. The shelter said he was ‘unadoptable’—too anxious, too attached, too much work.”
“But you adopted him anyway.”
“Yeah. Took one look at him shaking in that kennel and knew he was coming home with me.” Logan’s voice gentled. “Took months to get him comfortable. He’d panic every time I left. Destroyed furniture, howled for hours. The neighbors complained constantly.”
“What changed?”
“Time. Patience. Consistency. Eventually he trusted that I’d always come back.” Logan met her eyes. “He was with me for eight years. Best eight years.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer. Hit fast. One month he was fine, the next…” Logan’s throat worked. “I had to make the call.”
Jo’s eyes stung. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been two years. Still feels like yesterday sometimes.”
“Is that why you don’t have another dog?”
“Yeah. Couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t watch another one—” He stopped. Cleared his throat. “Anyway. That’s why I’m helping with Olive. She reminds me of him.”
“Logan—”
“And before you apologize for bringing it up, don’t. It’s good to talk about him. Keeps him real.”
Jo wanted to cross the space between them. Wanted to take his hand, offer comfort, something. But she stayed where she was, respecting the distance even as everything in her screamed to close it.
“Tell me about you,” Logan said, clearly changing the subject. “How’d you end up in graphic design?”
Jo let him redirect. “Art major in college. Thought I’d be a painter. Turns out the starving artist thing is real and I like eating regularly.”
“So you compromised.”
“I found a different way to be creative. Design lets me solve problems and make things beautiful. It’s not what I planned, but it works.”
“You like solving problems?”
“Love it. Give me a messy brief and watch me transform it into something cohesive. It’s like… visual puzzle-solving.”
Logan smiled. “That tracks. You approach everything like a problem to solve.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No. It’s very you.”
Twenty minutes passed. Then forty. They talked about everything. College stories, embarrassing moments, favorite foods, childhood pets. The conversation flowed easily, naturally, like they’d been friends for years instead of reluctant neighbors for weeks.
Jo’s anxiety faded into background noise. Logan kept her talking, asking questions, sharing his own stories. The small space felt less like a trap and more like a bubble. Just the two of them, separate from the world.
“Can I ask you something?” Logan said during a lull.
“Sure.”
“Why did you really want the schedule? The truth this time.”
Jo bit her lip. They were stuck here anyway. Might as well be honest.
“Because the more time I spent with you, the more I liked you. And that scared me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m good at liking people who are bad for me. I pick guys who look good on paper but turn out to be wrong in practice. And you…” She gestured at him. “You’re not what I thought I wanted.”
“What did you think you wanted?”
“Someone sunshine-y. Optimistic. Easy-going. Someone who matched my energy.”
“And I’m none of those things.”
“No. You’re grumpy and intense and you scowl at everything. You intimidated me. You still intimidate me sometimes.”
“But?”
“But you also fixed my sink. And trained my dog. And looked at my designs like they mattered. And told me I wasn’t too much when every other guy has said I was.” Jo’s voice cracked. “And that’s terrifying because what if I fall for you and you realize they were right? That I am too much?”
Logan was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, closing the distance between them until they were sitting side by side, shoulders touching.
“You want to know what I see when I look at you?” he said quietly.
Jo nodded, not trusting her voice.
“I see someone who makes everything brighter. Who puts hearts on mailboxes because why not. Who tries to fix things herself even when she has no idea what she’s doing because she wants to help. Who floods my bathroom and brings me deadly muffins and creates chaos wherever she goes.” Logan’s voice dropped lower. “And I don’t think that’s too much, Abbott. I think that’s the exact right amount of you.”
A tear slipped down Jo’s cheek.
“I’ve dated easy,” Logan continued. “Easy is boring. Easy doesn’t challenge me or make me laugh or show up with poisoned baked goods. You’re not easy. You’re complex and anxious and you overthink everything. And I like that. I like you.”
“Logan—”
“I’m not good at this. At feelings or talking or any of it. But I need you to know: you’re not too much. Anyone who said that was too little.”
Jo let out a wet laugh. “That’s very smooth.”
“I’m trying here.”
“I know.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. He tensed for a second, then relaxed. “I like you too. A lot. I’m just scared.”
“Of what, specifically?”
“Of this being another thing I’m wrong about. Of falling and getting hurt. Of losing what we have because I pushed for more.”
Logan’s arm came around her shoulders. “What if you’re not wrong? What if this is the thing you’ve been right about all along?”
“What if it’s not?”
“Then we deal with it. Together. Like adults.”
“I’m not very good at being an adult.”
“You flooded my bathroom and scheduled our laundry days. I’m aware.”
Jo laughed, properly this time. “You’re never letting those go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
They sat like that, pressed together in the stuck elevator, and Jo felt her fear start to ease. Not disappear—it would probably never completely disappear—but loosen its grip enough to breathe.
The intercom crackled.
“Good news,” Anderson’s voice said. “Repair crew is here. Should have you out in ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Anderson,” Logan called back.
Ten minutes. That was all the time they had left in this bubble.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we cancel the schedule? It’s making both of us miserable.”
She felt him smile against her hair. “Yeah, Abbott. We can cancel the schedule.”
“And maybe… try this? Whatever this is?”
“You sure?”
“No. But I want to try anyway.”
“That’s brave.”
“I’m terrified.”
“I know. Me too.”
“Really?”
“You’re not the only one who’s scared of getting hurt.” Logan’s arm tightened around her. “But I think you’re worth the risk.”
The elevator lurched. Jo grabbed onto Logan’s shirt. He held her steady as the mechanism groaned back to life.
They descended slowly, finally reaching the ground floor. The doors opened to reveal Anderson and two repair technicians.
“You two okay?” Anderson asked, eyebrows raised at their position.
Jo and Logan were still pressed together, his arm around her shoulders, her hand fisted in his shirt.
They broke apart quickly.
“Fine,” Jo said, face flaming. “We’re fine.”
Anderson’s knowing smile suggested he didn’t believe that for a second. “Good. Elevator’s fixed now. Faulty sensor. Won’t happen again.”
“Thanks,” Logan said.
They stepped out into the lobby. Jo’s client meeting had long since passed. She’d have to reschedule.
Somehow, she didn’t mind.
“I need to go call my client,” Jo said. “Apologize for missing the meeting.”
“Yeah. My appointment’s probably gone too.”
They stood there awkwardly, the bubble officially popped, reality crashing back in.
“So,” Jo said. “No more schedule?”
“No more schedule.”
“We’re doing this?”
“If you want to.”
“I do. I really do. I’m just—”
“Scared. I know.” Logan’s almost-smile appeared. “Take your time figuring it out, Abbott. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’d said that before. Over text. But hearing it in person, seeing the certainty in his eyes, made it real.
“Okay,” Jo whispered. “Okay.”
Logan headed toward the stairs. Stopped. Turned back.
“Hey Abbott?”
“Yeah?”
“Being trapped in an elevator with you was the best worst part of my day.”
He disappeared up the stairs before she could respond.
Jo stood in the lobby, heart full, and pulled out her phone.
Jo: The elevator broke. We were stuck for almost two hours.
Erika: OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY???
Jo: I’m fine. We talked. About everything.
Erika: And???
Jo: And we’re canceling the schedule. We’re going to try this. Whatever this is.
Erika: FINALLY
Erika: I’m so proud of you for being brave.
Jo: I’m still terrified.
Erika: That’s what makes it brave.
Jo looked up at the ceiling, imaging Logan in his apartment one floor above.
Maybe Erika was right.
Maybe being scared and doing it anyway was the bravest thing of all.
And maybe—just maybe—Logan Marchand was worth the risk.
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