Page 17 of Chloe

As I step inside, the warmth of the house envelops me like a hug. My eyes fall on the toy drive paperwork spread across the coffee table, and unbidden, an image of a child’s face lighting up on Christmas morning flashes through my mind.

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to stay, to be part of this community, to build a life here with Oliver. The thought sends a pang through my chest, a mixture of longing and fear that leaves me breathless.

Shaking my head, I force the thoughts away. I’m a successful CEO. I don’t need quaint small towns or charming department store owners or the warmth of community. I’ve built my life on hard work and independence, and I’m not about to throw that away for some holiday sentimentality.

But as I get ready for bed, I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted inside me. The armor I once wore to guard my heart now feels heavy, suffocating the very thing it was meant to protect.

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I hum “Silent Night,” the memory of Oliver’s hand brushing mine, sending a warmth through me that has nothing to do with my cozy blankets.

I fall asleep with the taste of peppermint cocoa on my lips and the echo of Christmas carols in my ears, my dreams filled with twinkling lights, children’s laughter, and a pair of warm hazel eyes that seem to see right through to my soul.

In the morning, I wake to find a text from Oliver: “Thanks again for last night. Your help with the toy drive means more than you know. Coffee later to go over distribution plans?”

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the reply button. This is my chance to pull back, to reestablish the professional boundaries I’ve let slip. But I find myself typing: “Sounds great. Meet you at the cafe at 10?”

As I hit send, a small smile plays at my lips. Maybe, just maybe, I can allow myself to enjoy this Christmas in Benton Falls. After all, it’s only temporary, right?

Eight

CHLOE

The bell above the door of Sweet Haven Bakery & Café jingles merrily as I step inside, a gust of cold air following me. The warm aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and brewing coffee welcomes me, instantly thawing the chill from my bones. Christmas music plays softly in the background, and I hum along before I catch myself. What’s happening to me?

I scan the cozy interior, taking in the rustic wooden beams overhead and the exposed brick walls adorned with vintage bakery signs. My gaze lands on Oliver, already seated at a corner table. He looks up and catches my eye, his face breaking into a warm smile that sends an unexpected flutter through my chest.

“Chloe.” he calls out, waving me over. “I got you a latte. Hope that’s okay.”

As I make my way to the table, weaving between mismatched wooden chairs and tables, I’m struck by how at ease I feel. It’s a far cry from the sleek, modern coffee shops I usually frequent in the city.

“Thanks,” I say, sliding into the seat across from Oliver. I wrap my hands around the steaming mug, savoring its warmth. “That’s perfect, actually.”

Oliver beams at me, and I have to look away, suddenly flustered. What is wrong with me? I don’t get flustered over small-town shop owners with kind eyes and charming smiles.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat and pulling out my tablet. “I’ve been working on some ideas for the toy drive. I think if we implement a few key strategies, we could make this the most successful one yet.”

Oliver leans forward, his eyes lighting up with interest. “I’m all ears. What have you got?”

For the next hour, we pour over spreadsheets and marketing plans. I explain my ideas for streamlining the donation process, implementing an online tracking system, and leveraging social media to reach a wider audience. Oliver listens intently, asking thoughtful questions and offering insights about the community that I hadn’t considered.

As we talk, I can’t help but notice the way the golden glow from the Edison bulb fixtures catches the flecks of green in Oliver’s hazel eyes, or how his brow furrows adorably when he’s concentrating. Stop it, Chloe, I scold myself. You’re here to help with the toy drive, not to admire Oliver’s... everything.

“This is incredible, Chloe,” Oliver says, leaning back in his chair with a look of awe. “I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished in such a short time. The kids of Benton Falls are going to have an amazing Christmas, thanks to you.”

I feel a warmth spread through my chest at his words, and it has nothing to do with the latte I’m sipping. “It’s not just me,” I say, surprised by my modesty. “None of this would be possible without your connections in the community and your dedication to the cause.”

Oliver reaches across the table and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. The touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

“We make a good team,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine.

The intensity of his gaze is too much. I pull my hand away, focusing intently on my tablet screen. “Yes, well, there’s still a lot to do,” I say briskly, trying to ignore the hurt that flashes across Oliver’s face.

Just then, a woman approaches our table. Her round face is flushed from the heat of the ovens, and flour dusts her curly auburn hair.

“How are you two doing?” she asks warmly. “Can I get you anything else? I just pulled a batch of my famous gingerbread cookies out of the oven.”

“That sounds wonderful, Maggie,” Oliver says. “We’ll take a plate, please.” He grins, then says, “Maggie, this is Chloe. She’s helping me with the toy drive.”

“Wonderful,” Maggie smiles. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

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