Page 19 of Chloe

The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words and missed connections. Finally, I stand up, gathering my things.

“I should go,” I say, not meeting Oliver’s eyes. “I have some work to catch up on.”

Oliver nods, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Thanks for your help with the toy drive, Chloe. I really appreciate it.”

As I walk out of the cafe, the cheerful jingle of the bell seems to mock me. The cold air hits me like a slap, and I welcome it, using it to clear my head of the confused jumble of emotions swirling inside me.

What was I thinking, letting myself get so invested in this town, in Oliver? This isn’t my world. I don’t belong here, with its quaint traditions and its emphasis on community over profit.

And yet... as I walk back to my grandmother’s house, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m leaving something important behind in that warm, cozy cafe. The memory of Oliver’s hand in mine, of the hope in his eyes when I offered to help, of the way he lights up when talking about his store and his community—it all tugs at something deep inside me, something I thought I’d buried long ago.

Back at the house, I throw myself into work my company says I’m not to worry about, determined to push aside these confusing feelings. But as I stare at spreadsheets and profit projections, my mind keeps wandering back to the toy drive, to the joy on the faces of the people I’ve met in Benton Falls, to Oliver’s warm smile.

For the first time in years, I question everything I thought I knew about success and happiness. Is my life in the city, with its relentless pursuit of the next big deal, really all there is? Or is there something to be said for the kind of success Oliver values - the success measured in lives touched and community strengthened?

As night falls, I stand at the window, looking out at the twinkling Christmas lights of Benton Falls. The town seems to glow with a warmth that has nothing to do with electricity, a warmth that comes from the connections between people, from traditions passed down through generations, from the simple joy of giving.

I think about the toy drive, about the children who will wake up on Christmas morning to find gifts under their tree. I think about Oliver, working tirelessly to keep his family’s legacy alive while still finding time to organize charity events and greet every customer by name.

With a sigh, I sink onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I don’t know what to do, how to reconcile these conflicting parts of myself. The driven businesswoman and the girl who’s starting to remember what it feels like to care, to belong.

As I sit there, the scent of gingerbread still clinging to my clothes, I realize that I have a choice to make, and I don’t know what the right answer is.

The toy drive spreadsheets still open on my laptop seem to mock me from across the room. They represent everything I thought I wanted—efficiency, success, control. But now, they also remind me of Oliver’s warm laugh, of the gratitude in people’s eyes when they thank me for my help, of the feeling of being part of something bigger than myself.

Closing my eyes, I let the quiet of the house wash over me. In the distance, I can hear the faint sound of Christmas carols drifting from a neighbor’s house. It’s a reminder of the world outside, a world full of warmth and connection and, yes, complications.

I drift off to sleep right there on the couch, as one thought circles in my mind: What if the most successful thing I could do, the bravest thing, would be to open my heart to the magic of Benton Falls? To Oliver? To a different life than the one I’ve always imagined for myself?

It’s a terrifying thought. But as I slip into dreams filled with the jingling of sleigh bells and the warmth of Oliver’s smile, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it might also be the most rewarding.

Nine

REBECCA

Saturday morning, I’m loitering outside Sweet Haven Bakery & Café, like some kind of stalker person. My breath puffs out in little clouds as I press my nose against the frosty window. Inside, Chloe and Oliver are huddled over a table, looking all cozy and cute, which feels promising.

I watch as Oliver says something that makes Chloe laugh. Her face lights up, and for a second, I think this might be it. My ticket to full angelhood, baby. But then, because the universe hates me, Chloe pulls away when Oliver tries to touch her hand. Seriously? I’ve seen glaciers move faster than these two.

“For the love, Chloe,” I mutter, “stop being so stubborn.”

A couple walking by gives me a weird look. Right, talking to myself in public. Smooth move, Rebecca. I flash them my best ‘I’m totally normal’ smile and pretend to be super interested in the cafe’s Christmas lights.

Inside, Chloe’s gathering her stuff like the cafe’s on fire. Oliver looks like someone just told him Christmas is canceled. As Chloe hustles out the door, I have to resist the urge to trip her. Not that I would. Probably.

I trail after her, trying to blend in with the crowd. It’s times like these I wish I had invisibility powers. Being a guardian angel in training sucks sometimes.

As I walk, I find myself ranting at the sky. “Seriously, what’s a girl gotta do to get through to her? I’m trying my best here.” A squirrel pauses its nut-gathering to give me a ‘you crazy’ look. Thanks to my animal-speaking powers, I hear its thoughts loud and clear.

“You humans are weird,” it chitters. “Why not just eat nuts and chill?”

I snort. “Trust me, fur ball, I wish it was that simple. But no, humans have to make everything complicated. It’s exhausting.”

The squirrel twitches its tail in what I’m pretty sure is the rodent equivalent of an eye-roll before scampering off. Rude.

I spend the rest of Saturday trailing Chloe around town, watching her throw herself into work on the toy drive. She’s got spreadsheets for her spreadsheets, I swear. But now and then, I catch her staring off into space with this lost look on her face. Progress, maybe?

Sunday morning rolls around, and I’m back on Chloe-watch. The church on Oak Street fits right into this Christmas-crazed town, all red brick and white trim against the snowy backdrop. I slip inside just as the service is starting; the warmth hitting me like a wall. The smell of wood polish and candles fills the air, and for a second, I’m hit with a pang of homesickness for the celestial realm. Weird.

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