Page 21 of Chloe

“Shall we take a walk?” Henry says, setting an easy pace. “Tell me all about your adventures with Chloe.”

For the next hour, I spill everything - Chloe’s baby steps with the toy drive, her hot-and-cold thing with Oliver, and the Great Café Disaster of this afternoon.

When I finish, Henry strokes his beard, looking thoughtful. “You’ve made some good progress, Rebecca,” he says. “But something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

I sigh dramatically, slumping further into the chair. “It’s just... I thought I had it all figured out, you know? Get Chloe to fall for Oliver, cue the Christmas spirit, boom - wings for Rebecca. But now... I don’t know. What if I’m making things worse? What if Oliver isn’t the key to all this?”

Henry chuckles, the sound reminding me of jingle bells. “Oh, Rebecca, always so focused on the endgame. But tell me, what have you learned from your time on Earth?”

I scrunch up my face, thinking hard. “Well... humans are way more complicated than they need to be. You can’t force someone to open up - they’ve gotta do it themselves. And sometimes, little things matter more than big, showy gestures.”

Henry beams at me like I’ve just discovered gravity or something. “Exactly. And how can you use those lessons with Chloe?”

I chew on my lip, considering. “I guess... I need to stop trying to force things. Give Chloe chances to open up, but let her choose to do it. And maybe focus more on the small stuff instead of trying to create some big, romantic movie moment.”

“Precisely,” Henry says, looking prouder than I’ve ever seen him. “Remember, Rebecca, your job isn’t to play matchmaker—leave that to the cupids. It’s to help Chloe rediscover the spirit of giving, of family, of Christmas. That can happen in many ways.”

I nod slowly, feeling like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. “You’re right. I’ve been focusing on the whole Chloe-and-Oliver thing that I’ve been missing other ways to help her connect with people.”

Henry stands up, stretching. “Excellent. Now, I believe you have a weather forecast to deliver?”

I groan, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Do I have to? It’s not like anyone’s going to keel over in shock if I predict another perfect day.”

Henry’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I hear there might be a slight chance of celestial snowflakes tomorrow. Just to shake things up a bit.”

I laugh, surprised to find that I’m actually kind of excited about my weather gig for once. “Celestial snowflakes, huh? Now that could be fun.”

After I say goodbye to Henry, I head to the Weather Forecasting Department. My mind’s buzzing with ideas. Maybe I’ll use my time powers to do a slo-mo snowfall demo, or use my gift of tongues to deliver the forecast in every language ever.

The other angels look up in shock as I burst through the door, grinning like a maniac. “Who’s ready for some heavenly precipitation?” I announce, clapping my hands together.

As I step up to the celestial weather map, I can feel the change in the air. Maybe, just maybe, I’m getting the hang of this guardian angel gig after all.

Wings, here I come.

Ten

CHLOE

The scent of fresh ink and new paper fills my nose as I step into the Benton Falls Elementary School gymnasium. It’s been transformed into a winter wonderland of books, with rows upon rows of tables stacked high with colorful titles. Twinkling lights strung across the ceiling cast a warm, festive glow over everything, and garlands of holly and evergreens wrap around the windows and doorways. It’s like walking into a Christmas card come to life.

I adjust the strap of my designer handbag, feeling distinctly out of place among the excited children darting between tables in their cozy sweaters and Santa hats. What am I doing here? I should be back at the house, working on year-end reports and strategizing for the next quarter—my idea of a vacation.

But then I catch sight of Rebecca, waving enthusiastically from behind a table piled high with picture books. Her golden hair is tied back with a red ribbon, and she’s wearing a festive sweater that would look ridiculous on anyone else but somehow works on her.

“Chloe. You made it,” she calls out, her voice carrying over the soft Christmas music playing in the background, as though she left me any choice when she showed up at my house bright and early this morning. Rebecca insisted “the book fair is short on volunteers”, and “we can’t do that to the kids”. I think she must have a master’s degree in Artful Persuasion. “Come on, we need help at the checkout table.”

I sigh, resigning myself to an afternoon of... what exactly? Selling books to children? It seems so far removed from my usual world of boardrooms and business deals. But I did promise I’d help, and if there’s one thing Chloe Anderson doesn’t do, it’s break promises.

As I make my way to the checkout table, I’m struck by the warmth and joy radiating from everyone around me. Parents chat animatedly with teachers, sipping hot cocoa from paper cups. A group of kids huddle around a display of fantasy novels, their eyes wide with excitement as they debate which dragon story looks the coolest.

“Here,” Rebecca says, thrusting a Santa hat into my hands as I reach the table. “Put this on. It’s part of the uniform.”

I eye the hat skeptically. “I don’t do hats. They mess up my hair.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Come on, Chloe. It’s for the kids. Get into the spirit.”

With a reluctant grumble, I put on the hat. It feels silly and childish, but when I catch sight of my reflection in a nearby window, I’m surprised to find that I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.

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