Page 23 of Chloe

I don’t know the words, so I just stand there, sipping my hot chocolate and listening. It’s beautiful in a way I can’t quite describe—not perfect like a professional choir, but real and raw and full of heart.

As the carol ends and another begins, I feel Oliver’s hand slip into mine. I should pull away. I should maintain my distance, remember that this isn’t my world, that I’m leaving after the holidays. But his hand is warm and strong, and in that moment, I can’t bring myself to let go.

We stand like that through “Deck the Halls” and “Jingle Bells” and half a dozen other carols I vaguely remember from childhood. I don’t sing, but I sway slightly to the music, caught up in the magic of the moment.

As the final notes of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” fade away, replaced by the cheerful chatter of the dispersing crowd, Oliver turns to me. In the glow of the Christmas lights, his eyes seem to shine with something more than just a reflection.

“Chloe,” he says softly, “I—”

But whatever he was about to say is cut off by a commotion near the courthouse steps. We turn to see a group of people gathering around someone who seems to have slipped on a patch of ice.

Without hesitation, Oliver rushes over to help, pulling me along with him. As we get closer, Oliver sighs, “It’s Mr. Jenkins, the Postman.”

“Are you alright, Bill?” Oliver asks, helping the older man to his feet.

Mr. Jenkins winces as he puts weight on his right ankle. “I think I might have twisted it,” he says. “Darn ice.”

“Let’s get you inside where it’s warm,” Oliver says. “We can call the doctor from there if needed.”

As Oliver helps Mr. Jenkins limp towards the courthouse, which is still open for the caroling event, I follow along, unsure of what to do but unable to just walk away.

Inside, Oliver settles Mr. Jenkins into a chair while someone goes to call the doctor. I hover awkwardly nearby, feeling useless.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

Oliver looks up at me, a grateful smile on his face. “Actually, yeah. Could you run over to the store and grab the first aid kit? It’s behind the counter.”

I nod, relieved to have a task. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

The cold air hits me like a slap as I step outside, but I barely notice it as I hurry towards Hanks’ Department Store. The streets are mostly empty now, everyone having dispersed after the caroling, and my footsteps echo in the quiet night.

As I unlock the store—Oliver had given me a key for the toy drive inventory—the familiar bell jingles above the door. In the dim light filtering in from the street, the store looks different—shadowy and mysterious, full of potential.

I find the first aid kit easily enough, but as I’m about to leave, something catches my eye. It’s a ledger, left open on the counter. I know I shouldn’t look, that it’s none of my business, but a lifetime of business instincts are hard to ignore.

What I see makes my heart sink. The numbers are worse than I thought. Much worse. At this rate, Hanks’ Department Store won’t make it past the new year.

I stand there for a long moment, the first aid kit forgotten in my hands, as a plan begins to form in my mind. It’s crazy. It’s impulsive. It goes against every practical business decision I’ve ever made.

But as I think about Oliver—his kindness, his dedication to this town, the way he lights up when he talks about the store’s history—I know I have to do something.

Back at the courthouse, the doctor has arrived and is examining Mr. Jenkins’ ankle. Oliver takes the first aid kit from me with a grateful smile, and I try to act normal, like I haven’t just made a decision that could change everything.

Later that night, after we’ve seen Mr. Jenkins safely home and said our goodnights, I sit at the desk in my grandmother’s house, staring at my laptop screen. The glow of the Christmas lights outside filters through the window, casting colorful shadows across the keyboard.

With a deep breath, I type out an email to my financial advisor. The plan is simple but risky—liquidate some of my personal investments and use the money to anonymously invest in Hanks’ Department Store. Enough to keep it afloat, to give Oliver a fighting chance.

As I hit send, a mix of emotions washes over me. Fear, excitement, doubt. This must be Christmas madness. But underneath it all, there’s a warm feeling I can’t quite name. Is this what it feels like to truly give? To put someone else’s needs before your own?

I close my laptop and walk to the window, looking out at the snow-covered streets of Benton Falls. The town is quiet now, most windows dark except for the glow of Christmas lights. But in my mind’s eye, I can see it bustling with life—families shopping at Hanks’, children pressing their noses against the display windows, Oliver’s face lit up with joy as he helps a customer find the perfect gift.

For the first time since I arrived in Benton Falls, I allow myself to imagine a future here. Not just for the holidays, but beyond. A future where I’m part of this community, where my skills and resources are used not just for profit, but for the good of others.

It’s a terrifying thought. But as I crawl into bed, the memory of Oliver’s hand in mine still tingling on my skin. It’s also strangely exhilarating.

Tomorrow, I decide as I drift off to sleep, I’ll tell Oliver about my idea for modernizing the store’s inventory system. Not as a CEO offering unsolicited advice, but as a friend who wants to help. And maybe, just maybe, as something more.

The last thing I see before sleep claims me is the gentle fall of snow outside my window. Each flake a tiny miracle of possibility. And for the first time in years, I fall asleep with a smile on my face, my heart full of the spirit of giving that seems to permeate every corner of Benton Falls.

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