Page 33 of Chloe

No, I decide, my jaw set in determination. I’m done. Done with Oliver, done with this town, done with this whole ridiculous Christmas fantasy.

I don’t need the approval of some small-town shopkeeper or the acceptance of a community that clearly doesn’t understand me.

As I turn away from the window, my eyes fall on the gifts piled under the Christmas tree—presents for Oliver, for Rebecca, for the various townspeople I’ve grown close to. With a surge of bitter satisfaction, I gather them up.

I’ll return them all tomorrow. Or better yet, I’ll donate them to charity. Let someone else benefit from my misguided attempt at playing Santa Claus.

As I stack the gifts in a corner, a small part of me whispers that I’m overreacting, that I should calm down and try to see things from Oliver’s perspective. But I squash that voice ruthlessly. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to understand others, trying to make myself small and acceptable. Not anymore.

I march up to my room, pulling out my suitcase from the closet. I’ll leave first thing in the morning, I decide. Back to the city, back to my real life. Back to a world where I’m in control, where I don’t have to worry about messy emotions or small-town drama.

As I pack, I feel a grim satisfaction. This is what I get for letting my guard down, for thinking I could change. Well, lesson learned.

Benton Falls can keep its Christmas cheer and its quaint traditions. Oliver can keep his store and his pride. I don’t need any of it.

I pause in my packing, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed with anger, my eyes bright with unshed tears. But beneath that, I see something else—the strong, independent woman I’ve always been. The woman who doesn’t need anyone’s approval or love to succeed.

“Merry Christmas to me,” I mutter sarcastically, turning away from the mirror.

As I climb into bed, my mind is made up. Tomorrow, I’ll leave Benton Falls behind. I’ll go back to my life in the city, back to the world I understand. A world where success is measured in dollars and cents, not in small-town goodwill.

And if there’s an ache in my chest, a sense of loss that threatens to overwhelm me? Well, I’ll just have to ignore it. Because Chloe Anderson doesn’t get her heart broken. Not by anyone, and certainly not by Oliver Hanks.

With that thought, I turn off the light, letting the darkness envelop me. Tomorrow is another day. A day to reclaim my old life, my old self. A day to leave behind this Christmas fantasy once and for all.

As I drift off to sleep, I try to ignore the faint sound of carolers in the distance, their cheerful voices a stark counterpoint to the anger and hurt swirling inside me. Instead, I focus on the future—a future without Benton Falls, without Oliver, without the vulnerability that comes with letting people in.

It’s better this way, I tell myself firmly. Safer. And if a small part of me mourns the loss of the warmth and belonging I’ve found here? Well, that’s just a price I’ll have to pay for protecting myself.

After all, isn’t that what I’ve always done best? Protect myself, no matter the cost.

Fifteen

REBECCA

I’m standing on Chloe’s front porch, my golden hair catching the early morning sunlight. I can’t help but grin, thinking about the romantic evening Chloe and Oliver must have shared at the church pageant last night. My wings are practically quivering with anticipation—not that I have actual wings yet, but a girl can dream, right?

I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of evergreen and spice, which seems to permeate everything in Benton Falls during the holiday season. The porch is dusted with a light layer of snow, and icicles glisten from the eaves, creating a picturesque winter wonderland.

Straightening my fuzzy white sweater—because even angels need to look cute while blending in—I reach out to knock on the deep green front door. The wreath, adorned with red berries and an enormous bow, sways gently with the motion.

“Chloe?” I call out cheerfully. “It’s Rebecca.”

I hear shuffling inside, and then the door swings open. My cheerful smile freezes on my face as I take in the sight before me.

Chloe looks... well, let’s just say she doesn’t look like a woman who spent a romantic evening at a church pageant. Her usually impeccable hair is a mess, her eyes are red-rimmed, and she’s wearing what appears to be an oversized sweatshirt with “I’d Rather Be Working” emblazoned across the front. It’s about as far from her usual polished appearance as you can get.

“Rebecca,” she says, her voice flat. “What are you doing here?”

I blink, thrown off balance. This isn’t the Chloe I’ve come to know over the past few weeks. This Chloe reminds me of the cold, independent woman who first arrived in Benton Falls. It’s like watching all my hard work unravel before my eyes.

“I... uh...?” I stammer, “I mean, I thought I’d stop by and see how your evening went. The pageant was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

Chloe’s eyes narrow, and I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the winter air. “The pageant,” she says flatly. “Right. Why don’t you come in, Rebecca? I think we need to talk.”

As I step inside, the warmth of the house wraps around me, but it does little to dispel the sense of unease growing in the pit of my stomach. The living room, which had seemed so cozy and festive just yesterday, now feels oppressive. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree seem to mock me, reminding me of how quickly things can change.

Chloe leads me to the kitchen, where the scent of coffee hangs heavy in the air. She pours herself a cup, not offering me one. Not that I need caffeine, being an angel and all, but still. Rude.

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