Page 32 of Chloe

“And of course,” I continue, caught up in my enthusiasm, “I’d want to do more for specific businesses too. Like what I did for your store—”

I freeze, realizing what I’ve just said. Oliver’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What you did for my store?” he asks slowly. “What do you mean, Chloe?”

My heart races as I scramble to backtrack. “I just meant... you know, helping with the toy drive and all that...”

But Oliver’s not buying it. His eyes narrow, and I can see the moment realization dawns on him.

“Chloe,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm, “are you saying you’re the one who made that anonymous donation to the store?”

I swallow hard, knowing there’s no way out of this now. “I... yes. Yes, I am.”

For a moment, Oliver just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my horror, I see a flash of anger in his eyes.

“You what?” he says, his voice low and tight. He steps back, breaking our embrace, and I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the winter air.

“I thought... I wanted to help,” I stammer, suddenly uncertain. This isn’t the reaction I expected at all.

Oliver runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognize as a sign of frustration. “Help? Chloe, I don’t need your charity. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” I protest, feeling a knot of anxiety form in my stomach. “I care about you, about the store. I just wanted to contribute.”

“By going behind my back?” Oliver’s voice is rising now, drawing curious glances from passersby. “By not being honest with me? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

I reach out to him, but he steps back again. “Oliver, please, I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d be happy.”

He shakes his head, his expression a mixture of hurt and disappointment that cuts me to the core. “Happy? To find out that the woman I’m falling in love with has been lying to me? To realize that she thinks I can’t handle my business without her swooping in to save the day?”

His words hit me like a physical blow. Falling in love? But before I can process that, he’s turning away.

“I need some time to think,” he says, his voice cold in a way I’ve never heard before. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

And then he’s gone, striding away across the square, leaving me standing alone in the snow, the weight of my well-intentioned secret crushing down on me.

For a long moment, I just stand there, too shocked to move. The cheerful Christmas lights and the distant sound of carols now seem to mock me, a stark contrast to the ache in my chest.

As the reality of what just happened sinks in, I feel a familiar anger rising within me. How dare he? How dare he make me feel this way when all I was trying to do was help?

I turn on my heel, marching back towards my grandmother’s house with quick, angry steps. The snow crunches beneath my feet, each step punctuated by a swirl of emotions—hurt, betrayal, indignation.

By the time I reach the house, I’m fuming. I slam the door behind me; the sound echoing through the quiet rooms. Throwing my coat onto a chair, I storm into the living room, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“Stupid, naïve Chloe,” I mutter to myself, angry tears pricking at my eyes. “Thinking you could play small-town hero. Thinking you could actually belong here.”

The cynical voice in my head, the one I thought I’d silenced, comes roaring back to life. See? This happens when you let people in. When you make yourself vulnerable. You get hurt. You get left behind.

I sink onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. The memory of Oliver’s hurt and angry expression plays on repeat in my mind, each replay like a knife twisting in my gut.

But as the initial shock wears off, my sadness gives way to a burning anger. Who does Oliver think he is? I was only trying to help, to secure the future of his precious store. And this is how he repays me? With accusations and cold shoulders?

I stand up abruptly, my fists clenched at my sides. “Fine,” I say out loud to the empty room. “If that’s how he wants it, that’s how it’ll be.”

I stride over to the window, looking out at the snow-covered street. The twinkling Christmas lights that had seemed so magical just hours ago now look gaudy and artificial.

This is exactly why I don’t let people in, why I’ve always kept my emotions in check. Because in the end, everyone leaves. Everyone disappoints you.

Well, not this time. This time, I won’t be the one left behind. I won’t be the one nursing a broken heart while Oliver plays the wronged party.

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