Page 38 of Chloe

My heart beats a little faster as I round the corner and the market comes into view. It reminds me of a winter wonderland, with wooden stalls adorned with twinkling lights and garlands. The cheerful chatter of shoppers and the distant strains of “Jingle Bells” fill the air.

For a moment, I hesitate at the entrance. Just a few days ago, I was ready to leave all this behind. Now, here I am, willingly diving back into the heart of Benton Falls’ Christmas festivities. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the market. Immediately, I’m enveloped in warmth and the spirit of the season. Children laugh as they chase each other between the stalls, their parents calling after them with fond exasperation. Couples walk hand in hand, sipping steaming cups of cocoa. The sense of community is palpable, and I feel a pang in my chest as I realize how close I came to giving this up.

“Chloe,” a familiar voice calls out. I turn to see Maggie, the owner of Sweet Haven Bakery, waving at me from her stall. The aroma of freshly baked gingerbread and apple pie draws me over.

“Maggie.” I greet her with a genuine smile. “Everything smells amazing.”

She beams at me; her round face flushed from the cold and the heat of her portable oven. “Why, thank you, dear. I was worried we wouldn’t see you again after... well, I heard about you and Oliver.”

I feel a twinge of despair at the concern in her voice. “Yeah, but I’m going to fix it,” I assure her. “Benton Falls is... it’s home now.”

The words surprise me as they leave my mouth, but I realize they’re true. Somewhere between the toy drive and Christmas concerts, Oliver and this little town have stolen my heart.

Maggie’s eyes mist over, and before I know it, I’m enveloped in a warm, flour-dusted hug. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad to hear that. Here, have a gingerbread cookie. On the house.”

As I bite into the perfectly spiced cookie, savoring the warmth and sweetness, I spot Mr. Jenkins limping by. His ankle is still bandaged from his fall at the caroling night.

“Mr. Jenkins,” I call out, hurrying over to him. “How are you feeling? Can I help you with anything?”

He looks surprised for a moment, then his face breaks into a kind smile. “Well, if it isn’t our city girl. I’m doing much better, thank you. Just here to pick up some gifts for the grandkids.”

Without thinking, I offer my arm for support. “Let me help you around. It’s the least I can do.”

As we make our way through the market, stopping at various stalls, I’m struck by how easily conversation flows. Mr. Jenkins tells me about his grandchildren, about Christmases in Benton Falls when he was a boy, about the year the whole town came together to rebuild the church after a fire. I hang on every word, soaking in the rich history of this place I now call home.

At the toy stall, run by none other than Oliver’s right-hand man from the department store, Sam. I smile and say hello, but Sam seems happy to help Mr. Jenkins pick out the perfect gifts—a hand-carved wooden train for little Tommy and a beautiful porcelain doll for Sarah. As I reach for my wallet to pay, Mr. Jenkins stops me.

“Now, now,” he says gently. “That’s not necessary. Your company and help are gift enough.”

I feel a longing in my chest to give to this kind man. “Please,” I insist. “Let me do this. Consider it my Christmas gift to you and your grandchildren.”

After a moment, he nods, his eyes twinkling. “Well, if you insist. But you must come over for Christmas dinner then. No arguments.”

As we continue our tour of the market, more and more people stop to chat. Mrs. Thompson from the quilting circle asks my opinion on which fabric to choose for her newest project. The school principal thanks me again for helping at the school. Even little Suzie, the girl who gave me the cookie at the school party, runs up to give me a hug, her mother smiling warmly behind her.

With each interaction, I feel the warmth in my chest grow. This, I realize, is what I’ve been missing all these years. Not just success or achievements, but genuine connections. A sense of belonging.

As we near the reindeer petting zoo, I spot a familiar head of tousled sandy hair. My heart skips a beat.

Oliver.

He’s kneeling beside a little boy, helping him feed the reindeer. The sight of him so gentle and patient makes my heart ache with wanting. As if sensing my gaze, he looks up.

For a moment, our eyes lock. I see a flicker of... something in his hazel eyes. Hurt? Longing? Before I can decipher it, he stands abruptly, mumbles something to the zoo attendant, and walks away.

The pain of his rejection is sharp, but it’s tempered by the understanding I see in Mr. Jenkins’ eyes. “Give him time,” the older man says softly.

Sheesh… the whole town must know what happened.

I nod, blinking back tears. “I know. I just... I wish I could make him understand I was only trying to help.”

Mr. Jenkins pats my hand. “His pride’s taken a hit. He’ll come around.”

As we complete our circuit of the market, I find myself lost in thought. The twinkling lights, the laughter of children, the sense of warmth and belonging — it all seems bittersweet now. I’ve found a home here in Benton Falls, but the one person I want to share it with won’t even look at me.

“Hey,” a cheerful voice breaks through my melancholy. I look up to see Rebecca, her golden hair peeking out from under a festive red hat. “You look a little preoccupied. What are you thinking about?”

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