Page 5 of Chloe

CHLOE

The morning sun assaults my eyes as I wake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The scent of pine lingers in the air, a constant reminder of the unwanted holiday cheer that has invaded this space.

With a groan, I reach for my phone, eager to dive back into the familiar world of emails and business reports. But as I scroll through my inbox, my frown deepens. No urgent messages. No crises to manage. Just a smattering of routine updates and well-wishes for my “vacation.”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. Don’t they understand I don’t do vacations? That every moment away from the office is a moment wasted?

I toss aside the covers and pad to the window, peering out at the snow-covered street below. Benton Falls is already awake, its residents bustling about their day. I watch as a group of children trudge by, their laughter floating up to me as they pelt each other with snowballs.

For a fleeting moment, I feel a pang of... something. Longing? Regret? I quickly push it aside. I made my choices long ago. This quaint, small-town life isn’t for me. It never was.

But as the morning wears on, cabin fever sets in. The walls of the house seem to close in around me, the cheerful decorations mocking my attempts to focus on work. By mid-afternoon, I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out, to remind myself that there’s a world beyond this Christmas-obsessed town.

Bundling up in my designer coat and boots, I step out into the brisk winter air. The cold bites at my cheeks, but it’s refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the house. I make my way towards the town square, my heels clicking against the shoveled sidewalk.

As I round the corner, the full splendor of Benton Falls during Christmas comes into view. The town square is a winter wonderland, with twinkling lights adorning every tree and lamppost. A massive Christmas tree stands proudly in the center, its ornaments glinting in the afternoon sun. The air is filled with the sounds of carols drifting from hidden speakers and the chatter of townspeople going about their holiday shopping.

Despite myself, I feel a flicker of appreciation for the scene. It’s like something out of a Hallmark movie—picturesque, idyllic, and completely divorced from reality.

As I wander the square, my gaze is drawn to a storefront I remember from my childhood visits. Hanks’ Department Store stands as a testament to a bygone era, its large frosted windows showcasing elaborate holiday displays. Vintage toys, twinkling lights, and festive garlands create miniature winter scenes that have a small crowd of children pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with wonder.

A memory surfaces, unbidden. Me, at seven years old, nose pressed against that very window, longing for a beautiful doll I knew we could never afford. The ache of want, the burning shame of poverty...

I shake my head, banishing the thought. That was a lifetime ago. I’m not that little girl anymore.

Squaring my shoulders, I march towards the store and feel a sense of relief as the business part of my brain has kicked in, seeing potential where others might only see nostalgia. If I could convince this store to use my app, to modernize their operations, it could be the perfect case study for expanding into small-town markets.

The bell above the door jingles merrily as I step inside, and I’m immediately enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and the scent of cinnamon and cloves. The interior of the store is even more of a throwback than the outside, with high ceilings adorned with ornate moldings and brass chandeliers casting a warm glow over the merchandise.

Wooden display tables are laden with carefully arranged holiday gifts, everything from plush toys to fine scarves, all wrapped in bright, festive paper. A grand staircase, its banister wrapped in evergreen garlands and twinkling lights, leads to a second floor that promises even more wares.

It’s charming, in an outdated sort of way. But all I can see are the inefficiencies, the missed opportunities for streamlining and modernization.

“Need a hand with anything?”

The deep, gravelly voice startles me out of my mental inventory. I turn to find myself face to face with a man who could have stepped right out of a lumberjack calendar. Tall and broad-shouldered, with tousled sandy brown hair and piercing hazel eyes, he exudes an aura of rugged charm, even though he’s dressed in a sky blue dress shirt and matching tie. His smile is genuine but reserved, a stark contrast to the polished, practiced grins I’m used to in the corporate world.

“Name’s Oliver Hanks,” he continues, extending a calloused hand. “Welcome to my store.”

I take his hand, noting the strength of his grip and the slight roughness of his palm. This is a man who’s no stranger to hard work.

“Chloe Anderson,” I reply, slipping easily into my professional persona. “I was just admiring your... unique setup here.”

Oliver’s smile widens slightly. “Well, we aim to be one-of-a-kind. Looking for anything special? Gift for someone?”

I shake my head. “Actually, Mr. Hanks, I’m here on business. I’m the CEO of Anderson Tech, and I couldn’t help but notice the potential for modernization in your store.”

Oliver’s smile falters, his brow furrowing. “Modernization? What are you getting at, Ms. Anderson?”

I launch into my pitch; the words flowing easily after countless investor meetings and product launches. “Your store has charm, Mr. Hanks, but it’s falling behind the times. With my company’s app, you could streamline your inventory management, implement a modern point-of-sale system, even set up an online storefront. We could bring Hanks’ Department Store into the 21st century.”

As I speak, I can see Oliver’s expression shifting from confusion to something that looks unsettlingly like amusement. When I finish, he lets out a short, gruff laugh that sets my teeth on edge.

“Look, Ms. Anderson,” he says, his tone firm and unyielding. “I appreciate the offer, but Hanks’ isn’t just a business. It’s part of Benton Falls. Our customers don’t come here for efficiency or some fancy app. They come for the experience, for the personal touch you can’t get from a screen.”

I feel a flare of irritation. Why can’t he see the opportunity I’m offering? “Mr. Hanks, I understand the value of tradition, but you can’t ignore progress. In today’s market-“

“In today’s market,” Oliver interrupts, his voice low and intense, “people are starved for connection. That’s what we offer here. Not just products, but a place where folks can meet, where kids can experience Christmas shopping like their parents and grandparents did.”

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