Page 9 of Chloe

I feel a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “Just thought I’d see if you’ve come to your senses about modernizing, Mr. Hanks.”

Oliver chuckles, setting down the box on a nearby counter. “Still beating that drum, huh? Well, I hate to disappoint you, but we’re still as delightfully outdated as ever.”

As he speaks, I can’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or how his rolled-up sleeves reveal muscular forearms dusted with a light tan. There’s something undeniably attractive about a man who works with his hands, a thought I quickly push aside.

“Well, since I’m here,” I say, trying to regain my professional composure, “at your invitation, perhaps you could show me around? I’d like to see how this... traditional approach of yours works in practice.”

Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but his smile widens. “I’d be happy to give you the grand tour, Ms. Anderson. Though I warn you, it might just change your mind about the value of a personal touch.”

As we move through the store, I’m struck by how different it feels from the slick, efficient retail spaces I’m used to. Here, every item seems to have a story, every display a personal touch. Oliver introduces me to his employee, Sam, who is busy arranging an assortment of garish Christmas socks and continues to greet each customer by name, asking after their families or commenting on recent town events.

“Mrs. Johnson.” he calls out to an older woman examining a display of hand-knit scarves. “How’s that granddaughter of yours doing at college?”

Mrs. Johnson’s face lights up. “Oh, Oliver, she’s doing wonderfully. Just made the Dean’s list. I was actually looking for something special to send her as a congratulations gift.”

Oliver nods thoughtfully. “I think I have just the thing.” He leads her to a display of delicate, hand-painted ornaments. “These just came in from a local artist. Each one’s unique, just like your Milly.”

I watch in fascination as Mrs. Johnson coos over the ornaments, finally selecting one that, according to Oliver, “has Milly’s spirit.” The entire interaction takes nearly fifteen minutes—wildly inefficient by my standards, but I can’t deny the genuine joy on Mrs. Johnson’s face as she leaves the store, her purchase carefully wrapped in tissue paper and nestled in a festive bag.

“You see,” Oliver says, turning to me with a knowing smile, “that’s something you can’t replicate with an app or an online store. That personal connection, the ability to really understand what each customer needs and wants—that’s the heart of Hanks’ Department Store.”

I nod slowly, beginning to understand. “But surely there must be ways to streamline your operations without losing that personal touch? I mean, just keeping track of inventory alone must be a nightmare.”

Oliver’s smile falters slightly, and for the first time, I notice the shadows under his eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders. “Well, I won’t pretend it’s not challenging,” he admits. “But we manage. The important thing is keeping the spirit of the store alive.”

Before I can press further, the bell over the door jingles merrily, and a familiar voice calls out, “Hello. I brought some homemade gingerbread.”

I turn to see Rebecca breezing into the store with a festive tin in her hands. Her golden hair is frosted with snowflakes, and her cheeks are pink from the cold. She stops short when she sees me, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh. Chloe, I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her smile bright and genuine? “Are you doing some Christmas shopping?”

“Just getting to know the local businesses,” I reply, studying her carefully. There’s something about Rebecca that doesn’t quite add up, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.

“Me too.” Rebecca smiles. Whatever I thought I noticed yesterday seems to be gone. Perhaps she does like me. “Thought I’d deliver some Christmas goodies to the local shops.”

Oliver looks at us, confusion clear on his face. “You two know each other?”

“We’re neighbors,” I explain, watching as Rebecca’s smile falters for just a moment. “Rebecca introduced herself when I arrived in town.”

“Oh,” Oliver says, still looking puzzled. “That’s... nice. Though I must admit, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you new in town?”

Rebecca laughs, a tinkling sound that seems almost too perfect. “Oh, you know how it is in small towns. Easy to overlook people. I’ve been here... well, it feels like forever, really.”

I narrow my eyes, my suspicions growing. How could Oliver, who seems to know every person in Benton Falls by name, not recognize Rebecca?

Before I can voice my doubts, Rebecca thrusts the tin of gingerbread into Oliver’s hands. “Anyway, I should be going. Lots of holiday cheer to spread. Enjoy the gingerbread. And Chloe... it was nice to see you again.”

With that, she’s gone in a swirl of golden hair and the lingering scent of gingerbread. Oliver and I stand in silence for a moment, both seemingly unsure of what had just happened.

“Well,” Oliver finally says, opening the tin, “at least the gingerbread smells amazing. Would you like a piece, Chloe?”

The use of my first name startles me, but I find I don’t mind it coming from him. “Sure, why not?” I say, reaching for a perfectly shaped gingerbread man.

As I bite into the cookie, the rich flavors of molasses, cinnamon, and clove explode on my tongue. It’s possibly the best gingerbread I’ve ever tasted, and for a moment, I’m transported back to childhood Christmases, to a time before success and money became my sole focus.

“This is... really good,” I admit, surprised by how much I’m enjoying it.

Oliver nods, a wistful expression on his face. “It reminds me of the gingerbread my mom used to make. She’d bake dozens of cookies every Christmas, and we’d spend hours decorating them as a family.”

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