Page 8 of Chloe

I cross my arms, pouting. “Well, what was I supposed to do? She’s allergic to joy, I swear. I invited her to the tree lighting ceremony, and you’d think I’d asked her to go dumpster diving.”

Henry’s laughter subsides, but his eyes are still crinkled with amusement. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Frustrated. Annoyed. Like I want to shake her until jingle bells fall out.” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “She’s just so... so...”

“Like you used to be?” Henry suggests gently.

I freeze, the words hitting me like a snowball in the face. “I... that’s not... I mean...”

But even as I try to deny it, I know he’s right. Chloe’s drive, her focus on success, her dismissal of anything that doesn’t fit into her master plan—it’s all painfully familiar.

“Okay, fine,” I admit grudgingly. “She might be a teeny tiny bit like I used to be. But that’s why this will never work. How am I supposed to help her when I’m still trying to figure this stuff out for myself? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly Miss Christmas Spirit over here.”

Henry nods thoughtfully. “And why do you think that is?”

I shrug, picking at a loose thread on my robe. “I don’t know. I guess... I’m scared? What if I can’t do this, Henry? What if I fail and I’m stuck being the weather girl for eternity? Do you know how boring it is to forecast ‘sunny and perfect’ every single day?”

Henry’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, warm and comforting. “Rebecca, my dear, has it occurred to you that perhaps this assignment isn’t just about Chloe?”

I look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, the best way to learn is by teaching,” he says softly. “In helping Chloe discover the true spirit of Christmas, you might just rediscover it yourself.”

And just like that, my chances of passing this assignment just decreased by 50%.

“So, what should I do?” I ask, feeling small and uncertain. “How do I help her when I’m still so messed up myself?”

Henry smiles, his entire face lighting up. “By being genuine. By showing her it’s okay to be imperfect, to struggle, to learn. Share your own journey with her, Rebecca. Let her see that change is possible, that there’s joy in the process of growth.”

I nod slowly, a plan forming in my mind. “So, no more sneaky decorating?”

Henry chuckles. “Perhaps ease up on the grand gestures. Focus on the small things—a kind word, a moment of understanding. Sometimes the biggest changes start with the tiniest actions.”

As we stand to leave, I feel a little lighter, a little more hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

“Oh, and Rebecca?” Henry calls as we part ways. “Remember, you have resources at your disposal. Your empathy, your intuition, even the Blessing Hotline if you need it. Use them wisely.”

I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Thanks, Henry. For everything.”

As I walk back to my apartment, I actually notice the beauty around me for once. The star-speckled sky, the soft glow of the pearly buildings, even the annoyingly cheerful flowers. It’s all pretty amazing when you stop to look.

I flop onto my cloud-soft bed, my mind buzzing with ideas for tomorrow. No more over-the-top schemes. Just me, being real, trying to connect with Chloe human-to-former-human. Who knows? Maybe in helping Chloe find her Christmas spirit, I’ll find mine too.

And hey, if all else fails, at least it beats forecasting eternal sunshine.

Four

CHLOE

Istand before the grand entrance of Hanks’ Department Store, my hand hovering over the brass doorknob. The morning air nips at my cheeks, and snowflakes dance around me, dusting my dark hair with tiny crystals that sparkle in the early sunlight. Despite the cold, there’s a warmth to this town that I can’t quite shake off, no matter how hard I try.

The store’s large frosted windows showcase elaborate holiday displays that would put any big city store to shame. Vintage toys, twinkling lights, and festive garlands create miniature winter wonderlands that have a small crowd of children pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with wonder.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the heavy wooden door. The cheerful jingle of bells announces my arrival, and I’m immediately enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and the rich scent of cloves and oranges. 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.

“Well, look who’s back,” a deep voice calls out, tinged with amusement. I turn to see Oliver Hanks approaching, a box of ornaments in his arms. His sandy hair is charmingly disheveled, and his hazel eyes sparkle with good humor. “I wasn’t sure you’d come. Couldn’t stay away from our old-fashioned charm, Ms. Anderson?”

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