Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 2

Two

CHLOE

T he 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.”

I open my mouth to argue further, but Oliver holds up a hand. “I get it. You’re trying to help. But Hanks’ isn’t interested in being a guinea pig for your tech company. Now, if you want to do some actual shopping, I’d be happy to point you in the right direction.”

The dismissal in his words is clear, and I feel my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. How dare he dismiss me so easily? Doesn’t he know who I am?

But before I can formulate a suitably cutting response, the bell above the door chimes again. A group of elderly women enter, calling out greetings to Oliver by name. In an instant, his attention is diverted, his face softening as he welcomes the newcomers.

I stand there for a moment, feeling strangely out of place in my designer outfit amidst the homey charm of the store. Oliver’s words echo in my mind, challenging everything I’ve built my life and career around.

With a huff of frustration, I turn on my heel and march out of the store, the cheerful jingle of the bell seeming to mock me as I go. The cold air hits me like a slap as I step outside, and I welcome it, using the sting to push away the unsettling feelings Oliver’s rejection has stirred up.

I make my way back to the town square, my mind churning. How can anyone choose to stay stuck in the past like that? Doesn’t Oliver see that he’s dooming his business to failure by clinging to outdated methods?

As I pass the courthouse, I notice a flyer posted on the community bulletin board. “Benton Falls High School Jazz Band Holiday Concert - Tonight at 7:30 PM.” it proclaims in cheery red and green letters.

I’m about to walk past when I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Oh, Chloe. Are you thinking of going to the concert?”

I turn to find Rebecca, the neighbor from yesterday, beaming at me. Her golden hair is tucked under a fuzzy white hat, and her cheeks are pink from the cold. She looks like she’s stepped right out of a Christmas card, all youthful beauty and holiday cheer.

“I... no, I was just reading the flyer,” I stammer, caught off guard.

Rebecca’s smile doesn’t dim. “Oh, come on. I hear the jazz band is fantastic, and it’s such a wonderful way to get into the holiday spirit. Plus, I hear Oliver Hanks will be there—he always brings hot chocolate for everyone.”

At the mention of Oliver’s name, I feel a renewed surge of irritation. “I’m afraid I have too much work to do,” I say stiffly. “Enjoy the concert.”

I start to walk away, but Rebecca’s next words stop me in my tracks. “You know, sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to step away from it for a while. Music has a way of clearing the mind.”

I turn back, startled by her insight. How does she know I’m grappling with a problem? I study her face, searching for any sign of insincerity or hidden motives. Her smile is warm and inviting, but there’s something in her eyes - a flicker of... what? Judgment? Pity? I can’t quite place it, but it leaves me feeling unsettled.

“I’ll... think about it,” I say noncommittally.

Rebecca’s smile widens. “I hope to see you there, Chloe. It would be nice to get to know you better.”

As she walks away, I can’t shake the feeling that despite her friendly words, Rebecca doesn’t really like me. It’s a ridiculous thought - we’ve barely interacted. But there’s something about her perfect demeanor, her effortless charm, that makes me feel like I’m being measured and found wanting.

I shake my head, trying to clear these paranoid thoughts. I don’t need the approval of some small-town girl, no matter how pretty or popular she might be.

Still, as I make my way back to the house, Rebecca’s words about the concert linger in my mind. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to go back to the house, to bury myself in work—if I can find any—and forget this strange, frustrating day. But a smaller, quieter part—a part I thought I’d silenced long ago—whispers that maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery might help.

With a sigh of resignation, I check my watch. 6:30 PM. I have just enough time to go back to the house and change before the concert.

An hour later, I slip into the back row of the high school auditorium, the sounds of students tuning their instruments filling the air. The space is packed, the excited chatter of parents and community members creating a buzz of anticipation.

I spot Oliver near the front, distributing cups of steaming hot chocolate. He moves with purpose, his broad shoulders easily parting the crowd as he makes his way through the room. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and I see a flicker of surprise cross his face before he gives me a curt nod and turns back to his task.

As the lights dim and the first notes of “Jingle Bell Rock” fill the air, I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. The music is surprisingly good, the young musicians playing with a joy and enthusiasm that’s infectious.

I find my foot tapping along to “Winter Wonderland,” and by the time they launch into a jazzy rendition of “Silent Night,” I’m actually... enjoying myself. The melodies wash over me, pushing away thoughts of apps and market shares and profit margins.

As the last notes of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” fade away, I join in the applause, surprised by my enthusiasm. The students on stage beam with pride, and I feel an unexpected lump in my throat as I watch their parents rush forward to congratulate them.

As the crowd disperses, I make my way towards the exit, my mind whirling with new thoughts and possibilities. I’m so lost in my musings that I nearly collide with someone in the doorway.

“Whoa there.” A familiar deep voice says, a firm hand steadying me. I look up to find Oliver looking down at me, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. “Careful, Ms. Anderson. Wouldn’t want you taking a spill.”

“I... thank you,” I mumble, flustered by his proximity and the lingering effect of the music. “It was a good concert.”

Oliver’s eyebrows raise slightly. “High praise from the big city CEO. Didn’t think this kind of thing would be your speed.”

There’s a challenge in his voice that sets my nerves on edge, and I find myself lifting my chin defiantly. “I’m full of surprises, Mr. Hanks. You shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on first impressions.”

A slow grin spreads across Oliver’s face, and I’m struck by how it transforms his rugged features. “Fair enough,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Tell you what—why don’t you stop by the store tomorrow? I’ll give you the full Hanks’ Department Store experience. No business talk, just good old-fashioned Christmas shopping. What do you say?”

I should say no. I should go back to the house and lose myself in work, forget this strange day and the even stranger feelings it’s stirred up. But looking into Oliver’s intense hazel eyes, feeling the warmth radiating from him in the chilly lobby, I nod.

“Alright, Mr. Hanks. You’re on. But don’t think this means I’ve given up on dragging your store into the modern age.”

Oliver’s grin widens, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Anderson. See you tomorrow.”

As I step out into the chilly night air, snowflakes swirling around me, I feel... different. Lighter somehow, as if the music has washed away some of the hard shell I’ve built around myself over the years.

I know that tomorrow will bring new challenges, new frustrations. Oliver and I are still worlds apart in our views on business and life. But for tonight, walking home through the quiet, snow-covered streets of Benton Falls, I allow myself to simply exist in this moment. To feel the snowflakes melting on my cheeks, to hear the distant echo of Christmas carols, to remember what it’s like to be part of something bigger than myself.

And for the first time since arriving in Benton Falls, I look forward to tomorrow, even as a small voice in the back of my mind warns me to be cautious. After all, in my experience, nothing good ever comes without a price.