Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 8

Eight

CHLOE

T he bell above the door of Sweet Haven Bakery & Café jingles merrily as I step inside, a gust of cold air following me. The warm aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and brewing coffee welcomes me, instantly thawing the chill from my bones. Christmas music plays softly in the background, and I hum along before I catch myself. What’s happening to me?

I scan the cozy interior, taking in the rustic wooden beams overhead and the exposed brick walls adorned with vintage bakery signs. My gaze lands on Oliver, already seated at a corner table. He looks up and catches my eye, his face breaking into a warm smile that sends an unexpected flutter through my chest.

“Chloe.” he calls out, waving me over. “I got you a latte. Hope that’s okay.”

As I make my way to the table, weaving between mismatched wooden chairs and tables, I’m struck by how at ease I feel. It’s a far cry from the sleek, modern coffee shops I usually frequent in the city.

“Thanks,” I say, sliding into the seat across from Oliver. I wrap my hands around the steaming mug, savoring its warmth. “That’s perfect, actually.”

Oliver beams at me, and I have to look away, suddenly flustered. What is wrong with me? I don’t get flustered over small-town shop owners with kind eyes and charming smiles.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat and pulling out my tablet. “I’ve been working on some ideas for the toy drive. I think if we implement a few key strategies, we could make this the most successful one yet.”

Oliver leans forward, his eyes lighting up with interest. “I’m all ears. What have you got?”

For the next hour, we pour over spreadsheets and marketing plans. I explain my ideas for streamlining the donation process, implementing an online tracking system, and leveraging social media to reach a wider audience. Oliver listens intently, asking thoughtful questions and offering insights about the community that I hadn’t considered.

As we talk, I can’t help but notice the way the golden glow from the Edison bulb fixtures catches the flecks of green in Oliver’s hazel eyes, or how his brow furrows adorably when he’s concentrating. Stop it, Chloe, I scold myself. You’re here to help with the toy drive, not to admire Oliver’s... everything.

“This is incredible, Chloe,” Oliver says, leaning back in his chair with a look of awe. “I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished in such a short time. The kids of Benton Falls are going to have an amazing Christmas, thanks to you.”

I feel a warmth spread through my chest at his words, and it has nothing to do with the latte I’m sipping. “It’s not just me,” I say, surprised by my modesty. “None of this would be possible without your connections in the community and your dedication to the cause.”

Oliver reaches across the table and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. The touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

“We make a good team,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine.

The intensity of his gaze is too much. I pull my hand away, focusing intently on my tablet screen. “Yes, well, there’s still a lot to do,” I say briskly, trying to ignore the hurt that flashes across Oliver’s face.

Just then, a woman approaches our table. Her round face is flushed from the heat of the ovens, and flour dusts her curly auburn hair.

“How are you two doing?” she asks warmly. “Can I get you anything else? I just pulled a batch of my famous gingerbread cookies out of the oven.”

“That sounds wonderful, Maggie,” Oliver says. “We’ll take a plate, please.” He grins, then says, “Maggie, this is Chloe. She’s helping me with the toy drive.”

“Wonderful,” Maggie smiles. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

I smile and nod. A second later, Maggie bustles away. I raise an eyebrow at Oliver. “Famous gingerbread cookies?”

He grins. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. Maggie’s gingerbread is legendary in Benton Falls. It’s not really Christmas until you’ve had one of her cookies.”

A few minutes later, Maggie returns with a plate piled high with gingerbread men, the scent of molasses and spices wafting through the air. “Here you go, dears,” she says, setting the plate between us. “On the house. It’s the least I can do for the dynamic duo behind this year’s toy drive.”

I start to protest, but Oliver cuts me off. “Thank you, Maggie. That’s very kind of you.”

As Maggie walks away, I take a bite of a gingerbread cookie, and my eyes widen in surprise. It’s possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the perfect balance of sweetness and spice melting on my tongue.

“Oh my goodness,” I mumble around a mouthful of cookie. “These are incredible.”

Oliver laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my heart do a little flip. “Told you. Maggie’s cookies are magic.”

As we continue to discuss the toy drive, munching on gingerbread, I find myself relaxing more and more. The cafe is bustling with activity, locals coming in and out, greeting each other warmly. More than once, someone stops by our table to chat with Oliver, and he introduces me with a proud, “This is Chloe, the brains behind our new toy drive system.”

Each time, I’m met with genuine smiles and heartfelt thanks. It’s... nice. Really nice, actually. For the first time in years, I feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself, something that matters beyond profit margins and market shares.

“You know,” Oliver says, interrupting my thoughts, “I can’t thank you enough for all your help with this, Chloe. It means more than you know.”

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just applying basic business principles to—”

“It’s not nothing,” Oliver interrupts gently. “You’re making a real difference here. I just wish...”

He trails off, his expression suddenly clouding over. I lean forward, concerned. “You wish what?”

Oliver sighs, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I wish I could apply some of your business savvy to the store. Things have been... tough lately.”

My heart clenches at the worry in his eyes. “What do you mean? I thought the store was managing.”

“If you mean getting by, then yes, although I’m not sure for how long,” Oliver says. “We’re still the heart of the community, especially during the holidays. But with the big box stores and online shopping... I’m worried about the future. About whether there will even be a Hanks’ Department Store for the next generation.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside me. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and take his hand. “Oliver, I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with some strategies to boost business.”

This time, Oliver seems like he’s open to my suggestions.

He looks up at me, hope shining in his eyes. “You’d do that? Help me with the store?”

I nod, squeezing his hand. “Of course. It’s what I do.”

For a moment, we just sit there, hands clasped, eyes locked. The hustle and bustle of the cafe fades away, and all I can see is Oliver. The warmth of his touch, the gratitude in his gaze, the way his thumb is gently stroking the back of my hand... it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

Suddenly, reality comes crashing back in. What am I doing? I’m leaving Benton Falls after the holidays. I can’t let myself get attached, can’t let myself care this much. I pull my hand away abruptly, clearing my throat.

“So, um, what ideas did you have for the store?” I ask, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

Oliver blinks, looking a bit dazed. “Oh, right. Well, I was thinking maybe we could expand our online presence? Set up an e-commerce site?”

I nod, slipping back into business mode. “That’s a good start. We could also look at your inventory management, maybe streamline your supply chain...”

As we dive into discussing the store’s business model, I can feel a tension building between us. Our approaches are fundamentally different—I’m all about efficiency and modernization, while Oliver is focused on preserving the store’s heritage and personal touch.

“But Chloe,” Oliver says, frustration creeping into his voice, “if we automate everything and cut back on staff, we’ll lose the personal connections that make Hanks’ special. Our customers come to us because they know they’ll be greeted by name, because we remember their kids’ sizes and their grandma’s favorite perfume.”

I sigh, exasperated. “I understand that, Oliver, but you can’t run a business on sentiment alone. You need to adapt to survive in today’s market.”

“At what cost, though?” Oliver counters. “If we lose our soul, what’s the point of surviving?”

We stare at each other across the table, the gulf between our worldviews suddenly seeming impossibly wide. How could I have thought, even for a moment, that this could work? That I could fit into Oliver’s world, or he into mine?

The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words and missed connections. Finally, I stand up, gathering my things.

“I should go,” I say, not meeting Oliver’s eyes. “I have some work to catch up on.”

Oliver nods, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Thanks for your help with the toy drive, Chloe. I really appreciate it.”

As I walk out of the cafe, the cheerful jingle of the bell seems to mock me. The cold air hits me like a slap, and I welcome it, using it to clear my head of the confused jumble of emotions swirling inside me.

What was I thinking, letting myself get so invested in this town, in Oliver? This isn’t my world. I don’t belong here, with its quaint traditions and its emphasis on community over profit.

And yet... as I walk back to my grandmother’s house, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m leaving something important behind in that warm, cozy cafe. The memory of Oliver’s hand in mine, of the hope in his eyes when I offered to help, of the way he lights up when talking about his store and his community—it all tugs at something deep inside me, something I thought I’d buried long ago.

Back at the house, I throw myself into work my company says I’m not to worry about, determined to push aside these confusing feelings. But as I stare at spreadsheets and profit projections, my mind keeps wandering back to the toy drive, to the joy on the faces of the people I’ve met in Benton Falls, to Oliver’s warm smile.

For the first time in years, I question everything I thought I knew about success and happiness. Is my life in the city, with its relentless pursuit of the next big deal, really all there is? Or is there something to be said for the kind of success Oliver values - the success measured in lives touched and community strengthened?

As night falls, I stand at the window, looking out at the twinkling Christmas lights of Benton Falls. The town seems to glow with a warmth that has nothing to do with electricity, a warmth that comes from the connections between people, from traditions passed down through generations, from the simple joy of giving.

I think about the toy drive, about the children who will wake up on Christmas morning to find gifts under their tree. I think about Oliver, working tirelessly to keep his family’s legacy alive while still finding time to organize charity events and greet every customer by name.

With a sigh, I sink onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. I don’t know what to do, how to reconcile these conflicting parts of myself. The driven businesswoman and the girl who’s starting to remember what it feels like to care, to belong.

As I sit there, the scent of gingerbread still clinging to my clothes, I realize that I have a choice to make, and I don’t know what the right answer is.

The toy drive spreadsheets still open on my laptop seem to mock me from across the room. They represent everything I thought I wanted—efficiency, success, control. But now, they also remind me of Oliver’s warm laugh, of the gratitude in people’s eyes when they thank me for my help, of the feeling of being part of something bigger than myself.

Closing my eyes, I let the quiet of the house wash over me. In the distance, I can hear the faint sound of Christmas carols drifting from a neighbor’s house. It’s a reminder of the world outside, a world full of warmth and connection and, yes, complications.

I drift off to sleep right there on the couch, as one thought circles in my mind: What if the most successful thing I could do, the bravest thing, would be to open my heart to the magic of Benton Falls? To Oliver? To a different life than the one I’ve always imagined for myself?

It’s a terrifying thought. But as I slip into dreams filled with the jingling of sleigh bells and the warmth of Oliver’s smile, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it might also be the most rewarding.