Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 10

Ten

CHLOE

T he scent of fresh ink and new paper fills my nose as I step into the Benton Falls Elementary School gymnasium. It’s been transformed into a winter wonderland of books, with rows upon rows of tables stacked high with colorful titles. Twinkling lights strung across the ceiling cast a warm, festive glow over everything, and garlands of holly and evergreens wrap around the windows and doorways. It’s like walking into a Christmas card come to life.

I adjust the strap of my designer handbag, feeling distinctly out of place among the excited children darting between tables in their cozy sweaters and Santa hats. What am I doing here? I should be back at the house, working on year-end reports and strategizing for the next quarter—my idea of a vacation.

But then I catch sight of Rebecca, waving enthusiastically from behind a table piled high with picture books. Her golden hair is tied back with a red ribbon, and she’s wearing a festive sweater that would look ridiculous on anyone else but somehow works on her.

“Chloe. You made it,” she calls out, her voice carrying over the soft Christmas music playing in the background, as though she left me any choice when she showed up at my house bright and early this morning. Rebecca insisted “the book fair is short on volunteers”, and “we can’t do that to the kids”. I think she must have a master’s degree in Artful Persuasion. “Come on, we need help at the checkout table.”

I sigh, resigning myself to an afternoon of... what exactly? Selling books to children? It seems so far removed from my usual world of boardrooms and business deals. But I did promise I’d help, and if there’s one thing Chloe Anderson doesn’t do, it’s break promises.

As I make my way to the checkout table, I’m struck by the warmth and joy radiating from everyone around me. Parents chat animatedly with teachers, sipping hot cocoa from paper cups. A group of kids huddle around a display of fantasy novels, their eyes wide with excitement as they debate which dragon story looks the coolest.

“Here,” Rebecca says, thrusting a Santa hat into my hands as I reach the table. “Put this on. It’s part of the uniform.”

I eye the hat skeptically. “I don’t do hats. They mess up my hair.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Come on, Chloe. It’s for the kids. Get into the spirit.”

With a reluctant grumble, I put on the hat. It feels silly and childish, but when I catch sight of my reflection in a nearby window, I’m surprised to find that I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.

The next few hours pass in a blur of transactions, gift-wrapping, and more interaction with children than I’ve had in years. At first, it’s overwhelming. I’m used to dealing with CEOs and investors, not seven-year-olds arguing over whether to buy the book about unicorns or the one about space pirates.

But as the afternoon wears on, I find myself... enjoying it? There’s something infectious about the kids’ enthusiasm, their unabashed excitement over stories and adventures. When a little girl with pigtails and missing front teeth tells me earnestly that she’s buying a book to read to her little brother who’s in the hospital, I feel a lump form in my throat.

“That’s very kind of you,” I tell her, carefully wrapping the book in shiny paper. “I’m sure your brother will love it.”

The girl beams at me, and for a moment, I’m transported back to my childhood. I remember the joy of losing myself in a good book, of escaping the harsh realities of foster homes and never quite belonging. Books were my refuge then, my ticket to worlds where anything was possible.

As I hand the wrapped book to the little girl, I make a split-second decision. “Wait,” I say, reaching for my wallet. “Pick out another book. On me. One for you this time.”

The girl’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Really? Are you sure?”

I nod, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that has nothing to do with the overheated gymnasium. “Absolutely. Everyone deserves a little magic of their own.”

As the girl scampers off to choose another book, I catch Rebecca watching me with a knowing smile. “What?” I ask, feeling oddly defensive.

She just shakes her head, still smiling. “Nothing. It’s just nice to see you getting into the spirit of things.”

I’m about to argue that I’m not getting into any spirit, thank you very much, when Oliver appears at the table, his arms laden with more books.

“Hey, Chloe,” he says, his smile doing funny things to my insides. “Rebecca roped you into volunteering too, huh?”

I nod, suddenly very aware of the ridiculous Santa hat perched on my head. “Apparently, I’m a sucker for a good cause.”

Oliver’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs. “Well, it suits you. The hat, I mean. And the volunteering.”

For a moment, we just stand there, smiling at each other like idiots. Then a small voice pipes up, “Excuse me, can I buy this book, please?”

We both jump, startled out of our little bubble. As I ring up the purchase, I can feel Oliver’s eyes on me, and I have to resist the urge to smooth my hair or check my lipstick.

The rest of the afternoon flies by in a whirlwind of transactions, laughter, and more warm looks from Oliver than I care to admit. By the time the last customer leaves and we pack up, I’m exhausted but filled with a sense of accomplishment I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Great job today, everyone,” the principal announces, beaming at all of us. “Thanks to your hard work, we’ve raised enough money to buy new books for every classroom and donate a bunch to the children’s hospital.”

A cheer goes up from the volunteers, and I join in, caught up in the collective joy of a job well done.

As we file out of the school, the frosty night air hits me like a shock after the warmth of the gymnasium. Snowflakes dance in the glow of the streetlights, and the sound of distant carolers drifts on the wind.

“So,” Oliver says, falling into step beside me. “Any plans for tomorrow night?”

I shake my head. “Not really. Why?”

“Well, there’s caroling in the town square. I thought maybe... if you’re not busy...” He trails off, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Singing again? I should say no. I have work to do, emails to send, a life waiting for me back in the city. But looking at Oliver’s hopeful face, dusted with snowflakes and lit by the warm glow of Christmas lights, I say, “Sure, that sounds nice.”

His answering smile is brighter than all the Christmas lights in Benton Falls combined.

The next evening finds me standing in the town square, surrounded by what seems like the entire population of Benton Falls. The majestic courthouse clock tower looms above us, its face illuminated and hands pointing to just a few minutes before seven.

I shift from foot to foot, grateful for the warm boots Rebecca insisted I borrow. My designer heels might look great, but they’re not exactly made for standing around in the snow.

“Here,” Oliver says, appearing at my elbow and handing me a steaming cup. “Hot chocolate. Maggie’s secret recipe.”

I take a sip, and my eyes widen in surprise. It’s rich and creamy, with just a hint of peppermint. “This is delicious,” I admit.

Oliver grins. “Told you. Maggie’s hot chocolate is legendary around here.”

As the clock strikes seven, a hush falls over the crowd. Then, from somewhere near the front, a voice sings “Silent Night.” Slowly, others join in, the melody swelling until it seems like the whole town is singing in harmony.

I don’t know the words, so I just stand there, sipping my hot chocolate and listening. It’s beautiful in a way I can’t quite describe—not perfect like a professional choir, but real and raw and full of heart.

As the carol ends and another begins, I feel Oliver’s hand slip into mine. I should pull away. I should maintain my distance, remember that this isn’t my world, that I’m leaving after the holidays. But his hand is warm and strong, and in that moment, I can’t bring myself to let go.

We stand like that through “Deck the Halls” and “Jingle Bells” and half a dozen other carols I vaguely remember from childhood. I don’t sing, but I sway slightly to the music, caught up in the magic of the moment.

As the final notes of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” fade away, replaced by the cheerful chatter of the dispersing crowd, Oliver turns to me. In the glow of the Christmas lights, his eyes seem to shine with something more than just a reflection.

“Chloe,” he says softly, “I—”

But whatever he was about to say is cut off by a commotion near the courthouse steps. We turn to see a group of people gathering around someone who seems to have slipped on a patch of ice.

Without hesitation, Oliver rushes over to help, pulling me along with him. As we get closer, Oliver sighs, “It’s Mr. Jenkins, the Postman.”

“Are you alright, Bill?” Oliver asks, helping the older man to his feet.

Mr. Jenkins winces as he puts weight on his right ankle. “I think I might have twisted it,” he says. “Darn ice.”

“Let’s get you inside where it’s warm,” Oliver says. “We can call the doctor from there if needed.”

As Oliver helps Mr. Jenkins limp towards the courthouse, which is still open for the caroling event, I follow along, unsure of what to do but unable to just walk away.

Inside, Oliver settles Mr. Jenkins into a chair while someone goes to call the doctor. I hover awkwardly nearby, feeling useless.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

Oliver looks up at me, a grateful smile on his face. “Actually, yeah. Could you run over to the store and grab the first aid kit? It’s behind the counter.”

I nod, relieved to have a task. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

The cold air hits me like a slap as I step outside, but I barely notice it as I hurry towards Hanks’ Department Store. The streets are mostly empty now, everyone having dispersed after the caroling, and my footsteps echo in the quiet night.

As I unlock the store—Oliver had given me a key for the toy drive inventory—the familiar bell jingles above the door. In the dim light filtering in from the street, the store looks different—shadowy and mysterious, full of potential.

I find the first aid kit easily enough, but as I’m about to leave, something catches my eye. It’s a ledger, left open on the counter. I know I shouldn’t look, that it’s none of my business, but a lifetime of business instincts are hard to ignore.

What I see makes my heart sink. The numbers are worse than I thought. Much worse. At this rate, Hanks’ Department Store won’t make it past the new year.

I stand there for a long moment, the first aid kit forgotten in my hands, as a plan begins to form in my mind. It’s crazy. It’s impulsive. It goes against every practical business decision I’ve ever made.

But as I think about Oliver—his kindness, his dedication to this town, the way he lights up when he talks about the store’s history—I know I have to do something.

Back at the courthouse, the doctor has arrived and is examining Mr. Jenkins’ ankle. Oliver takes the first aid kit from me with a grateful smile, and I try to act normal, like I haven’t just made a decision that could change everything.

Later that night, after we’ve seen Mr. Jenkins safely home and said our goodnights, I sit at the desk in my grandmother’s house, staring at my laptop screen. The glow of the Christmas lights outside filters through the window, casting colorful shadows across the keyboard.

With a deep breath, I type out an email to my financial advisor. The plan is simple but risky—liquidate some of my personal investments and use the money to anonymously invest in Hanks’ Department Store. Enough to keep it afloat, to give Oliver a fighting chance.

As I hit send, a mix of emotions washes over me. Fear, excitement, doubt. This must be Christmas madness. But underneath it all, there’s a warm feeling I can’t quite name. Is this what it feels like to truly give? To put someone else’s needs before your own?

I close my laptop and walk to the window, looking out at the snow-covered streets of Benton Falls. The town is quiet now, most windows dark except for the glow of Christmas lights. But in my mind’s eye, I can see it bustling with life—families shopping at Hanks’, children pressing their noses against the display windows, Oliver’s face lit up with joy as he helps a customer find the perfect gift.

For the first time since I arrived in Benton Falls, I allow myself to imagine a future here. Not just for the holidays, but beyond. A future where I’m part of this community, where my skills and resources are used not just for profit, but for the good of others.

It’s a terrifying thought. But as I crawl into bed, the memory of Oliver’s hand in mine still tingling on my skin. It’s also strangely exhilarating.

Tomorrow, I decide as I drift off to sleep, I’ll tell Oliver about my idea for modernizing the store’s inventory system. Not as a CEO offering unsolicited advice, but as a friend who wants to help. And maybe, just maybe, as something more.

The last thing I see before sleep claims me is the gentle fall of snow outside my window. Each flake a tiny miracle of possibility. And for the first time in years, I fall asleep with a smile on my face, my heart full of the spirit of giving that seems to permeate every corner of Benton Falls.