Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 14

Fourteen

CHLOE

T he soft glow of candlelight dances across the polished wood pews as Oliver and I make our way into the church. The scent of pine and citrus envelops us, mingling with the familiar musty sweetness of well-worn hymnals and decades of faithful worship. It’s a comforting smell, one that reminds me of childhood Christmases spent here with my grandmother.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper to Oliver, my eyes drawn to the magnificent Christmas tree near the altar. Its twinkling lights reflect in the stained-glass windows, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that seems almost magical.

Oliver squeezes my hand, his smile warm in the flickering light. “Wait till you see the pageant. The kids have been practicing for weeks.”

We find seats near the front, settling in among the other townspeople. The excited chatter of children and the soft murmur of adult conversations fill the air, creating a festive atmosphere that wraps around me like a cozy blanket.

As we wait for the pageant to begin, I find myself marveling at how comfortable I feel here. Just a few weeks ago, the thought of attending a small-town church pageant would have filled me with dread. Now, sitting here with Oliver, surrounded by people who have welcomed me so warmly into their community, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

The soft strains of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” signal the start of the pageant. The congregation falls silent as the first notes of the organ fill the church. Down the aisle comes a procession of children dressed as angels, shepherds, and wise men. Their faces are a mix of solemn concentration and barely contained excitement.

I feel Oliver’s arm slip around my shoulders, and I lean into him, savoring the warmth of his presence. As we watch the timeless story of Christ’s birth unfold before us, I’m struck by the simplicity and power of the message. A child, born in the humblest of circumstances, bringing hope and love to the world.

The little girl playing Mary cradles the baby Jesus with such tenderness that I feel a lump form in my throat. It’s a stark reminder of the purity of a child’s love, untainted by the complexities and fears that we adults so often let cloud our hearts.

As the pageant progresses, I find myself drawn more and more into the spirit of the season. The children’s earnest performances, the familiar carols sung with heartfelt enthusiasm by the congregation, the sense of community and shared joy that permeates the air – it all combines to create a feeling of belonging that I’ve never experienced before.

When the final notes of “Silent Night” fade away, I realize there are tears in my eyes. Oliver notices, gently wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

“You okay?” he whispers, concern evident in his voice.

I nod, offering him a watery smile. “More than okay. It’s just... I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s beautiful.”

Oliver’s answering smile is radiant. “That’s the magic of Christmas in Benton Falls. It has a way of touching your heart when you least expect it.”

As we file out of the church after the pageant, the cold night air nips at our cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. But the chill does nothing to dampen the glow of joy I feel inside.

Oliver and I linger on the church steps, watching as families and friends exchange hugs and holiday wishes. The sound of laughter and cheerful conversation fills the air, punctuated by the distant chiming of bells from the town square.

“So,” Oliver says, a hint of teasing in his voice, “what did you think of the pageant?”

I pretend to consider for a moment. “Well, I have to say, it was much better than any Broadway show I’ve seen lately.”

Oliver laughs, the sound rich and warm. “High praise indeed from a big city girl.”

As we walk back towards the town square, our hands intertwined, I open up to Oliver about the thoughts swirling in my mind.

“You know,” I begin, “being here, seeing how this community comes together... it’s made me think about the future. About how I might contribute more.” I glance up at him. “To Benton Falls.”

Oliver’s eyes light up with interest. “Oh? What ideas do you have?”

I feel a flutter of excitement as I share the plans that have been forming in my mind. “Well, I’ve been thinking about ways to invest in the town to help revive some of the local businesses. Maybe set up a fund for small business loans, or create a mentorship program for young entrepreneurs.”

As I talk, I can feel my old business acumen kicking in, but it’s different now. Instead of focusing solely on profit margins and market shares, I’m thinking about community impact and sustainable growth.

“And of course,” I continue, caught up in my enthusiasm, “I’d want to do more for specific businesses too. Like what I did for your store—”

I freeze, realizing what I’ve just said. Oliver’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What you did for my store?” he asks slowly. “What do you mean, Chloe?”

My heart races as I scramble to backtrack. “I just meant... you know, helping with the toy drive and all that...”

But Oliver’s not buying it. His eyes narrow, and I can see the moment realization dawns on him.

“Chloe,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm, “are you saying you’re the one who made that anonymous donation to the store?”

I swallow hard, knowing there’s no way out of this now. “I... yes. Yes, I am.”

For a moment, Oliver just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my horror, I see a flash of anger in his eyes.

“You what?” he says, his voice low and tight. He steps back, breaking our embrace, and I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the winter air.

“I thought... I wanted to help,” I stammer, suddenly uncertain. This isn’t the reaction I expected at all.

Oliver runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognize as a sign of frustration. “Help? Chloe, I don’t need your charity. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” I protest, feeling a knot of anxiety form in my stomach. “I care about you, about the store. I just wanted to contribute.”

“By going behind my back?” Oliver’s voice is rising now, drawing curious glances from passersby. “By not being honest with me? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

I reach out to him, but he steps back again. “Oliver, please, I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d be happy.”

He shakes his head, his expression a mixture of hurt and disappointment that cuts me to the core. “Happy? To find out that the woman I’m falling in love with has been lying to me? To realize that she thinks I can’t handle my business without her swooping in to save the day?”

His words hit me like a physical blow. Falling in love? But before I can process that, he’s turning away.

“I need some time to think,” he says, his voice cold in a way I’ve never heard before. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

And then he’s gone, striding away across the square, leaving me standing alone in the snow, the weight of my well-intentioned secret crushing down on me.

For a long moment, I just stand there, too shocked to move. The cheerful Christmas lights and the distant sound of carols now seem to mock me, a stark contrast to the ache in my chest.

As the reality of what just happened sinks in, I feel a familiar anger rising within me. How dare he? How dare he make me feel this way when all I was trying to do was help?

I turn on my heel, marching back towards my grandmother’s house with quick, angry steps. The snow crunches beneath my feet, each step punctuated by a swirl of emotions—hurt, betrayal, indignation.

By the time I reach the house, I’m fuming. I slam the door behind me; the sound echoing through the quiet rooms. Throwing my coat onto a chair, I storm into the living room, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

“Stupid, na?ve Chloe,” I mutter to myself, angry tears pricking at my eyes. “Thinking you could play small-town hero. Thinking you could actually belong here.”

The cynical voice in my head, the one I thought I’d silenced, comes roaring back to life. See? This happens when you let people in. When you make yourself vulnerable. You get hurt. You get left behind.

I sink onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. The memory of Oliver’s hurt and angry expression plays on repeat in my mind, each replay like a knife twisting in my gut.

But as the initial shock wears off, my sadness gives way to a burning anger. Who does Oliver think he is? I was only trying to help, to secure the future of his precious store. And this is how he repays me? With accusations and cold shoulders?

I stand up abruptly, my fists clenched at my sides. “Fine,” I say out loud to the empty room. “If that’s how he wants it, that’s how it’ll be.”

I stride over to the window, looking out at the snow-covered street. The twinkling Christmas lights that had seemed so magical just hours ago now look gaudy and artificial.

This is exactly why I don’t let people in, why I’ve always kept my emotions in check. Because in the end, everyone leaves. Everyone disappoints you.

Well, not this time. This time, I won’t be the one left behind. I won’t be the one nursing a broken heart while Oliver plays the wronged party.

No, I decide, my jaw set in determination. I’m done. Done with Oliver, done with this town, done with this whole ridiculous Christmas fantasy.

I don’t need the approval of some small-town shopkeeper or the acceptance of a community that clearly doesn’t understand me.

As I turn away from the window, my eyes fall on the gifts piled under the Christmas tree—presents for Oliver, for Rebecca, for the various townspeople I’ve grown close to. With a surge of bitter satisfaction, I gather them up.

I’ll return them all tomorrow. Or better yet, I’ll donate them to charity. Let someone else benefit from my misguided attempt at playing Santa Claus.

As I stack the gifts in a corner, a small part of me whispers that I’m overreacting, that I should calm down and try to see things from Oliver’s perspective. But I squash that voice ruthlessly. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to understand others, trying to make myself small and acceptable. Not anymore.

I march up to my room, pulling out my suitcase from the closet. I’ll leave first thing in the morning, I decide. Back to the city, back to my real life. Back to a world where I’m in control, where I don’t have to worry about messy emotions or small-town drama.

As I pack, I feel a grim satisfaction. This is what I get for letting my guard down, for thinking I could change. Well, lesson learned.

Benton Falls can keep its Christmas cheer and its quaint traditions. Oliver can keep his store and his pride. I don’t need any of it.

I pause in my packing, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed with anger, my eyes bright with unshed tears. But beneath that, I see something else—the strong, independent woman I’ve always been. The woman who doesn’t need anyone’s approval or love to succeed.

“Merry Christmas to me,” I mutter sarcastically, turning away from the mirror.

As I climb into bed, my mind is made up. Tomorrow, I’ll leave Benton Falls behind. I’ll go back to my life in the city, back to the world I understand. A world where success is measured in dollars and cents, not in small-town goodwill.

And if there’s an ache in my chest, a sense of loss that threatens to overwhelm me? Well, I’ll just have to ignore it. Because Chloe Anderson doesn’t get her heart broken. Not by anyone, and certainly not by Oliver Hanks.

With that thought, I turn off the light, letting the darkness envelop me. Tomorrow is another day. A day to reclaim my old life, my old self. A day to leave behind this Christmas fantasy once and for all.

As I drift off to sleep, I try to ignore the faint sound of carolers in the distance, their cheerful voices a stark counterpoint to the anger and hurt swirling inside me. Instead, I focus on the future—a future without Benton Falls, without Oliver, without the vulnerability that comes with letting people in.

It’s better this way, I tell myself firmly. Safer. And if a small part of me mourns the loss of the warmth and belonging I’ve found here? Well, that’s just a price I’ll have to pay for protecting myself.

After all, isn’t that what I’ve always done best? Protect myself, no matter the cost.