Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 16

Sixteen

CHLOE

T he gentle hum of my laptop fills the quiet living room as I finish booking my flight back to Boston. The cursor hovers over the ‘Confirm’ button, and I feel a twinge of... something. Regret? Relief? I’m not sure anymore. With a decisive click, it’s done. In just a few hours, I’ll be leaving Benton Falls behind.

I close my laptop and look around the room. The cheerful Christmas decorations that had seemed so magical just days ago now feel like they’re mocking me. The twinkling lights of the tree reflect in the window, blurring with the falling snow outside. It’s beautiful, I have to admit, but it no longer fills me with the warmth it once did.

A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. I consider ignoring it, but the knocking persists, growing more insistent. With a sigh, I heave myself off the couch and make my way to the door.

“Rebecca,” I say flatly as I open it, not at all surprised to see my overly cheerful neighbor standing there, a bright smile on her face despite the cold. Apparently, she doesn’t know how to use a cell phone.

“Chloe.” she exclaims, her breath visible in the frosty air. “I’m so glad I caught you. I need a huge favor.”

I raise an eyebrow, already feeling myself being pulled into whatever scheme Rebecca has cooked up. “Rebecca, I’m leaving in a few hours. My flight—“

“I know, I know,” she interrupts, her eyes pleading. “But this won’t take long, I promise. We need help with the Last Day of School Christmas party at the elementary school. Mrs. Carson came down with the flu, and we’re short-handed. Please, Chloe? The kids will be so disappointed if we have to cancel.”

I open my mouth to refuse, but something in Rebecca’s expression stops me. Maybe it’s the sincerity in her eyes, or maybe it’s just that I’m tired of feeling angry and bitter. Whatever it is, I find myself nodding.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “But just for an hour or two. I can’t miss my flight.”

Rebecca’s face lights up like the Christmas tree behind me. “Thank you, Chloe. You’re a lifesaver. I promise you won’t regret this.”

As I grab my coat and follow Rebecca out into the snow-covered street, I can’t help but think that I’m probably going to regret this very much.

The elementary school is a whirlwind of activity when we arrive. The hallways are decked with paper chains and children’s artwork, the scent of sugar cookies and pine needles filling the air. It’s chaos, but there’s a joyful energy to it that even I can’t deny.

“Okay,” Rebecca says, steering me towards a classroom. “You’ll be helping in Ms. Carson’s second-grade class. Just keep the kids entertained, help with the gift exchange, that sort of thing. You’ll do great.”

Before I can protest, she’s gone, leaving me standing in front of a door decorated with construction paper reindeer and snowflakes. Taking a deep breath, I push it open.

Twenty pairs of eyes turn to look at me as I enter. The classroom is a riot of red and green, with twinkling lights strung across the ceiling and a small Christmas tree in the corner. The kids are seated at their desks, which are covered in glitter and half-finished crafts.

“Um, hello,” I say, feeling wildly out of my depth. “I’m Ms. Anderson. I’ll be helping with your party today.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a little girl in the front row pipes up. “Are you a Christmas angel?”

I blink, taken aback. “What? No, I’m just... I’m a friend of Ms. Carson’s.” The lie feels strange on my tongue, but I figure it’s easier than explaining the truth.

“Oh,” the girl says, looking a bit disappointed. “Well, can you do magic?”

A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. “Sorry, no magic. But I hear we have some fun activities planned. Shall we get started?”

The next hour passes in a blur of activity. We play “Pin the Nose on Rudolph,” decorate cookies, and sing carols. I’m surprised to find that I remember most of the words, memories of childhood Christmases with my grandmother surfacing unbidden.

As we’re cleaning up from the cookie decorating, a small hand tugs on my sleeve. I look down to see the same little girl from earlier, her big brown eyes serious.

“Ms. Anderson,” she says solemnly, “I made this for you.” She holds out a slightly misshapen cookie, covered in a mountain of sprinkles and icing.

For a moment, I’m speechless. “For me?” I finally manage. “But... why?”

She shrugs, a gap-toothed smile spreading across her face. “Because you looked sad when you came in. Mommy says cookies make everything better.”

I take the cookie carefully, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in my chest. “Thank you,” I say softly. “That’s very kind of you.”

The little girl beams at me before skipping off to join her friends. I stand there, holding the cookie, feeling like something fundamental has shifted inside me.

As the party winds down and the kids start to leave, their backpacks bulging with crafts and treats, I find myself lingering. The classroom is a mess of glitter and paper scraps, but there’s a cozy, lived-in feel to it that reminds me of my grandmother’s house during the holidays.

I tidy up, gathering scraps of wrapping paper and wiping down desks. As I work, my mind wanders back over the past few weeks in Benton Falls. The tree lighting ceremony, volunteering at the book fair, ice skating with Oliver...

Oliver. The thought of him sends a pang through my chest. But it’s not the sharp, angry pain of the past two days. It’s softer somehow, tinged with regret and a wistfulness I’m not quite ready to examine.

I pick up a crayon drawing left behind on one desk. It shows a stick figure family standing in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by presents. “My Family” is scrawled across the top in wobbly letters.

Something about the simple drawing catches at my heart. I think about the little girl with the cookie, about how easily she offered kindness to a stranger. I think about Oliver, and how he puts his whole heart into everything he does, whether it’s running his store or organizing a toy drive.

And suddenly, with a clarity that takes my breath away, I realize I don’t want to go back to who I was before Benton Falls. The thought of returning to my cold, efficient life in Boston, where success is measured in dollars and cents rather than in smiles and acts of kindness, feels impossibly bleak.

I sink into one of the tiny chairs, the crayon drawing still in my hand. The past 48 hours have been miserable, yes, but not because of Benton Falls or Oliver or Christmas. They’ve been miserable because I’ve been fighting against the person I’ve become, trying to force myself back into a mold that no longer fits.

“Oh,” I breathe, the realization hitting me like a physical force. “Oh, I’ve been such an idiot.”

“Everything okay in here?” Rebecca’s voice from the doorway makes me jump.

I look up at her, feeling dazed. “I... I don’t think I can go back to Boston,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Rebecca’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? What changed your mind?”

I gesture helplessly around the classroom, at the remnants of the party, at the crayon drawing still clutched in my hand. “All of this. These kids, this town... I’ve changed, Rebecca. I don’t want to be that cold, hard businesswoman anymore. I want to be someone who makes cookies for sad strangers and organizes toy drives and... and believes in the magic of Christmas.”

A slow smile spreads across Rebecca’s face. “Well,” she says softly, “it sounds like you’ve had quite the epiphany.”

I nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I have. But I don’t know what to do now. I’ve messed things up so badly with Oliver...”

Rebecca comes to sit beside me, somehow folding her long legs under the tiny desk. “Chloe,” she says gently, “the beautiful thing about Christmas is that it’s a time for new beginnings. For forgiveness and hope. It’s not too late to make things right.”

I look at her, really look at her, and for a moment, I could swear there’s something... different about her. A soft glow, maybe, or a depth to her eyes that I’ve never noticed before. But then I blink, and she’s just Rebecca again, smiling at me encouragingly.

“You really think so?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.

Rebecca nods firmly. “I know so. But Chloe, this has to be about more than just Oliver. This has to be about you, about the person you want to be.”

Her words resonate deeply within me. She’s right, I realize. This isn’t just about salvaging a romance or fitting into a small town. It’s about becoming the person I’ve caught glimpses of over the past few weeks—someone kinder, more open, more willing to give of herself.

“You’re right,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “I need to do this for me. Even if things don’t work out with Oliver, even if I end up going back to Boston eventually, I want to be different. Better.”

Rebecca’s smile is radiant. “That’s the spirit. Now, what do you say we finish cleaning up here, and then we can brainstorm about your next steps?”

As we work, chatting and laughing, I feel a lightness in my chest—something akin to anticipation.

By the time we finish, the classroom is spotless, and I have the beginnings of a plan forming in my mind. It’s not much – just a few ideas about how to show Oliver I’m sincere, but it’s a start.

As we leave the school, the winter sun is already setting, casting long shadows across the snow-covered playground and my plane back to Boston is long gone. The air nips with cold. In the distance, I can hear the faint sound of carolers.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” I say as we pause at the school gates. “For dragging me here today, for everything.”

She waves off my thanks with a laugh. “That’s what friends are for. Now, go on. You’ve got some Christmas magic to make happen.”

As I walk back towards my grandmother’s house, my mind is whirling with plans and possibilities. The twinkling lights of Benton Falls seem brighter somehow, more welcoming. Or maybe it’s just that I’m finally seeing them – really seeing them – for the first time.

I pause on the bridge over the Bedford River, looking out at the town spread before me. The courthouse clock chimes the hour, its sound carrying clearly in the still evening air. Somewhere in that sea of lights is Oliver, going about his evening, probably still hurt and angry.

“I’m going to make this right,” I whisper into the night. “I’m going to be better. For me, for Oliver, for this town. I promise.”

And as I stand there, snow falling gently around me, I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time: hope. Pure, unbridled hope for the future, for the person I’m becoming.

I take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. It feels cleansing somehow, like I’m breathing in the spirit of Christmas itself. As I exhale, I let go of the last vestiges of my old self – the cynicism, the fear, the need for control.

Tomorrow is a new day. A day to make amends, to build the life I want, to embrace the magic of Christmas that I’ve been fighting against for so long.

With a smile on my face and a spring in my step, I head home. Not to Boston, not to my old life, but to the cozy bungalow that’s become more of a home to me in a few short weeks than my sleek city apartment ever was.

As I walk, I hum “Silent Night” under my breath. Christmas concerts must be contagious.