Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 17

Seventeen

CHLOE

I hunker down in my scarf as I make my way towards the Community Christmas Market. Snowflakes dance in the glow of the street lamps, dusting my coat with a fine layer of white. The scent of roasting nuts, sweet treats and deep fried yumminess wafts through the air, growing stronger as I approach the park.

My heart beats a little faster as I round the corner and the market comes into view. It reminds me of a winter wonderland, with wooden stalls adorned with twinkling lights and garlands. The cheerful chatter of shoppers and the distant strains of “Jingle Bells” fill the air.

For a moment, I hesitate at the entrance. Just a few days ago, I was ready to leave all this behind. Now, here I am, willingly diving back into the heart of Benton Falls’ Christmas festivities. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the market. Immediately, I’m enveloped in warmth and the spirit of the season. Children laugh as they chase each other between the stalls, their parents calling after them with fond exasperation. Couples walk hand in hand, sipping steaming cups of cocoa. The sense of community is palpable, and I feel a pang in my chest as I realize how close I came to giving this up.

“Chloe,” a familiar voice calls out. I turn to see Maggie, the owner of Sweet Haven Bakery, waving at me from her stall. The aroma of freshly baked gingerbread and apple pie draws me over.

“Maggie.” I greet her with a genuine smile. “Everything smells amazing.”

She beams at me; her round face flushed from the cold and the heat of her portable oven. “Why, thank you, dear. I was worried we wouldn’t see you again after... well, I heard about you and Oliver.”

I feel a twinge of despair at the concern in her voice. “Yeah, but I’m going to fix it,” I assure her. “Benton Falls is... it’s home now.”

The words surprise me as they leave my mouth, but I realize they’re true. Somewhere between the toy drive and Christmas concerts, Oliver and this little town have stolen my heart.

Maggie’s eyes mist over, and before I know it, I’m enveloped in a warm, flour-dusted hug. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad to hear that. Here, have a gingerbread cookie. On the house.”

As I bite into the perfectly spiced cookie, savoring the warmth and sweetness, I spot Mr. Jenkins limping by. His ankle is still bandaged from his fall at the caroling night.

“Mr. Jenkins,” I call out, hurrying over to him. “How are you feeling? Can I help you with anything?”

He looks surprised for a moment, then his face breaks into a kind smile. “Well, if it isn’t our city girl. I’m doing much better, thank you. Just here to pick up some gifts for the grandkids.”

Without thinking, I offer my arm for support. “Let me help you around. It’s the least I can do.”

As we make our way through the market, stopping at various stalls, I’m struck by how easily conversation flows. Mr. Jenkins tells me about his grandchildren, about Christmases in Benton Falls when he was a boy, about the year the whole town came together to rebuild the church after a fire. I hang on every word, soaking in the rich history of this place I now call home.

At the toy stall, run by none other than Oliver’s right-hand man from the department store, Sam. I smile and say hello, but Sam seems happy to help Mr. Jenkins pick out the perfect gifts—a hand-carved wooden train for little Tommy and a beautiful porcelain doll for Sarah. As I reach for my wallet to pay, Mr. Jenkins stops me.

“Now, now,” he says gently. “That’s not necessary. Your company and help are gift enough.”

I feel a longing in my chest to give to this kind man. “Please,” I insist. “Let me do this. Consider it my Christmas gift to you and your grandchildren.”

After a moment, he nods, his eyes twinkling. “Well, if you insist. But you must come over for Christmas dinner then. No arguments.”

As we continue our tour of the market, more and more people stop to chat. Mrs. Thompson from the quilting circle asks my opinion on which fabric to choose for her newest project. The school principal thanks me again for helping at the school. Even little Suzie, the girl who gave me the cookie at the school party, runs up to give me a hug, her mother smiling warmly behind her.

With each interaction, I feel the warmth in my chest grow. This, I realize, is what I’ve been missing all these years. Not just success or achievements, but genuine connections. A sense of belonging.

As we near the reindeer petting zoo, I spot a familiar head of tousled sandy hair. My heart skips a beat.

Oliver.

He’s kneeling beside a little boy, helping him feed the reindeer. The sight of him so gentle and patient makes my heart ache with wanting. As if sensing my gaze, he looks up.

For a moment, our eyes lock. I see a flicker of... something in his hazel eyes. Hurt? Longing? Before I can decipher it, he stands abruptly, mumbles something to the zoo attendant, and walks away.

The pain of his rejection is sharp, but it’s tempered by the understanding I see in Mr. Jenkins’ eyes. “Give him time,” the older man says softly.

Sheesh… the whole town must know what happened.

I nod, blinking back tears. “I know. I just... I wish I could make him understand I was only trying to help.”

Mr. Jenkins pats my hand. “His pride’s taken a hit. He’ll come around.”

As we complete our circuit of the market, I find myself lost in thought. The twinkling lights, the laughter of children, the sense of warmth and belonging — it all seems bittersweet now. I’ve found a home here in Benton Falls, but the one person I want to share it with won’t even look at me.

“Hey,” a cheerful voice breaks through my melancholy. I look up to see Rebecca, her golden hair peeking out from under a festive red hat. “You look a little preoccupied. What are you thinking about?”

“Rebecca,” I greet her, managing a small smile. “I was just... thinking.”

She links her arm through mine, steering me towards a quiet corner of the market. “About Oliver?” she asks gently.

I nod, not trusting my voice. We stop near the ice skating rink, watching as couples and families glide across the ice, their laughter carried on the cold air.

“I saw him earlier,” I admit. “He... he walked away when he saw me.”

Rebecca squeezes my arm sympathetically. “Oh, Chloe. I’m so sorry. But you can’t give up hope. The course of true love never did run smooth, you know.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her dramatic delivery. “Shakespeare? Really?”

She grins, unrepentant. “Hey, the classics are classics for a reason. But seriously, Chloe. Don’t lose heart. What you and Oliver have... it’s special. It’s worth fighting for.”

As I look out over the market, taking in the joy and love that seem to radiate from every corner, I feel a renewed sense of determination. “You’re right,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “I’m not giving up.”

Rebecca beams at me, her smile impossibly bright. “That’s the spirit. Now, what do you say we go check out the ornament stall? I heard they have some beautiful hand-blown glass ones this year.”

As we wander through the market, arm in arm, I truly appreciate the magic of the season for perhaps the first time in my adult life. The way the lights reflect off the snow, creating a warm glow that seems to embrace everything. The sound of carols sung by a group of children, their voices not quite in tune but filled with enthusiasm. The taste of hot mulled cider, spicy and sweet on my tongue.

We stop at a stall selling handmade scarves and gloves. As I run my fingers over the soft wool, an idea begins to form.

“Rebecca,” I say slowly, “do you think the market organizers would let me set up a stall? Not to sell anything, but... to give something back to the community?”

Rebecca’s eyes light up with interest. “I’m sure they would. What did you have in mind?”

I explain my idea, watching as Rebecca’s smile grows wider with each word. By the time I finish, she’s practically bouncing with excitement.

“Chloe, that’s brilliant,” she exclaims. “It’s perfect. Oh, we have to make this happen. Come on, let’s go talk to the organizers right now.”

As we hurry through the market, dodging shoppers and ducking under garlands, I feel a sense of excitement building in my chest. For the first time since my fight with Oliver, I feel truly hopeful. This is my chance to show Benton Falls—to show Oliver—who I really am. Who I want to be.

We find the market coordinator, Mrs. Clausen, near the hot chocolate stand. She listens to my proposal with growing interest, her eyes twinkling.

“Well, Chloe,” she says when I finish, “I think that’s a wonderful idea. We’d be delighted to have you join us. How soon can you be ready?”

I glance at Rebecca, who gives me an encouraging nod. “Tomorrow,” I say firmly. “I can be ready by tomorrow.”

As we leave Mrs. Clausen to make the necessary arrangements, Rebecca turns to me with a grin. “Well, looks like we’ve got a busy night ahead of us. Ready to spread some Christmas cheer, Benton Falls style?”

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”

We spend the rest of the evening planning and preparing, fueled by excitement and more than a little Christmas magic. As the night wears on and our plans take shape, I find myself filled with a sense of purpose I’ve never felt before. This isn’t about business strategies or profit margins. It’s about giving back, about being part of something bigger than myself.

As I finally crawl into bed in the early hours of the morning, exhausted but exhilarated, I send up a silent prayer of thanks. For Rebecca’s friendship, for the warmth of this community, for the chance to become the person I want to be.