Chloe (Angel Institute #4)

Chapter 18

Eighteen

CHLOE

T he next morning dawns bright and cold, the sun glinting off the fresh snow that fell overnight. I’m up with the birds, too excited and nervous to sleep any longer. As I sip my coffee, looking out at the winter wonderland that is Benton Falls, I feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

Today’s the day. The day I show this town—and hopefully, Oliver — that I’m here to stay. That I understand now what it means to be part of a community, to give without expectation of return.

Rebecca arrives just as I’m finishing my second cup of coffee, her arms laden with supplies. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and soon we’re both caught up in a flurry of activity, packing up everything we need for our surprise at the market.

As we make our way to the park, the streets are still quiet. Most of the town is still asleep. But there’s a sense of anticipation in the air, as if Benton Falls itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what the day will bring.

We set up our stall in record time, hanging the banner I stayed up half the night painting: “Chloe’s Christmas Wish.” The table is laden with an assortment of items - gift cards, handmade crafts, toys, and more - all waiting to be given away.

As the market comes to life around us, people gather, curious about the new stall. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come.

“Good morning, everyone,” I say, my voice only slightly shaky. “I’m Chloe Anderson, and I’m here today to grant Christmas wishes. If there’s something you need this holiday season—a gift you can’t afford, a repair you’ve been putting off, or even just a helping hand—I want to help make it happen.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, slowly, people step forward. An elderly woman who needs her roof fixed before winter truly sets in. A young mother who can’t afford a Christmas gift for her son. A teenager who dreams of taking art classes but can’t spare the money.

One by one, I listen to their stories, their wishes, their hopes. And one by one, I do my best to make those wishes come true. Gift cards are distributed, promises of services are made, and slowly, the pile on the table dwindles as the smiles in the crowd grow.

As the day progresses, I notice something strange happening. Little miracles seem to occur all around me, things I can’t quite explain.

When Mrs. Thompson wishes for a specific type of rare wool for her quilting project, a vendor I’ve never seen before appears out of nowhere with exactly what she needs. When little Timmy’s mother mentions he’s always wanted to learn to ice skate but can’t afford lessons, the skating rink manager suddenly shows up, offering free lessons for underprivileged kids.

At first, I chalk it up to the spirit of the season and the generosity of the Benton Falls community. But as these coincidences pile up, I can’t shake the feeling that something more is at play.

I glance at Rebecca, who’s been by my side all day, helping to organize and manage the wish-granting. She has an impish grin on her face, her eyes twinkling with barely contained mischief. Every time one of these little miracles occurs, her smile grows wider.

During a lull in the crowd, I pull her aside. “Rebecca,” I whisper, “what’s going on? How are all these perfect solutions just... appearing out of thin air?”

She blinks at me innocently, but I can see the laughter dancing in her eyes. “Why, whatever do you mean, Chloe? It’s Christmas. Miracles happen, don’t they?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Rebecca, I’m serious. It’s like... it’s like magic or something. Wait a minute...” I trail off, a ridiculous thought forming in my mind. “Are you some kind of... Christmas fairy or something?”

Rebecca bursts out laughing, the sound like tinkling bells. “A Christmas fairy? Oh, Chloe, you have quite the imagination.” She winks at me. “Let’s just say I have some... connections. And leave it at that, shall we?”

Before I can press her further, another person approaches the stall with a wish, and we’re swept back into the whirlwind of giving. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Rebecca than meets the eye.

Throughout the rest of the day, I keep catching glimpses of Rebecca whispering to thin air, or making subtle gestures when she thinks I’m not looking. And each time, another small miracle occurs. A lost heirloom is found. A broken appliance mysteriously starts working again. A long-lost friend suddenly appears in town for a surprise visit.

It’s baffling and wonderful, and just a little terrifying. But as I watch the joy spreading through the market, see the smiles on people’s faces and the tears of happiness in their eyes, I decide maybe it doesn’t matter how these miracles are happening. What matters is that they are happening, and that they’re bringing light and hope to so many people.

As the sun sets and we start packing up the stall, I pull Rebecca into a hug. “I don’t know how you did it,” I murmur, “but thank you. This day... it’s been magical.”

Rebecca hugs me back tightly. “Oh, Chloe,” she says, her voice warm with affection, “the magic was always there. In you, in this town, in the spirit of giving. I just... gave it a little nudge.”

I pull back, studying her face. For a moment, I could swear I see a faint glow around her, like starlight caught in her golden hair. But then I blink, and she’s just Rebecca again, smiling at me with that mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Now,” she says briskly, “let’s finish cleaning up. I have a feeling there’s one more miracle waiting to happen today.”

And sure enough, as we’re putting the last of the boxes away, I hear footsteps approaching. I turn, and my breath catches in my throat. Oliver.

He stops a few feet away, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking uncertain. “Chloe,” he says softly. “I... what you did today. It was incredible.”

Hope blooms in my chest, fragile but undeniable. “Oliver, I—”

He holds up a hand, stopping me. “I’m not saying everything’s okay. We still have a lot to talk about. But... I’d like to hear what you have to say. Maybe over coffee? Tomorrow?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. Oliver gives me a small smile—not the full, warm grin I’ve grown to love, but a start. A promise of possibility.

As he walks away, I turn back to the boxes, my heart lighter than it’s been in days. In that moment, I swear I can feel the spirit of the season all around me.

Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to make things right, to continue becoming the person I want to be. The journey isn’t over yet.

After all, ‘tis the season for miracles.