Chapter 3 — The Atrium’s Legacy

Claire

Claire Dawson stepped into the Atrium, her low heels clicking against the polished tile floor as the faint scent of cinnamon and pine drifted through the air. She paused, scanning the space before her. The grand Christmas tree stood unadorned at the center of the mall, its towering height a silent challenge. The evergreen branches, though lush and fragrant, looked strangely bare under the glow of the ceiling’s suspended snowflake decorations. A single bulb flickered above, a small, nagging sign of the mall’s gradual decline.

Claire’s fingers instinctively brushed the smooth leather cover of her planner, tucked neatly under her arm, seeking the structure and direction it promised. Around her, the mall hummed with subdued energy. Though shoppers passed by, their voices were soft and distracted, their footsteps echoing in the half-empty food court. Vendors greeted customers with forced cheer, and a faint clatter of trays underscored the lack of the usual holiday bustle. The Atrium, usually the heart of the mall’s festive spirit, felt as though it were holding its breath, waiting for someone to bring it to life again.

She squared her shoulders. *There’s no time for doubt. It’ll be fine. It has to be fine.*

“Claire! Over here!” Maggie’s bright voice jolted her from her thoughts, cutting through the quiet like a jingle bell in a still forest. Claire turned to see her colleague bounding toward her, her candy-cane-striped earmuffs jingling with each enthusiastic step. Strands of tinsel dangled from Maggie’s arms, and a streak of glitter sparkled across her cheek, as though she’d been caught in the middle of an explosion at a craft store.

“What do you think?” Maggie asked breathlessly, flinging her arms wide to present the Atrium. “Isn’t it just... ripe with potential?”

Claire raised a skeptical eyebrow as her hazel eyes scanned the space critically. The garlands draped along the second-floor railings were uneven, one end dangling precariously like a half-hearted afterthought. A nearby kiosk had a single red bow taped haphazardly to its counter, the adhesive already curling at the edges. A faint sigh escaped her lips.

“‘Potential’ isn’t quite the word I’d use,” Claire replied, her tone clipped, though not unkind. “This needs more than potential, Maggie. It needs focus, execution, and—” she tapped her planner lightly for emphasis, “a plan.”

“I know, I know,” Maggie said hastily, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “But imagine it! Lights twinkling, music playing, kids giggling while Captain Noel waves his candy cane cane from his sleigh! It’ll be amazing once we’re done with it!” Her eyes sparkled with hope. “You can see it, right?”

Claire tightened her grip on her planner. She could see it, but only in fragments—a glittering Atrium bustling with families, laughter, and joy. A place where people would gather, lured away from their laptops and drawn back into the heart of the community. But seeing the finished product wasn’t the same as knowing how to achieve it. And the clock was already ticking.

“Let’s start by fixing what’s wrong,” Claire said briskly. She flipped open her planner, her pen gliding across the page as she began jotting notes. “The tree looks sparse without lights or ornaments. We’ll need to adjust the garlands on the upper level—”

“Or we could do something completely unexpected,” a new voice interjected, casual and confident. Claire didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Ryan Cooper’s voice carried that same easy charm that had grated on her nerves since their first meeting.

She glanced up, and there he was, striding toward them with his effortless air of nonchalance. His scarf hung loosely around his neck, and he held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other tucked into his jeans pocket. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, as though he were already amused by the conversation he’d just walked into.

“This isn’t the time for ‘unexpected,’” Claire said sharply, her words cutting through his smirk. “We’re already behind.”

“Behind on what, exactly?” Ryan countered, gesturing toward the barren tree. “Because from where I’m standing, there’s no harm in rethinking the whole approach. That thing doesn’t need ornaments—it needs a story. Something people will talk about, something that’ll make them whip out their phones and post all over social media.”

Claire raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you have this miracle story in mind, or was that rhetorical flair?”

Ryan’s gaze wandered, his expression softening as his eyes landed on the fountain at the base of the tree. “I might,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. He crossed the space and crouched beside the fountain, his fingers brushing the water’s surface.

Claire watched, curious despite herself, as he fished out a single copper coin and held it up.

“Do you know what this fountain symbolizes?” Ryan asked, his tone low but intent. “People used to believe in this place. In this mall. Every coin in here is a wish someone made—Christmas wishes, birthday wishes, first-date wishes. This fountain was magic to them.”

The words struck a chord Claire hadn’t expected. Her gaze fell to the fountain, its surface rippling gently under the glint of scattered coins. A memory surfaced, vivid and unbidden: her father’s hand on her shoulder as they stood by this very fountain, his voice warm and steady. *“You have to believe in the magic, Claire-bear. That’s the only way wishes come true.”*

Her chest tightened, and she looked away, blinking hard. She couldn’t afford to dwell on that—not now.

“And what exactly does that have to do with the tree?” she asked, her tone guarded.

Ryan straightened, the coin still resting in his palm as he turned back to face her. “It means we don’t just decorate the tree. We make it about the wishes. We hang ornaments shaped like coins, inscribed with the word ‘Believe.’ We put up a sign inviting people to toss a coin and make a wish. We turn it into something personal, something people will remember.”

Maggie clapped her hands, her earmuffs jingling. “Oh, I *love* that! We could tie it into the Holiday Magic Zones, make it part of a scavenger hunt or something. Kids could collect little wish tokens!”

Claire frowned, her mind already dissecting the idea for flaws. “It’s charming, but it’s also a logistical nightmare. Custom ornaments take time to order, and we’re already working with a tight deadline. Not to mention the cost.”

Ryan shrugged, his confidence undimmed. “Sure, it’s ambitious. But isn’t that the point? If we just slap a string of lights on this thing and call it a day, we’ll have a decorated tree—not a reason for people to come back.”

Maggie tilted her head. “He’s got a point, Claire.”

Claire exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around her planner. The idea was risky—too risky for her liking. But as she looked at the fountain and the glinting coins beneath the water, she couldn’t shake the sense that Ryan’s vision held a spark of something real. Maybe, just maybe, the mall needed more than precision and efficiency. Maybe it needed belief.

“Fine,” she said finally, snapping her planner shut. “We’ll test it. But if it doesn’t work—”

“It’ll work,” Ryan interrupted, his smirk returning. “Just give me a chance.”

Claire bit back a retort and turned on her heel. “Maggie, make a note of what we’ll need for the ornaments. And Ryan?” She glanced over her shoulder. “I hope your creative genius extends to staying within budget.”

“Always does,” he said lightly, tossing the coin back into the fountain. It hit the water with a soft plink, rippling outward.

As Claire walked away, her mind racing with adjustments to the plan, she didn’t notice Ryan lingering by the fountain. He stared at the ripples for a long moment, his fingers brushing his pocket where a second coin rested, warm and weighty against his palm.

*Believe in magic,* the words on the coin whispered. And for the first time in a long while, Ryan thought he just might.