The theater lights pulsed once, and somewhere in the rafters, I swear I heard my grandfather's laugh.
Chapter three
Alex
At Holly's shop, I'd convinced myself I was in town only to observe, offering a few notes before moving on. When I arrived at the theater, I'd planned to keep that same professional distance.
But two hours into rehearsal, I sat in the darkened theater watching Ben work on his department store window display, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so settled in my own skin.
He moved with measured precision, adding delicate scrollwork that transformed plywood and paint into something that could have graced Fifth Avenue. His level of craftsmanship didn't belong in community theater. Neither did the way my pulse jumped when his forearms flexed as he lifted a particularly ornate piece into position.
The overhead lights brightened slightly, warming from white to amber. I shifted in my seat, and it creaked, sounding like contentment.
"You can come closer, you know," Ben called out without turning around. "The view's better from up here."
Heat crept up the back of my neck. "I wouldn't want to disturb your process."
"You've been mentally restaging the entire show for the past hour." He glanced back with a lopsided smile. "I saw you waving your hands, marking choreography in the air."
Before I could formulate a response, the stage door flew open. Cold air swept in along with chattering voices and the screech of winter boots on wood.
"I'm telling you, Charice, this time I've got it down." A man in an impeccably tailored alpaca coat strode in, gesturing dramatically. "I've been practicing my romantic declarations in the mirror."
The woman beside him wore scrubs decorated with prancing reindeer. Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "Is that why the nurses' station reported strange noises from the supply closet during your lunch break?"
"I was working on my projection!" He clutched his chest in mock offense.
"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" She nudged him with her elbow. "Next time, warn us before you start emoting. Ellie thought someone was having a cardiac event."
Jack Frost looked nothing like the uptight high school student I remembered from a Christmas party years ago—all expensive sweaters and grand ambition. This version wore his stylish coat with careless ease, and his smile reached his eyes. I recognized Charice, too, though we'd never been close. She'd been a few years ahead of me in school, always laughing, always kind to the theater kids when others weren't.
I recognized the familiar energy of pre-rehearsal ritual, but something was different here. No subtle jockeying for position and no backhanded compliments masked as concern: only warmth and terrible jokes.
Ben's quiet chuckle drew my attention back to the stage. He'd moved on to another piece, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. "The leads finally made it. Mrs. Brubaker runs chorus rehearsals first—gets the big ensemble numbers blocked before adding the principals. Keeps things from getting too chaotic."
"Smart." I glanced at my watch, right on schedule.
"Jack fell in love with Noel North and never looked back," Ben continued, gesturing toward where Jack was now dramatically removing his coat. "Best thing that ever happened to him. Charice has been the head nurse in the children's wing for years—keeps both of them grounded."
"Jack's father still owns half the East Coast?"
"Yeah. Fortunately, Jack's nothing like him." Ben's hands remained steady on his work. "Pretty sure he spends more time reading to kids than reviewing contracts these days."
Another blast of winter air announced Noel's arrival. He carried the famous Santa coat I remembered from my childhood, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed—flannel shirt untucked, dark hair mussed, scruffy beard framing a face that showed equal parts grief and determination.
"Sorry, I'm late." He draped the red coat over a chair with evident reverence. "Mom found another box of Dad's old performance notes."
Something in his voice struck me in the gut—genuine emotion without performance. Ben set down his tools. "Any good tips?"
"Mostly reminders to listen more than talk." Noel smiled. "And something about never promising specific presents, which would have been helpful before Shane asked for a live penguin last year."
The work lights flickered, and I heard distant laughter in the rafters. The same sound I'd heard yesterday when Ben had unconsciously carved my face into the Victorian scrollwork. Thatpiece sat on his worktable now, and every time I looked at it, the wood seemed to glow.
As if reading my thoughts, Ben caught my eye. His hand rested on the carved piece, thumb tracing the lines of my jaw. The wood warmed visibly under his touch, and the stage lights pulsed once.
"Places for the toy department scene!" Mrs. Brubaker's voice cut through the moment. She'd traded her turquoise glasses for serious spectacles on a chain. "Jack, Charice—let's see what you've been practicing."
Jack bounded onto the stage with puppy-like enthusiasm. "Ready to be swept off your feet, mon cheri?"
