A tear ran down his cheek. He grunted and wiped it away roughly. "Sorry. I don't usually—"
I set down my chisel and turned him to face me. "You don't have to apologize for missing someone you loved."
"It's just... everywhere I look in this town, I see her. And it hurts, but it also..." He gestured helplessly. "It helps a little. God, that doesn't make sense."
"Makes perfect sense to me." I brushed sawdust off his cheekbone without thinking. "The hard memories and the good ones, they're cut from the same wood. Can't separate them, even when it aches."
He leaned into my palm slightly. "Do you always talk in carpentry metaphors?"
"Occupational hazard. My grandfather was worse—measured everything in board feet, including his affection." I let my hand drop. "Said love was like dovetail joints. Looks impossible when you're cutting the pieces, but when they slide together just right, nothing can pull them apart."
The side door of the theater banged open.
We jerked apart like teenagers caught making out. My hip slammed into the workbench, scattering wood curls.
"Emergency!" Jack burst in, cashmere coat billowing like he was making a stage entrance. "I need an acting intervention. Charice will be here any minute, and I still can't nail the declaration of love scene without breaking into nervous laughter."
His voice bounced off the domed ceiling and came back amplified. He looked at us and stopped short. "Oh. Am I interrupting?"
"No," Alex said.
"Yes," I said at the same time.
Jack's eyes gleamed. "I'll just—"
Alex cut in. "You'll explain what you need help with. Quickly, because it's after midnight."
"Right. Okay." Jack perched on a sawhorse, nearly tipping it over. "So Charice and I keep cracking up during Fred's big romantic speech. We can't get through it without giggles. The show's in nine days, and we sound like we're performing comedy, not romance."
"Have you tried..." Alex paused. "Never mind. You don't need my input."
"Actually, I absolutely need your Broadway expertise. Please?"
The side door opened again, and Charice appeared in reindeer-covered scrubs, her braids pulled back with a headband that jingled. "I heard wailing from the parking lot. What's Jack destroyed now?"
"My artistic dignity!" He sighed dramatically. "Also, possibly Ben's sawhorse."
"Your artistic dignity will survive." She grinned at us. "Sorry to crash your evening. Jack insisted this couldn't wait."
Holly breezed in through the stage door, arms full of fabric.
"Don't mind me!" She sailed past us toward the costume room. "Dropping off these finished doublets. The velvet finally stopped sulking."
She disappeared into the wings before I could question her statement. It was subtle as a brick through a window, but at least she was gone quickly.
"Please, Alex?" Charice's smile was genuine. "The pediatric ward kids are so excited about this show. I'd hate to disappoint them because we can't stop giggling."
I watched his resistance crumble. "Alright. Show me what you're working with. But Jack? Dial back the hand gestures about eighty percent."
They ran the scene. Jack clutched his heart dramatically while declaring his love for Susan from the toy department. When he compared her eyes to "sparkling cash registers of love," Charice broke down, snorting with laughter.
"See?" Jack threw up his hands. "Impossible."
Alex crossed his arms, studying them. The director took over from the anxious performer. "The problem isn't the words. It's that you're performing the romance rather than the truth beneath. What draws Fred to Susan beyond surface attraction?"
Jack consulted his script. "She... organizes rubber ducks creatively?"
"Work with that. Tell me more, and make it specific."
