"She arranges them like they're having adventures. Little duck families on vacation, ducks having tea parties..." Jack's face lit up. "Fred loves how she makes ordinary things magical."
"There!" Alex's enthusiasm erupted out of him. "And what does Susan love about Fred?"
Charice caught on immediately. "He gets excited about quarterly reports because he sees stories in the numbers, not merely data."
"Exactly. Play that connection. The romance grows from recognizing each other."
They reran it. This time, Jack's over-the-top declarations translated into genuine warmth. When he noticed Susan's duck display, he expressed real delight. Charice responded to his enthusiasm naturally, and suddenly they weren't actors performing—they were Fred and Susan, finding each other.
"That's it!" Alex glowed. "See how much stronger it is when it's rooted in truth?"
"Like you and Noel, Jack," I added. "Channel that energy."
Jack flushed. "I don't know what you—"
"Please." Charice rolled her eyes. "You practically float when he's around. The nurses take bets on how long it will take for your feet to touch the ground."
"I hate you both," Jack muttered behind a smile.
They ran it once more, and the scene sang.
"You're brilliant," Charice told Alex, squeezing his arm. "Thank you."
"I only gave some basic feedback—"
"You gave us permission to be real." Jack sounded sincere. "That's harder than technical notes."
Alex ducked his head, uncomfortable with the praise.
Charice checked her phone. "I need to get home before my kids wonder if Santa stole their mom. Jack, you want a ride?"
"Sure. Thanks again, Alex." He paused as he headed for the door. "And sorry for interrupting whatever we interrupted."
"We weren't—" Alex started.
"Merry Christmas!" Jack called.
The door closed behind them. Silence settled around us, thick with things unsaid.
Alex busied himself collecting our coffee cups. "I should let you get back to work."
"Or you could stay. Help me finish carving your piece. If you want."
He looked at the trim, then at me. "I want," he said quietly.
We returned to the workbench. This time, when I stood behind him to guide his hands, he leaned back, letting himself relax into my arms.
"Ben, thank you for tonight. For making me feel like maybe I can do this again." He turned slightly, and his face was mere inches from mine. "Direct, I mean. Create things."
"You never stopped being able to," I said. "You only forgot for a while."
"I should go," he whispered.
"Probably," I agreed, not stepping back.
We stood there, caught in an impossible moment, neither of us quite willing to be the one who broke it.
Finally, Alex exhaled and stepped away. The loss of his warmth was like a shower of cold water.
