When I reached the theater, I spotted Ben balanced precariously on a ladder, his flannel shirt and aviator jacket riding up to reveal a strip of skin above his worn jeans. I forced myself to look away and focus on the theater's facade instead.
He called down to me. "Sorry, replacing a chunk of missing mortar. We should have it tuck-pointed in the spring." Hisbreath formed clouds in the cold air, but they didn't dissipate—they rose in lazy spirals, catching the light like tiny galaxies.
After Ben climbed down, he led the way inside. The stage door creaked open, and warmth enveloped me—a welcome from the building itself.
"Felt that?" Ben asked, reading my expression. "The theater's happy to see you. Mrs. Brubaker says it's been lonely since your grandmother stopped coming."
I spotted two steaming cups of coffee on his sawhorse table. I wrapped my hands around one of them. It was still warm. The candy cane peppermint was prominent, but I also tasted hints of vanilla and cinnamon. "Okay, you weren't exaggerating about this coffee. How does she do it?"
"How does she do anything?" Ben grinned. "I've told Noel I think his aunt is part alien, but he insists she learned most of her skills on a month-long retreat in the mountains of Mexico. Personally, I think the valley taught her."
He gestured to an electronic board resting on another pair of sawhorses. "We lost our lighting guru last spring. He moved to San Francisco, and I told myself it couldn't be too difficult. I underestimated his talent. The new LED system is giving me fits—though sometimes I swear the lights know what they want better than I do."
As if in response, the stage lights flickered once.
Before I could examine the equipment, a blast of winter air announced Charice's arrival, along with what sounded like an entire elementary school. Five kids in various stages of recovery burst through the stage door, their excitement cutting through my professional detachment like a spotlight. Snowflakes clung to their coats and hats.
"Sorry, we're early!" Charice adjusted her scrubs—decorated with Mrs. Claus in various poses and expressions today. "Someone couldn't wait another minute to see the theater." Shesmiled at a girl with a bright purple knit cap who practically vibrated with energy.
"Is that where the department store scene goes?" The girl pointed at Ben's half-finished display. "In the movie, Macy's was way bigger."
Charice placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Rachel's our resident expert on all thingsMiracle on 34th Street. She's watched the original ten times and the remake eight times since being admitted to the hospital."
Rachel corrected her. "Nineteen times total. The nurses let me stay up late last night."
I backed toward the relative safety of the curtain at one side of the stage, but a slight movement caught my eye. Behind the others, a boy of maybe seven hung back, one hand gripping his IV pole while the other clutched a dog-eared script. The ghost light brightened slightly near him, as if trying to draw him forward.
Charice noticed. She was impressively aware of her surroundings. "That's Marcus. He hasn't said much since starting treatment, but he insisted on coming today."
Marcus stared intently at the stage floor. I remembered being his age, believing theaters were doorways to another world. Still might be in Yuletide Valley. I stepped closer. "Want to see something cool?"
Marcus gave a tiny nod without looking up.
"See that spot right there?" I pointed to center stage, where the floorboards seemed to glow slightly warmer than the rest. "It's called the sweet spot. Everything you say or do there looks a little bit more magical. Like this..."
I stepped into position, muscle memory taking over. I executed a simple turn and jazz square, barely more than a warmup move. The lights brightened as I moved, following me. Marcus's grip on his IV pole loosened slightly.
"Want to try? Nothing fancy—follow what I do."
His eyes finally met mine. "I'm not very good at moving anymore. Since the medicine."
"Then we'll invent our own style." I modified the step so he could manage it with the pole. "See? Sometimes the best moves come from working with what you've got."
He mirrored my movement, shaky but determined. When I added a simple arm flourish, his face lit up as the stage lights caught his gesture.
"Perfect!" My practiced reserve cracked as he found his rhythm. "Now try it with a little attitude. Show us you own this whole theater."
"Look!" Rachel called to the others. "Marcus is dancing!"
Instead of shrinking from the attention, Marcus squared his slim shoulders and repeated the sequence. The other kids gathered to watch, and soon an impromptu dance class formed. Even Charice joined in, her scrubs swishing as she attempted a somewhat unsteady pirouette.
Above us, the lights shifted and dimmed and brightened, painting the kids in colors that made them look healthy and whole. When Marcus laughed, the sound echoed through the space, multiplying and harmonizing with itself like a choir.
I caught Ben watching from the wings, that soft smile playing on his lips. The warmth in his eyes made something flutter in my chest. I looked away quickly, suddenly aware I'd let my guard down completely.
Charice gathered the kids near the edge of the stage. "Who wants to hear about the time Santa visited the pediatric ward?"
While she launched into her story, I tried to slip away, but Ben's quiet voice stopped me.
