"That's not fair."
"Then prove me wrong." He wiped his hands on a shop cloth. "Two hours. That's all I'm asking."
I glanced at my watch—7:15. The weight of Ben's quiet challenge pressed against my practiced defenses. "Fine. Two hours. But I'm not promising anything."
Those two hours crawled by while Ben worked on the rocking horse, and I pretended to review the stage blocking. My thoughts kept drifting to the Santa suit hanging in Noel's dressing room—and to Marcus, the quiet boy with the IV pole who'd told everyone at the hospital that Santa was coming to see him.
At precisely nine, voices drifted in from the theater proper. Mrs. Brubaker's distinctive alto carried down the hallway, followed by Holly's chiming bracelets.
"Time to face the music." Ben set his tools down carefully. "In this case, it might be 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town.'"
"Not helping."
The main theater felt cavernous, with only five people clustered around the front row. Jack paced between seats while Charice perched on the edge of the stage. Holly had claimed an aisle seat, her patchwork skirt pooling around her feet.
"Alex!" Mrs. Brubaker smiled broadly. "We were hoping you'd come."
I tried to fade into the shadows, but Ben's solid presence at my shoulder propelled me forward. "How's Noel doing?"
"Frustrated but fine." Charice uncrossed her arms. "He needs to stay off the leg completely for the next few days. He'll likely still be on crutches Christmas Eve, which means he can't do the physical blocking for Santa's scenes."
"We've talked through options," Mrs. Brubaker continued. "Canceling would devastate the hospital children's wing—they depend on this fundraiser. And we can't postpone so close to the holiday."
My throat tightened. "There must be other options. Other people."
"We've been through the list," Jack said, slipping into lawyer mode. "Frank Morrison has the beard for it, but he freezes up around children. Exposed himself during the Easter egg hunt."
"He fainted," Charice corrected. "He didn't expose himself."
"Same thing." Jack waved a hand. "Dave Jensen would be perfect except he's Jewish and feels weird about it—his words. The Hendricks twins insisted on playing Santa as a duo, and we still haven't figured out the logistics of that."
"Or the theology," Holly murmured.
"And Mayor Thompson—"
"Campaign speech," everyone said in unison.
"The man brought a podium to the Halloween parade," Charice added. "He gave a fifteen-minute stump speech about candy corn."
Despite everything, I laughed. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly.
"So you see the problem," Mrs. Brubaker said, but her eyes were warm. "We need someone who already knows the show. Someone the cast trusts. Someone who's already connected with those kids."
"As you did with Marcus," Ben said quietly beside me. "When you taught him to dance with his IV pole."
The memory surfaced—Marcus's face lighting up when he realized he could move and be part of the show despite the tubes and the exhaustion.
"That was different," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
"Was it?" Holly leaned forward. "He's been telling everyone at the hospital that Santa is coming to see him. He's counting the days."
I thought of Marcus clutching that dog-eared script, barely speaking when he'd arrived at the theater. He had a breakthrough when he mirrored my movements. I remembered the sound of his laugh echoing through the space.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do." I stood and began to back away from the group. "But I'm not the right choice. I'm due back in New York soon—"
"For what?" Ben's voice was edgy. "Ice skating with Jared? Your sublet doesn't end until February. Your agent told you to take time off." He stepped closer, not letting me retreat. "Alex, you've got every excuse lined up except a real reason to leave."
The stage door creaked open.
