I studied my changed silhouette. The coat, despite needing minor adjustments, enhanced my dancer's frame, making it more substantial. My usual sharp angles softened under the rich fabric. Even my face looked different—less guarded and more open. The man in the mirror still had my features, but the coat stripped away my carefully maintained Broadway polish, revealing something more authentic.
"It feels like a possibility." My words surprised me. "Terrifying possibility."
"Good terror or bad terror?"
I turned sideways, watching how the coat moved with me. "Ask me in six days."
Ben stepped closer, adjusting the coat's collar. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "You understand how to create moments people remember forever. That's what Santa does."
"It's not the same as performing."
"No." His hands rested on my shoulders. "It's more important."
I looked at his reflection in the mirror. "What if I let them down? Marcus, the other kids—what if I freeze up again?"
"It's not the time to borrow trouble." He reached for the hat. "What if you create something new while honoring what came before? Like me restoring an old rocking horse—keeping its heart while giving it fresh life."
The hat settled onto my head. Noel's words echoed:Maybe the suit's been waiting for your version.
"I still think this is crazy." I straightened the coat. "But I'll try. For Marcus and the others. And..." I turned to face Ben directly. "And because apparently everyone in this town can see something I can't."
His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Maybe you're too close to it."
"Don't get philosophical on me. I'm already overwhelmed."
"Fair enough." He straightened my lapels. "Though maybe we should practice your 'Ho Ho Ho' somewhere private until you've got it down."
"Oh, man." I dropped my head onto his shoulder, breathing in the comforting scents of sawdust and cedar. "What am I getting myself into?"
His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Something worth building. The best projects always scare you a little at the start."
After the others had gone and the theater fell quiet, I stood alone in the dressing room, staring at my reflection and the ridiculous white beard dangling from my fingers.
"Need help with that?" Ben's voice startled me. He leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, sawdust still clinging to his forearms.
"I look like a joke." I held up the beard. "It keeps tilting sideways, and the elastic catches in my hair, and—"
"Here." He crossed the room and took the beard from my trembling fingers. "Turn around."
The mirror reflected our positions—Ben standing close behind me, his height allowing him to see clearly over my shoulder. His hands were steady as he positioned the beard.
"The trick is to anchor it here first." His fingers brushed my temple as he adjusted the elastic. "Then let it settle naturally."
"Nothing feels natural about this."
"You're fighting it." His breath warmed my neck. "Like you fight everything that scares you."
"I'm not scared." My voice wavered and betrayed me.
"No?" He reached around to straighten the beard's front, his chest pressing briefly against my back. "Could have fooled me."
I tried to focus on my reflection rather than on Ben's proximity. "It's still crooked."
"Because you keep tugging at it. Here..." His hands covered mine, guiding them away from the beard. "Let it be for a minute."
We stood frozen in that position—his fingers weaving together with mine and my back almost but not quite touching his chest. The air was electric, like the moment before a stage light flares to life.
"Ben..." I turned my head slightly, and his face was right there, inches from mine. The slight scruff along his jaw caught the light, and I wondered how it would feel against my skin. His gaze dropped to my mouth. I forgot how to breathe.
