"Not the same way. But different can be okay too." He squeezed gently. "The valley has a way of showing you what you need, if you're ready."
We reached Grandma's Victorian. The gingerbread trim glowed with tiny lights pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.
"Here you go." Ben set my bag down but didn't let go of my hand. "Railing looks good."
We stood there, snowflakes drifting around us, his hand warm in mine.
"Thanks for everything," I said.
"See you tomorrow?" He rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb, and I wondered whether he could feel my pulse racing. "Just so you know—nobody in this town will think you failed. We'll think you're human. That's allowed."
"Yes, I'll make a quick stop."
He was so close that his breath misted with mine. "See you at seven. Fair warning: Greta's cinnamon rolls are enchanted. You eat one, you'll never want to leave Yuletide Valley again."
"Enchanted rolls?"
"Everything here is, during the Twelve Nights." His smile was soft. "The valley's been waiting for you, Alex. I think maybe I have too."
Before I could process that, he squeezed my hand and turned back toward Holly's shop. He walked away, leaving tracks that glowed faintly in the moonlight.
Chapter two
Ben
The theater was still dark when I arrived at 6:30, my breath misting in the cold morning air. I'd been up since five, replaying the warmth of Alex's hand in mine and how the streetlights had glowed brighter as we passed.
I flipped on the workshop lights, and the old building seemed to sigh with contentment. After ten years of restoration work, I'd learned the Yuletide Valley Theater had moods. During the Twelve Nights, it had opinions.
This morning, it was expectant.
The theater was always opinionated during the Twelve Nights, but this year it felt downright driven.
Maybe it knew how much was riding on the performance.
The hospital fundraiser show always mattered, but the pediatric wing needed new equipment, and Charice had been working herself half to death to make sure we hit our numbers.
Kids deserved something bright in midwinter.
Maybe that's why the theater felt restless—like it wanted everything perfect.
I'd told myself I'd come in early to finish the Macy's storefront facade. That's what I'd told Holly when she'd texted at midnight asking if I was "prepared for tomorrow." But as I ran my hand over the pine boards, feeling the grain beneath my fingers, I knew I was really here because Alex Garland was coming at seven, and I wanted everything to be perfect.
Maybe I was being a little ridiculous. He was only observing. No promises, he'd said.
The wood warmed under my palm, and I thought I heard my grandfather's voice:The valley knows what it wants, Benny. And what the valley wants, it keeps.
"Not helping, Grandpa," I muttered.
I made coffee in the ancient percolator backstage—the one that only worked during the Christmas season and produced the best coffee I'd ever tasted despite its ancient age. As it bubbled and hissed, I checked my work from yesterday.
The storefront was coming together nicely. I'd hand-carved the Art Deco details to match the Macy's Department Store of the 1940s, the setting ofMiracle on 34th Street. Each rosette and every bit of scrollwork required patience and precision.
My phone buzzed.
Holly:He's nervous. Be gentle.
Ben:When am I not gentle?
