We lay there as the workshop settled into night around us. Ben's hands moved in slow patterns across my back, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
"Alex." His voice was quiet.
"Hmm?"
A long pause. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek.
"Last night. Your grandmother's house." He cleared his throat. "The lasagna."
I lifted my head. "What about it?"
"I meant what I said. About layers. About..." He trailed off momentarily. "I'm good with things that take time. Projects that need patience."
I saw uncertainty in his eyes. This wasn't a speech he'd prepared. He was building it as he went, the way he'd make a joint: carefully, testing each piece before committing.
"Your life's in New York. I know that." His fingers rested on my shoulder blades. "Career. People. Fifteen years of... everything."
"But?"
He took a breath. Tried again. "The way you've been here. With the show. The kids." Another pause. "With me."
I waited.
"It's like watching wood that's been painted over for years. And then you strip it back, and there's this..." He made a frustrated sound. "I'm not saying this right."
"You're saying it fine."
"I'm saying stay." The word came out rough. "Not tonight. I mean—yes, tonight, but also..." He swallowed. "Stay in Yuletide Valley. With me."
My heart fluttered.
"I know it's a lot," he added quickly. "Thousand reasons it doesn't make sense. Your sublet, your agent, your friend, andall of it. I'm not asking you to decide anything, but please think about it. What we could build. If you wanted to."
I stared at him—the man who'd sat in a dusty prop room and whittled cherry wood while I fell apart and who'd carved my face into Victorian scrollwork without meaning to.
"Three nights," I said finally.
"What?"
"There are three nights until the show. Christmas Eve." I shifted to face him properly, our bodies still intertwined. "Ask me again after. When I've done this thing—really done it, not merely survived a run-through. When I know if I can be the person these kids need, or if I'm only playing another role."
Ben studied my face for a long moment. "That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either. It's me being honest about where I am." I touched his jaw. "Which is further than I thought I'd ever get."
He smiled. "I can work with that."
I pressed my face into his neck, breathing in sawdust, cedar, and the lingering scent of sex.
"Those hints Holly keeps dropping," I murmured against his skin. "About your family. The craftsman's marks shaped like hoofprints. The sleigh bells that ring on windless nights."
"What about them?"
"Are they true?"
A long silence. Then: "Yes."
I waited for more, but Ben only held me tighter.
