Alex smoothed the letter carefully. "Those are really thoughtful wishes, Ryan. Should we work on it together? Make sure Santa understands exactly what Marcus needs?"
They settled on a nearby bench while I helped Mike clean up a spilled drink. I couldn't stop watching how Alex listened withhis entire body, and his usual vocal polish transformed into something genuine and tender.
"He's good with kids." Mike followed my gaze. "Charice says the whole cast is different since he started directing. More... real, she said."
"He's good with everyone. He just didn't know it yet."
Ryan's voice carried across the square. "What if we ask Santa to bring Marcus a dragon nightlight? So he won't be scared when it's dark, and he can pretend the dragon is guarding him."
"I think that's perfect." Alex's voice was warm. "And maybe we could ask about something for his ceiling—glow-in-the-dark stars, so he can look up and see something beautiful."
"Yes!" Ryan continued in an excited tone. "And maybe a picture of his dog that he can keep by his bed?"
They bent over the letter together, crafting wishes for a boy who couldn't be here. The carolers shifted to "Deck the Halls," their young voices pure in the cold air.
Alex's phone rang.
He said something brief into the phone, then turned back to Ryan. "Hey, buddy—can you give me just a minute? I need to talk to Ben about something, and then we'll finish the letter together. I promise."
Ryan nodded solemnly. "Okay. I'll work on my spelling. Mom says Santa appreciates good spelling."
Alex crossed to where I stood. Mike had the good sense to suddenly need to check the cocoa supplies at the other end of the booth.
"That was Claire." Alex's voice was low enough that only I could hear. "My agent."
"The one who told you to take time off?"
"Apparently, less than two weeks was enough of a break." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "The director from thatPhantomaudition—the one where I fell apart—saw someregional news piece about me playing Santa here. His parents live nearby and still get the local paper." Alex shook his head. "He wants to give me a second chance. Private audition next week for the touring company."
The festival swirled around us—lights and laughter and the smell of roasting chestnuts. I watched Alex's face for clues about what the call meant.
"That's... that's huge, Alex."
"I know." He reached for my hand and gripped it tight. "A few weeks ago, this kind of opportunity was all I wanted."
"And now?"
He turned to look at Ryan, still bent over his letter with fierce concentration. Beyond the boy, the reindeer pen drew clusters of children, their excited voices carrying in the crisp air.
"Now I'm standing here thinking about Marcus waiting for Santa, and Charlie, who finally believes he can perform, and—" His voice cracked slightly. "And you."
The largest reindeer in the pen lifted his head, dark eyes finding us across the crowded square. Something ancient stirred in my blood—recognition. I pushed the feeling aside. Later.
"What are you going to do?" I kept my voice neutral.
"I don't know yet. I know I won't decide anything until after Christmas Eve." He squeezed my hand. "Until I've kept my promises."
"You don't owe anyone—"
"I owe myself. I need to finish what I started here, not run away because something shinier appeared." He smiled slightly. "Besides, I promised you an answer after the show. Can't very well give you one from a New York audition room."
Relief and fear tangled in my chest. He wasn't leaving—not yet. But the door had opened, and I could feel the draft.
"Come on." Alex tugged me toward Ryan's bench. "I have a letter to help finish. And then—" His eyes drifted to the reindeerpen, where the large buck was still watching us. "Then maybe you can explain why that reindeer is staring at you like you owe him money."
"It's the apples," I said automatically. "I usually carry—"
"Ben, I've watched that animal track every movement of yours since we got here. And I've seen the craftsman's marks in your workshop—the ones shaped like hoofprints." He raised an eyebrow. "Try again."
