Holly:With wood, always. With your own heart, never. You need to fix that.
I set the phone down, trying to ignore my racing pulse. The Christmas lights strung throughout the theater flickered, then settled into a warm, steady glow.
At 6:55, I heard the stage door creak. My heart leaped into my throat.
Alex stepped out of the cold morning darkness, snowflakes caught in his dark hair, and cheeks flushed from the walk. He wore a different coat—still expensive, but more casual. It was a shade of forest green that made his eyes look even brighter.
"You're early," I said, then wanted to kick myself. Smooth, Ben.
"So are you." His smile was tentative, but real. "I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about..."
He trailed off, but his gaze dropped to my hands. The same hands that held his last night.
"The theater?" I offered, though we both knew that wasn't what he meant.
"Sure. Let's go with that." His laugh was soft, almost shy. "Something smells amazing."
"Coffee. It's probably magic, and it's caffeinated." I gestured toward the backstage area. "Come on. I'll give you the full tour before everyone else arrives."
As he followed me through the wings, the stage lights flickered on by themselves. Both of us stopped.
"Did you...?" Alex asked.
"No." I looked up at the old lighting board. "The theater does that sometimes. During the Twelve Nights, especially. I think it wants to show off."
"Right. That's totally normal." He smiled as he said it, and I noticed he didn't seem surprised. He'd spent fifteen years away, but Yuletide Valley had raised him. I was confident that part of him still believed.
I poured him coffee in a chipped mug that read "Break a Leg" in fading gold letters. Our fingers brushed as I handed it to him, and heat shot up my arm.
The overhead lights brightened.
Alex cleared his throat, wrapping both hands around the mug. "So, the tour?"
"Right." I led him toward the front of the house, fully aware of how he moved beside me. "I thought we'd start with my favorite part."
The early morning light transformed the lobby. The chandelier cast prismatic rainbows across the restored woodwork, and garlands of fresh evergreen draped the banisters, filling the air with the mingled scents of pine and cinnamon.
The real showpiece was the ticket booth.
"This is incredible," Alex breathed, stepping closer. "The detail work..."
"Come inside. I want to show you something." I opened the narrow door.
The original artisans had designed the booth for one person. With both of us inside, there was nowhere to go that wasn't close together. I caught the scent of Alex's shampoo—something crisp and clean with a hint of bergamot—layered over the smell of old wood and morning coffee.
"These brass fittings are original," I said, trying to focus on the restoration instead of how Alex's shoulder pressed against my chest. "Everything but the hinges. See this rosette?" I reached past him to point out the carved detail above the ticket window.
Alex tilted his head back to look, and his hair brushed my jaw. "You carved this by hand?"
"About six hours per rosette. I like knowing how things fit together. How each piece serves a purpose."
He turned his head, and suddenly his face was inches from mine. Those green eyes were darker in the close space, pupilswide. "The craftsmanship is..." He swallowed. "It's beautiful, Ben."
The ticket drawer rolled open by itself with a soft brass chime.
We both looked down at it, then at each other.
"The theater has opinions this morning," I said.
