Outside, the snow kept falling, and somewhere in the distance, bells chimed once—faint and receding into the night—as if something ancient and kind had been listening all along.
Chapter fourteen
Ben
The old theater hummed with energy as I watched the cast warm up for the dress rehearsal. Even after more than twenty years of community productions, I'd never seen Yuletide Valley tackle anything as ambitious as a musical version ofMiracle on 34th Street. Yet somehow, this ragtag group had transformed what could have been a disaster into something sublime.
Jack had finally stopped treating romance like a contract negotiation, and Charice's warmth balanced his dramatic flourishes the way it always did—on stage and off. The ensemble moved like they'd been dancing together for years, not weeks. Even Mrs. Brubaker had stopped clutching her clipboard quite so desperately during scene transitions.
Alex was riveting.
I leaned against the back wall, watching him discuss a technical cue with our teenage light board operator. His Santa suit needed final adjustments, but the role itself fit him now. The calculated Broadway gestures I'd noticed in those first rehearsals had softened into something more honest. When hedemonstrated how Kris Kringle should react to Susan's first hint of belief, the young tech's face lit up with understanding.
I crossed to the dressing room a few minutes later to check the padding beneath his Santa coat. His shoulders were tense through the velvet fabric.
"Too tight?" I asked.
"No, it's fine." Alex's hand drifted toward his phone on the dressing room table before he caught himself. "Pre-show jitters."
The phone buzzed. His fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for it. I focused on straightening his collar while he wrestled with whatever—or whoever—wanted his attention.
"The beard sits better when you relax your jaw."
"We could both benefit from relaxing a bit." Alex's eyes met mine in the mirror. "I saw you with Ryan yesterday, holding that chisel so tight your knuckles went white."
"That's because Ryan has the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I was protecting my tools."
Alex laughed, loosening some of the tension. He turned to check his reflection, and I saw how naturally he'd grown into the role. The beard no longer looked like a costume piece—it had become part of him.
"Speaking of opinions—" He adjusted the hat's angle. "Charlie asked if Santa could help him practice his lines before the full run-through. Apparently, Toast isn't giving useful feedback anymore."
"Imagine that. A dog is an inadequate acting coach."
"Shocking, I know. Though to be fair—"
Alex's phone buzzed again. I spotted the Broadway director's name on the screen before he flipped it face down.
Before I could say anything, Holly's distinctive knock rattled the stage door.
"Special delivery for our Santa!" She bustled in, trailing the scent of peppermint, pressing a steaming mug into Alex's hands. "A blend for steady nerves and clear paths."
She gave me one of her meaningful looks. "You know, reindeer have excellent instincts about people. They sense who truly belongs in their herd."
"Holly..."
"Oh, don't mind me." She adjusted her glasses. "Though I did notice our festival visitors seemed particularly drawn to certain people yesterday. Almost like they recognized something familiar."
Alex's attention sharpened. "Like the Blitzen family?"
"Five minutes to places!" Mrs. Brubaker's voice carried through the halls.
"Saved by the bell," I muttered.
"For now." Holly winked and swept out, leaving behind the scent of herbs and too many unspoken implications.
Alex drained his tea and squared his shoulders. "Ready to watch me fumble through Act One?"
"You haven't fumbled anything in days." I reached for his hand. "You've stopped playing Santa. You've become him."
