The door clicked shut, and the workshop was empty without her.
The rest of the rehearsal passed in fragments. I kept finding excuses to watch Alex. He reached out to hold my hand during scene changes. Each time our fingers touched, I thought about that look he'd given me across the stage.
That night, alone in my workshop, the building settled into its familiar sounds—the tick of cooling wood, distant hum of the theater's old heating system, and somewhere outside, the soft chime of bells from the reindeer barn. I'd grown up falling asleep to those bells. They sounded different. Expectant.
I returned to the children's ward sleigh. My hands moved over the wood automatically, carving healing marks until my fingers ached. Each curve captured a wish: courage for Marcus, comfort for the kids who couldn't go home for Christmas, and hope for whatever came next.
When I finally stopped, I realized I'd been working on a separate piece without noticing. It was a small rectangle of cherry—the same wood I'd used for Alex's grandmother's music box. I was carving familiar patterns. The safe harbor mark. The hope symbol. And threaded between them, something new, a mark I didn't recognize, though my hands seemed to know it.
I traced the unfamiliar symbol with my thumb.
As I set the piece aside, I wasn't sure I'd ever have the courage to give it to Alex.
I opened Johan's journal to the page I'd read a hundred times.Some gifts are also callings, he'd written.The magic knows where it belongs.
Alex had carved the signal for safe harbor without being taught. He'd known the marks for healing as if they'd been waiting inside him all along.
That had to mean something.
I picked up the cherry rectangle again. The unfamiliar mark pulsed faintly in the lamplight—or maybe that was only my tired eyes.
I wrapped the block in a scrap of soft cloth and tucked it into my jacket pocket, where it rested warm against my chest.
Outside, the reindeer bells chimed once, clear and questioning.
I returned to the sleigh with steadier hands. This time, the marks flowed together with purpose rather than anxiety—courage intertwined with healing, hope wrapped around strength.
Movement caught my eye. Through the workshop window, one of the festival reindeer stood watching. Its breath frosted the glass. As I stared, it stamped three quick times, then two slow—the exact rhythm I'd noticed when Alex first held the marking tools.
I pressed my palm to the cold glass. The reindeer held my gaze for a long moment, then turned and walked back toward the barn. Not fleeing, returning to where it belonged, trusting I would do the same.
I worked until dawn painted the snow in silver and rose.
In a few hours, Alex would arrive at the theater. His phone would probably buzz with another call from New York. He'd answer it or he wouldn't. He'd stay or he wouldn't.
I couldn't control any of it.
I set down my tools and let the weight of the truth sit in my chest. Then, I got up to make coffee, because the day was starting whether I was ready or not, and a significant part of faith is simply showing up and doing the work anyway.
Chapter fifteen
Alex
Ben's hands steadied the padding beneath my Santa coat, and for once, the suit didn't feel like a costume.
"That middle pillow is shifty. We can't have Santa's belly sliding sideways in the middle of the show."
"Pretty sure the real Santa never had to worry about choreography." I caught Ben's reflection in the clouded mirror—his forehead creased with concentration. "Though the suit feels more natural now. Less like a costume."
"That's because you've stopped wearing it." His hands rested on my shoulders. "You've started inhabiting it."
My phone buzzed against the workbench. Claire's name—the third time today. I let it go to voicemail.
"She's persistent." Ben's voice was carefully neutral. We both knew Claire's original timeline: answer by December 27th, audition January 3rd. I had until after tomorrow's performance to decide anything.
"I'll get back to her after rehearsal. Charlie needs help with his blocking, and Jack's convinced the audience won't believe his romantic interest is genuine."
"He'll do fine as long as he steers clear of legal content." Ben laughed, but his shoulders were tense. In his jacket pocket, I noticed a familiar bulge—the soft cloth he'd wrapped around that cherry wood carving. He'd been carrying it for days now, never mentioning it.
