"No." Holly smiled sadly. "But he hoped someone would, someday. That's why he hid the journal instead of taking it with him. He knew the valley's magic wasn't finished. It was waiting to grow."
Alex reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. "Do you think he knows? Somehow? That his work finally found its way to someone who could use it?"
I thought about the reindeer pressing their noses to our hearts. About the marks that recognized Alex before he recognized himself. About a journal hidden in plain sight for a hundred years, waiting for the right moment to be found.
"I think," I said carefully, "that in a valley where magic runs through the wood like water through stone, nothing is ever really lost. It just waits for the right person to come home."
Holly checked her watch and made a sound of alarm. "Speaking of waiting—do you two have any idea what time it is?"
I looked at the window. The light had shifted while we'd lost ourselves in journals and reindeer and revelations—pale morning gold had warmed toward midday.
"Nearly eleven." Holly was already moving toward the door. "Rehearsal call was at ten-thirty. Mrs. Brubaker has called me twice, and I've been ignoring her because I was too busy shepherding magical reindeer across town, but I suspect our grace period has officially expired."
The show. In all the wonder of the morning, I'd nearly forgotten.
"The toys," I said. "We need to load them—"
"Make it quick." Holly paused at the door, her expression softening. "Because right now, you have a theater full of people waiting for their Santa Claus."
Alex grunted. "The beard. I still can't get the beard to sit right."
"Come to the dressing room early," I said. "I've gotten pretty good at the adjustments."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Holly's bracelets chimed as she swept out, her laughter trailing behind her in the cold air.
Alex watched her go, then turned to me with an expression lodged between panic and amusement. "Did she just—"
"Holly has been making inappropriate comments about us since approximately thirty seconds after you fell on her doorstep." I pulled him close, kissing his forehead. "You get used to it."
"Do I want to get used to it?"
"Probably not. But you're stuck with us now, so you'll have to manage."
Alex wrapped his arms around me. "I love you," he said against my shoulder.
"I love you too. Now let's go put on a show."
We loaded the toys carefully—the rocking horse, the music box, the train, the teddy bear, and all the small carved animals, each one warm with combined magic. The dragon nightlight I'd made for Marcus went in last, wrapped in soft cloth alongside the star projector I'd finished at 3 AM.
"You really made stars for his ceiling?" Alex asked, watching me arrange the box.
"Ryan's letter said the hospital room was boring. That Marcus missed being able to see the sky at night." I shrugged, suddenlyself-conscious. "I thought maybe he needed something to look up at. Something to remind him that there's wonder even in hard places."
Alex climbed into the truck bed and kissed me—hard and fierce and full of something that felt like forever.
"I don't deserve you," he said against my mouth.
"Probably not. But you're stuck with me anyway."
His laugh was bright and real.
The drive to the theater took us down Cedar Street, past Holly's shop, where the reindeer tracks had already disappeared under fresh snow. Past Alex's grandmother's house, where fifteen years ago a boy had dreamed of Broadway and never imagined he'd find something better. Past the town square, where the massive Christmas tree glowed even in daylight, its magic visible to anyone who cared to look.
Yuletide Valley on Christmas Eve.
Home.
"Ready?" I asked as we pulled into the theater's back lot.
