"Human?" I finished gently. "That's allowed. Actually, it's required."
A laugh broke through his tears. "You sound like Holly."
"Holly's usually right." I squeezed his hand. "And she's right about you. You're not as confident as you seem."
"Observant." He wiped his eyes with his free hand, but didn't let go of mine. "Is that a Blitzen family trait, or just you?"
"Just me. Well, me and the valley. We're both paying attention."
The music box wound down slowly, the final notes of "Silent Night" fading into silence.
"I don't know how to do this," Alex admitted. "Any of this. The show, this—" He gestured between us. "Whatever this is."
"Then we'll figure it out together." I lifted our joined hands. "One impossible thing at a time."
The stage door banged open, and voices echoed through the theater. Cast members arrived for the morning run-through. Alex automatically tried to step back and put distance between us, but I held on.
"It's okay," I said. "Everybody knows about me. And nobody cares. The valley protects its own."
"Ben!" Holly's voice carried from the stage. "Is Alex here? We need—oh!" She appeared in the workshop doorway, took in our joined hands and matching red faces, and smiled like she'd won the lottery. "Perfect. You're both here. Alex, we desperately need your eye on the blocking for 'Plastic Alligator.' The crowd scene is a disaster."
"I'm only observing—" Alex started.
"Then observe from the stage," Holly said firmly. "Ben, bring the storefront pieces when you're ready. We need to see how they work with the choreography."
She swept out, leaving us standing in the workshop's golden light.
"No pressure?" Alex said dryly.
"She's terrifying when she's matchmaking." I finally, reluctantly, released his hand. "Or directing. Sometimes both."
"I noticed." He smiled, the genuine smile that made my chest ache. "I suppose I could take a look at the blocking. For the sake of observation."
I grinned. "I'll give it fifteen minutes before you're restructuring the entire number."
"I have self-control."
"You're already choreographing in your head. I can see it."
He laughed. "Okay, fine. Maybe I have opinions."
"Good." I grabbed my tool belt and the storefront pieces that were ready. "The theater could use someone with opinions. Someone who knows what they're doing."
Alex paused in the wings, looking out at the stage where cast members were gathering. I watched him straighten his shoulders and lift his chin—preparing to perform the role of professional, someone who had it all together.
Then he looked back at me, and his guard dropped again. "If I do this—if I help—I'm still not promising anything."
"I know."
"I might leave after Christmas."
"I know that too."
"Then why—"
"Because the valley brought you home for a reason," I said quietly. "And maybe that reason is the show. Or maybe it's healing. Or maybe—" I paused and took a breath. "Maybe it's both of us, finally finding what we didn't know we were looking for."
The stage lights flared bright, then settled into a warm, welcoming glow.
