“Hold on,” Lily cut in quickly, well aware of how fast her trio of wise men could descend into imaginary bloodshed. She crouched to their level and smiled. “This is a Christmas pageant, not a superhero smackdown. How about this—if anyone needs saving on stage, we call in the angels to carry them off. Much less mess to clean up. Agreed?”
The boys looked at the little angels in the corner, who weretaking off their wings. Bash frowned. “But they don’t even have swords.”
“Maybe they can use their halos as a secret weapon?” Zeke offered.
“Okay, superheroes,” Lily said, laughing, “Off you go. Don’t forget to practice your lines.”
The boys scattered toward their waiting parents, still arguing about which Avenger would win in Bethlehem. Savvie and Tessa were fighting about who got to hold baby Jesus, but Allie had just arrived to pick them up. Lily waved as they left, still bickering, then caught sight of one little angel struggling with her wings in the corner.
“Need some help, Chloe?” she asked, kneeling down. Chloe nodded, and Lily began untangling the straps, chatting quietly with her. “You were amazing today, sweetheart. You knew all your cues, and did I hear you humming?”
Chloe looked up, her eyes sparkling, and nodded shyly.
Lily’s heart nearly burst. “I’m so proud of you.”
Chloe raised two fingers to mimic counting steps. Lily mirrored her slowly and clearly. “Exactly. Just like that. Show me the spin you did when we practiced.”
Chloe twirled, a small, tentative spin. At Lily’s encouraging nod, she spun again—this time smiling from ear to ear.
“Beautiful!” Lily clapped, delighted by her progress. This wasn’t the same silent, somber little girl from months ago. Chloe was starting to bloom, and Lily felt her own heart swell with every step.
Her skirt settled around her knees as she stopped spinning, breathless with the effort. She looked up at Lily for approval, cheeks pink and curls damp with sweat.
Lily smoothed a flyaway strand back gently. “You’ve worked so hard, sweetheart. You know what I see when you dance now?”
Chloe blinked at her.
“Confidence.” Lily nodded. “You’re a very brave girl, Chloe Whitmore.”
Chloe’s lips parted like she might say something, but only a tiny, soundless breath came out. Then she ducked her head, smiling.
Lily swallowed around the lump in her throat. Some days her job wasn’t just about teaching steps and keeping the pageant on track—it was about this. Watching students bloom. Chloe was proof that healing was possible, that even from the most painful experiences, light could find its way into the smallest cracks of darkness.
Of course, Lily’s thoughts turned to the one person she’d been trying not to think about all week.
Rush.
The last time she’d seen him—on his couch a week ago when they played the dirtiest game of show-and-tell of her life—she’d felt him teeter on the edge of opening up, his tension vibrating palpably from his body, and then, like always, she’d watched him slam that door closed. What came after had been sex, raw and consuming, the kind that left her reeling with satisfaction, yet somehow emptier as the week went on too.
Since that night, he’d texted her a few times. Brief check-ins in his signature blunt style that kept him in her orbit without letting her closer.
Not that she was chasing more. At least, she reassured herself, she wasn’t. Although if she was honest, Rush was the kind of man a woman could lose her heart to without meaning to. He was honorable and good, whether he saw it in himself or not.
Still, she couldn’t ignore the pattern. He kept her at arm’s length with his body, using pleasure like a wall between them. Only when that wall cracked did she glimpse the pain hecarried. And oh, how it ached—knowing he was punishing himself for something out of his control.
But standing there with Chloe, Lily knew the truth: Connection didn’t break you. It saved you.
“Ready for the big night?” she asked, helping Chloe into her coat and hat.
Chloe nodded, giving Lily’s hand a squeeze.
This was what she wanted: family, belonging, love. The ache of it hadn’t left after Tucker, although it had subsided for now. What she was doing with Rush wasn’t that, but it was a chance to experience something new. Maybe learn something about herself she’d missed out on all the years she’d been stalled with Tucker.
A movement near the door caught her eye. It was Rush, fresh from the cold. He was in street clothes today—worn jeans and a gray Henley peeking from the collar of his sheepskin coat. Instead of his Stetson, he wore a ball cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Brought this for you.” He held out the to-go cup steaming in his hand.
The sound of his voice—that deep, rich baritone—reminded her far too vividly of the last time they were together.
