When we got to the community theatre—complete with newly-restored roof—it was even more magical than I imagined it would be. I hopped out of Ward’s truck in awe, winding a scarf around my neck when he handed me one, grateful he’d thought to grab them.
Since the last time I’d been here just a few days ago, the big pine that stood in the parking lot had been strung with so many lights the surrounding area was lit up like midday, and the theatre entrance had just as many, making it glow like it was being inhabited by the actual spirit of Christmas.
I’d already told Seth I wanted to do something for Christmas next year, a short performance season for the kids. Something festive and not too demanding. Seth had other things to do with his life and couldn’t run a program that intense, but I wasn’t doing much, and the only thing between his theatre company and world domination were the resources to get there.
I was already completely sold on making it into my life’s work.
“Wow,” Ward said, looking up at the lights, breath fogging in the air as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Do you think Seth left any Christmas lights for literally anyone else in the country?”
“There’re probably some in Nebraska or something,” I said, linking my arm through his. “I don’t think he’s solely responsible, either. Turns out Otter Bay sprouted a small but thriving theatre scene in my absence.”
“Better with you here,” Ward said. “Wanna go inside?”
My stomach dropped. The invites. The invites were sitting on the kitchen counter, and I’d meant to grab them, but…
Before I could say anything, Ward produced the two surprisingly nice, foiled, ivory pieces of paper I’d been panicking over. I took them from him with a sigh of relief, knowing he wouldn’t want to be the one to show them.
But he had remembered them.
“What would I do without you?” I asked as we walked over to join the line of people shivering while they waited to get inside.
“Rely a lot more heavily on your charm and good looks to get you what you want?” Ward suggested.
I nudged him, but he was right, those were my primary problem-solving methods. They’d never worked on him, but then they’d never had to.
Inside, the entryway sparkled. Tinsel hung from every available surface, there were fake candles everywhere flickering in the dark and making the whole place look outright magical, and the scent of mulled wine and gingerbread wafted from the refreshment table that’d been set up, bowing under the weight of the spread and disguised by a red velvet tablecloth that had Seth’s name all over it.
I had a sudden vision of helping out next year. Rolling up the sleeves of one of Ward’s plaid shirts that I’d liberated from his dresser, standing on tiptoes on a ladder while Seth yelled directions at me from the ground. Laughing the whole time.
I couldn’t wait.
We found our seats—with our names on them—and settled down in the dark while everyone else milled around finding theirs. My knee bounced involuntarily, nerves getting the better of me again, until Ward’s hand landed heavily on top of it.
I loved him. I loved him so, so much that sometimes it felt like I couldn’t contain all of it.
The lights eventually went down in the seating and up on the stage, and then there were speeches—by people I did know, and people I didn’t.
I was so busy picturing myself definitely not tripping on my way up the stairs that I didn’t really hear a lot of the content of them, but I was sure they were eloquent and uplifting and probably even short enough to be tolerable.
All I could really pay attention to was Ward’s hand squeezing my knee. The solid, constant presence next to me that he always was.
Eventually, Seth appeared in a sequined jacket that was responsible for at least a couple of the wolf-whistles coming from the audience, and my stomach flipped over. This was it.
At least it was a friend. If I tripped and fell, or said something stupid, or threw up in front of everyone or something…
Well, Seth would remind me of it regularly for the rest of my life. But in a loving way.
“Friends,” he began, gesturing to the audience. “Today I have the honor of giving an award to one of my very favorite people, Otter Bay’s very own starlet.”
I sank down in my chair as people looked at me, realizing how Ward must have felt absolutely all the time.
Just as I was thinking that, a projected image flickered into life behind Seth.
Of me.
Wearing a leotard at least a size too small, covered in glitter, in tights that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Talking to a squirrel.
Beside me, Ward laughed.
