Chapter 3 #2
"Mr. Alex knows about being on stage." Noel pulled me into the conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Maybe he has some tips?"
Charlie's hopeful expression demolished my defenses. My hands trembled slightly, but I pulled over a chair. "Want to know how I learned my first big line?"
He nodded.
"I pretended I was telling it to my grandmother's cat." A tentative smile appeared on Charlie's face. "Seriously. Old Tiger Paws was the best audience. Never laughed, never judged. He purred and looked interested."
"I have a dog. Her name is Toast."
"Perfect." I couldn't help smiling at that. "Toast would love to hear your line."
For the next few minutes, Charlie read to an imaginary Toast while I offered gentle encouragement. Each repetition built his confidence. The Christmas lights strung along the prop table began to pulse softly, keeping time with his words.
"That's it!" I high-fived him. "Toast would be so proud."
"Can I try it in the scene now?"
"Absolutely."
As Charlie scampered off, one of the decorative snowflakes in the window display spun slowly, catching beams from the stage lights. Noel noticed it too, then looked at me with knowing eyes.
"You're good with kids."
"Just remembered what helped me at that age." I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "My grandmother always said theater was about telling stories, not showing off."
"Smart woman." The snowflake spun faster.
"Yeah. She was."
"Alex!" Holly's voice rang out as she swept through the stage door, arms full of what looked like costume pieces and bottles of something that glowed faintly amber. "Perfect timing. I need your opinion on these doublet modifications."
She deposited everything on the prop table, then looked at the still-spinning snowflake. She offered a knowing smile. "The second night is always about rediscovery. The valley remembers what you loved, even if you've forgotten."
"Second night?"
"Of the Twelve Nights, dear." She patted my hand. "Last night was the first—when the veil begins to thin, and old magic stirs. Tonight the valley starts whispering to those who need to hear it." She glanced toward where Ben was working. "Or shouting, in some cases."
"Holly—" I started, but she was already bustling away.
"Mrs. Brubaker, those sleeves need to be fuller! And someone check the star on the tree—it's listing to the left again."
Ben appeared at my elbow with an armful of garland. "Help me with this? It could use someone with an eye for detail."
I could have said no, remembering that I had a return ticket to New York and getting invested was dangerous.
Instead, I followed him up the stage steps.
"Thanks for this." He handed me a strand. The garland seemed to shimmer. "Yesterday, when you were directing 'Plastic Alligator'—I've never seen the cast that focused. That alive."
"They're good kids."
"They're okay kids with a great director." He smiled at me. "Even if he won't admit that's what he is yet."
"What if I freeze when I'm directing? There's precedent for that."
"Then we'll handle it." Ben's voice was matter-of-fact. "Holly keeps chamomile tea backstage. Mrs. Brubaker has seen everything in forty years of community theater. And I'll be right here in the wings."
"You can't promise that."
"No." He adjusted a section of garland, his hand covering mine. "But the valley can. It brought you home for a reason, Alex. Why not trust that?"
A crash across the stage broke the moment. Jack had attempted a dramatic knee slide and taken out three chairs.
"I meant to do that!" He called out.
"Of course you did, dear." Charice helped him up, laughing. "Very method. Nothing says romance like a potential concussion."
I turned back to the garland, my throat tight. "One more adjustment here..."
"And here?" Ben's hand stayed on mine, guiding it to another section. His thumb touched the inside of my wrist, pressing gently.
"Yeah." My voice was rough. "Right there."
We worked in silence for a moment, our hands moving in concert. Then, I glanced down and froze.
Tiny white buds were forming along the artificial pine, unfurling as I watched. Real flowers, delicate as snow, appeared where there should have been only plastic.
"Ben—"
"I see it." His voice was quiet, and his hand tightened over mine.
The buds bloomed fully—tiny white blossoms that smelled like cinnamon. They spread along the garland where our hands touched, multiplying, creating something impossible and perfect.
"What's happening?" I whispered.
"The valley's not subtle when it wants something." He shifted closer to me. "It's saying what I haven't been brave enough to say yet."
"Which is?"
"That you belong here. That this—" He gestured at the blooming garland. "This is real. We're real. And maybe you don't have to go back to a place that broke you when you could stay somewhere that wants to help you heal."
The flowers bloomed brighter, their scent wrapping around us. Ben's free hand rose, hovering near my face, asking permission.
I leaned in—just slightly, and his fingertips brushed my jaw.
His lips were a breath away from mine when—
"Places for Act Two!" Mrs. Brubaker's voice interrupted.
We jerked apart. The flowers remained, proof that I hadn't imagined it all. Ben's eyes were dark, his breathing unsteady.
"Later?" he asked quietly.
"Later," I agreed, even though I had no idea what that meant.
Charlie's scene started across the stage. His voice carried clear and strong, no script in hand and no fear shadowing his words. When he finished, the cast erupted in applause, and every light in the theater flared bright.
I watched him beam with pride, chest puffed out, and saw myself at eight years old—terrified and determined, needing someone to believe in me. My grandmother had been that person then. Today, I'd gotten to be that person for someone else.
Ben squeezed my hand once before we both turned back to work. His shoulder pressed against mine as we finished securing the garland.
"Sometimes the most important performances happen in places like this," he said quietly.