Chapter 7 #2
He turned and started back up the aisle. Charice moved to help him, murmuring something about getting him home. At the door, he looked back.
"For what it's worth—we've all watched you with the cast. You already know how to help people believe in something. You just haven't believed in yourself yet."
The door closed behind him with a resounding clap.
Mrs. Brubaker was the first to move. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded, yellowed paper. "I found this in the theater archives yesterday. Your grandmother wrote it after your first role—you were six, playing a mouse in The Nutcracker."
My hands trembled slightly as I took the program. Grandma's familiar handwriting filled the margins: Alex understands the real magic of theater—it's not about being seen; it's about helping others believe.
The words blurred. She'd seen it in me at six years old—this thing I'd spent fifteen years trying to bury under technique and ambition and the desperate need to be enough.
First Noel. Now Grandma. Both of them were saying the same thing from different directions.
"Damn it," I whispered.
Holly's hand rested briefly on my shoulder. "Shall we see about fitting that suit?"
The group dispersed quietly—no triumphant looks and no celebration.
Only murmured encouragements and shoulder squeezes as they filed out.
Ben caught my eye and tilted his head toward the hallway that led to the dressing rooms. I followed him past the prop tables and costume racks, my pulse quickening with each step.
The dressing room was smaller than I remembered, though that might have been the weight of everyone's expectations pressing in.
The iconic red coat hung on its padded hanger, waiting.
Up close, I saw the subtle details I'd missed before—tiny gold threads woven through the white fur trim, hand-stitched medallions at each cuff, and mother-of-pearl buttons that gleamed like miniature moons.
"I'll help." Ben appeared in the doorway, arms full of fabric. "Unless you'd rather do this alone?" He started to back up.
"Stay. I mean, another set of hands would be useful."
He laid out each piece with reverence—the heavy wool pants with perfect pleats, boots polished to a mirror shine, and the wide black belt that had wrapped around two generations of Norths. The hat's white pompon swayed gently as if stirred by invisible Christmas magic.
My hands trembled as I reached for the coat. Years of quick changes in cramped Broadway dressing rooms hadn't prepared me for this moment. The material whispered against my skin as Ben helped me slide my arms into the sleeves. The weight settled across my shoulders.
"How does it feel?" Ben's voice was soft.
I studied my changed silhouette. The coat, despite needing minor adjustments, enhanced my dancer's frame, making it more substantial.
My usual sharp angles softened under the rich fabric.
Even my face looked different—less guarded and more open.
The man in the mirror still had my features, but the coat stripped away my carefully maintained Broadway polish, revealing something more authentic.
"It feels like a possibility." My words surprised me. "Terrifying possibility."
"Good terror or bad terror?"
I turned sideways, watching how the coat moved with me. "Ask me in six days."
Ben stepped closer, adjusting the coat's collar. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "You understand how to create moments people remember forever. That's what Santa does."
"It's not the same as performing."
"No." His hands rested on my shoulders. "It's more important."
I looked at his reflection in the mirror. "What if I let them down? Marcus, the other kids—what if I freeze up again?"
"It's not the time to borrow trouble." He reached for the hat. "What if you create something new while honoring what came before? Like me restoring an old rocking horse—keeping its heart while giving it fresh life."
The hat settled onto my head. Noel's words echoed: Maybe the suit's been waiting for your version.
"I still think this is crazy." I straightened the coat. "But I'll try. For Marcus and the others. And..." I turned to face Ben directly. "And because apparently everyone in this town can see something I can't."
His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Maybe you're too close to it."
"Don't get philosophical on me. I'm already overwhelmed."
"Fair enough." He straightened my lapels. "Though maybe we should practice your 'Ho Ho Ho' somewhere private until you've got it down."
"Oh, man." I dropped my head onto his shoulder, breathing in the comforting scents of sawdust and cedar. "What am I getting myself into?"
His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Something worth building. The best projects always scare you a little at the start."
After the others had gone and the theater fell quiet, I stood alone in the dressing room, staring at my reflection and the ridiculous white beard dangling from my fingers.
"Need help with that?" Ben's voice startled me. He leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up, sawdust still clinging to his forearms.
"I look like a joke." I held up the beard. "It keeps tilting sideways, and the elastic catches in my hair, and—"
"Here." He crossed the room and took the beard from my trembling fingers. "Turn around."
The mirror reflected our positions—Ben standing close behind me, his height allowing him to see clearly over my shoulder. His hands were steady as he positioned the beard.
"The trick is to anchor it here first." His fingers brushed my temple as he adjusted the elastic. "Then let it settle naturally."
"Nothing feels natural about this."
"You're fighting it." His breath warmed my neck. "Like you fight everything that scares you."
"I'm not scared." My voice wavered and betrayed me.
"No?" He reached around to straighten the beard's front, his chest pressing briefly against my back. "Could have fooled me."
I tried to focus on my reflection rather than on Ben's proximity. "It's still crooked."
"Because you keep tugging at it. Here..." His hands covered mine, guiding them away from the beard. "Let it be for a minute."
We stood frozen in that position—his fingers weaving together with mine and my back almost but not quite touching his chest. The air was electric, like the moment before a stage light flares to life.
"Ben..." I turned my head slightly, and his face was right there, inches from mine. The slight scruff along his jaw caught the light, and I wondered how it would feel against my skin. His gaze dropped to my mouth. I forgot how to breathe.
My heart thundered so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Just a fraction more and—
The beard chose that moment to slip entirely sideways, sliding down my chin like a drunken caterpillar.
Ben's laugh rumbled through his chest. "Maybe we should practice with the beard more before trying anything else."
"Anything else?" My cheeks flushed.
"Anything that might dislodge important costume pieces." He stepped back, though his fingers trailed along my arm before letting go. "We've got six days until opening night. Time to get everything right."
"You seem very confident about that."
"About the beard?" His smile deepened. "Or about the other things we're not talking about?"
"Both. Either." I fidgeted with the beard's elastic. "Everything's complicated enough without adding..."
"Without adding what makes you feel most alive?" He caught my hands again, steadying them. "Some complications are worth it, Alex."
A crash from the stage shattered our moment. "Sorry!" Jack's voice carried down the hallway. "Forgot my script and knocked over a prop table. Don't mind me. Carry on with whatever you're definitely not doing in there."
Ben's forehead dropped to my shoulder as we both laughed, breaking the tension. "We should probably..."
"Yeah." I reluctantly stepped back. "The beard needs work anyway."
"Tomorrow?"
I stared into the mirror one last time—saw myself in the red coat with Ben's reflection beside me, the two of us framed together like we belonged in the same picture.
"Tomorrow," I said.