Chapter 30
THIRTY
Janie
I arrive at school before the pageant starts, feeling the kind of nervous exhilaration that makes me either want to throw up or scream loudly into a pillow.
Both would be mildly inconvenient right now.
Stage fright isn’t the only problem here; it’s also the unresolved situation with Nick.
He’s been texting me daily about Christmas—when he can have Aria, for how long, what our “arrangement” will be.
It’s an impossible problem to solve when I know that giving in to his demands means leaving Rourke out completely.
Rourke has been more of a father to Aria than Nick ever was—holding her when she’s sick, reading bedtime stories, tickling her belly and making her laugh until she gets the hiccups. The thought of excluding him from Christmas feels wrong on every possible level.
Between his away games and my last-minute preparations for the pageant, we haven’t had a chance to see each other since he moved back into his condo.
Since the show starts in just a few hours, I doubt we’ll get more than a fleeting moment before the pageant.
The auditorium is already buzzing with parents as I check my list backstage for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to focus on last-minute details instead of my heart feeling like it’s going to explode from nerves.
“Ms. Bennett!” Lily appears beside me, her angel wings slightly askew. Preston forgot his hat and Emmalynn can’t find her wings AND Jack is in the bathroom because he’s sick.”
Just what I need—more problems.
“Slow down, sweetie.” I kneel to fix her costume and give her what I hope is a confident smile. “We’ll figure it all out. We always do.”
“But what if we don’t?” She tilts her head. “What if Emmalynn’s angel wings have disappeared forever?”
“Then we’ll go without them,” I tell her. “The show must go on, right?”
She nods before skipping off.
“Ms. Bennett?” Jack tugs on my sleeve next.
I turn toward him. “Are you feeling any better?” His face is pale, but that might just be nerves.
He rubs his hand across his belly. “My stomach still hurts, but I think it’s because I ate too many gummy bears.”
“Understandable,” I say. “Anything else on your mind?”
He looks around. “Is Mr. Rourke coming? Because Lily said he’s not. That maybe he really does hate Christmas.”
“Of course he’s coming.” I bite my lip and glance at the entrance, hoping he’ll show up soon.
He’s only a few minutes late, which is understandable given his busy day. He texted me that his flight came in late this morning, and then he had practice this afternoon, but he promised to be here.
I smooth down Jack’s cowlick. “Mr. Rourke wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
“How do you know?” he asks, frowning.
“Because I could see it on his face during the last practice. He was actually happy to be part of the show.”
He shakes his head. “I hope you’re right.”
As Jack heads back to where the other students are waiting, the worry inside me grows.
I miss Rourke. I miss his footsteps in the house, the sound of his bag hitting the floor when he arrives home. I miss the excitement that bubbled up in me every time he walked through the door grinning.
“There he is!” Emmalynn shouts, and I spin around to see Rourke walking through a side door.
He’s slightly out of breath from rushing, his dark hair tousled and falling across his forehead in that way that makes my fingers itch to brush it back.
As he sheds his coat, the movement pulls his dress shirt taut across his broad shoulders and chest, reminding me of exactly why I had trouble concentrating during our first few rehearsals.
“Hey, kids, who’s ready for a show?” he says with enthusiasm, even though he’s clearly had an exhausting day.
They all run over to him, crowding around his body, before his gaze meets mine. His mouth lifts, and my heart doesn’t just jump—it does a full backflip before landing somewhere in my throat.
Man, I’ve missed that smile.
I want to tell him how the past few days without him have felt like trying to breathe underwater and seeing him walk through the door made everything right again.
Instead, I’m surrounded by a swarm of nervous children and an auditorium full of people waiting for the show to begin, and all I can do is stand here drowning in the way he’s looking at me, like he’s the only person in the room.
“So you really don’t hate Christmas?” Lily asks.
His attention flicks back to the children. “Who said I hated Christmas?” He chuckles like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I mean, no one could hate Christmas with Ms. Bennett around.” His eyes find mine over the children’s heads.
“Rourke, welcome.” I’m fighting the urge to close the distance between us.
“It’s good to see you, Ms. Bennett.” His voice is amused as his gaze trails over me.
I want to cross this room and throw myself at him. Very un-teacher-like thoughts are running through my head right now.
Jack whirls around toward the stage and his mouth drops. “Ms. Bennett, look!” He points to the set. “The backdrop fell down and knocked over the container of fake snow.”
I turn around and see the mess on the stage—a disaster that calls for an immediate fix.
“Sorry,” I mouth to Rourke before running behind the choir risers to set up the backdrop and sweep up what snow I can save for the end of the show. When I glance back at Rourke, he’s already turning away, headed toward the dressing room.
By the time I deal with the backdrop crisis, Principal Callahan appears backstage. “Janie? Can we start the show now?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“I hope your hockey player can pull this off,” he says. “The community expects this to be as good as last year.”
“He will,” I say with a nod. “And he won’t just be good. He’ll be the best narrator we’ve ever had.”
Just then I see the dark outline of someone standing behind the principal and realize Rourke’s walked up, looking as spectacular as he did when he arrived, but this time in costume.
My heart swan-dives in my chest as our gazes collide, making me forget how to breathe.
“Excuse me,” I say, curving around the principal. I stop in front of Rourke, taking him in. He’s in a deep burgundy coat that makes him look like some impossibly handsome cross between Santa and a historical prince—and I have to grip the clipboard in my hands to steady myself.
“You look…” My eyes trail over him one more time. “Amazing. How do you feel?”
“Like I want to throw up,” he says, his mouth curving.
“Join the club. I just want everything to go well. Especially for the kids.”
“Me too.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve put your whole heart into this. Everyone’s going to see that.”
“Well, I know one thing—you will be incredible tonight. And one last thing—”
The stage manager steps inside the curtain and calls, “Places, everyone!”
There’s no time left to say what I really want to.
“What?” he asks, stepping closer despite the chaos around us.
“Break a leg,” I finish. “That means good luck. Please don’t really break your leg.”
“Ah, yes. Because breaking my leg would really put a dent in my career,” he says with a grin that makes my heart speed up.
“Merry Christmas, Rourke.” I take a step toward him even though we don’t have time for this and everyone is waiting and the timing couldn’t be worse. Nothing else matters except this moment, this man, this memory of him in costume, making the biggest sacrifice for these kids.
I reach up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his—soft but urgent, trying to show him what I can’t yet say: that I believe in him completely, and I love him with every piece of my soul.
When we break apart, his eyes hold mine a few beats longer, making the rest of the world disappear. “You’ve created something magical that the kids will remember forever.” Then he pauses, his mouth lifting on one side. “And honestly? So will I.”
There's something almost bittersweet in his words that I can’t quite place. Maybe it's just the feeling of everything coming to an end—all the rehearsals and late nights leading up to this one performance.
I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but the principal's voice crackles over the microphone. “Welcome to Sully’s Beach Elementary School’s annual Christmas pageant!”
I rush to the other side of the stage, directing kids to take their places as the lights and curtain come up for the opening scene.
I watch as Rourke walks out on stage, giving the kids a quick wink before he turns to the audience.
“A long, long time ago, before Santa Claus, before Christmas trees, and long before most of our Christmas traditions—there lived a man named Nicholas. He wasn’t rich or famous.
But he was someone who loved helping people and believed in doing good quietly…
” His face turns to mine before shifting back.
“But he never wanted attention for it.”
For the next hour, the pageant unfolds just like I imagined in my head. The children miraculously remember when to come on stage, the music cues start with perfect timing, and the audience laughs in all the places I hoped they would.
But most of all, I can’t stop watching Rourke.
As much as he resisted being part of this, he’s a natural on stage. When Emmalynn makes her grand entrance during “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” and somehow manages to trip over Jack’s foot, it’s Rourke who scoops her up with the same care he does Aria.
In that moment, I can see what no one else can—the way he cares about this show and these kids as much as I do. When his eyes find mine across the stage, the smile curving his lips is the payoff for all this work—better than applause or accolades or anything else.
When the final scene arrives, Rourke stands center stage, the children gathered around him. For a moment, it really does feel like we created something special here, something I won’t forget.
A piano begins softly playing “Silent Night” as the children sing along holding candles, their faces lit by the golden glow.