Christmas Kisses

20. Angel

20

ANGEL

I remind my heart that my truce with Christian is only for another few hours when I spin to face him. We’re in a prop closet of the local theater, going through dusty costume trunks. We need an outfit for tonight, and I refuse to wear anything too Christmassy.

I won’t lie. I’ve had so much fun today that it has taken numerous reminders to remember that Christian is only here to boot me out of my apartment. He’s not my friend. He is living, breathing proof that Ebenezer Scrooge doesn’t exist solely during December.

When Christian gags about the hideous mustache and top hat I’m wearing, a brilliant idea smacks into me. I know exactly the costume I need, and the man I need to help me replicate its greatness enters the props closet like he was summoned here.

“Pierre.”

My old drama teacher stops kissing Christian’s cheek when he hears my croaky greeting. His mouth falls open before he rushes across the warped floorboards to hug me firmly.

“ Mon chéri .” He pulls me back to arm’s length before raking his eyes over my body. “You’re here, yes?” He cranks his neck to Christian. “She is here, yes?” His eyes are back on me, brimming with wetness. “I’m not dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming,” I murmur, struggling not to cry.

Pierre was the reason I got into Juilliard. He honed my drama skills at a young age by making me fall in love with old-school musicals. We watched one after every class. I’ve gobbled up the classics over a dozen times each. I know them word for word, yet I can’t think of a single line to assure Pierre that he isn’t dreaming.

“I came…”

When a sob swallows his words, I whisper, “I know.”

I don’t remember much about the day my parents were found, but I felt many presences in my room and throughout my apartment. The most obvious was Pierre’s.

As his watering eyes bounce between mine, he asks, “Where have you been? I was told you went back to Broadway, but I’ve yet to see you there.”

“I… ah…” I struggle to lie. It’s worse when I am attempting to deceive someone I care about. “I?—”

“Recently returned from a stint on the West End.” Christian bands his arm around my waist and tugs me into his side. “But she’s home now, ready to reestablish roots in her favorite theater.”

Pierre’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “You want to perform here?” He steals my chance to answer. “We have a performance booked for this evening. You would be a perfect Christmas ang?—”

Christian interrupts him before I can. “We have plans for this evening.”

“Oh.” Pierre’s accent disappears when he is upset, and its departure tugs on my heartstrings as well as it always has.

“But perhaps in the new year, I could consider a minor role.”

I can’t believe those words left my mouth. I lost the love of everything when my parents died. I pulled away from all my family and friends and canceled roles I’d been striving to play since I was a child. Part of me wanted to vanish with my parents. I didn’t because I knew that would have hurt them more than believing I wasn’t coming home for Christmas.

I should have told them about my plans. Then instead of me ringing every hospital in the county for hours on end on Christmas Day, they would have contacted my agent and learned that I was trapped in an elevator that was playing an endless loop of I’ll be Home for Christmas by Michael Bublé.

Frantically, I wipe my cheeks to ensure they are dry before acting like I didn’t spend every waking moment I wasn’t at school in this theater. “Is there a bathroom nearby? I really need to pee.”

My acting skills haven’t slipped any. Pierre gives me directions to the washroom as if I am a newbie student, freeing me from Christian’s concerned stare.