Page 109 of Perfectly Complicated
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 distancebetween 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’treallybreak 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.
