by Elle Keaton
* * *
It was Reed on the other side of the doors, pink-cheeked and grinning. He was loaded down with grocery bags and wearing the puffy coat Chance had arrived in. John looked past him and saw the snow had slowed down to only a few drifting flakes.
“I think I got everything.” Reed set the sacks on the counter and began pulling out bags and bags of candy, followed by a few cans of cat food, a carton of cream, a bag of cat litter, and a tray (presumably to hold the cat litter). There was also a little toy that looked to be a mouse. The rest of the bags were full of still more candy.
Reed took off the jacket and handed it back to Chance. John hadn’t even realized his parka was gone—that’s how distracted he was. The blue-and-white holiday sweater Chance wore looked cozy and warm. It emphasized the blue eyes John was trying not to notice.
“Thank you,” Chance said. “It’s kind of ridiculous on me, though. I think you should have it if you like it. Did you take care of the other business?”
“I got started.” Reed looked at John, saying, “We need to get the marquee turned on.”
“What? Why?” squeaked John. Yes, squeaked.
“Are you able to do that, Reed?” Chance asked, ignoring John’s sputtering.
“Yeah.”
Chance nodded at him, and Reed ducked behind the counter where the electric box for the marquee was located. John’s confusion kept him from having time to form a complaint. There were several clicks, followed by a hum he recognized as the marquee warming up and blinking on.
He loved the marquee. He loved the way the bright red light bulbs blinked upward, meeting the glittering yellow star at the top and becoming a comet shooting through the night sky. It was magical. Well, he supposed it had appeared magical to a 1930s architect—but the illusion persisted today, and it was one of the first things he’d had repaired when he purchased the building.
“What’s happening here?” he demanded. He needed to try to get control of whatever was going on, although by the looks in both Reed’s and Chance’s eyes, he didn’t have a hope of stopping them.
“Reed has helped me invite a few people to come see the movie tonight,” Chance looked at his watch, “which will be starting at nine. So probably you should do whatever it is that needs to be done to get the theater ready. Reed will help. I’ll greet people at the door and keep the little one warm.”
John checked the time. “That’s only an hour!”
“Don’t dither, then. Chop-chop.” This time it was Chance making a shooing motion.
John found himself dragging the vacuum cleaner out of the utility closet, giving Reed a dust cloth and instructions to change light bulbs that may have burned out over the past week, and getting to work. Together they moved the boxes to the side, and Reed found a piece of fabric to cover them with.
“Modern art!” Reed said with a laugh.
While John ran the vacuum cleaner across the lobby carpet and the runners between the rows of seats, Chance and Reed colluded. That was the only word for it. John ignored them. He had no idea what was going on, and there didn’t seem to be any choice other than to go with the flow. A little voice kept telling him that it was his theater and he could stop it anytime he wanted. Instead he continued to get things ready.
At one point John came back through the lobby to find Chance trying to feed the kitten, but it had fallen asleep and Chance was running a finger between its ears instead.
“It ate a few bites before shutting its eyes again, poor wee thing. I put the box with the litter in the office for now.”
“Fine.” John felt a stab of jealousy toward the kitten.
Reed reappeared from the booth, saying, “Everything’s ready!”
“It’s showtime then,” Chance announced with a big grin.
Reed sat down on the tall stool in front of the box office window and slid the curtain open.
John couldn’t believe his eyes. A line of people extended out from underneath the marquee and around the side of the building. Despite the snowy conditions, a van from one of the assisted living centers was idling in front of the theater, and the driver was helping several seniors to the sidewalk. Someone had shoveled and salted the pavement out front while John had been vacuuming and setting up.
There were young couples—same-sex and otherwise—a few families, some singles. Twelve or so people from the senior center. A gay couple about Reed’s age were first in line. John recognized them as regular visitors from when Reed had been interning for him. Angel and Kevin were their names, if he remembered correctly. They smiled and waved.
Reed lifted the screen away from the window, and the NorthStar was officially open for business. Chance and the kitten manned the concessions counter while John greeted people. Some he’d known for years; for others this was their first time at the theater.
Everyone was in high spirits, thanking him for the invitation and the special showing. John shook his head, saying it was all Reed’s idea. He felt grubby in his jeans and sweatshirt, but no one seemed to care; they were all excited about the movie.
“It’s going to be a white Christmas!” more than one person exclaimed as they came through the doors, stomping snow off their boots.
Someone started humming “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” and soon everyone who knew the words or even just the tune was singing or humming as they went to find their seats. It was irritatingly cheerful.
Reed handed out tickets and took money. John heard him protest to some that the show was supposed to be free, but people seemed to be paying something anyway. He didn’t have the energy to argue that there wasn’t supposed to be a showing for anyone to pay for. Ten minutes before nine, there were over fifty people seated and ready to enjoy the show. John’s eyes stung at the thought that next Christmas the NorthStar would be in different hands.
John left the conspirators in the lobby and headed up to the privacy of the booth, hoping his mysterious visitor wouldn’t follow. He needed a moment to get his emotions under control. Chance was confusing him. John was uncertain of his motives: He didn’t even know who the guy was, only who he said he was. And that story he’d told about his parents meeting at the NorthStar and falling in love . . . whatever. John didn’t believe in magic anymore.
Most movies weren’t on film any longer, but the booth in the NorthStar was old-fashioned. Equipped with both a digital and a film projector, it was John’s favorite place to be when movies were playing. He loved the sound of film running through a projector and the flicker of the lamp through celluloid.
Sitting above the audience in the dark gave him a chance to remember why he was in this predicament in the first place. To remind himself that people weren’t simply nice: There was always something else, a reason behind their actions. Chance Allsop wanted something, and John was going to figure out what it was.
When his watch said nine, John lowered the house lights and began the movie. Digital made things much less magical up in the booth, but the theatergoers didn’t seem to mind. As the opening credits began to roll across the screen, John sat back in his special chair. He might as well try to enjoy it too.
Chapter Six
Chance glanced around the lobby. It was empty; the theatergoers were settled into their seats watching a desperate George Bailey consider jumping into the freezing waters of the river below. Chance had seen the movie at least twenty times over the years. If he hadn’t had another more pressing matter to attend to, he would’ve slipped past the heavy velvet curtains and watched along with the audience, but John had disappeared upstairs.
In John’s office, Chance carefully placed the sleeping kitten on the desk chair. It was still tucked in the T-shirt John had provided and hardly stirred when he set it down. Shutting the door tightly behind himself—a missing kitten would not do—he crossed the lobby to open the door to the stairs. Reed grinned at him from where he was straightening up the concession stand, giving him the thumbs-up. At least one person was in his corner. And his mot
her, of course.
Quietly, Chance climbed the narrow, dark stairs that ended at an even more narrow doorway. The door was shut, but Chance wouldn’t let that stop him. Noiselessly he opened the door and entered. John didn’t hear him; he was leaning forward, concentrating on the action on screen. Leaning back against the door, Chance watched John watch the movie.
Edmund was going to laugh his arse off. When he’d dropped Chance at Gatwick, his parting words had been, “Let me know when I need to pack your flat.” Chance had shaken his head. Edmund was going to have the last word after all; there was no way Chance was letting John go. Apart from Edmund, Chance had nothing in England calling him back. After his mum’s death, he’d quit his job as a financial analyst to focus on settling the estate. He’d hated that job anyway and had no reason to go back to it now.
Perhaps Chance was more in a position of strength at the moment because he had the force of his parents’ love behind him propelling him forward (and the money to help the theater, if it came to that, but he was certain John would run for the hills if he mentioned money right now)—but his parents’ story was just a blueprint. Chance was the one who needed to fill in the blanks, to get John to understand that he was for real, that the fact that they’d only just met was mere semantics: that their future was together.
John was still facing away from the door, watching the film from a small opening set in the middle of the wall. Unaware of Chance’s presence, John had relaxed, and it was much easier to see the slump of his shoulders and the air of anger and defeat that hung over him.
Chance wanted to make all that go away. He’d come to Skagit to honor his mother’s last wish, thinking he would be heading home within a few days, but the minute he’d laid eyes on John he’d known he wasn’t going home because he was already there.
Home wasn’t his boring flat on the outskirts of London; that was merely a place he’d lived for a while. Home was here, in Skagit. Home was John. It didn’t feel like love at first sight, it felt like the most important puzzle piece finally falling into place—the one that means all the others will soon follow.
“What are you doing up here?” John’s hiss cut through his thoughts.
“I wondered where you were,” Chance replied quietly.
“Well, now you know. Go back downstairs and—where’s the kitten?”
Chance kept his smile to himself but privately found it revealing that John was worried about the tiny fleabag. “Asleep in your office. He or she is fine.”
John scowled at him, but Chance made no move to leave the confined space. He found himself enjoying searching for a way to sneak through the defenses John had erected around himself. Chance motioned to the action on screen, where George Bailey was racing around his hometown trying to find evidence of his existence.
“Why did you buy the theater?”
“What?” John squinted at him.
“Why a movie theater?”
“Oh.” John looked away from him, tapping on the arm of his chair. The silence grew long, but Chance could wait. Silence didn’t scare him.
John contemplated him, now unconsciously picking at a thread or something on his jeans. Finally he answered, speaking quietly.
“I’ve always loved the movies. They’re a two- or three-hour respite from everyday life. Even horror movies and sad movies can take a person away from their problems. I studied film for a while in college but instead got a business degree because it was more practical . . . but I hated it with a passion. When this building came up for sale, I knew I would do anything in my power to buy it and preserve it.” He hunched further into himself before continuing, “My folks were killed in a car accident about a year before I bought it. I used the settlement and my savings to buy and restore it. I don’t have anything against big-box corporate movie theaters, but here I get, got, to run the show. Like, have a showing on Christmas Eve if I want, or not.”
The small room was warming up with the both of them inside it and the projector running. John’s forehead glistened, and Chance wanted to run his hand across it, to soothe him. When he’d impulsively kissed John earlier, the heat between them had been like nothing he’d felt before. It was a good thing Reed had interrupted them.
John was protecting a bruised heart and ego. Moving quickly would be a bad idea, but Chance’s heart wasn’t moving slowly. It was demanding now. Something much like electric shock had jarred Chance when he’d seen John for the first time. His body, soul maybe, had recognized John—knew him—and Chance wasn’t going to argue with it. He’d spent too many years on this earth to argue with the feeling he was experiencing. Coming home was the only term he had for it.
John needed to trust him, to believe like Chance did, but peeling back the layers of hurt and betrayal was not going to be easy. The memory of the impulsive kiss they’d shared only made it more difficult, because he wanted more. But, he grinned to himself, it was also motivating. He reminded himself it had only been a few hours since he’d arrived in Skagit.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
John looked at him now, his pale gray-blue eyes catching what little light there was in the room. Chance saw sorrow lingering there as well.
“Thanks. Of course, I’m about to lose it all again.” John turned away to stare back out at the screen, but Chance didn’t think he was actually watching.
“So you’re just going to quit? Give up your dream?”
“Unless I can catch up on my payments—which I can’t—yes, because you can’t get blood from a stone. I don’t know what world you come from, but in mine money doesn’t grow on trees, and when you make bad choices you pay for them eventually. That’s just the way it is.” He looked back toward the screen. “If I had time, I suppose, but . . .” He shrugged.
Chance stepped closer to him. He wanted, badly, to wrap John in his arms and hold him, tell him he was here now, they would get through this together. “You learned nothing in business school? This gorgeous cinema rebuilt itself? Customers came simply because the cinema existed, demanding to be sold tickets and let inside? You’ve managed for ten years, right?” John nodded, not really listening. “It’s bad luck then, not bad choices.” He wanted to add that that was about to change—had already, in fact—but restrained himself again.
“Does it really matter at this point? Do you mind? I’m watching the movie.”
Chance needed to pick his timing with care. The time was not now. He nodded, but as he turned to leave he couldn’t help reaching out, lightly dragging his index finger across John’s cheek, the stubble prickly and soft at the same time. It was nothing—and everything. A promise. He didn’t imagine the nearly inaudible gasp or the way John pressed, ever so slightly, toward him.
Back down in the lobby, Chance checked on the kitten. It opened an eye for a moment but otherwise ignored him, so he left it sleeping. Then he hunted down Reed.
He found the young man in the auditorium, tucked into the very last row next to the curtains. Reed looked over when Chance came in and followed when Chance motioned for him.
There were several plush benches in the lobby for patrons to sit on while waiting for the movie to start. Chance sat, motioning for Reed to sit next to him. From there, Chance would be able to keep an eye on the door to the booth.
Reed looked at him, eyes wide with curiosity.
“I need some insider information, and I don’t have a lot of time and am a stranger to Skagit. What do you know about John’s ex?”
“Rico Snob-o?” Reed let out a snort. “What a jerk-off. He thought he was so much better than John—or anyone, really. He constantly talked about LA and Hollywood and dropped names like he was somebody. He wasn’t. One time I was here getting ready to open, and John was late. Rico came in, supposedly looking for John, but he had to have known John wasn’t here. He hit on me. It was so gross. He tried to cover it up when John came through the door, but I never let him be alone with me again. I couldn’t believe John put up with him. I was glad when they split up.�
�
Chance digested this, sitting in silence for a moment. He didn’t want to betray what John had told him about the business, but the man wasn’t going to ask for help.
“Thanks for the information.” He tapped his thigh, thinking. “Okay, here’s the rub: The cinema is in real trouble, and we need to help John save it. Is there anyone in the audience tonight who knows Skagit well?”
Reed thought for a moment before answering, “I think one of the people from the senior center used to be mayor?”
“That’s a good start, then. Point them out to me when the film is over.”
Reed’s eyebrows drew together. “Who are you, exactly? Are you an old friend or something?”
“I fall into the ‘or something’ category.” Quickly he shared how his parents had met, and his mother’s last wish.
“You were sent here on a mission, Blues Brothers–style!”
Chance enjoyed a quick internal debate over whether he was Jake or Elwood before shaking his head. Not the time to get sidetracked. “Do you feel confident opening the theater on your own tomorrow? Can you get the word out like you did tonight?”
“Absolutely!” Reed was so serious it was almost funny.
“Excellent. Where are you staying tonight?”
Reed flushed. “That obvious?”
“I’m a keen observer.”
“Yeah, I came out to my parents earlier tonight. I thought if I told my family over the holiday they’d at least be a little understanding, but I should have known better. I mean, I guess I’m not that surprised at their reaction. I’m not lucky enough to have one of those families that’s accepting of everyone. I’m okay, though. It’s not like I expected them to accept me.”