Chance wondered what John Hall would do if he put the kitten down and kissed him senseless. He surmised, after what the handsome theater owner had shared about his ex, that out-of-the-blue advances might not be welcome. Which was too bad, because Chance thought John was one of the most handsome men he’d ever laid eyes on. It wasn’t so much his physical appearance—although there was nothing wrong with the way the man looked—it was something about his eyes. Chance couldn’t put his finger on what it was about them, but they appealed to him deeply.

He’d arrived in Skagit thinking the trip was a lark, something to appease his mother’s spirit, but even before he’d followed the other man into the lobby, Chance knew it was something more. Maybe it helped to have his mother’s spirit at his side, but there was no doubt in Chance’s mind that he’d met “the one.” Now he just needed to be patient and wait for everything to fall into place. It would, he knew.

But first he needed to help save a theater.

The men’s washroom was an older affair with pedestal sinks and floor-to-ceiling mirrors in gilded frames. It was quite lovely. Chance continued holding the kitten while John filled a basin with warm water. Chance saw John glance at him in the mirror but pretended he hadn’t noticed, though he smiled inside.

“Do you have a bath towel to wrap him in when I’m done here?”

“This is a movie theater, in case you’ve forgotten,” John grumbled. “Let me see if I have anything in my office.”

The kitten, sensing its impending doom, tried to squirm away, but Chance quickly dunked it in the half-full sink before gently scrubbing it with hand soap, loosening the dirt and grime from its fur. It did its best to slash him to pieces but was thwarted by lack of size. It settled for alternately hissing and pathetically mewing.

“An old T-shirt is going to have to do. Hand it here.”

Chance did so.

“Come to Daddy. Did the mean man make you take a bath?” John quickly wrapped the kitten in his shirt, holding it against his chest and rocking it back and forth. The kitten stopped struggling and nestled against him.

“Hey!” Chance protested, smiling. “Way to make me out as the bad guy.”

John grinned. Chance admired the laugh lines around his pale eyes; they were deep and sexy as hell. He wanted to put his lips against each one and then run his tongue along them, memorizing them. He wanted to help him make more. He wanted John to be his.

“You’re the one who dunked him in water. I get to be the hero.” The still-damp kitten shut its eyes and began to purr so loudly it sounded like an idling lorry engine.

“If you were open right now, tonight, what film would you show?” Chance had the thought that John might not be so against opening the theater if he had a bit of help. It was obvious the man needed someone at his back.

John led the way back out into the lobby before he answered.

“Oh, I generally show It’s a Wonderful Life before or on Christmas Eve, and then Christmas Day I do a Die Hard marathon: I show three of them starting around two in the afternoon. By that time people have opened presents and are ready to get out of the house. If they don’t celebrate the holiday, Die Hard is a good one for laughs.”

“Is it too late this evening?”

“What?” John scowled at him.

Chance spun a circle on his heel, taking in the splendor of the lobby: 1930s crimson wallpaper; thick golden rope draped along the wainscoting; beautifully painted ceiling with scenes from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, he supposed, of explorers and trappers traveling westward, possibly Sacagawea or another put-upon American Indian princess doing her best to keep the white men from dying from their own stupidity. The building was a piece of art in itself. It couldn’t be allowed to fall into the hands of a heartless banker.

“Is it too late to show a movie tonight? It seems a shame when you’re here already.”

“Did you see the weather out there? Snow of any kind, even tiny, mushy flakes, means Skagit is buttoned up tight and everyone is in front of their cozy fireplaces drinking hot buttered rum and enjoying their families.”

“Everyone?” Chance arched an eyebrow and pushed all his English upbringing into the single word. What would it take to get John to open the theater for the evening? How hard could Chance push this man he’d only met a few minutes ago? He needed to be careful, but a little voice whispered, Sometimes you need to take risks.

John huffed and rolled his eyes before walking over and twitching aside the curtain cloaking the box office window. From where Chance was standing, he saw the snow was still falling, backlit by the lovely old-fashioned streetlamps he’d noticed when he parked.

There was also a figure huddled against the front doors, typing something into a smartphone.

“Crap on a shingle. Here, hold it.” John handed Chance the kitten and circled around him to open one of the lobby doors.

“Reed? Is that you? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, uh, hey, Mr. Hall. I thought you were showing movies tonight.”

Chance could see the young man was shivering as he rubbed his arms and tried to get warm. He was wearing only a light jumper and dungarees with trainers—or whatever the American term was for athletic shoes.

“Well, I’m not.” He pushed the door farther open. “Come inside before you freeze.”

John shut the door behind Reed, muttering something under his breath Chance didn’t quite catch.

The young man shuffled inside. “Thank you, Mr. Hall.”

“I told you to call me John; Mr. Hall is my dead father.”

“My parents say I should call my elders Mr. and Mrs.”

“I’m not going to argue with your parents, but I would really appreciate it if you would call me John.” He turned to Chance. “Chance Allsop, this is Reed Martin. He was my intern this past summer. I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing here . . .”

Reed ignored the question and shook Chance’s kitten-free hand, glancing shyly at Chance before his gaze landed on the sleeping creature.

“Oh, wow, it’s so tiny.” Reed gently stroked the fluffball while John shut and locked the lobby door.

---

“I’ve never seen It’s a Wonderful Life,” Chance said (silently adding on the big screen), continuing the conversation they’d been having before young Reed’s arrival. It was important John not break with tradition. The citizens of Skagit would regret the theater closing, and the only way to keep it open was to have customers. Customers couldn’t come if John wouldn’t show a film.

“I’m sure you can find it all over TV tonight at whatever hotel you’re staying at. You are staying at a hotel, right? Who are you, and why are you invading my theater?” John turned to Reed. “And why are you here? Can’t a man have some peace and quiet?”

“Mr. Hall,” Reed started and corrected himself, “John, why are there all these moving boxes here? What’s happening?” Reed’s voice had a panicked tinge.

John threw up his hands in frustration. “Is no one going to answer my questions? You know what? Both of you can go now. Off, off to your little family celebrations. Leave me alone here to finish what I was doing.”

Reed had expressive eyes. They widened at John’s words, then Chance saw them fill with anxiety and fear. He had nowhere to go, or he wouldn’t have come to the NorthStar on a snowy preholiday weekend evening.

“John, I think the young man wouldn’t have come here this late if he’d had another alternative. Be that as it may, I’ve found what I came for. That leaves the kitten. Are you going to make it leave as well? As you pointed out, it’s still snowing.”

“What I need is a little peace and quiet so I can say goodbye to my life’s dream, all right? Is that too much to ask? God damn it.”

John stomped away, heading toward a hallway Chance hadn’t noticed earlier. He took a moment to admire John’s ass, which was encased in a pair of worn work trousers. John kept himself fit; Chance liked that. He turned to Reed. They were going to have to improvise.

“Is there somewhere close and open that might have some kind of cat food and perhaps some supplies? A wee box and the like?”

“There’s a minimart on the next block. I bet it’s still open.”

Chance took out his wallet and removed several twenty-dollar bills, handing them to Reed. “Will this be enough?”

“Um, yeah?”

Chance removed the down jacket he’d bought that morning, handing it to Reed as well. “Wear this. When you return, we’ll try to see if we can get John to show the movie.” He thought for a moment. “On second thought . . . do you think there are people who would come and see the movie tonight?”

“Totally. I can’t believe people haven’t been knocking on the door already. What’s going on?”

“John has run into a spot of trouble and thinks letting the bank close the NorthStar is the only solution. We need to prove him wrong. Is there social media and the like that John or the theater is on?”

Reed, bless him, did not ask any questions. “Facebook, Twitter—at least, I set accounts up this summer.”

“Can you post to the accounts from your phone?”

Reed nodded as he donned Chance’s jacket. “Unless he’s changed the log-ins. But he probably hasn’t.”

“Put out a call for a showtime of nine p.m. Announce it’s free; I’ll pay for all the tickets. It appears John threw out all the snacks.” He handed Reed more money. “Buy all the candy you can carry.”

Chance watched Reed disappear up the street, then shut the lobby door behind him. He had work to do. The kitten readjusted itself in the crook of his arm but stayed soundly asleep. Who knew how long the poor thing had been out on its own.

Much like John, it wasn’t alone any longer.