John was staying in his office until both Reed and Chance left. Once it was safe, he would sneak back out to the lobby and continue packing. Tomorrow he would attack the storage rooms. For now he would brood and look at the books, check his bank balance. Remind himself that he’d lost everything.

To say he was surprised when there was a tap on the doorjamb was an understatement. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Your smashing Christmas Eve business plan is to turn your back on a tiny kitten and a young man who clearly has nowhere else to be tonight—or maybe at all?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Young Reed wouldn’t be here if his family wanted him at home. And the kitten should be self-explanatory.”

“That doesn’t explain you.” John was done with this—wanted to be done with this—and these two, three including the smidge of cat, were making it really difficult for him. He knew Chance was right about Reed. There’d been signals during the summer that Reed’s family was not supportive of him, but John never dreamed they would force him out on the holiday. He didn’t have to use his imagination to know Reed had probably come out or been outed and his family had been less than welcoming. People were fuckers.

Chance smiled at him, and it made John angry. Angry because he responded to it, wanted to bask in it, and he’d only met the man an hour ago. He checked his watch. Yes, it had been under an hour since they’d brought the kitten in from the alley.

“I told you I came here to find something, and I have.”

“So you can go now. See ya, buh-bye.” He made a waving motion with his hands.

Chance kept smiling and watching him, his eyes bright pools framed by eyelashes long enough to touch his cheeks. It really wasn’t fair. John felt exposed, like the man was seeing things John normally kept hidden away, secret dreams and heart’s desires. Things that were supposed to have happened with Rico or David or any other of the boyfriends John had had over his lifetime. It was too late now; he was a bitter, washed-up, nearly forty-eight-year-old man. He had nothing to look forward to but nappy sweater vests and PBS reruns.

Chance’s voice cut through his self-pity. “Over forty years ago a man came here, to Skagit, and decided on a whim to go to the movies. He’d missed his bus or it had broken down—the story changed over the years.”

He paused. John said, “If he left something in the lost and found, it’s long gone. And I’ve only owned the place for a decade anyway.”

“I’ll skip to the end.” Chance continued speaking, and John found himself wishing he wouldn’t, because he could listen to that voice all day and all night—something he couldn’t let himself wish for. “The man was my late father, and he met my mother here. Here at this theater. A month later they were off to England, where they lived happily ever after—and had me, of course.”

“That’s a nice story. Why are you telling me?”

“You asked why I was here, and I’m not done telling you yet.” Chance moved farther into the small office and all the available oxygen seemed to vanish, leaving John breathless. “My mum passed a few months ago—nearly a year, actually—and she made me promise her on her deathbed that I would come here too. She worried that I would spend the rest of my life alone, or at least without a partner, and she believed that the NorthStar would be magic for me as it had been for her and my father.

“I didn’t believe her, but I promised I would come. It took me a while to get the estate settled, and even after that was done, I resisted. I finally booked my flight last week, thinking travel abroad would be a good distraction from the holidays. As soon as I saw you on your knees in the snow trying to entice something from underneath the bin, I knew Mum had been right to make me promise.”

“I think you lost your marbles somewhere along the way. Does your keeper know you’ve escaped?” John stood, intending to push Chance out of the doorway and lead him to the front walk where he could get in his car and drive away. Presuming he had a car.

John wobbled, momentarily lightheaded, and a look of concern crossed Chance’s face. He put a steadying hand on John’s shoulder. Chance’s palm was large and comforting and, even with a thermal shirt between them, almost scorching.

“May I?” Chance asked. John nodded, although later he couldn’t have said what he was agreeing to, not really.

Lips softer than he’d imagined pressed against his own. It had been so long since he’d been kissed that John had forgotten how much he enjoyed it, how much he craved the sensual touch of another man. The errant thought Not just any man: this man crossed his mind, but he shook it off.

Chance deepened the kiss and put a hand on John’s waist, pulling him closer. They each had a day’s growth of whiskers, which caught against each other, tangling suggestively before loosening and releasing as they kissed. For a moment, John forgot everything and let himself enjoy the contact.

A loud knock from the lobby followed by the front doors rattling brought him to his senses. John jerked away, shocked he’d allowed a complete stranger to kiss him, this compelling complete stranger. And not just kiss him, but kiss him well enough that he’d momentarily forgotten his own name. He discreetly wiped his mouth, pretending to himself his fingertips didn’t linger against his lips longer than necessary.

---

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.