“Usually I just give Jarvis a bonus,” Aunt Lucy grumbled, but good-naturedly. She and Tony were having lunch on the second floor of the Russian Tea Room on the last Saturday before the Nutcracker opened. Tony was scowling at the menu.

“Money is good, but you ought to get him a better set of boots and gloves,” Tony pointed out with practicality. “Chicken Kiev, I guess. I’ll just eat the chicken and leave the Kiev.”

Aunt Lucy hid a laugh and pretended to study the menu again. “And I’ll have my usual—the caviar omelet. Since you’re the man of the house, I’ll leave you to order it when the waitress comes back. Boots? You’re serious?”

Tony nodded confidently, looking up at her. “Yep. I know he gets cold waiting out in the limo, but he’ll never say anything about it. Did . . .” he hesitated, looking by turns hopeful and wary, “Did my mom call yet?”

“Not yet, honey. The letter said six o’clock tonight, and I’ve already told Mr. Mike you’d be a little late. But I think she must have spoken to Santa, because we’re certainly getting some big packages!”

Tony rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. “Yeah, my mom and Santa are good buddies. Dad says they used to date.”

“Oh so that explains why she always had the bigger stocking,” Aunt Lucy played along, pretending to be annoyed even though she was smiling. “I get it now.”

The waitress came up and listened respectfully as Tony rattled off the lunch order, then glided away again. Aunt Lucy reached over that squeezed Tony’s hand, her voice low. “Honey, I’m so, so sorry that this isn’t the Christmas that you were expecting, but at the same time, you’ve made it one of my better ones. I’ve learned a lot while you’ve been here. How to solve a Rubik’s Cube, and how to change a fuse—”

“—Sorry about blowing the lights,” Tony mumbled. “I’ll remember about compensating for the voltage next time.”

Aunt Lucy waved a hand, her expression wryly amused. “Hey, I’m a New Yorker—I’m used to blackouts. But my point is . . . I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

Tony blushed a little and slipped out of his seat to give his aunt a hug. She squeezed him back until he had to wriggle out again and make his way back, face still red. “Me too. New York is okay.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aunt Lucy replied gently. “And just so you know, both Jarvis and I are looking forward to seeing your show.”

Tony went a little redder, but he was smiling. “Thanks.”

Escorting the girls home on the subway had become a once-a-week habit, every Friday evening when the longer rehearsal had Trish staying later.  Tony didn’t mind.  They were fun to hang out with, and even though Creepy Guy had only shown up once since the first trip, he liked feeling like he was protecting them.  

For all he knew, anyway, it might be him who was keeping Creepy Guy away.  

Besides, Trish always came looking for him, with Ginny right beside her, and now that Aunt Lucy knew what he was doing Tony didn’t get in trouble for getting back late.  

The Friday before the dress rehearsal the girls were bouncier than usual.  As they went down into the station Trish glanced at Ginny, and Ginny grinned back, and then they were singing.  “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg...”  

Tony had to laugh.  He didn’t know how they did it--some kind of female telepathy, he supposed.  But they were nice to listen to, even if they did keep breaking into giggles over the lyrics.  

They finished the song just as the train arrived, and their car was nearly empty.  Trish dumped her bag on a seat, swung around a pole, and started a new song.  “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me--”  And she pointed at Ginny, who chimed in perfectly.  

“A partridge in a pear tree.  On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me--”  

“Two turtle doves--”

“And a partridge in a pear tree.  On the third day of Christmas--”  

They went on, trading the lyrics back and forth, and Tony put his feet up on the seat next to him and listened with a grin.  He recognized the gleam in Trish’s eye when she began “On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me--”  

So when she pointed at him, he was ready.  “Five golden rings...”  

Unfortunately, his voice decided to break on “rings”.  Trish immediately spluttered into laughter, and Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth.  The giggle escaped anyway.  

Tony felt his ears getting red, but he started to laugh too; it really was funny.  He pointed at Ginny, who dropped her hand, sucked in a breath, and picked up with “Four calling birds--”  

Trish was still laughing, but she managed to get out the next line, and Tony took the turtledoves, his voice holding this time.  Ginny glanced over at him, still smiling though her cheeks were pink, and he grinned at her.  The voice thing sucked, but the girls weren’t being mean about it.  

They swept into the next verse, and when it was Tony’s turn he made “Five golden rings” break in the middle.  That got them all, and the song was lost as Trish collapsed into a seat and they all roared with laughter.  

The next six verses took a long time to finish.  Tony found he could make the girls lose it by timing the breaks just right, though at least twice more his voice did it on its own.  It was a very weird feeling, like a disconnect between his head and his throat; he had figured it would happen sooner or later, but he didn’t normally do a lot of singing and he hadn’t been expecting it.  

By the time they reached the girls’ stop, they had finished the song.  Trish and Ginny started in on one Tony didn’t know, so he just listened as their voices twined together, Good people all, this Christmastime...  

As usual, the two of them joined hands when they got out of the station, still singing, but this time Ginny held out a mittened hand to him as well, and Tony took it.  Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead holding hands with a little girl, but it didn’t feel like that; it felt like Christmas, with their singing, and the cold night air.  

It felt like friends.  

When their carol was over they switched to “Silent Night”, and that one he knew, but Tony just hummed along, not wanting his voice to break when things weren’t funny any more.  Three verses of that got them to the girls’ building, and Ginny and Trish finished on the steps, letting their voices fade away in a beautiful end.  

Tony let Ginny’s hand go and clapped slowly, his gloves making a sort of hollow sound.  Ginny’s cheeks turned pink again, and Trish gave him a perfect curtsey.  

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, waved cheerfully, and vanished inside, leaving Tony and Ginny to talk as they usually did for a moment.  

Tony shivered as a cold wind swept down the street, and Ginny looked at him seriously.  “Do you want to come inside and have some hot cocoa?  I think my dad made cookies.”  

Tony hesitated, but it was cold, and he had some leeway before he was expected back.  “Sure, okay.”  Cookies did sound good, and he could warm up a little.  

She led him up the narrow stairs to her family’s apartment.  Tony had never actually been in the building before, and he looked around with interest at the scarred woodwork and the slightly dingy plaster.  Cooking smells and voices leaked from behind doors, but the place felt comfortable in a way his aunt’s building never did.  

Ginny unlocked a door on the third floor, fishing the key from around her neck where it hung on a ribbon, and gestured him shyly inside.  The place smelled of pot roast, probably with carrots, and the little entryway was hung with small framed photos and held a long coatrack bolted to the wall.  

Ginny set down her bag and unwrapped her scarf.  “You can leave your things here,” she told him, and Tony complied, dropping his own duffel and stuffing his gloves into his coat pocket before peeling it off and hanging it up.  Ginny did the same, her hat going neatly onto the same hook as her coat.  

“Come on--Daddy’s probably lying down.”  

The small living room had furniture with the same comfortable shabbiness as the outer hallways, but Ginny kept going into a narrow but scrupulously clean kitchen.  Jarvis would approve, Tony thought as he looked around; it was not only clean but tidy, with everything in its own place.  Ginny washed her hands at the sink and then got a saucepan out of the cupboard, pouring in some milk from the refrigerator.  “The cookies are in that jar,” she said, nodding at the round ceramic container on the table against one wall.  

Feeling slightly awkward, Tony washed his hands too and sat down at the table, more to keep out of Ginny’s way in the small space than because he felt comfortable.  But the warmth of the apartment was good after the cold, and the jar was full of snickerdoodles--definitely homemade, Tony discovered as he bit into one.  

Ginny mixed cocoa and sugar and milk in two mugs, and then filled them with the hot milk, stirring until the rich smell of chocolate almost hid the smell of the pot roast.  Then she put one mug in front of him and sat down in the other chair to sip at her own.  Her feet didn’t quite touch the floor, Tony noticed.  

The cocoa tasted good too.  Tony didn’t know what to say, but Ginny didn’t seem to be waiting for him to say anything; she just reached into the jar for a cookie of her own, dunking it into her cocoa and then nibbling off the soaked edge.  

She’d made it through one cookie and was starting on a second when Tony heard someone moving in the hallway beyond the kitchen.  Then a tall thin man appeared in the doorway, red hair rumpled and a sweater wrapped around fairly bony shoulders.  His smile was gentle.  

Ginny’s face lit, and she bounced to her feet, throwing her arms around the man.  “Hi Daddy.”  

“Hi, kiddo.”  He hugged her strongly, and Tony felt his throat close a little.  Suddenly, for some reason, he felt very lonely.  

But then Ginny was turning back.  “This is Eddie Dellarosa, he’s dancing the Nutcracker Prince.”  

The manners his parents had drilled into him pushed Tony to his feet, and he held out a hand.  “Nice to meet you, sir.”  

“Tom McGann.  It’s a pleasure, young man.”  His hand was strong but bony, and as Tony looked up at him there was a twist in the pit of his stomach.  

Something was telling him that Ginny’s hopes for her father were not going to come true.  

But he just smiled politely at Mr. McGann, who was smiling back.  “I want to thank you for walking home with the girls,” Ginny’s father went on.  “We know they’re smart and careful, but it’s still good to know that they’re not alone.”  

Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest.  Tony shrugged, a little embarrassed again.  “It’s not a problem.”  

Mr. McGann chuckled.  “A real cavalier.  Well, have another cookie.  Would you like to stay for dinner?  Ginny’s mom should be home soon.”  

Tony shook his head.  “Um, no thank you.  I need to get home.”  

“Maybe some other time, then.”  Mr. McGann pulled a sandwich bag out of a drawer and filled it with cookies, then handed it to Tony.  “Something to tide you over until you get there.”  

“Thanks.”  Tony picked up his mug to finish his cocoa, and Mr. McGann went to the stove to check the pot roast.  Ginny opened another drawer and handed him a spoon without his asking, as smoothly as her dancing, and Tony had to hide a smile.  

She walked him back down the stairs, a solemn figure just ahead on the worn treads.  It was interesting to have seen that little bit of her home, Tony thought; it made her more real, in a way.  He didn’t really want to stay for dinner anyway, it was too awkward, but the cocoa and the heat had warmed him up and the weight of the cookies in his pocket was something to stave off the growling of his stomach.  

“See you tomorrow,” Ginny said at the door, holding it open as Tony passed through it.  

He grinned back at her, hefting the strap of his bag to his shoulder.  “You bet.  Thanks for the cocoa.”  

Her smile was slow and curling, and she waved goodbye.  

Tony munched on cookies as he walked back to the station.  It was annoying how hungry he got these days--the meals Jarvis served were never skimpy, but it was like his stomach had no bottom.  It was unfair to be hungry all the time and still not grow.  

But the cookies were really good.  

The most exciting part of rehearsal, as far as Tony was concerned, was the sleigh at the end of the performance.  It was made out of wood and drawn by a pair of wooden reindeer cutouts, though the reindeer hadn’t yet been fastened on.  Instead of just gliding off-stage, like the small productions he’d been in, the thing was on wires and would actually lift into the air.  The stage wasn’t large enough for it to go too high, but it was fairly impressive, and he was fascinated by the mechanism.  

Mr. Mike and the stage manager went over it, checking to make sure it worked right, and then loaded it up with sandbags to approximate the weight of Tony and Ginny together.  It wobbled just slightly on takeoff, but according to Mr. Sampson that always happened, and Mr. Mike deferred to him.  

“Are you scared of heights?” Tony asked as he and Ginny watched the sleigh be lowered back to the ground.  

She bit her lip, but shook her head.  “Not really.”  

He squinted at her, but she didn’t seem to be lying.  “Are you?” she asked.  

“No way.”  Tony grinned.  He loved flying.  In fact, one of the things he kept asking for was pilot lessons, but so far no dice.  

“Ready to try it?” Mr. Mike asked, glancing back at them both.  They nodded, and hurried forward to climb in--not dancing yet, but nonetheless Tony held out a hand to help Ginny in the way he would in the show, which made her smile.  Tony knew he could lift her in if he wanted to, but he figured she wouldn’t like that--and anyway the side of the sleigh was low in front so they could get in and out easily.  

They settled into the seat, which was just a wide board fastened across the inside of the sleigh, and Mr. Mike lifted his brows.  “I want you both to hang on to the sides, at least for this first try.  And remember, if you need to come down, all you have to do is say the word, even during a performance.”  

“Yes, sir,” Ginny said, and Tony nodded impatiently.  Both of them gripped their respective sides with one hand, and Tony noticed with amusement that Ginny’s other hand was holding onto the board seat between them.  

The sleigh lurched forward, and then tilted up, rising into the air much like a roller coaster.  Ginny squeaked and clutched harder, leaning forward a little, but Tony relaxed into the tilt, letting his body move with the small jerks as the sleigh climbed higher.

As soon as it reached above the curtain level, it leveled out, and Ginny let out her breath and glanced over at Tony.  “It is a bit scary,” she admitted, and Tony punched her lightly on the shoulder.  

“You’re doing fine.  See, the worst is over.”  The stage manager was working the sleigh wires, and swung it over onto the scaffolding, settling it down with a thump.  Ginny scrambled out, swiping her hands across her leotard as she stepped away from the sleigh, and Tony followed after.  

“You can say no if you want,” he reminded her.  “They can rig it to be pulled out across the floor.”  

He could tell she was tempted as she looked back at the sleigh, but then she lifted her chin.  “No.  I’ll get used to it.”  

“Cool.”  Tony waved down at Mr. Mike, who was standing below on the stage and looking up at them.  

“Come on down,” he called up.  “We need to go over blocking again.”  

Ginny headed for the stairs.  Tony started to follow, but stopped as the sleigh began to lift off the scaffolding.  

He was only going to watch as Mr. Sampson worked the mechanism below, but something caught Tony’s ear, and he frowned, trying to figure out what it was.  The sleigh lifted away easily, reversing course and traveling down backwards, but Tony stared after it, feeling...knowing that something was wrong.  

“Mr. Dellarosa!” came Mr. Mike’s sharp voice, and Tony started and made for the stairs, pattering down them in time to see the sleigh land on the stage without any problem.  

And then it was back to work, but Tony didn’t forget the nagging sense of wrongness, merely pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment.  

I’ll figure it out later.  

Sunday was the dancers’ day off, despite the press to practice.  Your bodies need the break, Mr. Mike had told them; do some stretching to keep limber, but otherwise rest.  You’ll dance better for it, and avoid injury.  

Sorry, can’t rest, Tony thought as he rummaged through his boxes after Sunday lunch.  Need to figure this out.  

He frowned at his heaped possessions, fretting over what he didn’t have; shipping his entire tool collection had been nixed by his mother, and though he had a few essentials, Tony had the feeling that he would need more.  

Maybe I can find some there.  Sighing, he slipped what he had into his backpack and grabbed his coat and gloves, checking his pockets to make sure he had enough cash.  Opening his door, he walked quietly down the hall; Aunt Lucy took a nap every Sunday afternoon that she didn’t have an engagement, and he didn’t want to disturb her.  

Jarvis was polishing silver in the kitchen when Tony stuck his head in.  “I’m going out,” he told the butler, who nodded.  That was the agreement they’d come to, he and Aunt Lucy; Tony went to Mass with her on Sunday mornings, and the rest of the day was his, as long as he let them know what he was up to.  It was fair, and Tony didn’t mind sticking to it.  

He started to turn away, but then hesitated.  “Do you have a double hex screwdriver?” he asked Jarvis, who raised his brows thoughtfully.  

“I don’t believe I do,” he said after a moment.  “But Fred probably does.”  

“Great, thanks.”  Tony slung his backpack on and headed out to the elevator.  Fred was one of the doormen, and he and Tony had become friends early on.  He was cool.  

So was Jarvis, Tony reflected on the ride down.  Most grownups would have wanted to know why Tony needed a specific screwdriver, but Jarvis seemed to take it for granted that Tony wasn’t going to take anything apart.  

Anything I can’t put back together again, anyway.  Tony smirked at his reflection in the polished brass wall of the elevator.  

Fred was happy to supply the tool, and before he could ask why, another resident got his attention, and Tony slipped away into the cold outdoors, his breath steaming.  

He was getting used to the city.  Tony navigated his way to the college campus where the auditorium was located, and walked in with no trouble; people were setting up for a chamber music concert on the building’s smaller stage, and no one spared him more than a glance.  Part of the key to getting somewhere you shouldn’t be was to act like you belonged, Tony knew, and it was a piece of cake to get backstage.  

The sleigh was kept in the basement storage area, along with many other set pieces, all brought up on a freight elevator in the back.  But Tony had no plans to mess with that; it was noisy and definitely would attract attention.  Instead, he tried the door to the stairs that led down.  

It was locked, which he’d expected anyway.  Tony pulled a screwdriver from his pack, and within a minute he’d jimmied the door open; the lock was ancient.  

The stairwell beyond was pitch black, and Tony debated turning on the stair lights, but he was afraid that they would show beyond the door, so he settled for the flashlight he’d brought along.  A small rock he’d picked up crossing the park propped the door just barely open.  Don’t want to get locked in.  

Switching on his flashlight, Tony made his way down the stairs.  He’d been down to the basement twice already, helping Mr. Sampson and Jill move equipment, but it was definitely creepier without the overheads, and Tony felt a little weird by himself in the dark.  

But once he’d reached the bottom he felt safe in pulling the big switch to turn on the basement lights.  It didn’t help the creepiness that much, what with all the shadows and dark pockets, but at least he was less likely to trip.  

Tony found the sleigh next to its reindeer, back near the elevator.  He dropped his bag and took off his coat, hanging it absently over the closest reindeer.  “Okay,” he muttered.  “What the heck is wrong?”  

It took him about ten minutes to figure it out.  The sleigh was a prop rather than a real one, of course, and was made out of sturdy plywood held together with bolts.  All those were firm; but when Tony examined the fasteners that held the wires in place along the back, he found that the screws had begun to pull out.  

The sight of the loose fasteners made him shiver.  It wasn’t hard to picture the wires pulling free as the sleigh rose above the stage, suddenly dropping the sleigh vertical.  I could grab on if it started to go, but Ginny...  

The thought of her tumbling out, plunging down towards the hard boards below, had Tony setting his teeth and reaching for his bag.  

As it turned out, he didn’t need the double hex after all, but as Tony rummaged through the detritus of performances past for the parts he needed, he seethed at Mr. Sampson.  He should have checked.  

Of course, all Tony had to do was point out the damage, and Mr. Mike would immediately nix the sleigh flight.  But Tony wanted to fly.  

And besides, he told himself, Ginny would think there really was something to be scared of, and she might never try it again.  

Fortunately, he turned up enough serviceable parts to allow him to fix the sleigh without making the repairs immediately obvious.  He set to work grimly, making very sure that his screws were set properly, and then went over the rest of the sleigh with close attention and the flashlight, to make sure it was all in working order.  

When he was finished, Tony packed up his tools again and mounted the stairs, slipping out and locking the door behind him.  Grimly satisfied, he went back out into the day and headed for the Pizza Cake joint near the academy.  

After that, he deserved at least three slices.  

Ginny didn’t want to admit that the fluttering in her stomach was getting stronger every day. She patiently let Mrs. Manouf fit her costumes (“Eat more, my lovely girl; your tallness is coming soon!”) and paid attention to every word Mr. Mike said, even when he was giving directions to other people. She liked how calm he was, even when the music system in the auditorium didn’t work right, or when one of the party kids knocked over part of the set.

It made her feel better.

Dancing did too; when she was moving to the music, working to get every step, every sweep of her arms and pose perfect, time went by in a blink. When she danced, Ginny felt like a little puff of air, light and hardly touching the ground. The flutters went away, and she felt happy, inside and out. One of the best parts was that Eddie felt it too. She could tell, because he’d get a look on his face that made him look older and made her feel a little bit tingly.

Ginny supposed that was the Prince part of his dancing.

They had a dress rehearsal for the Aspen Assisted Care Home residents from Central Park West. There weren’t many of them; they sat in the middle section of the auditorium in their heavy winter coats and wooly hats, some of them with really thick glasses that twinkled in the lights. But they liked the dancing, and Ginny saw a couple of them swaying in time with the music. She concentrated on dancing as best she could, surprised at how fast the show went. When it was time to come out and make her révérence, the applause startled her, and she blinked as the residents clapped and told her she was a ‘real sweetheart.’

Eddie bowed with her, and then picked her up, lifting her from his left side to his right; Ginny didn’t know he was going to do that, but pretended that she did and let him do it, trying to look graceful. Off in the wings she could see Mr. Mike scowling a little, but Eddie was grinning. They bowed again and then waved to the wings so the rest of the company came out and curtseyed or bowed. The residents were trying to get to their feet, and one of them, a bald old man with a big nose, whistled loudly.

Afterwards Mr. Mike kept everyone on stage and began to tell them what they needed to work on. Some of it was stuff they all knew, like keeping tempo and not bumping into each other in the wings. At the very end, Mr. Mike looked at Eddie very hard.

“Mr. Dellarosa, I can’t say I approve of your flamboyant gesture with Miss McGann during your bow . . . . however,” he coughed, “The effect was undeniably charming, and if you are both secure with the lift, we shall see about incorporating it next time. Do NOT,” he glared at them, “improvise anything further though. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” Eddie murmured. Ginny nodded, feeling hot in the face. She shot an angry look at Eddie, but he just grinned at her. As they made their way backstage to the dressing rooms, she reached out and lightly shoved him.

“Don’t get me in trouble,” she told him firmly.

“I didn’t. I made us look good.”

“Eddie! I don’t want Mr. Mike to get mad at me. At us,” she corrected.

“Oh come on, freckle-puss, sometimes you’ve gotta take chances. I know I can lift you, YOU know I can lift you, and now Mr. Mike knows it too. No big deal.”

Ginny scowled and hit his back again. “Don’t call me freckle-puss.”

Eddie looked over his shoulder. “Okay, okay—you know I like your freckles anyway. They make you look all cinnamony.”

She didn’t know what to say to that; it wasn’t a mean thing and made her stomach tickle, so instead she stormed off to the girl’s dressing room, and wiped off her makeup harder than she needed to.

All of them drove together for opening night, and Ginny was too nervous to eat more than a handful of crackers. Trish was chattering about something she’d seen on TV, but Ginny hardly heard it. She sat next to Daddy, and at the stoplights, he reached over and squeezed her hand.

“You’ll feel better once you’re on stage, Tangerine,” he whispered, and she nodded, grateful that his fingers were warm.

Daddy was right; everything would be fine when the music started and she could just dance.

They pulled up to the back of the auditorium and Trish pointed out the cars she knew. “There’s Mr. Mike’s Saab, and Miss Jill’s Bug, an’ Phillip’s mom’s  . . . what the heck is that?”

“A Citroen,” Mr. McGann murmured, pulling into one of the last spaces. “It’s a French car.”

“It looks like a big blue cockroach with wheels,” Trish announced, and Ginny laughed because it DID. Her daddy grinned and made her wrap her long muffler around her throat. They went up the stairs in through the stage door. Inside, it was warmer, and Ginny could hear the little kids in the big warm up room.

She turned; Daddy was pale, but smiling at her and he held out his arms. Ginny went and hugged him hard.

“I’m going to go get a good seat out front, right where you can see me,” he assured her, and she nodded, feeling better.

She got into her costume. Miss Jill came over and did her makeup; Ginny held still, watching her freckles get lighter under the pale coloring. Miss Jill was smiling. “Everyone’s here on time, I’m so glad about that.”

The music was filtering through the backstage rooms, and Ginny closed her eyes, thinking of dancing. When she opened them, Eddie was on the stool next to her, doing up the buttons on his costume’s jacket. He looked like he was concentrating too, but turned his head to look at her and whispered, “Remember when we were dancing at the bus stop?”

She nodded, and Eddie continued. “The busdriver is out there, over on the left side, towards the wall. I think she has her husband with her too.”

“Really?” Ginny asked in surprise. Eddie grinned, but doesn’t get to say anything because Miss Jill swooped down with a hair brush and began to tackle his hair.

From that point on, everything seemed to speed up, and although Ginny tried hard to concentrate, the tickles in her tummy kept fluttering, and she wiggled to try and get rid of them. She went to the left wings, waiting as patiently as she could as the orchestra played the introduction and the big velvet curtains began to open. Out in the audience, a little rumble of applause rolled out and Ginny thought it sounded a little like the ocean, soft and soothing.

She smiled.

Tony danced. It was a bigger audience than he’d had in California, but he wasn’t too fazed. Now he understood why Mr. Mike kept urging them to make all the stage business larger, and as he did his leaps, he tried to put as much lift into them as he could.

Everyone did great, as far as he could see. Miss Jill pranced around as Herr Drosselmeyer, looking weird and cute in her stick-on goatee and military jacket. Katie didn’t fall down until she was in the wings. Phillip managed to keep in time and did pretty good on his chaine . . .

And then it was time to dance with Ginny. Tony concentrated, trying hard to match what she was putting into it, and that took work because she was as close to perfect as he’d ever seen her. Tony braced her, spun her, kept pace with her impossibly beautiful poses and shifts and jumps. Somewhere in the back of his mind it dawned on him that she not only was good, but that she could be on her way to greatness, and that startled him because he’d never thought about dancing for a living before.

But on stage, Ginny McGann wasn’t here anymore; Clara floated and dipped and carried him through the whole performance, and against his will, Tony was a little dazzled by her joy.

The crash of applause at the end startled them both; Tony saw Ginny’s thin chest heaving a bit, a trickle of sweat along her temple. He moved to lift her, and the little smile she flashed at him let him know that she was ready. Lightly, swiftly he raised her up, adrenaline letting him hold her practically over his head, and in an arc he set her down again.

The audience ate it up, and both of them blushed. At least, Tony knew Ginny did; behind her freckles she was rosy in the stage lights.

They waved to the wings; the rest of the company came on for bows, some of the littler ones giggling. The company waved to the orchestra, who rose and bowed, and then after two more curtain calls, it was over. Tony breathed a heavy sigh, feeling light and full of energy. He scrambled out of his costume and gave it back to Mrs. Manouf, wiped off his make-up quickly, and slipped out the side door, making his way through the half-empty auditorium to where Aunt Lucy and Jarvis were waiting, both of them smiling.

“T-Eddie, you were wonderful honey! Oh my God I had no idea you were that good! Oh if only . . .” she stopped, and lowered her voice, and Tony knew what she had been going to say.

“Yeah,” he sighed, refusing to let even that melancholy thought ruin the elation he still felt. “Maybe Mr. Mike will video it and I can get a copy.”

“Outstanding, Mr. Dellarosa,” Jarvis offered warmly. “As fine a performance of Tchaikovsky’s ballet as I’ve ever seen, given the age of the principals.”

Tony grinned. “Did you see Ginny? She was great! Hang on, let me go get her—” Before his aunt could protest, he was off, darting back the way he’d come, searching out his partner.

Ginny was there in the hallway between the dressing rooms, hugging her father; Tony hung back, not wanting to break in on a personal moment. He waited, and finally when Ginny let go, Tony waved to her. Both Mr. McGann and she turned to him, and Tony spoke up, quickly. “Hey, can you come meet my aunt and her butler? They both thought you were really great and I did too, Ginny. Please?”

Ginny looked up at her dad, and he nodded. “Sure honey. I’ll wait here for you, okay?”

Tony looked back to make sure she was following him, and then sped up, weaving through people like an otter. He reached his aunt again in record time, grinning, and half-turned as Ginny nearly bumped into him. “Aunt Lucy, this is Ginny. Wasn’t she great?”

“You were,” Aunt Lucy confirmed, holding out a gloved hand. Ginny took it and shook gently, a little overwhelmed by the pretty woman in the fur coat and diamonds.

“Thank you,” she whispered, slightly awed.

“It was a pleasure to watch you dance tonight,” came the soft compliment from the man standing next to Aunt Lucy. Tony saw Ginny blinked at him.

“That’s Jarvis,” he offered. “He’s cool.”

Ginny almost giggled when she saw the man’s eyebrow go up.

Then someone came towards them, voice warm and sweet. “Well, well, if it isn’t my two best riders from Route Eight! You two were wonderful tonight! I’m gonna have to tell everyone to pick up a ticket!”

Aunt Lucy looked a little surprised, but Tony and Ginny both grinned. The woman beamed, and stuck out a hand to them both. “Mrs. Jessie Parker of the New York Transit System.”

“I’m Eddie and this is Ginny,” Tony replied cheerfully. “Thanks for coming to the show!”

“After that pretty preview in the snow,” the woman laughed, “I jus’ had to!” Looking up at Aunt Lucy she explained, “They were dancing at the bus stop when I pulled up a few weeks ago. So pretty in the streetlight. I don’t get to see things like that too often; good for the soul.”

“Indeed,” Jarvis murmured, “it is,” and Tony blushed.

The next four performances were good; none of them had the zing of opening night, but the ticket sales were brisk, and Mr. Mike was pleased with the ensemble’s performances.

Then came the bad matinee.

Everyone seemed rushed; some of the props weren’t in place and the dancer playing Mother Ginger had the hiccups. A button came loose from Tony’s costume jacket during his first leap.

And he fell.

Normally that wouldn’t be a terrible thing because all dancers had missteps and accidents. Mr. Mike had told them it would happen, and reminded them that getting up and finishing was what mattered; that the audience would always be kind because performing was hard and everyone understood.

But this was his own fault, and Tony knew it. This wasn’t an accident as much as it was his own careless confidence. That and the stupid Nutcracker head. He’d never gotten the eyeholes widened, and after all this time Tony had assumed he could dance more by feel than anything else. He was doing a turn near the edge of the footlights, thinking about telling Mrs. Manouf about the button, and his slipper landed on the rim of the stage. He wavered for a moment, arms swinging to try and shift his balance, but it was too late, and Tony went down, right between two of the cellos.

There was a gasp from the audience, and from the cellists, but Tony lucked out and landed in a half crouch on a coat, glad that the stage was a low one. He scrambled back up, tugged the Nutcracker head on more firmly and finished his dance, manfully ignoring the smattering of supportive applause as he cursed himself in the darkness of his headpiece. Once he reached the wings at the scene shift, Miss Jill was there, taking the head from him, her gaze sharp. “Eddie! Are you all right?”

He nodded miserably. “Yeah. I landed on my feet,” he told her, moving deeper backstage. “I’m sorry.”

“Accidents happen,” came her automatic response, “But be more careful—I’m okay with being Drosselmeyer; I don’t want to be the prince too!” With that she reached over and squeezed his shoulder; Tony’s mouth twisted in a wry smile as he watched her go round up the little ones.

Ginny came off-stage, eyes wide and he shook his head at her. “I’m fine. Just decided to liven things up by taking a dive.”

“That was scary,” she told him softly, and for a moment he felt touched by her concern. Then Ginny added, “I would have to dance all by myself if you broke your leg down there.”

“Oh thanks,” Tony muttered, but she grinned and punched his shoulder.

“Come on, we have to get changed—”

Somehow they made it through that awful matinee, and weirdly enough, the audience seemed to love them more, even though one of the curtains caught on a piece of scenery, and Flavia the Sugar Plum fairy accidentally smacked one of her supporting dancers in the face during a spin. When the last bow was taken, Mr. Mike clapped his hands and told everyone to meet out front once the audience was gone.

A glumness fell over the troupe; most of them understood that having a meeting after the show was not a good thing. Tony, especially steeled himself for the dressing down that was sure to come; it didn’t make it any easier knowing he deserved it.

When the big doors at the back of the auditorium swung closed, and most of the cast were back in street clothes and quiet, sitting here and there on the stage, Mr. Mike came down the main aisle of the auditorium and sighed loudly.

“You are troopers,” he told them firmly. “And that means you did the best you could when things were not going well. I’m very proud of you for keeping the show going today because I know it was hard. That’s what dancers do, and all of you are real dancers. It’s easy when everything is going right, and all the props are there, and the costumes fit and you know your marks. The sign of good dancers is that you can give a good performance when things aren’t going well.”

A little sigh of relief ran through the company; Tony felt a bit better for the cheering words, and could see Ginny did too. Even Flavia looked relieved. Then Mr. Mike spoke again. “That being said, I think it would be a good idea if we all concentrated a little bit more. I would like you all here twenty minutes earlier so we can warm up for our last performance. I need you to do your absolute best, because my mother is coming to the show.”

This brought a round of disbelief from the younger dancers, most of whom could not imagine Mr. Mike having a mother. He waved for the dismissal, but when Tony tried to slink off, the soft clearing of a throat stopped him. Turning, Tony looked back at Mr. Mike, who came down to the edge of the stage and looked up at him, arms crossed. “Mr. Dellarosa. About your fall . . .”

“I’m sorry. It . . .” Tony wanted to blame it on the headpiece; on having to dance with most of his vision blocked, on the stupidity of having to wear something the size of a football helmet, but even as the excuses came to mind, he simply hung his head. “ . . . was all my own fault. I overshot my mark.”

“Yes,” Mr. Mike agreed. “And the consequences could have been tragic. Do you know how much a cello costs?”

Tony looked down to see Mr. Mike’s semi-stern expression and the twinkle in his eye. “Um, three thousand dollars?” he guessed, cockiness somewhat restored.

“At least. Not to mention the loss of a fine and upcoming cavalier. Don’t let your confidence get ahead of your footwork again, Edward; it will cost you dearly someday. Dismissed, young man.”

There was a mingled excitement and sadness for the last performance; Ginny could feel it in the air, like a sort of perfume. She and Trish talked about lots of nothing, and as she laced up her slippers, Ginny sighed. She wasn’t as stomach-fluttery now; at least not about dancing. Now she could go out on the wooden stage and look at the footlights and step into the music like it was water.

That was good.

She was still worried about Daddy, even though he smiled and kidded her, but he napped a lot, and used the heating pad all the time. He had new bottles of pills too, and Ginny tried to stay quiet when he was sleeping.

But, after tonight Nutcracker would be over, and they could settle into Christmas. Ginny hoped she and Trish would be able to go skating at the Rockefeller Center during the break; maybe even invite a few of the other dancers to go too. Ginny wondered if Eddie had ever been skating before. Maybe not, she figured, but he was good at picking things up, and she could picture him playing Crack the Whip and laughing.

Ginny got up and went to go warm up, happy and sad inside at the same time.

Everyone rose to their best for the last night; for everything that had gone wrong before was now smoothed over and easy. For the first time, Ginny really did feel like Clara, and under the lights she danced with genuine joy in each step.

Eddie had it too, she noticed, and their flow was perfect. Ginny felt she could have danced in the dark, or with a blindfold on, and still, Eddie would have been right there to brace her, or match her or turn with her perfectly, just as he did now. It never, she knew, would have ever felt like this with Steve. Steve could have learned the steps, but he’d never have blended with her, or balanced out her part of the dance in the easy, happy way Eddie did right now.

The joy welled in her, and for moment after moment, Ginny McGann felt she was flying.

The applause went on and on; it startled her to remember there were people out there beyond the lights. A big bouquet came over the footlights and Eddie brought it to her, grinning as he put it in her arms. Roses, big yellow and orange roses, sweet-smelling, in a cone of green tissue. Ginny blinked at the gift, and Eddie bent quickly and kissed her cheek.

At that, the applause welled up again, and Ginny looked around, feeling a little lost, but Eddie waved to the wings, and the rest of the company came out to join them and take their bows. Then Mr. Mike came out and stood between Eddie and Ginny and bowed as well. Ginny clutched her roses, making the paper crinkle as Mr. Mike thanked the orchestra and had them bow too.

And then it was over.

Everyone chattered and laughed and raced back to the dressing rooms, relief and adrenaline making them three times noisier than usual. There were plans to meet at Pizza Cake, and last minute directions, and Mrs. Manouf collecting costumes and dispensing hugs. Ginny shyly thanked people who were congratulating her, and made her way to the make up table so she could clean her face.

As she finished, she looked in the mirror; Eddie stood behind her, his dark eyes bright. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Hey Ginny,” he whispered quickly.

“Yeah?”

“My mom and dad are here. They . . . they came to the show!” he told her, his voice strained, and his expression twisted up. Ginny could tell he was trying to stay calm, but she could feel his grip tighten on her shoulders and she squirmed a little. Instantly Eddie let go, embarrassed. “So I can’t go to Pizza Cake because I’m going with them but I really, really want them to meet you. Is that okay?”

She turned and looked at Eddie, fidgeting there, and somehow she knew how important this was to him; more than meeting his aunt. He looked happy and scared at the same time.

Like he needed a hug, and he couldn’t ask for one.

“Okay,” Ginny agreed gently. “Sure.”

They made their way out to the hall, and Eddie led her to the emergency door; the one Mr. Mike said not to use. When he pushed it open, a man and woman stepped in, moving to stand on either side of Eddie, like they were protecting him, Ginny thought.

“You danced divinely, Miss McGann,” Eddie’s mother smiled. She was a pretty woman, with dark hair and eyes like Eddie. She was short, too.

“It was a great show,” came Eddie’s dad, and Ginny could see that he was a big man with grey in his hair. He and Eddie had the same smile, and the same sort of pointed nose.

“Thank you,” Ginny murmured quietly. “It was fun. Eddie did a really good job and he was nice to me, so that was good too.”

“Eh,” Eddie mumbled, but she could tell he was pleased to hear her say so.

His mother hugged him, and laughed a little. “Yes, well it’s good to know he’s working some of that energy of his off in a productive way, and not blowing up the kitchen anymore.”

“I only did that once,” Eddie sighed. “And Tiger’s hair grew back just fine.”

“Not his whiskers,” Eddie’s mother murmured, but she was smiling, and Ginny grinned a little too.

“I think it’s time to go, son,” his dad rumbled, and for a moment all four of them stood uneasily.

Finally Ginny made a little nod of her head, and whispered, “It was good to meet you,” and held out her hand. Eddie’s mother took it and pressed it between her own; Ginny liked how warm her touch was.

”And so very good to meet you, Miss McGann. You have an exciting future ahead of you.”  

Ginny blushed; the dark eyes that looked down on her were warm, and she could tell that Eddie’s mother meant it.  

Eddie’s dad sighed.  “Go say goodbye, and we’ll meet you out back.  Sub rosa, okay?”  

Ginny didn’t know what “sub rosa” meant, but Eddie apparently did, because he nodded.  “I just need a couple of minutes.”  

He darted away.  Ginny waved shyly at the two grownups and followed him back up the hall, heading back to change her clothes, but when she reached for her bag she saw the package at the bottom.  She’d meant to give him the Christmas present at the party after the performance, but--

If Eddie’s leaving now--  

Grabbing the package, she sped back out to look for Eddie, hoping she hadn’t missed him.  To her relief, he was just saying goodbye to Mr. Mike, and as she watched he hurried towards the emergency doors.  Ginny dashed after him.  “Eddie, wait!”  

The party was noisy and fun, and Ginny was starving.  She sat with Dad and Mom and ate slice after slice of pizza, chattering with them about the performance and then going over to see Trish and her family, but the whole time she was conscious of a sort of disappointment, because Eddie wasn’t there.  

Mr. Mike had stood up at the start of the party and told them that Mr. Dellarosa had been unexpectedly called away and wouldn’t be returning, but then he went on to say that they’d all done a wonderful job, from Ginny down to the littlest party children, and including Eddie.  From the way he was smiling, Ginny had the feeling that he knew why Eddie had to leave all of a sudden, but she didn’t worry about it.  

She missed him, sure, but he was happy now, back with his family.  

Ginny was pulling on her coat at the end of the party when a tall slender man in a long coat appeared at her side.  She looked up at him and suddenly recognized him; he was the man who had been with Eddie’s aunt.  “Hello, Mr. Jarvis.”  

He gave her a little approving smile.  “Hello, Miss McGann.  I have been tasked with delivering this to you since Mr. Dellarosa could not.”  He held out a rather lumpy package, flat on the bottom but with the paper stretched over a hump on top and thickly taped.  

Ginny took it in surprise; she hadn’t expected a present back from Eddie.  “Um...thank you.”  

Jarvis bowed just slightly.  “All the blessings of the season to you, Miss McGann.”  And then he was gone.  

Ginny didn’t unwrap the package until she was ready for bed, alone in her room; somehow that seemed the right time.  The lump was something rolled in crumpled tissue paper.  When she opened it, Ginny’s mouth made a little o, because it was a tiny wind-up dancer figurine with a key.  Carefully, she wound it and set it down on her desk, and it spun across the surface with stiff grace.  When it wound down and stopped, she opened the flat part.  

It was the Vaganova ballet book.  

Tony stared out the window of the little jet, even though there was nothing to see but darkness.  Behind him he could hear his mom and Aunt Lucy talking softly, barely audible over the roar of the engines; off to one side, his dad was snoring in his own seat.  

Tony had fallen asleep himself for a little while, after the steward served them all dinner, but now he was wide awake.  Shoving off the blanket someone had put over him, he stood up and stretched, feeling the post-performance ache in his muscles, and then went to use the head.  

The steward was reading in the little kitchen when Tony passed back by, and Tony gave him a nod and grabbed a Coke from the fridge.  When he got back to his seat, he saw Ginny’s present sticking out of his bag on the opposite seat, and reached for it.  There hadn’t been time to open it before.  

It was nice of her to give him a present, he thought as he ripped the paper off; it was really like her.  He didn’t know what to expect, and the plain cardboard box underneath didn’t give him any clues.  

But when he opened it and slid out the contents, Tony grinned.  Yep.  That’s Ginny.  

The glossy, brightly-painted Nutcracker grinned back.

December, 2009

The Maria Dellarosa Center for the Performing Arts glittered in the sparkle of holiday lights, and Tony took a moment to admire the view before he slid out of the limousine. Despite the lack of snow, the wonderland effect was in full charm with an avenue of Christmas trees loaded with strands of crystal and glass ornaments. An ensemble was playing softly, the holiday music soothing on the mild breeze just before twilight, and Tony smiled.

Pepper slid out behind him and Tony absently held a hand to assist her, his gaze still on the decorations. "Not too shabby," he murmured.

"Given that we're looking at about a half a million dollars in Swarovski crystals, yes, I'd say so," Pepper murmured, blinking a bit at the glitter.  

"Worth it," he replied. "Ready for the show?"

Pepper nodded. "Yes. Thank you for the invitation."

Tony shot her a sidelong glance, half a smirk, half a sigh. "It took enough arm-twisting to get you to agree, even with all your stipulations about it not being a date or anything."

"It's not," Pepper automatically reiterated, avoiding his gaze. "We're here to enjoy the production, Mr. Stark. To show our appreciation of a holiday classic."

Tony waved a hand as they strolled to the entrance, the crowd parting for them respectfully. A few camera flashes make the lights twinkle more brightly. "To see if anyone falls in the orchestra pit, you mean."

Pepper shot him a glance, but a burly reporter from Channel 9 stepped up in front of them and she shifted back, to be out of the camera's eye as the first questions started.


They were ushered into the Stark Suite, and Tony dropped into one of the lush burgundy recliners, pulling off his scarf and tossing it carelessly on the side table. Pepper settled into the seat next to him, her gaze already on the gold velvet curtains down below. Without looking, she fished out her BlackBerry and turned the sound off before re-pocketing it.

Tony did the same with his phone and closed his eyes.

"Going to sleep?" she murmured, feeling a hint of disappointment. Tony shook his head, slightly.

"Letting it sink in. It's been a long time since my last Nutcracker, Miss Potts, and I'm savoring it," he replied quietly. "Reminds me of my aunt."

They didn't speak once the Miniature Overture began and the curtain rose.

Pepper lost herself in the familiar story, finding an aching joy in watching Clara dance far down below, moving sweetly through choreography that still sent little impulses through her own arms and feet. It was silly, really--although she occasionally did the stretches, Pepper hadn't danced in years, and yet the reflex was there, even now, that urge to rise out of her seat and move to the music.

Tony turned his head to look at her during the Russian Dance, and she pinkened a little. "I . . . . danced in this, a long time ago," Pepper confessed. She braced herself for teasing, or questions; Tony was generally nosy and she expected him to demand details. Instead, he shot her a smile and said nothing.

Very quietly--nearly twenty minutes later--he murmured, "I did too."

That floored her for a moment, and Pepper's gaze flickered from the stage and performers shifting into her favorite piece back to Tony's profile in the semi-darkness. He didn't look at her, but the brackets at the corners of his mouth were deep as he smiled.

His statement lingered at the back of her thoughts as she watched the rest of the performance, not exactly nagging at her, but waiting, gently, to be reconsidered.

Tony enjoyed himself. His public self wasn't particularly noted for patronage of the Arts, but everyone went to see The Nutcracker at Christmas, and it was a nice way to captain the Center in the media's eyes.

And he liked ballet. Not for the stories, which were usually traditional and not interesting, but for the variations in choreography and the physical prowess of the dancers; the skill in making hard work seem effortless.

He thought of the woman sitting next to him. The woman trying hard to stay still, even though he could see her head moving fractionally to the music, and sense the little suppressed twitches through her frame.

A woman who had the skill in making hard work seem effortless.

Who had once been, Tony slowly realized, a girl who had made hard work seem effortless.

For a second, he felt a sweet rush of giddiness in the pit of his stomach. He'd wondered about her years ago; hoped that things had gone well for her and that she'd kept up her dancing. She had had that spark that could have flared into greatness.

But here she was, running his schedule and managing his budget. He remembered in a sudden surge of memory. Someone--her dad? had been ill, and that sort of thing could have taken up a lot of time and money . . .

Tony tensed a little, hit by a moment of sorrowful compassion, and then shot a sidelong glance at Pepper, who was smiling at the scene change down below. Her profile, so familiar to him, took on a deeper significance as he overlaid a younger, smaller memory against it. Same nose, same delicate ear . . . .

Ginny. Short for Virginia.

Had to be.

He bided his time, settling back to impatiently wait out the rest of the performance.

When the show was over, they lingered in the Suite, waiting for the company to receive their due and the crowds below to move out. Tony rose and fiddled with his scarf. "Liked it?"

"Very much," Pepper assured him. "It's always been one of my favorites."

"Ever since you were a little girl?" Tony couldn't resist asking, keeping his face averted from her.

"Yes," she replied serenely, taking his question at face value. "And you?"

"It had its moments," Tony acknowledged. "Live music is half the charm, I think."

Pepper agreed, and the headed for the door and the private elevator; halfway through the descent, Tony cleared his throat. "Hey, before we go, let's check out the set."

She looked startled. "The set? Why?"

"Because I can," he responded, not quite grinning at her surprise. "Oh come on, Potts; you know you want to."

It was fun to see common sense and curiosity struggle in her expression, more so since his earlier revelation, and Tony waited it out, letting the elevator bring them to the main foyer. He stepped forward, moving into the theater and Pepper followed him, her steps still slightly reluctant.

"I'm not going to get in trouble," Tony assured her over his shoulder. "I DO own the place."

"Tony," she began, and stopped, knowing resistance was futile. They strode down the slope of the theater to the stage, and Tony gave a wave to the orchestra pit, where several musicians were starting to pack up.

"Great job; one of the best renditions I've heard," he assured them. A few thanked him; most gave a pleased nod for the recognition and continued tucking away sheet music and cleaning instruments. Tony trotted to the side of the stage and up the stairs, striding out onto the main floor with confidence.

The house lights were down, and the theater empty by this point; everyone had gone home or backstage, so Pepper moved to join Tony, her expression chagrined when he turned to her.

"So you danced it, huh?" he murmured conversationally. "One of the company, maybe a party guest?"

His tone irritated her slightly; it held a hint of amusement in it and Pepper pursed her lips. "Actually, I danced the lead, Mr. Stark."

"Clara," Tony replied, moving to stand next to Pepper, both of them facing out towards the seats. "Ah yes, I could see that. Long legs, laser focus, a restless need to be . . . perfect."

He extended his arm and stood, waiting.

Pepper stiffened, and his previous statement suddenly flashed in her mind like a firework, bringing with it a sharp jolt of memory, the focus

coming so quickly that she nearly gasped.

So easily it all came back. So effortlessly, and for a weird moment, Pepper wasn't sure if she was in the here and now or not. There was the stage, the light and the cavalier---

Pepper held the pose until his soft voice whispered In her ear, "Hel-lo, freckle puss."

She pulled away, locking gazes with Eddie Dellarosa.

"Oh my God . . ." Pepper managed, feeling faint. "Eddie. You. were. Eddie."

"Nutcracker, Rostov's Academy, winter of eighty something. Lead flaked out, I was understudy, Ginny, and you blew them away. We totally rocked the Wilson that season," Tony grinned. "I take back everything I ever said about not believing in fate, and I bet Jarvis would put the odds of this at twenty zillion to one."

Pepper nodded, feeling a weightlessness to her stomach as she stared at him. Same dark eyes and hair, same quicksilver, cocky attitude overlaid on a man's frame now. "You lived with your aunt, and you used to walk me and Trish Louis home from rehearsals. You met my dad before he died," she murmured in a breathless voice.

Tony nodded.

Tenderly, he reached out and took Pepper's hands, holding them in his own, feeling his touch warm hers squeezing them gently. "Let's go have dinner, Ginny McGann."

Pepper looked back at him, meeting those warm brown eyes

"Sure," she smiled back. "Sounds good, Eddie Dellarosa. Because I think we have a lot to catch up on."

Tony slid behind her, hands at her waist and lifted her up. Pepper didn't have time to protest, and the view was higher than she remembered, but when he set her down again and moved closer, Pepper smiled.

"Bigger," she whispered, "and perfect."

"Yep," Tony agreed. "And better every year."

Pepper suddenly knew he meant more, much more than just the lift, or even the show by that . . . .

And she trusted him.


End