Page 102 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Monday passes, and there’s still no word from the building inspector. I call the number on his card, and it bounces straight to a voicemail service. The message sounds like it’s on the up and up, but my gut insists he was casing the place. So when he doesn’t respond by Tuesday, I look up the office online and call the general service line.

They’ve never heard of the guy.

I share the news with everyone over lunch at The Bread Shop, holding Anabelle’s hands for my own sake as much as hers, and Jeremy suggests calling the police.

My first thought ishell no.But this guy is slinging some murky shit. In the past, a paper trail was my enemy, but this time we need one. Someone in a position of authority has to know that Weston has been going after Anabelle and is escalating.

“Ryan?” Anabelle says, her voice heavy with concern. I know what she’s thinking… I haven’t told her anything else about my job for Roark, but she’s too smart not to have realized I’ve done illegal shit before.

“You should call them,” I say. “They need to know that guy was planning something.”

So she does, and although the officer she speaks to is receptive, he can’t do anything. We don’t have any direct evidence that Weston sent the guy, any photos of the “inspector,” or anything other than the fake business card. He tells Anabelle to keep her eye open for scam artists, promises to look into the matter, and that’s that.

For them.

I’m on guard.

It feels like I’m in a silent war, and I wish again for my brother. Jake’s smarter than me, and he’d know how to handle this.

I start wearing the watch I got at the estate sale, which bolsters me in a strange way and reminds me that I’ve decided to be a new man.

On Wednesday, the new sign for the inn arrives, and Jeremy and I install it over his lunch break. It looks damn good, and Anabelle has tears in her eyes as she takes it in.

“Your grandmother would be so proud of you, sweetheart,” I tell her, letting my hand settle on the small of her back. I know it’s true. Grandma Edith was a woman who owned her shit, and she would have loved to see that her granddaughter had inherited the same backbone. Hell, the thought puts tears in my eyes, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

She gives me a sidelong look, leaning into my hand, and says, “She would have been proud of you too. I know it.”

I want to believe it. I want to believe I’m not being a selfish prick for sticking around, especially since Weston mustbe driven crazy by the knowledge that I’m still here, still with Anabelle. He’s the one who broke his relationship with her, but to his mind, I’m the thief who took his woman and the B&B he wanted for his portfolio.

What wouldn’t a man like that do?

I ask myself that every day as I go about my business, pausing to look out the windows and search the street.

I ask myself that as I kiss my girl until my lips are raw, and as I make her come with my mouth and my hand. But I still haven’t let myself have her all the way, even though she’s hinted she’s ready.

By the time the weekend rolls around again without any developments, I’m so past ready to sink into her that my dick’s sending me hate mail.

It’s just…

I’m in love with her. It would be impossible to feel any other way. But she doesn’t know everything, and some broken bit of logic in my brain tells me it’s not fair to make love to her without telling her who’s been sharing her bed.

So even though I’m happy in a way I’ve never been, it’s incomplete. Because I can feel trouble at my back, just two steps away, and I can’t relax or take comfort in her the way I’d like. But I try to hold back my worry, not wanting to infect her, or Cynthia and Jeremy, who act like every day is their honeymoon despite bickering as much as ever, or Joe, who’s already worried enough about everything.

The inn looks great, and the guests are crazy about the Santa scavenger hunt—a reporter even got in touch with Anabelle about doing a national story about it. The thought of taking the interview gave her hives, so she responded that she’d “get back to them,” but still, it’s cool as hell that they’re interested.

The Gingerbread House has been full for days, and it’ll be full until after New Year’s.

It’s a lot for Anabelle, but Cynthia, Joe, and I work together to make sure she doesn’t get burned out—which seems entirely possible given that she and Joe are like Christmas elves in their office, sending out dozens of packages a day.

Christmas is coming, and I want to be excited about it. I want to think it’s all going to be okay. But that nagging worry just won’t go away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ANABELLE

Saturday, December 22, 3 days before Christmas

Presents purchased for my nice list and stowed in my super secret hiding place that only Ryan knows about: 15

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