Page 103 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

It’s Saturday morning, three days before Christmas, and my whole body feels like it’s buzzing. This isalwaysmy favorite time of the year, and this year it’s so much better and bigger, because Ryan, Joe, Cynthia, Jeremy, and I will be spending Christmas together! Cynthia and Jeremy both have family in town, but Jeremy’s parents are divorced and fighting, so he says he has the perfect excuse to avoid them. Cynthia told me privately that while her mother is overjoyed that she “finally” has a serious boyfriend, her father isn’t that pleased that it’s a “doofus who plays the trumpet in a marching band.” So she’s going to be with us too.

My parents asked me to join them for Christmas dinner, but my father made a point of saying that Ryan is not welcome…and also that I should really hear Weston out. They’ve been talking,and he’s certain Weston still cares about both me and the inn, and wouldn’t it be much better to date a man who has a thriving career rather than a deadbeat who plays Santa on the weekends? I assured him that it wouldn’t be and brought the conversation to a quick end.

I wasn’t disappointed, because I hadn’t really expected any different. My father clearly sees Weston as the son he never had, whereas I’m the daughter he’ll never understand. On the plus side, his attitude made me feel much less guilty about my decision not to come home for Christmas.

Another upside: Ryan is cooking for everyone!

We’re even doing a Secret Santa gift exchange, in addition to the presents I have of course purchased for everyone. I drew Joe for the exchange, and I’m going to give him the tea towel that he once yelled at Ryan not to use. It has a lovely circular feeling to it.

In addition, everything is goingverywell at the B&B. One coupledidcancel because “Christmas is a commercial and oversaturated holiday,” but their room was instantly snapped up by a delightful man named Stanley, who has already done the scavenger hunt twice. Ryan pointed out that his second hunt was pointless since we only move the Santas when he gets bored and wants to change things up, but I admire Stanley’s enthusiasm.

At Ryan’s suggestion, we’ve started offering a daily activity in addition to Hot Chocolate Happy Hour. A mounted whiteboard by the front door advertises the day’s activity and Hot Chocolate Happy Hour, and there’s a box of flyers directly underneath it containing the information and rules for the Santa Scavenger Hunt. Anyone who completes it successfully gets a chocolate bar.

Yesterday, Ryan led a cookie baking session, and the previous day, Jeremy and Cynthia talked about working as historical interpreters and gave everyone a tour. Today, Joe and I are going to bring a few guests to an estate sale—with Ryan, ofcourse, both because he’s basically indispensable to me at this point and he’s much better at reading a crowd than either of us.

Admittedly, most people likely wouldn’t call a group of five guests a crowd, but it can certainly feel that way.

On the whole, life is looking pretty bright right now. But there’s something that’s been on my mind, and I’m in the kitchen with Cynthia while she prepares waffles, trying to figure out a way to talk to her about it.

“So…” I say, watching her cut some unseasonable and dry-looking strawberries.

She shakes her head and smiles. “I’ve tried, really I have. But I still can’t read your mind, Anabelle.”

More’s the pity.

Sighing, I fuss with the little wreath tea rack I ordered a week ago. I’ve been slowly replacing some of Grandma Edith’s old things. Each time I feel a pang of guilt, but I can’t deny that it feels good to take ownership of the inn. Ryan keeps telling me that’s exactly what she wanted—for me to be strong and independent andhappy—and I’m starting to believe him.

“Well?” Cynthia prompts, pulling me back to the present.

“I was just wondering how…you know…how you let Jeremy know you were ready to take the next step.”

I know that they have. She came in the morning afterward looking like she’d just been given a million-dollar lottery ticket and told me, speaking much too loudly, that it might be harder to go down on a big-dicked man, but it sure made it worthwhile when you were…well…sleeping with him.

“You mean anal?” she asks now.

“No!”

Oops, that came out too loud. I check the door for eavesdroppers and then whisper, “No, I mean…just…you know, regular sex.”

Her eyes go wide and she drops the knife. “You haven’t had sex with Ryan yet? He spends almost every night in your room. I’ve been wondering when you’re going to have him move in so you’re not wasting a perfectly good room that could go to a paying guest.”

I blush furiously and check the door again. There’s no sign of Ryan or anyone else, thank goodness.

“We have…” I glance at the door again, “done things.”

Cynthia rolls her eyes but smiles.

“Alotof things,” I continue.

“Yes, I’m well aware that you’ve sucked his dick.”

I wrinkle my nose. “But he doesn’t seem to understand that I’m ready for . . .” I wave my hand in circles.

“A hot dick injection.”

I groan. “You delight in embarrassing me.”

She gives me a fond smile. “Absolutely.” Then she turns from the counter to face me and picks up her coffee, taking a big sip. “So he’s not giving you the dick. Do you have any idea why?”

---