Page 111 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

After the police discharged me, they handed me a plastic bag containing everything that had been in the pockets of my Santa suit prior to my arrest. Including that red teddy Anabelle’s probably never going to wear now.

It’s like every mistake I’ve ever made in my life has been rolled down a hill of snow, growing bigger and bigger until it’s the size of a boulder before it crashes down on me.

I’m too impulsive.

I’m too hotheaded.

I don’t pay attention.

I don’t listen.

I thought I was being careful. I thought I’d learned from my mistakes, but I didn’t, because here I am.

They’ve got me on an assault charge that Weston is most definitely not going to drop, especially since I felt his nose crunch under my fist. And Anabelle’s prized personal Santa collection, written up inHouse & Garden, is gone, along with all of her ornaments other than the sweetgum one. Maybe Weston destroyed everything. I wouldn’t put it past that prick to throw someone else’s favorite things into a fire.

The car stops, and I look up to see Cynthia’s dad has pulled over close to the inn. He glances back at me. He has a gruff face, a square jaw, and thick, curly salt-and-pepper hair. “You did something dumb.”

“Yeah,” I agree, feeling it more intensely than the pain in my fist.

“But I’m guessing most guys would do the same. If some prick was stalking my wife—” He looks pointedly at Jeremy. “Or my daughter, I’d deck him in the face too. Only next time don’t do it in front of a police officer. We’ll get you off, though. The publicity’s going to be a bitch for that guy once it comes out that he stole from Anabelle.”

“If it comes out,” I say numbly, feeling defeated. Because Weston is definitely fucking smarter than I am. If it comes to a battle of wits, he wins. The only satisfaction I have in this situation might be the feeling of his nose cracking under my fist. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t enjoy it, but it was definitely not worth it.

Jeremy nods at me as he unlatches his seat belt. “Come on, buddy, let’s go inside.”

Cynthia’s dad, who introduced himself as Mr. Matthews even though we’re all adults, frowns at him. “Don’t you need a ride back home?”

“Nope,” he says with an easy grin as he gets out of the car. “I’ll be going home with your daughter, sir. Have a good night.”

Damn. Maybe Iamimpressed.

I half-expect Mr. Matthews to come out swinging, but he actually chuckles before saying, “I’ll be in touch. Don’t go anywhere, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” I say as I get out of the car behind Jeremy, feeling miserable in my Santa suit.

Part of me feels like I should just take off. Get in my car and leave and never come back. Maybe it would be better that way for everyone. If I’m gone, I can’t fail Anabelle anymore—and she and her friends can’t realize what everyone else has. That I’m a man who causes trouble but can’t fix it.

“Oh, would you stop it?” Jeremy says, grabbing my shoulder. It’s only then that I realize I’m still holding the peas. I don’t really want to anymore, but if I drop them in the middle of the street, it will make me feel like more of an asshole.

“Stop what?”

“Getting down on yourself. Cynth’s dad is not a man who gives a shit about preserving people’s feelings, and he told you he would have done the same thing. I would have too.” He glances down at his hands. “Well, I would have kicked him. Can’tplay the trumpet with a bum hand. My point is that you got set up, and it sucks. No one’s going to tell you it doesn’t suck. But you can’t just roll over and let that guy win. That’s not like you.”

I kick at a stone in the pavement, not able to look at him. “How would you know?”

He grabs my shoulder again. “Because you’re Ryan Fucking Reynolds.”

My mouth tips up. “You know my last name is really Langston.”

At least, he does now.

I didn’t come to Williamsburg to do any harm, so I figured there was no reason to lie or use a false ID. I also didn’t have one. While I’d had papers for Ryan Reynolds last year, I’d disposed of them after returning to New York. Roark was the one who took care of setting that shit up. I wouldn’t have the first idea how to go about acquiring that kind of thing.

Up until now, I haven’t shared my real last name with anyone. Ada hired me under the table, and Grandma Edith arranged for me to pay for my room in cash. But the police wanted to see my ID, and obviously I had to give it to them.

I probably should have told everyone sooner, but it felt like that name was attached to a different Ryan—the one I didn’t want to be anymore.

Jeremy exhales loudly through his nose, probably trying not to laugh. “Ryan Reynolds sounds cooler, no offense. My point is that you’ve been fighting the good fight for all of us over the last month. Why stop now? Why give up? We’re all ready to fight with you, Ryan. We want to.”

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