Page 112 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

I feel like he just gave me a shot of the hard stuff and a pat on the back, but the warm feeling fades after a second. “None of you know who I really am. I’ve kept it from you.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “I couldn’t give a shit if your last name is Langston or Reynolds, or what you used to do or where youused to live. I know you, just like you know me. And I’m happy to call you my friend.”

“I’m not smart enough to beat him.”

“You think I am? We’re goddamn lucky we’re with two of the smartest ladies out there.”

I smile at that, because he’s obviously right. But still…

“What if she’s not willing to let my past stay in the past?” I say, not even able to look at the inn yet, or to focus on any of the dozens of other questions charging through my head. What if she’s hurt? What if whoever did this for Weston came back? What ifWestoncame back?

“There’s only one way to find out.” He claps me on the back then, and I nod, feeling a burning sensation behind my eyes, and start walking toward the inn with a greater sense of purpose.

But the good feelings inside of me only last as far as the door to the B&B. It takes all the energy I have left in me to unlock the door and step inside.

“They’re here, they’re here!” Cynthia yells from the parlor, probably waking up any guests who decided to stick around after the theft, followed by my very public arrest, and she comes charging around the corner. Jeremy grins and catches her as she jumps into his arms.

“Oh, thank God, he didn’t kill you,” she says.

I chuckle at that, but my focus shifts as soon as Anabelle comes into view. Her face is pale, but she’s okay.She’s okay.Joe is with her, but he just gives me a barely there smile and hangs back.

My eyes begin to well as I step forward and wrap my arms around Anabelle. The feeling of being unworthy takes hold of me, tightening like a plastic bag around my neck, threatening to cut off the air I need to survive.

“Come upstairs with me,” she says.

I couldn’t deny her anything. I nod in acknowledgment to the others, and then let her lead me upstairs and into her room, the door clicking shut behind us.

Saint Nick meows and twitches his tail but doesn’t get off the bed. I’m still clutching the damn peas. I lift the bag up and admit, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

She takes it from me and throws it into the trash can, then lifts my scraped and swollen knuckles to her lips as if she can kiss it better.

“I messed up,” I confess. “I don’t know how to make it better. I…there are some things I need to tell you.” My mouth tries to smile and fails. “To start, my name. Jeremy knows now, so it only feels right to tell you. It’s Langston, not Reynolds.”

“None of us really believed your name was Ryan Reynolds,” she says softly, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” She looks up at me, with her hair loose around her shoulders, her mouth in a firm, determined line. Staring at her is like staring at the sun.

“I do. I want to.” It’s part lie, part truth. I want her to know everything, because I want her to accept me as I am. I don’t want her to know everything, because I’m terrified she’ll turn me away.

“So tell me. Tell me everything. I’m ready to listen.”

I slump down onto the bed and prop my head in my hands, and she leans down and presses a kiss onto my brow.

“I love you, Ryan. Nothing is going to change that. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I’m not perfect. When we got here this evening, I was worried something had happened to Joe, and instead of charging into the B&B to make sure he was okay, I sat down on the steps. That’s awful.”

“You shut down,” I say. “That’s just the way your brain works. It’s not your fault. This is…this is my fault.”

She kisses my brow again, her lips soft and sweet—a blessing I probably don’t deserve. Then she surprises me by climbing into my lap, facing me, her legs wrapped around me. She’s wearing her clothes from earlier, and even though I have that new teddy of hers in my pocket, I don’t wish she was wearing something different. This is my Anabelle—naturally sweet and sexy. My girl, for at least for another fifteen minutes.

She wraps her arms around me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I used to have a lot of trouble looking people in the eye when I was a kid. It felt strange to me. I’m mostly used to it now, but when I have to tell someone something that’s hard, it’s still easier if I don’t have to look at them. Maybe it’ll be easier for you to tell me like this.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I say, finally letting the thought out.

“Don’t be one of those foolish men who says that and then runs away.”

“I’m not going to run. I’m not strong enough. I don’t think I could bring myself to leave you.”

She runs her hands over my back and kisses my neck. “Good, but don’t tell yourself you’re not strong.” She pulls away enough to look at me, then leans in and kisses my scar. “You’re strong, Ryan. You’re kind. And you’ve spent the last month changing our lives for the better. Not just me, but also Cynthia, Jeremy, and Joe. We’re all in this together, sweetheart.”

Hearing her call me my nickname for her warms me up from the inside. I bury my face in her hair, taking in her scent and the feeling of her wrapped around me. I feel like I really am at home.

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