Page 128 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

The very instant he says it, the golden star winks out and comes back a glowing green. A gasp escapes me and Ryan at the same time, and even though I know it was almost certainly anintended effect, it feels like Grandma Edith heard us and gave Ryan his sign.

“Ryan,” I say, my voice breaking, and he lowers me down, turning me to face him. “It was Grandma Edith.”

“I think maybe you’re right,” he says with a smile and then leans in to kiss me right there, in front of the tree.

We stay for another hour or two, walking up and down DoG street. Ryan checks his phone a few times, probably for updates from the B&B, but I don’t ask about it. It feels good to take time off with him. After a while, the pedestrians on the street thin out, everyone heading home so they can lie snug in their beds, and we stroll back toward the B&B. Part of me dreads going inside. The safety of my home has been taken away from me, and by a person who was supposed to protect me. But I also want to celebrate the holiday with Ryan and our friends.

Ryan seems a little agitated, and when I ask him what’s wrong, he pulls me to a stop outside the front door.

“I know you don’t like surprises, sweetheart, so I’m warning you, there’s a surprise in there.”

“Is it a good one?” I ask, lifting my hand to my throat.

“I hope so, and either way, I owe Cynthia and Jeremy big. Do you want me to tell you what it is?”

I consider the offer and his earnest expression. Once again, the butterflies in my stomach overpower the snakes. They’re getting stronger. “No, let’s go in.”

So I open the door, and gasp.

At least fifty Santa Clauses have been arranged all around the foyer.

“Ta-da!” Cynthia says as she finishes arranging two of them on my desk. They’re in an unspeakable position, which is so Cynthia I almost laugh. I would if my emotions weren’t crushing me from the inside.

“Oh, goodness,” I say, stopping in my tracks. Jeremy’s next to Cynthia, and Joe, my sweet Joe, has already stepped in to fix Cynthia’s Santa scene.

They’re not my Santas, but a few of them are antiques—similar to the ones who are sitting in an evidence locker.

“You all…” My gaze finds Ryan. “How?”

He nods to Jeremy. “There were lots of comments about It’s Christmas Again on Jeremy’s video. People wanted to see your Franken-Santas, and a bunch of them volunteered to donate their old Christmas stuff to you. It’s amazing how much of it stays in boxes.” He must see my expression, because his face softens. “And by amazing, I meant heartbreaking. So we did the humane thing and took some of that shit off their hands. We’ve been messaging people all day, and Cynthia and Jeremy did some pickups while we were gone.”

“We found a few of these guys at secondhand stores,” she says, pointing to a resin Santa smoking what looks like a blunt. Not exactly an antique, but I know I’m going to treasure it forever. Because it will always remind me of this.

“And I held down the fort,” Joe says. “It was very important. Hank and Rachel came downstairs twice, and both times, I asked them if they needed anything.”

I grin at him, and suddenly I don’t feel so heavy anymore. My Santas may be in lockup, but the one Santa that really matters is here with me, doing everything within his power to ensure I have a good Christmas. And Iam. I can already feel it changing.

“Thank you, everyone. This is…I’m speechless.”

I take a few steps inside, holding Ryan’s hand as if it’s my lifeline. Part of me fears it’s all going to disappear if I blink enough times. Ryan. Our friends. The Santa Clauses. When I reach the desk, I run my finger over a stuffed Santa that looks like it’s from the 1970s, then pick up a wooden one with a worn belly. My gaze meets Ryan’s, and I know we’re both thinkingabout the estate sale we went to together and my nail-polish-makeover Santa.

He settles his hand on my lower back. “You’ll get the other ones back, and when you do, they’ll have more friends.”

It feels like someone just stuffed a stocking into my throat. “I don’t know how you managed to do all of this without me realizing it.”

“Your tunnel vision occasionally works to our advantage,” Cynthia says with a smile. “We’d do a whole lot more for you, you know.” She nods behind me. “And for Ryan.”

This is the real magic of Christmas. It can bring out the best in us. It’s a reminder that we’re meant to appreciate and love each other. And right now, standing in the lobby of the B&B I had no idea how to run when it became mine, I feel peaceful and whole in a way I never have before.

“Thank you,” I tell my friends. Then I turn to Ryan. “Thank you.”

“I know your Santas are still in jail, but I can tell you from experience that jail’s not so bad if a guy gets to come home to you.”

“Oh, Ryan.”

I kiss him, in front of all of our friends, and they don’t seem to mind terribly much. We laugh and position and re-position the Santas, and then we watchDie Hard, Jeremy’s favorite Christmas movie, in the parlor.

It is not a true Christmas movie, but I won’t be telling him that tonight.

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