Page 25 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“Sorry,” she says, touching my arm lightly. “But you know me. I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

“I like that about you.” Too many people lie or demur or pretend. I value her honesty, even if it hurts.

There’s a knock on the kitchen door.

Cynthia turns toward it, cinching her apron so it better showcases her very ample breasts. “Come in,” she says in a sultry voice she usually reserves for rich-looking businessmen.

I guess she likes what I told her about Ryan.

I feel a blip of annoyance toward her, but it passes as Ryan steps into the room. He’s wearing a dark green thermal shirt that accentuates his muscles and the green flecks in his irises. His hair is damp from a shower.

“Oh, damn,” he says, sniffing the air, “that smells divine. I’m guessing this lovely lady must be Cynthia.” He gestures toward her, and she grins.

“It is,” I say curtly.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Anabelle,” he tells me, his eyes like a shamed puppy’s, “and even sorrier that I missed breakfast. I figured I could get in an early run and still have time, but I didn’t factor in the sweat. I thought I’d do everyone a favor and shower.”

“Not to worry.” Cynthia beams at him. “I’ll make you a breakfast sandwich, hon. We have leftover biscuits.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Ryan insists, shaking his head. His hair looks longer when it’s wet. Wavier, too. “If you have the ingredients, I’ll do it myself.”

I fully expect Cynthia to object. If it were me,Icertainly would. Jobs that are mine must be done by me. But Cynthia’s smile spreads even wider. “Be my guest.”

She shows him where everything is, then stands back against the cabinets while he expertly cracks eggs into a bowl, stirs them, then adds a little cream. He catches me watching and winks. I immediately look away, but he asks, “Want one, Anabelle?”

“No, thank you. I already ate,” I say stiffly. Probably because it feels a little untoward, seeing a man wink at me after he poured cream into a bowl.

“Cynthia, what about you? Are you up for round two?”

Now, thatdefinitelysounded like innuendo. I scowl at him, and then scowl harder when I see the hint of amusement in his grin. He’steasingus. People are constantly teasing me, because, Weston has told me, I’m too literal and earnest.

“Oh, I’m happy just to watch you, sugar,” Cynthia says.

I’ll admit, neither of us can look away as he prepares the pan with butter and then pours the eggs in with a sizzle that fills the kitchen. He flips them at the perfect moment, then splits a biscuit—the motion of his hands as they part the two halves impossible to look away from—and slides the egg on, before topping it with a slice of cheese.

Cynthia gives me a wicked look and fans herself with one hand. “It’s hot in here. I think I’d better go get myself a cool drink. You kids have fun.”

I watch, mouth agape, as she walks away.

Ryan doesn’t seem to notice. He wraps up his sandwich in a piece of tinfoil, then puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

I swallow against the dryness in my mouth. “There’s coffee in the parlor, if you need some to feel human.”

“I do indeed,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

We head into the parlor, and he pours himself some coffee and grabs a few of the creamers. Sweet ones. I like the thought of such a strong, manly man enjoying sweet things.

“Would you like me to drive?” he asks. “I’d be happy to.”

“You’re going to drive while you eat your sandwich and drink your coffee?”

“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge, Anabelle,” he says with amusement. “I’m not a man who backs down from challenges.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt quickly, embarrassed without fully knowing why. “I’m being prickly. It’s…I guess I’m still feeling off after what happened yesterday, but that’s no excuse.”

“Speaking of…” He bites his knuckle, hesitating, then says, “I know you have no reason to tell me, but whatdidhappen yesterday? What did that asshole do to upset you?”

I laugh, and his brow furrows, which makes me laugh harder. It feels shockingly good. “You mean you didn’t see the video? Cynthia informed me that I’m famous.”

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