Page 28 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Damn, isn’t that the question, though. WhatdoI need? I need my brother to think I’m worth a damn, because it’s the only way I’ll feel like I am.

A sense of purpose would be nice.

But right now, looking at her, my gut is giving me a different answer.

I gulp. “A watch,” I say, my voice sounding strangled. “I need a new watch.”

“What happened to your old one?” she asks, giving me a look that suggests she knows that something did indeed happen to it.

The only object I’ve ever cared much about was the watch Roark gave me for my eighteenth birthday—the same watch I’d tried to pickpocket from him when I was thirteen. But I’d stuffed it into the back of my drawer years ago, after realizing that I wasn’t as important to him as he was to me. And after Jake turned his back on me, I threw it away.

Of course, I felt like a dumbass for tossing it. It had to be worth at least two large. Still, I don’t regret it. I haven’t even thought about getting a new one until right this very minute.

Pulling myself from my thoughts, I finally reply, “I threw it away.”

“But you loved it.” She shakes her head at herself with a half-smile on her face. “I’m projecting. I can never tell what people are going to say before they say it.”

“You’re right, though.” A knot forms in my throat. “But sometimes the things we love aren’t good for us.”

“So let’s find you something that is.”

She guides me out of the room, her reusable shopping bag full of Christmas goodies, and finds the attendant. She asks about watches, and we’re directed into another drafty room. Thejewelry is displayed on a saggy old table in the center, spotlit by sun streaming in through the window. A guard stands at the door, because while people might not be tempted to steal nail-polish-decorated Santas, they might want some old jewelry.

We walk over to the part of the table where a few watches are displayed. There’s one with a leather band and two with metal bands, like the one I threw away. The two with the metal bands are objectively nicer.

I glance at Anabelle, feeling out of my element. “Which one should I get?”

“Which one feelsreal?” she asks.

It sounds like some woo-woo nonsense, or it would if anyone else were saying it, but I find myself drifting my fingers over the watches laid out in front of me. Trying to look through her eyes, I notice the wear on the leather strap and imagine someone putting it on every day, their fingers brushing over the leather.

My fingers drift over it too, and I feel a strange jolt. My eyes fly to Anabelle’s, and she’s already smiling at me. “That’s the one, isn’t it? It’s meant to be yours.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” I ask, smiling back because I have to. It would be impossible not to. “A Christmas witch.”

Her smile brightens as she adjusts her shopping bag over her shoulder. I want to carry it for her, but she might read into an offer like that. She probably should, which gives me an even better reason not to make it. I like her more than I should. More than is healthy for either of us.

“Oddly enough, I consider that a compliment,” she says.

I swallow thickly. “Oddly enough, I meant it as one.”

I check the price tag on the watch and find it acceptable, even though the money I have saved up won’t last forever, and I will eventually need to find a real job.

“Screw it. I’m going to get it,” I say, meeting her gaze. Looking for her approval, to be honest.

She beams at me, and I feel like a prize pupil for the first time in my whole life.

We’re heading toward the front of the house, where we were told to check out, when someone calls Anabelle’s name from the hallway behind us. We turn to face an older bald man wearing an expensive suit that feels overkill for what’s basically a high-ticket yard sale. His hair is combed forward, including a few long, wispy tendrils on the top of his head. The moment Anabelle sees him, she nearly drops the shopping bag, so I silently take it from her. Her gaze meets mine for half a second, her eyes full of gratitude and…fear.

Oh, I don’t like that one fucking bit.

Suit Guy keeps coming, strutting more than walking. There’s a broad grin on his face as he stops a few steps away. “Do you have some good news for me, sweetheart?”

His gaze dips to her left hand, which she shoves into her pocket. “Dad…”

For the first time, the guy turns toward me, giving me a look that speaks a thousand words—go awaybeing the first and second.

“I’m Ryan,” I say, forcing a grin. “Pleased to meet you, sir. Are you the one who got Anabelle into estate sales?”

---