Page 38 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

And the damn cat, a voice whispers, waking me up to reality. Reality being that Anabelle might be single, but I’m still a former criminal.

“I’ll make you some dinner like last night,” I say, changing the subject.

Her hand lifts to her throat. “You really made that?”

“The soup, not the rolls. Cynthia had some in the pantry.” Her hand is still cupped around her throat, and I have to smile. “I didn’t poison you, you know.”

“It wasreallygood,” she says. “And your breakfast sandwich looked delicious yesterday morning too. You like to cook.”

There’s something in her eyes—a sparkle. The kind she gets for anything related to Christmas.

“Why don’t you interview for a job in a kitchen?” she presses.

Cynthia snorts. “You’d be better off shoveling horse shit than being a line cook.”

Anabelle shakes her head in response, watching me with a hopeful look. “You have trouble sitting still. As a line cook, you’d never be sitting still.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” Cynthia agrees. Tilting her head, she asks, “What if you film yourself cooking naked? You could be an online sensation.”

“Cynthia,” Anabelle snaps. “He doesn’t need to demean himself for other people’s entertainment. We’ll leave that to Jeremy Jacobs.”

“Nothing demeaning about having a tight body and wanting to show it off.”

“Ryan isn’t Jeremy.”

“Nope,” I agree, “but I’d have just as much of a bulge in my tights. Scout’s honor.”

Anabelle looks like she’s fighting a smile as she shakes her head at me. The tip of her nose is pink from the cold outside, and her hair has settled into wild waves around her shoulders. She’s beautiful in a way that’s a gut punch. I’ve never known anyone like her. So passionate but prim, so funny but literal, soherself.

“There’s no way you were a boy scout,” she says.

Laughter escapes me. I lean over to gently shove my shoulder against hers, probably just for an excuse to touch her. “I’ll have you know that I was kicked out of the scouts after two weeks, but for those two weeks, I was one hell of a boy scout.”

“What’d you do to get kicked out?”

“We were on a camping trip, and the troop leader had this cooler of food that was just for him, while we were stuck eating canned green beans. So my brother and I stole his stash and held a party in our tent, but we got caught and were kicked out.”

“So you led a revolt,” Anabelle says with amusement in her eyes. “You’re in the right place. Williamsburg played a significant role in the American Revolution. But I have to say you and I probably wouldn’t have gotten along very well as kids. I had very strict views about following the rules when I was younger.”

“And you don’t still?” I ask with a grin, but inside, my heart starts thumping faster.

“That depends on whether they’re sensible rules. Some aren’t. Do you know that it’s illegal to flip a coin to decide who pays for coffee in Richmond? And in Norfolk, you can’t spit on a seagull.”

“Who would spit on a seagull?” I ask.

“You haven’t spent much time on the beach, have you?” Cynthia says with a snort. Her comment comes as a surprise, to be honest, because I sort of forgot she was in the room with us.

“Not really, no,” I admit.

“Will you apply for line cook jobs?” Anabelle asks, reminding me that she’s not a person who forgets.

I find myself nodding, my gaze still transfixed on her. “Sure, might as well add some restaurants to the list of places that won’t call me back.”

“You’ll get a job if you want one,” she insists. “Peoplelikeyou. You know how to talk to them. That’s a valuable skill.”

“Thank you, Anabelle,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse. No one’s ever told me I’m good at much of anything.

“I guess I’ll go upstairs if you two are okay with holding Hot Chocolate Happy Hour.”

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