Page 44 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“Another reason for me to help you,” Jeremy says with a nod. “I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault,” I say. “It’s Weston who lacks a sense of humor.”

I sense Ryan smiling at me.Hecertainly has a sense of humor.

Cynthia and Jeremy take their leave and walk out together, bickering under their breath.

“Sit with me a minute?” Ryan asks as the front door shuts behind them with a solid report.

“Gladly.” I sigh, leaning back on the sofa, and pat the cushion next to me. He studies it for a second. “Don’t worry,” I say, “no Santas are hiding under the cushion.”

“I’m going to take you at your word for that,” he says with a crooked smile, then sits down next to me—a few inches away, but plenty close enough for me to feel every slight movement he makes. And Ryan Reynolds is not a man who knows how to sit still. The motion of him so close to me makes my blood warm.

I turn to face him, taking in his features, which are becoming so familiar, and it hits me that this man knows so much about me, but I know barely anything about him.

“Whoareyou?” I ask. After the words come out, I laugh, because it sounds ridiculous. We’ve spent the past four days together, and I’m only now asking. “I mean, who are you really, Ryan?”

“I can’t tell you everything, but I’m not going to lie to you,” he says, his fingers gripping the piping at the bottom of the couch’s upholstery. “That doesn’t sound terribly promising.”

“You’re right,” he says, his smile returning, like he can’t bear to let it go.

“So what else can you tell me about yourself?”

He pauses, as if giving this request actual consideration. “I told you a bit about my brother,” he says at last. “He’s my twin, and he’s the most important person in my life. But I haven’t talked to him for a year.”

“What are you waiting for?” I ask, drawn in by him, by this story he’s teasing. His sadness is heavy enough that I feel it.

“I’ve let him down too many times. I want to be able to tell him that I’ve changed. I can’t…bring myself to talk to him before I can tell him that and mean it all the way. I’m close, but I’m not there yet. When I am, I think I’ll feel it.”

“And who were you before, Ryan?”

Emotion flickers through his eyes like a summer storm. “Someone who took more than he gave. My life was in a dark place for a long time, and I didn’t know how to make things right. Your grandmother’s the one who made me want to change. She was kind to me when I needed it.”

Dark place.

What does that even mean? I want him to give me the diameters of it so I can fully take his measure. So I can know who it is I’m dealing with, and how much trouble I’m in. Because I’m attached to him being here, with all of his chaos and his cooking and his kindness. I’m getting used to seeing his handsome face every day. I can feel him carving away at a part of my heart, making me want to care about him.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I ask.

“Oh, God no.” He takes my hands and meets my gaze. “No. And I’ve never hit anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

I laugh again, half because I find it funny, and half because I’m scandalized. “And who decides that?”

“Me,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Do you trust me?”

“More than I probably should,” I admit. Because even though I know next to nothing about him, I do trust him. My grandmother trusted him, but that only provided the foundation for my trust. It’s his actions this past week that have built it.

“I don’t want it to be more than you should. I want to be worthy of it.”

There’s an intensity to his words, and I feel that warmth inside of me growing and reaching toward him. I maintain my grip on him, letting our clasped hands connect us like an electric cable.

“What else can you tell me?” I ask through parched lips. “I should warn you that I’d like to know everything.”

His mouth twitches with a near smile. “I’m from New York City, born and raised, I’m allergic to peanuts, I’ve never hada relationship longer than a month, and I’ve never believed in Santa Claus, but I thought the Grinch was real until I was six.”

My mouth drops open briefly before I can collect myself. “You told me your mother said your father was Santa Claus.”

He huffs. “Of course you remember that. Well…she lied about everything else. I knew she was lying about that too.”

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