Page 62 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“I got you a gingerbread spice latte,” he says when he finally pulls away, taking his glasses off to wipe them on his sweater.

“Be honest, is it just your fifth latte?”

“No, it’s really for you,” he says, laughing. “When I ordered it, I could hardly believe that I was ordering a drink for you. That we were going to be here together.”

“Me either. It’s pretty spectacular.”

I sit down across from him, happy that we were able to meet in this familiar place, which doesn’t take up much of my bandwidth, so I can give more of it to him.

We smile at each other for a moment, and then my smile slips. “Ryan told me what happened with Craig, Joe. I’m so sorry. Does this mean he was cheating on you?”

He rubs his mouth wearily. “He says he broke up with me because I didn’t trust him. But I found a string of texts between them. He said I was taking everything out of context, but one of the messages was about wanting to shove his dick in Dean’s mouth, so I don’t know how I could misinterpret that.”

“Thatjerk,” I say with a gasp. “And to think, I really believed he was a keeper.” My mouth purses to the side. “Then again, I also thought you were a woman, so I’ve been making all kinds of mistakes lately.”

“Tell me what happened with Weston,” he says. “I want all of it.”

I sigh and tell him about the proposal mishap, reliving the embarrassment and claustrophobia as if it were happening right this moment. I can practically feel eyes on me, enough that I look up midway through telling him the story—only to discover that the barista and two of the customers really are looking right at us. The snakes in my belly take the advantage once again, because surely this means they’ve seen the videos, but I finish telling the story.

“Oh, honey,” Joe says, and I’m relieved by how natural it feels to be sitting here and talking to him. It feels ridiculous that we waited this long to meet in person.

“I could say the same to you,” I tell him.

He pushes his glasses up. “You know what else Craig said? He wants to live, and what I do is the opposite of living. He told me I was dragging him down.”

“How dare he!” I say, affronted on his behalf. Maybe on mine too, because how many times have I been accused of living too much in my head and missing the world around me?

Joe smiles sadly.“But he was right, wasn’t he? You know how many hours I clocked on my laptop last week?”

“But that’s yourjob. And we bring joy to people. How is managing a supermarket any more meaningful?”

Not just any supermarket, but one that always smells like rotten broccoli. Or at least the Williamsburg branch does.

His smile turns more genuine, but a feeling of sadness oozes off him. “He looks good in his uniform.”

I find this doubtful—I don’t think anyone truly looks good in a supermarket uniform—but I nod, trying to appear sympathetic. “Where did you stay last night?”

He plays with his coffee cup, which is probably empty. Joe isn’t greatly affected by caffeine, so he drinks about five cups of coffee a day. Coffee makes me buzz, which feels good—until it doesn’t.

“I stayed at Comfort Zone,” he says.

“You didn’t,” I reply, making a face.

Weston’s hotels areawful. Full of fluorescent lights, chemical smells, and sadness.

“It’s fine,” he says kindly.

“It’s definitely not. I don’t have any rooms tonight, but there’s space starting Monday, presuming the inspector doesn’t put me out of business. Until then, we can set up an air mattressfor you on the floor of my room. We’ll figure it out. And when a room opens, it’s yours, for however long you want it.”

I think of Ryan’s room, right next to mine, and how perfect it would be if I could offer it to Joe. And yet…

The thought of Ryan leaving, of never seeing him again, makes my stomach drop.

I will never, ever forget what it felt like to kiss him and be his sole focus, if only for a minute. Ryan has a physicality unlike any other man I’ve ever dated—he’s more present in his body. It makes me wonder whatother thingswould be like with him.

I’m disappointed. Bitterly disappointed. But I’m not really angry at him anymore. I’m more upset with my grandmother. If she felt she had to recruit a stranger to help me, she didn’t have much faith in me at all.

As if Joe is reading my mind, he says, “Actually, Ryan told me I could crash on his other bed for a while. Would you be okay with that?”

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