Page 63 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“He really said that?” I ask, shocked, feeling the butterflies within me steal the advantage from the snakes. It’s such a kind offer. Maybe Ryan only decided to stay because my grandmother asked him to help me, but I’m guessing she didn’t ask him to also help Joe.

Just like she didn’t ask him to buddy up with Jeremy Jacobs and Cynthia.

Joe nods. “He also told me he’d help me get my stuff from Craig’s apartment, but I don’t know where I’ll put any of it. I don’t know what to do in general, or where I should go. You know I only moved to Charlottesville to live with him.”

Joe is from a small town in Southwest Virginia, but based on what he said to me earlier, he won’t want to go back there.

“Here,” I say firmly. “You’re supposed to be here, with me. Don’t you feel it?” The butterflies take flight, and I grip the edge of the table to ground myself before remembering it’s probablybeen touched by hundreds of sticky fingers since its last cleaning. “Joe, we need to combine our online businesses. You can do all of the reselling, and I’ll specialize in making Franken-Santas from what we can’t save. And, if you want, we can work on rebranding The Gingerbread House together.”

“Really?” he asks, already grinning at me. “You want to take over the Christmas world with me, sister?”

“Yes! And you’ll stay with me, of course. You can live at the inn.” My mind drifts to Ryan and lingers, recalling the solidity of him. I clear my throat. “You can stay with Ryan at first, and then we’ll move you to one of the guest rooms after someone leaves.”

There are five guest rooms, including Ryan’s. Not including mine.

He gives me a lopsided smile. “I’m almost glad Craig left me.”

He doesn’t mean it, not yet, but I vow to myself that he will mean it. I’m not going to allow anyone to break my friend’s spirit. Certainly not the manager of a subpar grocery store.

I don’t mean to, but I find myself asking, “What do you think of Ryan?”

He watches me thoughtfully as I sip my latte. “My first thought was that he looked exactly like the kids who’d made me miserable in school. All that thick muscle. So good-looking, and doesn’t he know it. But there’s more to him than there appears to be. He’s the good kind of surprise.”

Part of me is certain he’s wrong.

Part of me is terribly worried he’s right.

I sigh heavily. “I like him too.”

My phone buzzes, and I take it out to find a text from my father.

Anabelle, I need to speak with you. Please come over tonight at 5:30 for a talk. It’s very important, honey. It’s about your grandmother.

There he goes, saying the only thing that could possibly convince me to agree to see him right now.

With a huff, I tuck the phone away.

“More bad news?” Joe asks sympathetically.

“Yes,” I say, “but I’m not going to let it bring me down this time. I’m sitting here with you, and we’re going to make the inn fabulous, and I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RYAN

I figured I’d see Anabelle at Hot Chocolate Happy Hour. She didn’t ask me to take over today, and I happen to know that both Cynthia and Jeremy have a shift that ends right at five.

But when I come down at four fifty-five with the stuffed cat in the bag, the only person who’s in the Santa parlor is Joe in his fuzzy blue coat, with a duffel bag about ten times bigger than mine.

He tracks my gaze and blushes. “I don’t mean to presume, but are you still okay with me crashing on the other bed? I had coffee with Anabelle earlier. She said she was okay with it if you’re okay with it, and Comfort Zone is really awful, and—”

I lift a hand. “Buddy, I’m the one who suggested it. It’s really no problem. But where’s our girl?”

There I go again, running my mouth.

Joe glances out the open parlor door, then says in an undertone, “She’s with her parents.”

A sinking feeling fills my gut. I wish I’d known. She probably wouldn’t have wanted to bring me with her, after what happened last night, and also because her father probably wants to murder me. Still. I don’t like the thought of her going there alone after what that man said about her. Sure, he may have brought herto a Christmas tree lighting a quarter of a century ago, but he obviously hasn’t done much to prove himself since. His own mother thought he was worthless, and even though my mother obviously decided Jake and I were worthless when we were basically toddlers, she was a drug addict whose judgment is much more questionable than Grandma Edith’s.

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