Page 66 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“Mom,” he says urgently, his little hand fisting around the fabric of her coat. “IsSantastaying at our hotel?”

Lauryn gives me a sheepish look, but I’m on cloud nine. I’ve said literally nothing, and I’ve already fooled this kid, who should be able to recognize me perfectly well behind the barely there beard. My job with Ada is in the bag.

Even so, I get down on my haunches so I’m level with him and say, “No, man. I’m not the Santa, but I’m one of his helpers. If you and your mom would like to join us, I’m going to be hanging out downstairs for a while with some cool games.”

“Ryan?” he asks in a serious voice, then lifts my beard and gasps. “It’s really you!”

I glance up at his exhausted-looking mom. This woman needs an alcoholic beverage. “There will be some drinks for the adults,” I add. “We’d love it if you’d join us.”

“Are you with Mrs. Claus?” Ben asks.

My grin stretches wider. “Nah, I’m with one of my jolly elves, and heloveschildren.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ANABELLE

Parents I’d like to return to the store: 2

I return to the B&B with a pounding headache, glancing at my watch before I walk in through the front.

It’s six thirty.

I’d told myself I’d only stay for fifteen minutes—a half hour, tops.

Problem One: People always have their own motivations in a social interaction, and it’s impossible to prepare for every eventuality.

Problem Two: I find it very hard to consciously hurt someone. I unconsciously hurt people all the time. But doing it purposefully, knowingly, is different. It doesn’t matter whether or not they’ve intentionally hurt me, the way my father did at the estate sale.

Problem Three: My father refused to tell me his “news” about Grandma Edith until I listened to his tirade about Ryan. It went on and on, but this was the gist of it:

What do you know about this man?

Very little. He stayed at the inn with Grandma Edith last Christmas, and she was fond of him. He’s here on a sabbatical.

Is he a teacher?

I don’t think so, but I guess it’s possible. I don’t know what he does for a living.

Isn’t that strange?

No, I don’t know what most of my guests do for a living.

Is he the person who’s standing between you and Weston? Weston loves you. He’s desperate to marry you.

It has become very apparent to me that the only person Weston loves is himself. Perhaps I would have realized it sooner if I hadn’t been raised by someone who is similarly self-obsessed.

This, of course, led to an argument, which my mother had attempted to defuse by pouring drinks for everyone. She seemed disinterested in all of it, but then again, she is disinterested in most things related to our family. She’s an attorney who spends so much time at her office she occasionally sleeps there, although when I said as much to Cynthia, she pretended to zip her lips. I, of course, asked what she was doing, and she said, “Your mother doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d spend the night in her office chair.”

She has a point.

So perhaps she’s having an affair, or simply finds my father so insufferable she regularly pays for hotel rooms to keep away from him.

Eventually, my father got to the point, which is this—

After attending dozens of estate sales, Christmas pop-ups, and the like throughout the state for the past year, as well as trolling every corner of the internet, he’s convinced that Grandma Edith didn’t give her prize ornament away to another collector. He believes she hid it inside of the inn.

So he wants my permission to search for it.

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