Page 69 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

I fuss with the hem of my shirt. “It was so draining. I never felt like I had any energy, and my thoughts kept spiraling.”

“Is it like that for you here?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “I’m not good with strangers.”

“I was a stranger a few days ago, and you’ve always been ‘good’ with me.”

“You knew Grandma Edith.” But that’s not the whole reason. He’s good with people—even people like me, who usually struggle to respond to deceptively simple questions likeHow are you?

He nods. “Yeah, I get that. But is it any fun for you, working here? Don’t you have your online business?”

“You sound like my father right now.”

His expression darkens. “Was he trying to get you to sell to Weston? Was Weston at the dinner tonight?”

“Ew, no.”

He laughs.

I poke his very solid chest. “Santa lesson one. Santa doesn’t have a sexy laugh. He has ajollylaugh. You’ll need to work on that.”

“Should I be taking notes?”

“Probably. Take notes on this too. I might not be good at pandering to strangers, but I want to run the B&B,” I say, a thread of anger weaving through the words. It’s as I’m saying it that I realize how true this is. I’m not doing this because I’m rigidor stubborn, which my parents have accused me of being. I’m doing it because the thought of a world without this place pains me. I’m doing it because this is one of the only places I’ve ever felt at home.

I’m doing it because ever since I decided to embrace Ryan’s idea about making it a Christmas inn, my heart has wrapped around and around the idea of The Gingerbread House until it formed a picture in my mind. And now, I can’t bear to let go of it.

Ryan touches my hand for half a second, maybe a quarter, but the phantom of his hand lingers on my skin. “I know that, but you should be able to enjoy doing it. That’s what I want to help you do. I think that’s what all of your friends want for you. I’m hoping the rebranding will help. Because it’ll be easier to deal with strangers if they want to talk about something you love.”

I stare at him in shocked silence while he gives me a winning smile.

“I’m still upset,” I say.

“As is your God-given right.”

“But I suppose it’s nice that you want to help me, even if it’s just because my grandmother asked.”

“It really isn’t,” he says, his voice a bit louder. Emphatic.

“Good.”

I should have kept my mouth shut, but he doesn’t throw back a quip. He just smiles, his eyes bright. “Will you come have a drink with us, oh Queen of Christmas? Enoch’s got some good thoughts, and the little guy’s a natural artist. I’ve been trying to think of not creepy ways to ask him to let me photograph his work.”

“There aren’t any.”

I consider his offer for a long time. Maybe uncomfortably long. But I finally nod. I want to spend more time with my guests, and if Enoch really is a branding expert, I’d be a fool tomiss out on the opportunity to talk to him. “I’ll come, but not quite yet. I need a minute to myself.”

“Of course,” he says, and I can feel the smile behind his words. “Oh, before I forget, Joe and I are going to rescue his stuff tomorrow, if you’d like to come.”

I feel those snakes roiling in my gut, the way they do prior to any adventure, minor or major. But I want to support Joe, to give Craig withering looks, and to spend the entire morning with Ryan.

“I will,” I say. “But for now, I need…”

I trail off, but he nods, his eyes warm. “I know. You take what you need.”

We walk toward the parlor together, and he gives me one final grin before stepping inside as if it’s easy. I smile and wave at the guests, and to my surprise, they return the gesture.

“I’ll be back down in a minute,” I tell them, feeling my heart speed up with the words. It’s hard to shake the old fears.They probably don’t care where you’re going or if you’ll be back. It’s better if you’re alone.

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