Page 70 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

I turn to go up to my room and make it to the bottom step before Ryan says my name softly by the stairs again. He’s holding a shopping bag, and scratching the back of his head with his other hand.

“Déjà-vu.”

“Sorry,” he says, then shoves the bag at me. “I got this for you. Just a little something for your collection.”

I glance inside and find a fuzzy little orange cat in a Santa suit. My heart quakes. “You got me a Santa cat.”

I shuffle on my feet a little, feeling joy take the wheel. Sometimes it really is the little things. His thoughtful gift feels like proof that even if I don’t mean as much to him as he’s beginning to mean to me, I mean something. It showshis attentions toward me and the inn aren’t only about my grandmother.

“The humping convinced me that Saint Nick might need a friend his own size.”

I beam at him, delighted. “You’re basically encouraging me to get Saint Nick a costume,Santa.”

He grins back at me, his whole face alight with it. I feel a tugging sensation inside of me. “Well, if I could get you to believe, I figure I can definitely convince a bunch of impressionable children.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

RYAN

Last night, Anabelle and I talked to Enoch for about an hour. I’m glad she was with us, because he gave what seemed to be solid advice about changing the branding for The Gingerbread House, and about eighty percent of it flew right over my head. I did volunteer to take over the scavenger hunt for the kids, though. I’m excited about that.

I didn’t have any money when I was a kid, so I couldn’t get Jake anything for Christmas. He’d always make me a drawing or one of his illustrated stories. So one year I figured out a way to pull my weight—I made him a scavenger hunt for things to find around our neighborhood. We nearly got into some deep shit, because one of the things on my list involved scaling the fence of a guy who kept a Doberman, but it was still fun.

I mean, obviously, I will not be sending these children off to play with Dobermans, but maybe I can work in a few fun surprises.

After I put in my daily workout, I head back to the inn and find a few people still hanging out in the breakfast room. Anabelle’s sitting with Cynthia and Joe. She’s wearing a red sweater dress, her hair down around her shoulders. She always wears it down, every day. It’s like a gift she gives the world,because her hair is beautiful—thick and wavy and probably twenty shades of brown.

I can practically hear Jake saying,You’ve got it bad, brother.

I do.

But I’m going to keep my distance for her sake—and for mine. A lot of people have turned their backs on me, but I couldn’t stand it if she did.

“There he is,” Cynthia says with a grin.

“Can you already tell she’s going to ask you for a favor?” Joe asks.

They must have met just this morning, but he’s already giving her shit. That’s the power of Cynthia, I guess. She’s got one of those warm personalities that makes you feel you know her after all of five minutes. I’ve always gotten along well with people who are like that. In some ways, Iama person like that. But Anabelle’s different. She’s like a complicated lock. You’ve got to work hard to open it, and you don’t stand a chance at succeeding unless you take the time to understand the way it’s put together. But you know you’re gonna find something good on the other side when you get it open.

“And what favor is that?” I ask, sitting down with them.

Anabelle gives me a sidelong look and immediately gets up. Shit. I figured we’d worked things out yesterday.

“Do I smell?” I ask before she can take more than a step away.

“You smell good,” she says, turning. Her lips part, and something catches in my chest. “You took a shower after your workout. You always do.”

I’m taken aback that she notices. I haven’t even told her about going to the gym in the mornings.

“Christmas witch,” I say.

She gives me a half-hearted smile. “I’m getting you some food. You must be hungry.”

And again, there’s that warm feeling spreading through my chest. I watch her go, and when I turn to give my attention to Cynthia and Joe, they’re both eyeing me with smug expressions.

I point at Joe. “You snore.”

“I do,” he agrees. “Just so you know, I told Cynthia about the Santa cat.”

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