Page 73 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Sunday, December 7, 18 days until Christmas

Inappropriate crushes: 1

Ryan is magnificent.

There’s no other word for it.

I have plenty of other words for Craig: scallywag. Putz. Pillock. Ninnyhammer. Unprincipled heel.

But now he’s gaping at Joe, his attempted cruelty yanked out from under him like a thin rug, and it’s a glorious moment.

Even Joe, who’s clearly cut to the core by the sight of his ex-boyfriend of two years canoodling with his “just friends” co-worker, clearly feels the glow of it. A humiliation turned into a victory. Because Ryan is so clearly superior to both Craig and Dean that there can be no arguing as to who came out ahead in this breakup.

“And who, exactly, are you?” Craig finally asks, a sour expression on his face as he regards Ryan—taking in all of his Ryan-ness. He’s wearing a black henley shirt, having left his coatin the car, and it hugs his muscles, providing a tantalizing peek of the ink at his wrist.

His gaze shifts to Joe before settling back on Ryan, who grins. “I’m Ryan. He hasn’t told you about me yet?” He gives Joe a fond look. “You know, we were just friends up until the other day, when you threw him out. He was looking for some consolation, and I figured my moment had finally arrived. Thanks, man.”

“But I’ve never heard of you before,” Craig says, still standing in the doorway. Dean looks confused.

“Because I had feelings for him,” Joe rebuts tightly. “I was fighting them, but then I figured, why keep fighting?” He nods at me. “And this is Anabelle.”

“Anabelle, huh? I still don’t think she exists. Did you hire these people to come help you?” Craig scoffs. “We both know you don’t have any real friends.”

Ryan spears him with a look. “And didyouhire this dude to steal my boyfriend’s sweater?”

“No,” Dean says, coughing. “It was…uh…a mistake.”

“You’re damn right it was a mistake,” Ryan says, shifting his glare to Craig. “And were you aware it’s illegal to change the locks on someone who’s on the lease? You’re lucky we didn’t show up with one of the boys in blue. I hope for your sake you didn’t commit any other theft. My main man here keeps everything inventoried. If even one item is missing, you’ll be answering for it.”

Craig backs up abruptly, tripping over a Crocs shoe and nearly taking a tumble.

Joe steps forward and grabs the shoe. “That’s mine.”

Ryan pushes his way into the apartment, and I follow them inside. It opens into the living room, with an open kitchen on one side and a hallway across from the door, presumably leading to the two bedrooms and bathroom Joe has told me about. Asix-foot Christmas tree presides over the living room, covered in garland, lights, and ornaments. The sight of it makes me gasp. Joe doesn’t have any of his truly expensive ornaments displayed, but there are a few vintage glass ornaments I remember him buying at auction.

Craig and Dean are standing on the opposite side of the living room, facing off with us as if we’re an insurgence, and they don’t know whether to try to crush us or hoist the white flag.

“Where’s the other Croc, Craig?” Ryan asks, a threat underlying his words. His gaze shifts to Dean. “And he’ll take his sweater back too.”

Dean immediately removes it. He’s wearing an undershirt, thank goodness.

Craig clears his throat. “I don’t know where the other Croc is.”

“Then I’d suggest you find it,friend,” Ryan warns.

I’m torn between a sense of wonder and unease. Ryan is legitimately menacing, but he’s doing it in preservation of Joe, who absolutely cannot defend himself and agonized for a week after accidentally killing a spider in his bathroom. It reminds me of the way Ryan stood up for me that first day, when Weston tried to follow me into my bedroom.

A defender.

A knight.

Not a gallant knight, though—more like one dressed in leather and spewing swear words.

I feel a swell of cautious affection for him.

I feel a much less cautious swell of attraction. It was impossible not to notice Ryan before I kissed him, but now I can’t stop. Every moment brings me more of him—his muscles, the way his face lights up when he laughs, and his magnificent eyebrows, which are three or four shades darker than his caramel-brown hair. His kindness. Hismagnetism—a qualitythat I’ll never have even if I study it academically for four lifetimes.

Joe leads us to the second bedroom, from which he ran his business, and Ryan urges him to inventory his belongings before we carry them down. He reports that all is present and accounted for, and we start bringing boxes down to the truck—Ryan taking two or three, Joe and I one each. The first time we go down, we see Craig searching around the sink; the next, in the far-right corner of the apartment under the Christmas tree, while Dean buzzes through the bathroom. The third time, they’re gone.

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