Page 74 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Joe looks around the apartment like a bloodhound, and once he’s verified that they’re really gone, he wraps his arms around Ryan and hugs him. My heart feels like it’s on the verge of bursting, seeing these two men who mean so much to me hugging. “Thank you. Oh, my God. I almost burst out crying. Jesus, that would have been embarrassing. He’s such anasshole, but you humiliated him. You…oh God, no one’s ever done anything like that for me before. Ever.”

Ryan pats him on the back. “I can still hit him for you, if you want. He did you dirty.” He gestures to the tree. “But I say we take the tree and call it done.”

Wonder threads through me, like tinsel twining with my soul. “You want to be the Grinch?”

He grins at me, his whole face taking part in the expression. “Itwasmy favorite children’s book. And that guy messed with Joe. He deserves to lose Christmas privileges for the year.” He nods at Joe. “Besides. I’m guessing it’s yours, isn’t it?”

Joe nods, looking shell-shocked but not displeased.

Ryan turns his grin on me again. “It’ll fit in the truck.”

He’s right. They only had the larger size available at U-Haul, so they upgraded us without upping the charge.

“I think we could use a second tree at the inn,” he adds. “This one could go behind the reception desk. That way you could always be within sight of a tree, Anabelle.”

In response, I take out my phone, plug in a quick search, and seconds later, “Mr. Grinch” is playing over my speaker. Ryan’s laugh is full-bodied, and I find myself noticing him in a way I shouldn’t. Wanting to lean into him and rub up against him the way Saint Nick does now.

I try telling myself I’m not interested in Ryan and that the kiss was a blip, a mistake, an uncharacteristic moment of putting impulse before logic.

I just broke up with my boyfriend, and if Weston and I were too different, than Ryan and I certainly are. He’s also only here temporarily—and my heart has nothing temporary about it. It has such a hard time letting people go that I stayed with Weston six months longer than I should have.

All of that is true, but also…

Ryan is a person you can’t help but notice. He gives out more light and heat than other people. He is more like the star on top of a tree than I will ever be.

Joe must be feeling it too, because he grins. “Let’s do it.”

Ryan reaches for the six-foot Christmas tree as if he’s going to grab it by the stand and rip the lights free of their outlet, but I give an aghast sigh, echoed by Joe.

“Those ornaments need to be wrapped and boxed!” I object.

He gives me an indulgent smile. “Oh, all right, but it takes away from the dramatic gesture.”

We get the ornaments boxed and loaded, then Ryan lifts the tree, still strung with lights and garland, by himself.

“Don’t forget the stockings that were hung by the chimney with care,” he says with a wicked grin. He’s teasing us, which is nothing new—a person who has a special interest in Christmas isused to being mocked—but he’s doing it as if we’re all in on the joke.

“Should I take Craig’s stocking too?” Joe asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Deanwaswearing your sweater,” I say.

“Agreed,” Ryan says, still holding the tree. He’s doing it one-handed, showing off, but I’m not annoyed by it. In fact, I’d like to take a photo of him like this—holding a tree one-handed—and frame it. I could hang it next to my grandmother’s photo in the parlor.

“Wait!” I say, then get out my phone and snap the photo while he beams at me.

We’re heading back to the car, Joe carrying the stockings in plain sight while Ryan strongarms the tree, when Craig and Dean return, a shopping bag slung over Craig’s arm.

His eyes widen at the sight of the pilfered stockings and the tree. “Wha—”

“We got you a new pair of Crocs,” Dean says, grabbing the bag from him and shoving it at Joe. “Your size and everything.”

Ryan gives them a dark look before glancing at Joe. “Are you okay with that resolution, Joe? Or were you attached to the old pair?”

Joe takes a second to consider, then nods. “Let’s get out of here.”

“But…my aunt Bessie made us those stockings,” Craig says, his tone plaintive.

I’m hoping Joe doesn’t back down. I’ve realized it feels damn good not to back down, and I want that for him.

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