Page 75 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“She did,” Joe says with a smile. “And it was so sweet of her. You’ll say merry Christmas to her for me, won’t you? Oh, never mind. Ryan and I will send her a card.”

With that, we strut right past them with the tree and the stockings and finish loading up the truck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RYAN

On the way back from Charlottesville, Anabelle, Joe, and I blast “Mr. Grinch” and sing along. People at red lights stare at us, which only makes me sing louder.

None of us mention the inspection, or Grandma Edith, or Weston.

Our good mood lasts all the way back to Williamsburg and continues as we set up the tree near the front desk, where the person-sized nutcracker used to stand. It’s enormous for the space, and its branches will be dusting up against Anabelle’s back, but she claims she doesn’t care.

The unfriendly woman in Room C has already checked out online and left a shitty review complaining about the blinds, of all things, so we help Anabelle clean out the woman’s room and then get Joe settled inside with his five hundred boxes.

“Is it weird that I’m happy?” he asks once we stack the final box. His room looks like a warehouse, but he and Anabelle are planning on setting up an office in theotherfirst-floor parlor, formerly a smoking room, where old dudes hung out and puffed on cigars while they talked about politics or whatever.

“No,” Anabelle says, braiding her thick hair at the base of her neck. It makes the slope of her neck look longer, andverykissable. Her temples are a little sweaty, and I wish I were one of those guys who carries around monographed handkerchiefs just so I could offer one to her. “You’re here with your friends, and you’re better off than you were with that man. He disrespected you, and lost your favorite shoes, and now you have a far superior boyfriend.”

I grin at them. “Hey, maybe that’s what I can do. I can offer people fake boyfriend services for the holidays.”

“Don’t you think people would catch on?” she asks, looking up at me, her eyes so big a man could easily get lost in them. “You’d become notorious in no time. It’s not a very practical business plan.”

“I’m not a very practical man.”

Her gaze captures me, and I feel the glow of being appreciated by her.

“Thank goodness,” she finally says, so sweetly that I feel like I just swallowed a handful of candy. My gaze drops to her mouth, taking in the curve of her lips, and I remember what they felt and tasted like the other night.

Like hot chocolate and heaven.

“Hey, can we pose for a Christmas photo before our inevitable breakup?” Joe asks, breaking the sudden tension.

“Only if you’ll send it to Aunt Bessie and all of your Charlottesville friends,” I tell him. “And I get to wear my Santa uniform. That’s nonnegotiable.”

“That’s a good idea,” Anabelle says, worrying at her lip. Turning to get a better look at Joe, she says, “We should also give Ryan some Santa Claus lessons before his first shift on Wednesday.”

“I’m going to get lessons from the experts?” I ask, amused.

“You probably shouldn’t get your expectations up,” Anabelle says. “I’m a terrible teacher.”

As if she could be terrible at anything.

“I don’t believe you, valedictorian.”

Laughter spurts out of her, escaping from her nose. “I wasn’t the valedictorian.”

“Don’t crush my dream.” I grin at her. “I liked thinking about you making a speech.”

Her mouth drops open. “I hate public speaking.”

“Still would have been cute. Besides, you love explaining things to people and showing them how to do things. You’re a natural teacher.”

“But I have no ability to make people listen.”

“Now you have Ryan.” Joe says, waggling his eyebrows at her. “He can stand behind you and look menacing. People will run around and buy you new shoes.”

“Damn straight, they will.” I wink at Anabelle and then leave the room, their laughter streaming up behind me.

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