Page 76 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Upstairs, I change into my Santa costume, putting on the beard that Anabelle says looks like something rats would use for nesting, and meet them down in the parlor.

Anabelle takes some photos of Joe and me in front of the tree, hamming it up for the camera, and then she moves an armchair in front of the fireplace and declares it’s time for my Santa lessons.

I’ve barely lowered into the chair when Joe says, “You’re too jacked. You need a pillow.”

He grabs one from the couch and throws it at me.

I stuff my new bowlful of jelly under my Santa jacket. “Better?”

“Say something as Santa,” Anabelle says, propping a hand on her hip. She’s still wearing the task-inappropriate red sweater dress, although there are a few smudges of dust across it from moving the boxes. Her hair has escaped the braid she didn’t bind with an elastic, and is now running wild across her neck.

I want to run my hands through it and feel the weight of it in my fingers again.

“Well?” she says expectantly.

“Have you been a good girl?” I ask, the words coming out a little more sultry than they should. A blush heats up her cheeks, and damn, she’s adorable. “Should you come sit on my knee?”

She looks away, her cheeks flaming. “You’re an abominable flirt, and it’s unspeakable for you to do it in front of your boyfriend. Now ask Joe what he wants for Christmas.”

I force myself to look away from her, my gaze landing on Joe, who mouths something that looks suspiciously likeSanta cat.

I roll my eyes. “And what wouldyoulike for Christmas?”

They tell me my voice doesn’t sound very Santa-like, which isn’t a big surprise given the way I bombed the Colonial Williamsburg interview. I try again, dropping my voice an octave.Too menacing. And again, trying to sound singsongy, like someone talking to a baby.Just no, although both of them laugh.

Anabelle’s brow furrows, but she’s not a woman who gives up easily. “Maybe we should try going back to the beginning,” she says.

“Should I climb up the chimney?” I ask.

Joe coughs a laugh. “I’d like to see that.”

“So would I,” Anabelle says. “But no, I was thinking we should practiceho ho ho.”

She looks dead serious, so I rest a hand on my pillow stomach and give it my best. “Ho ho ho.”

Joe makes a doubtful face at Anabelle. “It’s not supposed to sound sexy.”

“You’re right,” she says thoughtfully, observing me in a way that makes me feel hot behind the ears. “Try not to make it sound sexy, Ryan.”

Hearing her say sexy and my name in the same sentence is hardly putting me in a chaste mindset, but I clear my throat and try again. “Ho ho ho.”

They exchange another look, and Anabelle says, “You know, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. All of the mothers will want to come see him.”

“Hot Santa,” Joe agrees with a nod.

“Hot Santa,” she repeats, taking me in. I’m suddenly uncomfortably turned on…and very thankful for the pillow gut.

“Can I go change now?”

Anabelle meets my gaze, and more blood pulses down south. “If you must.”

We spendthe rest of Sunday night pretending to relax before the inspection. I suggest a Christmas movie, which turns into us airingA Christmas Storyin the main parlor. Anabelle has the guests’ phone numbers from check-in, so I text them an invitation to join us. Two of them actually come. They settle onto the love seat that sits catty-corner to the main sofa, where Joe, Anabelle, and I lounge together, me in the middle. About half an hour in, I notice that Anabelle’s eyes are getting heavy.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s fast asleep and leaning on my shoulder. I’m tempted to sit like that for the rest of the movie, because it feels damn good, but I can tell how exhausted she is. Each time the dad in the movie shouts, her eyes flutter open and she glances at the screen for half a second before they close again.

So I gather her up in my arms and bring her up the stairs, making a point of avoiding eye contact with Joe.

When I get to Anabelle’s room, I open the door and then push it inward with my foot. Saint Nick scurries out before following me back inside, his whiskers twitching as I lower Anabelle onto her bed.

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