Page 81 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“I don’t disagree,” Jeremy says, “but we’ll all be around to keep an eye on her.”

I feel a swell of gratitude. I haven’t known a lot of people who’d bend over backward for someone they’re not bound to by duty or law. Maybe because all the people who were like that lived in Williamsburg, VA, for some damn reason. “Thank you, man. I appreciate it.”

We shoot the shit for a while. He tells me about his troubles. There’s not a lot of steady work as a trumpet player that doesn’t involve playing the same song multiple times a day, every day, until he’s bored of himself. I share a bit about mine, keeping things vague, for obvious reasons.

“Sorry, man,” he says after I tell him about falling out with my brother.

“So am I.”

We’ve been sitting at the bar for about forty-five minutes when a pretty blonde woman approaches Jeremy with a big grin on her face. “You’re the one from that video,” she says, then glances back at a table of four other women who are giggling. They look old enough to be drinking here, but barely. Seniors in college maybe, or grad students. It’s miserable outside, so cold your breath is foggy even before it leaves your nose, but there’s only maybe three sleeves among them.

“Sure am,” Jeremy says with plenty of swagger, his gaze tracking to the table and back.

“Do you care to settle a bet for me and my friends?” she asks.

“Anything to help a lady.”

She looks like she’s holding back laughter as she asks, “Do they give you a codpiece as part of your uniform?”

“No.” He waggles his eyebrows. “They absolutely do not. That was one hundred percent natural.”

She gushes laughter, then says, “Why don’t you two come join us at our table? We’d love a little company.”

I have no interest in sitting around with a bunch of barely legal women when there’s a chance that I could go home and possibly find Anabelle still in the parlor. I still think I should stay away from her, for her sake and also Grandma Edith’s, but she’s the woman I want. There’s no changing that. No substituting her with anyone else.

So I’m about to excuse myself, but Jeremy speaks first. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m here with my friend. But you do me a favor and share that video.”

Interesting. Cynthia’s question may have just been answered for me.

The blonde pushes her bottom lip out, probably hoping she can still convince him, but he says, “You have a good night now,” and she steps away from us.

He gives me a self-conscious shrug. “If that video goes viral…well, you never know. Maybe some brass band will want me.”

“Not into blondes?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

He swears under his breath. “Did Cynthia say something about me keeping her from dyeing her hair? Because, I swear to Christ, she doesn’t know how to do half of the things she thinks she’s an expert at. She’d probably fry her hair off. Besides, they’d fire her if it’s an obvious dye job. People didn’t peroxide their hair in the 1600s.”

I grin at him, knowing this means I have something good to tell Anabelle. I don’t know fuck all about Cynthia’s plans for her hair, but Jeremy just confirmed that he likes her enough to listen to her talk about them.

“Cynthia? No, man.Ihave no knowledge about Cynthia and her hair.”

He smirks. “No, you’re too busy drooling over Anabelle to notice.”

“The good things in life don’t come easy,” I say, not bothering to argue with him. We can both see right through each other, andeven though I don’t know why he’s holding back with Cynthia, and he doesn’t know why I’m holding back with Anabelle, that’s okay. At this particular moment, we share an understanding.

“I like you, man,” I say as I lift my glass to his.

“I like you too. Now, we gotta find you a job other than shoveling horse shit and seasonal work so you can stick around.”

Sticking around isn’t part of my plan, but for some reason I don’t correct him.

When I returnto the B&B, I’m disappointed to find the parlor empty.

It’s unchanged from this morning, not that I expected otherwise. We haven’t started the Great Santa Moveout yet, but I’ve already amused myself by thinking of where I’m going to hide the little fuckers for the scavenger hunt. Hanging from the vents. Peeking up from storage containers. Hiding behind plants. Of course, I’m not allowed to play with any of the valuable ones, but it’s open season for the ones on Anabelle’s list. I think adults might enjoy the scavenger hunt too.

I peer up at Grandma Edith’s photo.

I’m sorry, I want to tell her.I didn’t mean to fall for her, but I’m doing my best not to mess everything up. I’m trying here.

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