Page 93 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“But he says he’s not involved in whatever it was anymore?”

“That’s what he says,” I start, then add more firmly, “and I believe him.”

Joe grabs a candy cane from the old pencil cup behind my laptop and starts to unwrap it.

“I wouldn’t eat that one if I were you,” I say. “It was in here when I moved into the room, and Grandma Edith used to store candy canes with her other Christmas decorations. For all we know, it could be several years old.”

“I don’t care, this conversation calls for sugar.” He sticks it in his mouth and makes a face. “Okay, maybe I care. It tastes like a frankincense and myrrh candle smells.”

The candy cane goes into the trash.

Joe pushes out his lips, then says, “I still like Ryan.”

I sigh. “I do too. A lot. I’veneverliked a man this much.”

“Good to know,” he says with a glimmer of dry humor.

I give his shoulder a gentle shove. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. And I don’t think you should let his past hold you back. You know, we all have our faults. I used to watchFull Housereruns as an adult.”

“Well…it was wholesome, I guess.”

“It made me cry.”

“Oh, Joe,” I say, thinking of his family, who threw him out because they couldn’t accept him. How awful that must have been. My parents have never really accepted me, but they didn’t throw me out or disown me, and I always had my grandmother to give me the warmth they never offered. “You have a family here. We’ll be your family.”

He pulls me into a hug, and I feel tears pressing the backs of my eyes. “Maybe Ryan needs a family too,” he says.

I think of his twin brother. Of his parents, who abandoned him, and his boss, who left him with a scar and made him do things he’s ashamed of.

Some of the tears start falling, and I say, “I think maybe you’re right.”

That afternoon,I drive Ryan to the toy shop. Joe tags along and the two of us do our best to build him up, even though he doesn’t seem nearly as nervous as we are for him. He’s wearing the Santa costume I bought him, and seeing him in it makes me feel…possessive. I like that he’s dressed in something I got for him. I like that I placed a mark on his neck too. It’s hidden, thankfully, by the collar of his Santa suit, butIknow it’s there.

About halfway there, Ryan, who is the front passenger, since I mistakenly thought he’d be the anxious one and thus should not drive, looks out the back window and says, “Is that car following us?”

Okay, so maybe he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.

“Which one?” I ask, checking my mirrors. There’s a large white van that promises whiter smiles from The Dental Warehouse, followed by a black Kia and then a little silver Honda Fit.

“The Fit.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe they’re just going the same way.”

He grunts, but his gaze doesn’t stray from the window until we take a turn and the Fit doesn’t follow us.

“I can tell you’re nervous,” I say. “But you’re going to do great. Word will spread far and wide about Hot Santa.”

“Will you be jealous?” he asks, giving me a sidelong look.

“Horribly.”

When we arrive, we are greeted by the toy shop owner, Ada, who doesn’t look at all like I’d imagined her. She has a harsh voice, an all-denim pantsuit, and is chewing an enormous wad of bubble gum. There is a clapboard sign set up outside of the shop reading:Santa visit, 3 p.m.

“You brought adult friends,” she says. “Fantastic. Do you have any children in your lives?”

I don’t know whether she’s being sarcastic and actually wants us to leave or is just teasing. Either way, I’m sticking around.

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