Page 13 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

One Christmas tree is plenty.

Others have been more appreciative of the décor and less so of me—

Delightful holiday atmosphere, except for the stiff owner.

Owner is rude; decorations are lovely.

As usual, I have failed to please anyone.

“No,” Ryan says quickly. “It’s just…this was an important place for me. Your grandma and I spent last Christmas together. Well. Sort of.”

“You did?” I ask in disbelief as Saint Nick sits directly on top of my foot.

Grandma Edith had told me she’d spent Christmas with a friend, but I’d assumed she meant Cynthia, and she’d never corrected me.

Ryan’s jaw stiffens, but he nods at me. “I stayed at the B&B last Christmas Eve. Your grandma and I got to talking. She was quite the lady.” He angles his head slightly, his eyes scanning my face. “You were at your ex-boyfriend’s, I think.”

“Current boyfriend.”

“Ah, okay. Congratulations.”

I rub my nose, feeling a pinch of self-consciousness. Being in a relationship with Weston doesn’t feel like a cause for celebration. He’s just…Weston.

Jo tells me this is not the way a person is supposed to feel about their significant other. I’ve argued it’s natural for some apathy to slip in after over a year of dating. She contends that itisnatural…in the twilight of a relationship.

I suspect she has a point, but everything in my life has changed over the past few months, and the thought of altering my life further makes me want to curl into a ball.

“You must’ve been together awhile now, huh?” Ryan says as if he can read my thoughts. Or maybe it’s my face he’s reading.

Grandma Edith was great at reading faces. She’d know if someone was hungry or hangry or just mean, all by looking at their expression. It seems like an impossible art to me—a face is only a collection of shapes, after all—but her guesses were almost unfailingly accurate.

“Yes, for over a year.”

“And is he good to you, Anabelle?” he asks, leaning slightly over the desk, his tone low and intimate. His eyes are tawny, almost like the coloring of Saint Nick’s, and for half a second, I feel myself leaning in toward him.

Which infuriates me even more than the impertinent question. My spine stiffens. “That,Mr. Reynolds, is none of your business.”

I pick up a pen so I have something to do with my hands—and somewhere else to put my eyes. “I’ve reserved Room B foryou. Grandma Edith said that’s where she put you last time. How long would you like to stay?”

“Indefinitely.”

I drop the pen and look into his golden eyes.

“Don’t you have something to get back to? A job? Family?”

He flinches. “No. I’ve got nothing.”

“Do you have the money to pay?” I ask, then immediately regret it. It was an impertinent question. It’s just…people come here on vacation. They don’t stayindefinitely.They definitely don’t stay forever. “Uh…my grandmother said you might want to pay with cash when you leave.”

He chuckles deep in his throat. “I do, yeah. I’m taking…a sabbatical, I guess you could call it, from my regularly scheduled life.”

Frustratingly, he doesn’t offer an explanation for the strange arrangement. A weeks’ long stay would mean a lot of cash.

I take in a slow breath and blow it out. “I feel morally obligated to point out that there are cheaper lodgings if you’re staying for an extended period of time. No one ever stays here for longer than a week.”

“So maybe I’ll be the first.”

I study him for a second, smiling without really knowing why, before saying, “Well, you don’t have nothing anymore. You have Room B,indefinitely. That’s something.”

---