The Thief Who Saved Christmas -
bonus epilogue
Ryan
Christmas Eve, One year later
It’s business time.
I rap my fingers against the side of the desk as I watch the paper spit out of the printer.
“Did someone let you in here by yourself?” Joe’s voice asks. I glance over my shoulder and see him standing in the door of the It’s Christmas Again office, grinning. He’s wearing the Grinch sweater I got him last Christmas. Whenever he has that sweater on, he’s forty percent more of a wise-ass than usual. I’ve told him so, and he insists it’s my fault.
Joe’s more confident lately—part of it is the success of The Gingerbread House and It’s Christmas Again, both of which he’s co-running with Anabelle, but he’s also been dating a British doctor named Alfie, whom Cynthia has nicknamed “Hot Doc,” for three months. It’s going well, so well that Alfie is coming to Christmas lunch tomorrow, along with Jeremy and Cynthia, of course, Ada from Curio, and a few other friends. Jake and Lainey will be joining us for New Year’s again.
“Anabelle only banned me for an afternoon,” I say, capturing the paper, “and it wasn’t my fault. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
Joe snorts. “We were picking Christmas confetti out of everything for days.”
That was my bad. Anabelle and Joe both get stressed as hell at this time of year—doesn’t matter how much they love it—so I got them some Christmas crackers spring-loaded with confetti. Too much confetti.
“I know, man. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m just giving you shit because that’s my job.” He motions to his outfit. “Tomorrow I'm going to cut the roast beast for everyone. Except for Anabelle, obviously.” His gaze catches on the sheet of paper in my hands. “Hey… Is that—”
“Yeah,” I say, fighting the urge to hide it behind my back. It’s an updated version of the Santa Scavenger Hunt. We got Anabelle’s army of little red-dressed men back a few months into the year, and the entire collection is now so large and famous it was written up in Better Homes and Gardens. “I figured I’d have Anabelle run through it after she gets back from the post office. She said she’s down.”
“You moved the Santas right before Christmas?” he asks, and I can practically see him sweating. “When? Did you do it like a thief in the night?”
“Har-dee-har-har. And, yes, actually. But you don’t have anything to worry about. It’s…”
I trail off, because I’d actually like to tell him…
I’ve been keeping this a secret, but tonight’s the night.
I’m going to ask Anabelle to make an honest man of me.
It’s probably selfish to ask a woman to marry you when you’re a line cook with a shit salary and can only afford a ring that looks like it came out of a gum ball machine.
What can I say? I may not be an asshole anymore, but no one’s offered to saint me yet.
The only person who knows about my plan is Jake, because A) Jake doesn’t live here. B) He’s my brother, and I had to tell him. C) I needed help figuring out which Christmas-inspired ring to get on my non-existent budget.
Could I have asked Cynthia or Joe? Sure, and I’ve thought about it a thousand times, but if I told either of them, Jeremy would know too, and I have trouble believing that Cynthia, Joe, and Jeremy would all know a thing like that without Anabelle finding out. She may not like surprises, but I'm guessing she’d prefer not to be the last to know about our potential engagement.
The good thing about my plan is that Cynthia and Jeremy are keeping the guests busy this afternoon. The two of them formed a tour company at the beginning of the summer. They give Drunk History-inspired tours of Colonial Williamsburg that are insanely popular. I help out sometimes because they’re fun as hell. Jeremy offered to hire me, but I like my job at the restaurant too much to quit. Feeding people gives me a feeling of purpose. So does helping out at the inn and working with foster kids. Anabelle and I have discussed becoming foster parents somewhere down the line, after we get our own place—but the thought of moving gives her hives, which tells me it’s not time yet.
I pause, thinking, and then swallow.
“What are you doing?” Joe asks with a look of horror.
“Thinking?”
He doesn’t look less worried.
I sigh, make a split decision, and say, “I’m going to ask Anabelle to marry me. I hid the ring with the last of the Santas. What do you think? Is it a terrible plan? If it’s terrible, you should probably tell me now.”
He presses a hand over his chest, and for a second I think he’s going to keel over. Then he strides across the room and pulls me into a bear hug. “I’m so happy, I can’t speak,” he says. Which seems untrue, but hell, I’m not about to correct him. I hug him back and pat him on the back.
He pulls away and says, “Am I the last person to know about this? It’s okay if you told Jeremy first. I get that you guys lived together for, like, six months and are really close and everything, but you’ve lived in the room down the hall for me for six months, so really—”
“The only one who knows is my brother.”
He perks up. “Good. So what’re you going to do when she finds the last Santa?”
“I figured I’d get down on one knee and pop the question. You know, the standard.”
“I mean, do you have champagne? Did you hide the final Santa in a romantic place or, like, the bathroom? I don’t think she’d want you to propose in the bathroom. She really hates the scent of the toilet bowl cleaner you bought, but she didn’t want to say anything because she was glad you took the initiative.”
Damn, I probably should have talked to him about this sooner.
Anabelle
I run directly into Cynthia when I leave the post office.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned. Seeing her here is jarring. She and Jeremy are supposed to be running a tour for the guests at the inn, and I’ve never known her to bring them to the post office. The post office is just…well, the post office. Besides, she’s dressed in her colonial clothes, but she’s markedly alone, no sign of Jeremy and the guests.
“I thought maybe we’d gussy ourselves up a bit, what do you think?”
“So you left the tour to come get me at the post office?” I ask. “Did..uh…did something happen?”
She glances over her shoulder, but no one we know is in the vicinity. Just a bunch of exhausted-looking people getting in and out of their cars, some of them with mountains of packages.
“No, nothing happened,” she says at last. “Other than Mr. Eaton in Room C being handsy. Jeremy got pissed at him and put him in the stocks for, like, five minutes, but that’s not really abnormal. I just thought we could…you know…put something pretty on for Christmas Eve dinner later.”
I glance down at my Christmas sweater and sweatpants. “I felt like wearing something comfortable today. Besides, only family is coming to dinner.”
Only family meaning Cynthia, Jeremy, Joe, Ryan, and me. The guests all have plans of their own. I truly love Alfie, Joe’s boyfriend, but he’s not quite family yet. Meaning I don’t feel free to be fully myself around him. It’s not his fault—it’s just something I have to ease myself into with new people, and anyway, Alfie has to go to his mother’s house for Christmas Eve dinner. He’ll be joining us for Christmas lunch tomorrow, though, and Joe has already tried on five different outfits in anticipation of it.
It’s wonderful to see him in love with a worthy man, nothing like despicable Craig. All of the most special people in my life are in love, and it’s a giddy thing. Focusing on it helps me handle the grief that’s been woven into my favorite time of year—because my grandmother isn’t here to see any of it, and also because I’m still not talking to my parents. I think it may be a permanent breach, although Ryan tells me I don’t need to make any sweeping decisions—I can take it one day at a time.
Truthfully, I'm not a one-day-at-a-time kind of woman, but I suppose he's right.
“I got you a cute dress,” Cynthia says, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s your non-White Elephant Christmas present.”
“Oh, Cynthia, you didn’t—”
“Let’s go!” she says in a peppy tone.
I give her a sidelong glance. She’s acting strangely, even for her. “You left the tour because you want me to open my present early and put it on immediately?”
She plants a hand on her curvy hip. “Yes, you know how I feel about delayed gratification.”
“Uh, I think I’m just going to go back to the inn. Ryan hid the Santa Clauses again, and he wants me to run through the scavenger hunt before the guests do.”
“Anabelle, I will never forgive myself if I bought your dress in the wrong size. Please, for the love of God, come back to my apartment and try it on.”
She says it intensely, her whole body seeming to hum with purpose, and I’m aware that we have become a bit of a scene—people pausing in their hurrying to watch us. Prickles spread over my skin. “Fine,” I say. “Goodness.”
The desperation flows out of her, and she gives me a saucy grin. “Follow me to my place?”
I nod, a sigh slipping out of me. “I’ll tell Ryan I’ll be late.”
“Oh, he’ll forgive you,” she says with a wink.
“He seems to appreciate me regardless of whether I’m wearing fancy clothes.”
***
Admittedly, Cynthia has good taste, and she went to the trouble of choosing a dress with the fabric blends I prefer to wear. It’s green with brass buttons, and I have to say it looks quite nice, so when she suggests I wear it back to the inn, I comply. Especially since she promises she washed it before wrapping it up.
Before I get back in my car, she hugs me tightly, and to my shock and consternation, there are tears in her eyes when she pulls away.
“Are you okay, Cynthia?” I ask. “Did something happen with Jeremy?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. We’re doing great.” She takes out her phone to check the time, her eyes widening. “But I’d better get back to make sure he hasn’t put Mr. Eaton through anything else. You have fun, honey, and I’ll see you tonight.”
She hugs me one more time before pulling away. I’m baffled. I have the distinct feeling that I’m missing something, but I do want to get back to the inn, so I don’t press her. “I’ll see you later. Thank you for the lovely gift, although I don’t understand why I had to have it immediately.”
She gives me a mystifying grin and flounces back toward her car.
I watch her, perplexed, then get back into my car, turn the Christmas carols up loud, and head home.
***
Ryan is waiting for me at the door.
I know this because it bursts open before I can reach it. There’s a huge grin on his face, and my heart feels like it has grown another size—the same way it does every time I’m around my handsome man. It’s remarkable it still fits in my chest.
He’s wearing the blue sweater he gave me just over a year ago. I laugh a little, remembering how good it felt to slip it on that first time, and again, and again.
“Isn’t that sweater mine?” I ask, coming in.
He pulls me into his arms and twirls me around. “I think it’s ours.”
Then he edges the door shut with his foot and kisses me. I melt into him, needing this connection, needing the pressure of his body against mine to ground me after the stress of the post office. I pull back from his greedy mouth. “Let’s go upstairs.”
To my surprise, he steps back, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. I really need you to find the Santa Clauses. I’m worried I might have hidden them too well.”
As if anyone could hide anything too well for me to find it in this inn.
I cock my head and study him. There’s something…worried about his expression. Combine that with Cynthia’s odd behavior, and I’m concerned something is seriously amiss with my chosen family.
“Ryan, is everything okay? Cynthia ambushed me at the post office and was acting very strange. She made me change into this dress.”
He pulls back slightly and looks me up and down, the corner of his mouth lifting. “She did, did she?”
“Yes, I like it, of course, but it was bizarre. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“You look delicious.” He leans in and traces the neckline of the dress, his fingers smoothing over the tops of my breasts. “And you feel delicious, too.”
I eases back and prop my hand on my hip. “Anything else?”
He glances over my shoulder at the closed door, then grabs a sheet of paper from the front desk. “Yes, and it’s a surprise, but a surprise that’ll only involve the two of us and nothing public or embarrassing. If you tell me you still want to know everything right now, I’ll tell you, but I’d like for it to stay a surprise.”
I consider this for a moment before pressing my palm on his hard chest, over his heart. It’s thumping fast, and mine follows suit. What kind of surprise could this be? Last time he and our friends arranged a surprise for me, it was fifty-two Santas. A wonderful surprise, to be certain, but I doubt he’s replicated it this year. Maybe…
He’s watching me with such a warm, sweet expression that I can’t tell him no, so I take his hand and nod. Grinning, he gives me the scavenger hunt paper.
“I can’t wait to see what you think.”
It’s easy to find the first five Santas. One is hanging from the fan in the parlor, and I have to give Ryan a talking-to for using tape on a vintage 1970s Santa Claus. But he’s so sweetly remorseful that I end up laughing and kissing him.
I laugh again when I see the scene he set up in the kitchen—Santa, supervising a sugar-cookie-making operation by his elves. I smile at Ryan and squeeze his hand. “I love it. Should we put them in the oven?”
“Not yet,” he says, leaning in to kiss my neck. Sensation dances through me, and I’m tempted to try to convince him to come upstairs with me again, but I can tell there’s more, and also that he’s eager for me to experience it.
I check the list twice and see who’s next—a stuffed Santa I’ve had since I was six. He’s the last one on the front of the sheet. It takes me ten minutes to find him in a loving embrace with an elf pillow in the office. There’s a canister of hot chocolate and two mugs set above them, along with a little sign reading Drink me.
“Plot twist,” Ryan says with a wink. “Joe did that one.”
“He helped you with this,” I say, holding a hand to my heart so I can keep it within the cage of my chest. Joe know about this hunt, and Cynthia apparently thought I needed to be dressed up for it. Does that mean…
I swallow back the tide of emotions brimming just beneath the surface and glance at Ryan. He holds my eyes and then reaches for both of my hands, holding them. The Scavenger Hunt npaper is getting crinkled, but I can’t find it in myself to care.
“Is that it?” I ask, my voice coming out breathy. “This Santa is the last one on the sheet.”
Still looking at me, Ryan grabs a pen from the penholder and then takes the paper from me. He finally breaks eye contact so he can turn it over and scrawl something on the back. Glancing back up at me, he says, “I have to go.”
“What?” I squawk.
“Five minutes. Pour yourself some hot chocolate and then come look for the last one in five minutes.” With that cryptic remark, he hands the sheet of paper to me, and I look down at it.
Hot Santa.
My lips part as I meet his eyes. “Five minutes,” he repeats. Then he leans down and kisses me, sucking on my lower lip. He pulls away, eyes shining with mischief, and then slips out of the room.
He’s hot Santa, obviously.
I fill both mugs with hot chocolate, my hand shaking slightly. It smells like cinnamon whiskey, and I take a bracing sip of mine as I watch the Santa clock, whose second hand is one of Santa’s arms.
My mind whirrs as I savor the taste of cinnamon and chocolate. I may have trouble reading between the lines, but I’m not too dense to see what’s right in front of my face.
Ryan is going to ask me to marry him, and Cynthia found out, hence her feverish insistence that I change out of my sweats. As if Ryan would care about my outfit.
Yes, he’s going to propose.
I think.
I…hope.
I hope he’s going to ask me to marry him.
My heart continues racing as it occurs to me that that’s the reason for the five-minute delay. If I’m lucky, he’s also putting on his Santa suit, but I’m guessing he wanted to give me time to process what’s happening and decide on a response.
As if there could ever be any answer but yes.
Still…I wait the full five minutes, drinking my hot chocolate, and letting myself soak in the profundity of this moment. I can tell I’m going to want to relive it and share it with our children someday.
When Santa’s big arm comes around the final time, I gather the other cup of hot chocolate and carry them both into the parlor. I see his back first, because he’s angled toward the tree. No, he’s looking at Grandma Edith’s portrait. My heart fills with warmth, and I pad toward him so quickly I trip on the carpet—and get lukewarm hot cocoa all over my new dress. Again. I right the mugs but not until it’s much too late.
I laugh at my own clumsiness, then laugh even harder as Ryan swears and hurries up off the couch, tugging his Santa coat off. Without a second thought, he tugs off the familiar blue sweater and hands to it to me. “Maybe a part of me knew,” he says with a crooked smile. “Put it on, sweetheart. I know you hate having wet fabric next to your skin.”
“I can’t just take off the dress, Ryan,” I say, sounding scandalized to my own ears.
“But it’ll be long enough to cover you.”
He’s right, so I hurry over to the windows and pull the shades before pulling his sweater over my head and waist and then unfastening the dress and pulling it off through the neck hole.
Ryan watches me with appreciation—and I’m watching him with appreciation, because his sculpted chest and arms are on display, but he’s still wearing his red Santa pants. It’s uncomfortably sexy, especially since we’re in one of the common spaces at the inn. Logically, I know all the guests are away, and Cynthia and Jeremy must be purposefully detaining them, but even so…
I swallow, taking him in, then decide there’s one thing that could make the sight even better. “Put the jacket back on.”
He grins at me as he does, leaving it open over his gorgeous chest. I'm awash with the feeling of something epic happening. Something I’ll always remember. And then he gets down on one knee and pulls a box out of the pocket of the jacket.
I lift a quivering hand to my throat, where it feels like a ball of emotion is firmly lodged.
“Anabelle Edith Whitman,” he says, popping the box open to reveal a small white gold band that forms a bow, a red stone in the middle. “Will you do me the honor of being my w—”
“Yes,” I blurt. “Yes, and you should probably sit down, because I’m going to collapse on top of you."
“Please do,” he says, beaming at me, and then sits down on the floor and tugs me down with him. I straddle his lap, facing him, and take the ring from the box and put it on my finger.
“I’m so happy,” I say, tears pressing against my eyes. “I can hardly take it.”
“You'll manage,” he tells me, tracing my cheek and then leaning in to kiss it. “And can I just say, thank God. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you said no. I’d probably have to crawl into a hole and ask Joe to bury me. You know…I only told him earlier today. It must have taken him all of five minutes to tell Cynthia. But I have to admit he had some good ideas for what to do with the Santas.”
My heart gets even larger. So large it feels like my whole universe is revolving around it. “Of course I said yes.” I lean in to kiss him, needing to feel his lips on mine. “There is no world in which it would not be an enthusiastic yes.”
He groans and presses a hand to my back as I wrap my legs more tightly around his waist. “And do you feel the same way about making love in front of the Christmas tree?”
“Is there any chance they’ll bring the guests home before we’re done?”
“None,” he says with a grin, rocking me against him with a gentle motion. “Joe joined them, and he promised he had at least twenty distractions in mind.”
I run my hand under the velvety jacket, feeling like the luckiest woman alive for a several reasons. The primary one being that Hot Santa is mine, and I get to keep him. “Then I have no objection at all to having some fun under the Christmas tree.”
After all, it was Christmas that brought us together.
Still…a woman has her limits.
“But let’s take down Grandma Edith’s photo until after we’re done.”
He grins at me. “Your word is my command, Mrs. Claus.”
Looking for your next read? Check out the Unlucky in Love series! Ryan's brother Jake is one of the heroes-
The Love Fixers
The Love Bandits (this is Jake's book! They're interconnected standalones, so you can jump in anywhere)
The Love Losers
The Love Destroyers
Available 2/3 to 2/5:
Apple, Nook, Kobo, Google Play
Available 2/6 on Amazon and KU: