The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Chapter 39

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

RYAN

Group text

Cynthia: Krampus has left the North Pole.

Cynthia: I repeat, Krampus has left the North Pole.

Jeremy: You don’t need to do that unless you’re on a radio, Cynth.

Cynthia: You’re no fun.

Jeremy: Not what you said this morning.

Ryan: What happened this morning?

Ryan: Also, when do you think he’s going to the station?

Cynthia: Krampus has gone to the ranger station.

Cynthia: Repeat, Krampus has gone to the ranger station.

Jeremy and I are drinking coffee in a park across from Weston’s house, both of us wearing dark colors and plenty of layers to keep from being noticed. We’re too far away to be heard and probably too far for anyone without perfect vision to identify.

Westie just walked in with two police officers, the three of them shooting the shit as if they’re bros headed out for a drink.

At least he’s not with the guy who arrested me last night.

“You think they’ll find it?” Jeremy asks nervously.

“Hell if I know,” I say, tossing my empty coffee cup into the trash a foot away from our bench so I can run my hands through my hair. I’m working on a few hours of sleep and starting to feel it. We took a chance, and if it doesn’t pan out, we may have just given the man who wants to ruin Anabelle and me exactly what he wants. I can’t stop fidgeting. It’s like I’ve been body-swapped back into my middle school self.

We sit around for fifteen minutes. Twenty.

“Is it always boring like this?” Jeremy asks, swinging his legs as he glances at the house, where nothing appears to be happening. It’s a modern house with small, slit windows and grey siding. Inside, there’s an open floor plan and minimalist furniture, which should take less time to search.

I fidget some more. “Yeah, mostly.”

It’s not totally true—the adrenaline’s addictive—but I don’t want to do my friend a disservice and lead him into a life of crime. This needs to be a one-and-done experience for Jeremy Jacobs. And my last act of breaking and entering.

Five minutes later, Jeremy leans forward, as if he can squint his way into seeing through the funky windows. “What are they doing in there? Watching home videos of the first time he ate spinach as a baby?”

“Is that what you do when you have people over?” I ask, amused.

“I’ll have everyone over after Christmas. You’re in for a treat.”

I laugh, but everything inside of me is still on alert.

“They’re gonna find it,” I mutter to myself.

Our mission went something like this…

Anabelle figured Weston would never leave the Santas lying around his house, knowing there was a chance the cops might ask to search it.

So we couldn’t break in and steal them back.

But we could break in and plant the expensive-ass ornament he’d hoped to steal from her, which she’d reported missing this morning, along with the other treasures that had actually been stolen.

And that’s exactly what Jeremy and I just did.

Once we got inside, which was much easier than he’d believed it would be, we argued for ten minutes about what to do with the ornament. I’d wanted to go for the bedroom closet, but Jeremy had pointed out there were already ten other black boxes in there, and if the cops did a quick search, they might not check them all.

Which was when it hit me.

Why take chances when we could hide it in plain sight?

Weston had a Christmas tree up, decorated like it had come right out of a box, with silver ornaments and white lights.

So we hung the little sweet gum ornament up in the middle.

It had felt right, doing that, as if Grandma Edith were guiding my hand. And, sure, maybe spirits don’t help people set up their fellow man, but he pushed us into it.

Now, it just needs to work its magic.

The ornament had looked obvious to us, but we also knew it was there. Most people aren’t fixated on Christmas the way my girlfriend is, so maybe they haven’t been trained to take a look at every Christmas tree and gingerbread man they come across.

“I’m getting nervous,” I admit.

Because if the officers don’t find it, and Weston does, he’ll have everything he wants.

Well, nearly everything. He won’t have Anabelle. He’ll never have her.

“Don’t get nervous,” Jeremy says. “Should we play Go Fish?”

“You’ve got a pack of cards?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I took one from the house. I figured we might need something to do.”

My lips twitch up. “I’ve created a monster. Sure, I like a good game of Go Fish.”

We try to play, but both of us have forgotten the rules, and neither of us cares enough to google it.

It’s another twenty minutes before it happens.

The door bangs open, and then Weston is marched down the front steps. No one has handcuffed him, but it’s obvious he’s not happy.

“Oh, it’s going down,” Jeremy mutters, grabbing out his phone and taking a snap.

Relief fills my cup. Until this moment, I wasn’t sure it was going to work. I mutter as much to Jeremy, who says, “It was Anabelle’s plan.”

He has a point, but it still relied on us to carry it out.

Jeremy sticks his phone back into his pocket and grins at me. “Come on, can I do it, man?”

I grin back at him and wave at a huge hemlock tree. “Let’s get behind that first.”

So we sidle up behind the big trunk, and Jeremy pulls his trumpet out of its case just before the car door closes behind Weston.

Moments later, Weston is driven away to the tune of “I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

When the car drives out of sight, Jeremy holds his fist out for a bump, and I give it to him.

“Let’s go home to our girls,” I say.

On the way to the inn, I stop at a discount store so I can pick up some replacement ornaments for the trees. Anabelle hasn’t said so, but I know it makes her sad to see them bare, especially this close to Christmas.

I haven’t given up on getting her things back, but if I can make her happier now, I’m not going to wait.

When we return to the inn, Anabelle swings the door open for us before we even clear the top of the porch steps. She’s so gorgeous, and as soon as she sees us smiling, she smiles back and gets even more gorgeous. Cynthia is right behind her, giving Jeremy a wicked grin, and we both try to enter at the same time, nearly getting jammed in the doorway before Jeremy laughs and pushes me inside.

I set the bag of ornaments down on the front desk, sweep Anabelle up into my arms, and twirl her through the air, the skirt of her green dress billowing out.

I kiss her joyfully, because I spent the last few hours worrying about the future, and now it’s feeling pretty okay.

Besides, she needs to be kissed. Everything inside of me demands it. Her lips open for me, and she wraps her arms around my neck, burying her fingers into my hair. Maybe she feels the need to reassure herself like I do, because it’s several seconds before she pulls back.

“It worked?” she asks in an undertone, her face inches from mine.

“We saw them take him away, and he looked none too pleased.”

I feel the air from outside cut off, signaling that Jeremy has closed the door, and my buddy says, “I serenaded him as they drove him away. It felt only right.”

“We don’t know what took them so long to come out,” I say, tucking a few strands of hair behind Anabelle’s ear.

Cynthia erupts into hysterical laughter, and Anabelle starts laughing with her.

“Come on,” my girl says through it. “Come into the parlor.”

As the others file down the hallway, I pause to grab the ornaments from the desk before joining them. Anabelle and I sit down on the sofa, and I pull her into my lap. Jeremy and Cynthia settle in beside us in much the same way, and he asks her, “So what’d you do this time, Trouble?”

“I made some Ex-Lax cookies, and Anabelle offered them to him. He took two. I’m guessing the effects kicked in by the time he got back to the house with the police officers.”

“Brutal,” Jeremy says, kissing her nose.

I hug Anabelle close to me. “How wicked of you.”

She snuggles in, and a feeling of deep contentment fills me. “Where’s Joe?”

She smiles at me. “I convinced him to take your shift at Curio.”

Holy smokes. He took off after one baby doll bumped into him, and now he’s going to hang out at the toy store for hours?

“He’s a good friend,” I say, feeling choked up again. Doubly choked up, because Anabelle’s not someone who asks for favors easily.

“He’s family.” She gives me a brave smile. “We’re all family.”

I know why she’s saying it, and my heart hurts for her. I kiss the side of her face. “We are.”

“There’s something else we have to tell you,” Cynthia says, sounding reluctant to share her news. “The reporter says she can’t run the story.”

Not ideal, but what I care about most is that Weston is, temporarily, behind bars. He’ll get out on bail, of course, but maybe the scare will be enough to get him to act right. He’s never been in a holding cell before, I’m betting, and I have a feeling he won’t like it.

Anabelle was hoping we could get the charges against me dropped, but I doubt it. I hit him in front of a cop. Not smart. And if you do not-smart things, you sometimes pay for them.

What I care about is convincing Weston that he’ll get nothing but pain from hurting Anabelle.

“We need the publicity,” Jeremy says firmly.

Cynthia turns in his lap, her eyes bright, and places her hands on either side of his face. “You’re going to do it, you big, handsome lug.”

“Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you get tagged in like five thousand reposts of your dick video? We can use that to our advantage.”

“You want my dick to make a video about the missing Santa Clauses?”

“No. I want the stardom of your dick to spread the word far and wide for us.”

He grins at her and then at us. “Joe’s not the only one who can take one for the team.”

Cynthia leans in and kisses him. “I’m the one who’s going to have to tell off another five thousand women in your DMs.”

“I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t make me hot.”

“Our thanks to all three of you,” I tell Jeremy with a grin, and he reaches out for a fist bump.

I give it to him, of course, and then we all get to work, making a big batch of videos for social media. We keep it about the stolen Santas and the sweetgum ornament without making any accusations that could bury us in deeper trouble. Then we spend the rest of the evening watching the views grow.

Slowly. Very slowly.

“That’s it,” Jeremy says, slapping his phone onto the parlor table. “I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame. I say we get drunk.”

“And I say we redecorate first,” I say.

Anabelle tips her head in my direction as I grab the bag I brought in earlier. “We’re gonna get your ornaments back, sweetheart, but in the meantime, I figured we didn’t need to keep looking at a couple of bare trees.

Her lips part a second before she says, “You really bought me ornaments, Ryan?”

“I’m learning to speak your love language,” I say through a grin.

“You are my love language.” She kisses me quickly and then takes the bag from me. Each time she pulls something out, she exclaims over it as if it’s the best thing she’s ever seen and not a crappy discount-store find.

She’s adorable, even if the ornaments aren’t, and we soon join her in decorating, finding the best places for the ugly ornaments.

We’ve been at it for a few minutes when we hear the front door open. We exchange looks, and I quickly survey the room for potential weapons on the off chance it’s someone who isn’t supposed to be here. But then Joe shuffles into view wearing my original Santa suit. The beard is light pink, and as he gets closer, we get a whiff of curdled milk.

“What happened to you?” Anabelle cries, getting up and going to him.

“Don’t touch me,” he says. “I’m disgusting. A girl threw her strawberry yogurt smoothie on me after I told her it was unrealistic to expect a real, live unicorn for Christmas. Her father told her to apologize…to him, for wasting the drink.”

I get to my feet and join Anabelle, clapping Joe on the back. “Thank you, man. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

He pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to me. “It’s from the lady with the bubble gum fixation.”

“Thanks,” I say, my heart beating a little faster as I take it. Those texts Ada sent me have been added to my memory loop of other people telling me I was a disappointment.

“I want you to know I didn’t fill in for you just because you did me a big favor,” Joe says seriously. “I did it because I’m probably the best friend anyone’s ever had.”

I grin at him. “You are.” Emotion fills me up until I feel like a balloon about to burst as I turn and look at each of them, ending with my Anabelle. “You all are.”

“Is it time to get drunk yet?” Jeremy asks.

“Yes, it is,” I declare.

We don’t actually get drunk, but we make Christmas-themed cocktails and light a fire in the hearth and talk and laugh and play Go Fish, because of course Anabelle remembers all the rules. Through it all, I can feel Grandma Edith looking down on us. I hope like hell she approves.

There’s a nagging thought in the back of my mind, a feeling of unfinished business, but tonight is just for Anabelle and our friends—as it should be. And when Anabelle yawns so hard her jaw cracks, I usher her upstairs.

I want to make love to her. I want to make love to her every single minute of every single day. She clearly needs sleep, though, so I gather her in my arms and wonder at the miracle I’ve been given. She knows everything about me, and she still loves me.

When she shifts and rolls onto her stomach, I let myself take out Ada’s card. Maybe she wanted me to open it on Christmas, but that’s the kind of rule I still can’t be bothered to follow. I open it and read:

To Hot Santa (yes, I have ears):

Sorry for misjudging you, kid. We all make mistakes, me more than anyone. Merry Christmas. I’ll be in touch.

In the morning, we wake up to another miracle.

One of Jeremy’s videos has over a million views, and there’s a message from the reporter saying she’s running our story at noon.