The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Epilogue

RYAN

New Year’s Eve

“They must almost be here,” I say, glancing at the clock. Eight p.m. I’m finishing the last of the appetizers—deviled eggs with cut bell peppers forming Santa hats.

Since we’re going to be a year-round Christmas B&B, Cynthia and I have been experimenting with Christmassy recipes, trying to one-up each other. We’d probably be doing it tonight if she and Jeremy weren’t at his mother’s “famous” New Year’s party, which he claims is only famous because it’s so boring everyone always gets shit-faced before nine.

“But we’re not going to,” he told me before they left, waving his trumpet case at me. Apparently his mother always makes him play in front of the guests, and has since he was ten years old. “We’re going to stay sober at this incredibly boring party so we can leave early and meet your brother.”

“You just want to convince him to pull pranks with me.”

“I do want that,” he said with a laugh. “But I mostly want to meet the man who had the misfortune of sharing a womb with such a scene-stealer.”

I’ve been living with Jeremy, technically, although I spend most of my time at the inn. So does he. His apartment is a perfectly fine two-bedroom with a view of the parking lot, but the B&B is something different. It’s home.

I was also going to work with Jeremy’s uncle—everything was settled for me to start in January—but Ada got in touch with me yesterday and said she’d talked to her “kid,” and he could use a reliable line cook at a Greek restaurant that’s a ten-minute drive from the inn. No experience necessary as long as I didn’t think I was above hard work.

If I didn’t think I was above shoveling shit or unclogging it from toilets, I definitely don’t feel like I’m above washing plates. So I’ll be doing that instead. The hours aren’t great, but it’ll give me plenty of time to help out at the inn during the day and to work out in the morning.

Cynthia’s father thinks he can get me out of the assault charges given the “interesting” nature of the case, in exchange for doing community service. And Ada told me about a program that supports foster kids. I’m gonna help with that whether the judge orders me to or not. Anabelle keeps telling me that things might have been different for Jake and me if we’d had someone on our side, and I think maybe she’s right. If I can be that someone for a kid, I’d be taking another step in the right direction. Making myself worthier.

As for Weston and Mr. Whitman…

They’re both out on bail, surprise, surprise, but Anabelle was able to get an emergency restraining order against Weston. All the same, I don’t think he’ll be coming around anytime soon. He cares about his public perception, and right now it’s not very fucking good. It didn’t take the internet long to put the pieces together—that he and Anabelle’s father were the ones who’d stolen the Santas and the ornaments, and Jeremy says he saw on social media that someone had spray-painted a Grinch on Weston’s car.

It wasn’t me.

It felt weird not to tell Jake about my new job and Anabelle and all of our friends. Especially Anabelle. That was what finally pushed me to make the call this morning, which just so happens to be New Year’s Eve.

Anabelle, who has spent the last hour trying to keep me sane, furrows her brow. “What if Jake doesn’t like me? I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before now.”

“Impossible,” I say, setting down the last deviled egg so I can grab her by the waist. She’s wearing a long-sleeved red dress with a tempting little skirt that seems like it was designed to be flipped up from behind. Imagining it is a good distraction from my own nerves. “My brother’s going to love you, and if he doesn’t, I’ll be the one who disowns him.”

Jake is coming today , even though he had plans and the drive from Asheville is seven hours. That’s a good sign, right? Most people wouldn’t drive that far just to tell someone who’d pissed them off to go fuck themselves.

When he answered the phone early this morning, and I said hey , he was quiet for a second, before he said, “Jesus Christ, is it really you?”

“Is that a bad Jesus Christ or a good one?”

“Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I figured you still might not want to see me.”

“Well, you figured wrong. I’ve been emailing you practically every day for months. Ever since you and the guys turned the tables on Roark. Where are you?”

Five minutes later, after I’d told him about Anabelle and the inn and he’d told me about his girl, Lainey, he said he had to go, but I’d better not fucking leave the inn all day, because he was coming. And he was bringing his girl.

Again, all of that sounds pretty good. But my body is jumping around inside my skin, and it won’t settle until I see him.

It’s been so long. So damn long. I hate that he hasn’t met Anabelle yet, and also that I don’t know his girlfriend. He says she’s the one.

I’m happy for him. Beyond happy. I know from experience that the love of a good woman can be the making of a man. But I don’t have to be the smart twin to realize what it means—he’s happy there, and I’m happy here. There’s no way I’m leaving Anabelle, and there’s no way she’s leaving Williamsburg. Which means Jake and I are not going to live in the same place anymore. You’d think not seeing each other for a whole year would have gotten me used to that idea, but it hasn’t.

Anabelle kisses me and then breaks away and leaves the room.

“Hey, isn’t it my turn to freak out?” I call after her.

But she’s back a few seconds later with a tumbler of whiskey for me and one for herself.

“Joe’s making a playlist,” she says with a soft smile.

There’s a full house at the inn this week—all four “free” rooms, including my former room, are occupied, but there’s space for Jake and Lainey because Joe has kindly offered to give up his room for the night.

I have a feeling Joe’s playlist probably isn’t going to be to my brother’s taste, or mine, but I’ll be damned if I don’t feel supported.

“You’re all too good for me,” I say.

“I guess that makes you a lucky man,” she replies, lifting her glass to clink with mine.

We carry the appetizer trays into the parlor, where Joe’s wearing the fuzzy Grinch sweater I got him for Christmas.

“Will I be able to tell you apart?” he asks nervously, glancing out the front window before shrugging. “I can’t see anything out there. The only thing I see is a reflection of myself. Speaking of which…I don’t like that I might not be able to tell you apart.”

“I’ve seen photos,” Anabelle tells him in an encouraging tone. “His brother doesn’t have a scar on his chin, and he’s not so…” She touches her shoulder and then expands her hands outward.

“Am I the Hulk?” I ask, laughing.

“Close enough,” Joe says.

That’s when the doorbell rings.

We all flinch. If Saint Nick were down here, I’m guessing he’d flinch too.

My gaze finds Anabelle, and she reaches for me, weaving her hand in mine. Thank God. We walk to the door together, and I open it, half-expecting it’s not going to be Jake at all, but the close talkers staying in Room C.

But when the door cracks open, I find myself looking at….well…almost at myself.

Jake grins at me and then punches me in the arm—only to immediately shake out his fist. “Goddamn, why have you been working out so much? You’re gonna make me look bad.”

I pull him in out of the cold, wrapping my arms around him, everything inside of me quaking. Because, fuck, I missed him. It was like I was missing a piece of myself, all this time, and now Anabelle can finally know all of me.

I squeeze him so hard, he laughs and nudges me further inside. “Come on, buddy. We’ve got to get Lainey inside.”

I finally register the person standing just behind him—a pretty woman with dark-brown hair, almost black, and bright-red lipstick. I let go of him and hug her next, because she loves my brother, which means I love her too.

“Come in,” I say, ushering them inside. “I want you to meet Anabelle.”

Anabelle’s standing by the desk, looking a little unsure of herself, so I hurry to her side and wrap my arm around her. “This is the love of my life.” I nod to Jake and his girl. “Meet Twin One, Anabelle.”

Jake laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and shakes his head. “Look at you, making me look bad. If I introduce Lainey as the love of my life now, it’s gonna seem like I’m trying to one-up you.”

“But it’s still true,” Lainey says with a smile. She looks around the foyer, grinning. “This place is amazing.”

Jake lifts his eyebrows, and I know what he’s thinking. I used to think it too.

We’ve rearranged the Santas, but there are still a dozen in this room alone. People kept on sending them after Christmas, from all around the country, and each time a package arrives, Anabelle says it’s like Christmas. We still haven’t been able to collect her old Santas, and won’t until Weston and her father take a plea deal or go to trial, but we certainly have enough.

“You get used to all of the staring eyes,” I say. “It helps when you give them names.”

He grins at me, shaking his head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Anabelle leans her head against me and wraps her arms around me. “This, Jake Langston, is Hot Santa.”

And, you know what? I like that title a lot more than “asshole.” I think I’m going to keep it.

There are a lot of details to work out, and I have a lot of making up to do with my brother. A lot of the past to go over and get over. But right now, right here, I have my brother and my girl, and I am truly, deeply happy. I’m in love with my life, and this new year is going to be the best one ever.

I have Anabelle in my arms, and with her, I can do anything. Even help save Christmas.