THE LUCK THIEF BY READY WRITER

Chapter 4: Ice and Vulnerability

Sunday morning arrived with three problems.

First: Nina's apartment building lost power at 6 AM, which meant no coffee, no hot water, and no way to check her email for the venue proposals she'd spent half the night drafting.

Second: When power returned two hours later, she discovered her laptop had somehow corrupted every file she'd created in the past twenty-four hours. Gone. All of it. Vendor contacts, venue options, the revised timeline for Sienna's wedding—vanished into digital oblivion.

Third: Maya called at 9:30 AM, panicked because their office had been broken into overnight.

"How bad?" Nina asked, already pulling on jeans and a sweater, her still-wet hair dripping down her back.

"Nothing's stolen, but everything's been moved. Like someone went through all our files and put them back wrong. Client folders are mixed up, contracts are misfiled, and somehow—" Maya's voice cracked. "Somehow every physical copy of Sienna Blake's wedding file is missing. The whole binder. Gone."

Nina's stomach dropped. "That's impossible. We keep backups."

"I know! But they're not here. And the digital backup you sent me yesterday? It won't open. The file's corrupted." Maya was clearly trying not to cry. "Nina, what's happening? It's like the universe is targeting this wedding specifically."

Not the universe, Nina thought, looking at the mark on her wrist. Magic.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't touch anything else. We'll figure this out."

"Should we call the police?"

"Not yet. Let me assess the damage first."

Nina hung up and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair a mess. The mark on her wrist glowing faintly, almost mocking her.

One good night—three hours of holiday market and genuine smiles—and the curse was already retaliating. Escalating. Making sure she understood the stakes.

Fix this or lose everything.

Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: How's the curse treating you this morning? - E

Despite everything, Nina smiled. She typed back: Like it's personally offended I had a nice time last night.

That's how it works. Push back, it pushes harder. Keep fighting.

Easy for you to say. You're not losing your business in real time.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: Need help?

Nina's finger hovered over the keyboard. She didn't ask for help. Ever. Help meant vulnerability, meant admitting she couldn't control everything, meant depending on someone who might leave.

But Ezra had already seen her at her worst. Had already witnessed her breaking down at the market, destroying ornaments, nearly face-planting on ice. What did she have left to protect?

Yes, she typed. Office break-in. All my files for the Christmas Eve wedding are gone. Meeting Maya there now.

Address?

Nina sent it, then paused before adding: You don't have to. I know you can't leave your area.

I can make it to Back Bay. It's the suburbs I can't reach. See you soon.

Twenty minutes later, Nina stood in her office, surveying the chaos.

Maya hadn't been exaggerating. Every file cabinet was open, folders pulled and reshuffled seemingly at random. Her desk drawers hung open, contents scattered. The wall calendar had been torn down, dates circled in red marker that hadn't been there before—all of them in late December.

But weirdest of all: nothing was stolen. Her laptop sat untouched. Petty cash was still in the drawer. Even Maya's expensive camera equipment remained on its shelf.

"This doesn't make sense," Maya said, hugging herself. "Why break in just to mess things up?"

"Vandalism?" Nina suggested, not believing it herself. "Someone with a grudge?"

"Against wedding planners? Who hates happiness that much?" Maya picked up a scattered folder. "And why target specifically the Blake wedding? Every other client file is just disorganized. Hers is completely gone."

Because the Blake wedding was on Christmas Eve. Because it was Nina's biggest client. Because the curse knew exactly where to strike to cause maximum damage.

"We'll recreate it," Nina said with more confidence than she felt. "We have vendor emails, the contract in our email server, the—"

"Boss." Maya's face was pale. "I just remembered. The backup drive. The one you keep at home with copies of everything."

Nina's hand went to her bag automatically. The backup drive that lived in her apartment safe, that she'd specifically retrieved this morning before leaving because she'd had a bad feeling—

It wasn't there.

"I have it," Ezra's voice came from the doorway.

Nina spun to find him standing in the entrance, holding a small black external drive. He looked even more tired than yesterday, dark circles under his eyes, but his expression was grimly satisfied.

"How did you—" Nina started.

"The curse tried to delete your work. But magic leaves traces. I followed them." He held out the drive. "Found this in a storm drain three blocks from your apartment. No idea how it got there, but I'm guessing you didn't put it there yourself."

Maya was staring at Ezra like he'd materialized from thin air. "I'm sorry, who are you? And how did you know where to look for something we didn't even know was missing?"

"Ezra Solomon. Friend of Nina's." He moved into the office, setting the drive carefully on Nina's desk. "And I'm very good at finding lost things."

"Friend." Maya's eyes went to Nina, eyebrows raised in a look that clearly said we're discussing this later. "Right. Well, thank you, mysterious friend who finds things in storm drains. That drive has literally everything."

Nina picked up the drive with shaking hands. It was damp, covered in street grime, but intact. If Ezra hadn't found it—if the curse had succeeded in destroying it—

"Thank you," she said quietly, meeting Ezra's eyes. "Really. This is..."

"What I said I'd do. Help you fight back." He glanced around the office, his expression darkening. "This was more than bad luck, Nina. This was targeted. The curse is escalating because you engaged authentically last night. It's trying to punish you, scare you into withdrawing again."

"Well, it's working," Nina admitted. "I'm scared."

"Good. Fear means you're taking it seriously." Ezra pulled out his phone. "But fear doesn't mean surrender. You have options. First: get that drive to someone who can recover the files professionally. I know a guy who specializes in data recovery. He's discreet and fast."

"I can do that," Maya said, already reaching for the drive. "I'll take it to him now. But Nina, you need to tell me what's really going on. This isn't normal break-in behavior. This is—"

"Complicated," Nina interrupted. "I promise I'll explain, but right now we need to focus on salvaging the Blake wedding. Can you handle the data recovery while I work on recreating the vendor contacts?"

Maya studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine. But you owe me answers. And probably therapy bills." She grabbed her coat and the drive, pausing at the door to give Ezra a pointed look. "Take care of her, mysterious storm drain oracle."

"That's the plan," Ezra said.

After Maya left, silence filled the office. Nina sank into her desk chair, suddenly exhausted despite the morning barely starting.

"She seems nice," Ezra said, wandering to the wall of wedding photos. "Your assistant?"

"For two years. She still believes in love and happy endings." Nina pulled up her email on her phone, starting to compile what she could remember. "I keep waiting for life to make her cynical. So far, it hasn't."

"Maybe she's just stronger than you give her credit for." Ezra paused at a photo of a couple kissing under fairy lights. "Do you ever go to these? The weddings you plan?"

"I attend for setup and teardown. I don't stay for the ceremony."

"Why not?"

"Because watching people make promises they can't keep isn't my idea of entertainment." The words came out harsher than Nina intended. She softened her tone. "I create the moment. What they do with it isn't my responsibility."

Ezra turned to face her. "You create beautiful things you refuse to believe in. That must be exhausting."

"It's practical. I'm good at logistics, at making things run smoothly. The emotional component isn't my job."

"Except now it is." He moved closer, leaning against her desk. "The curse won't break if you keep doing this—creating meaning for others while rejecting it for yourself. You have to believe in what you're building, Nina. At least a little."

"I believe in contracts and timelines and backup plans." Nina gestured to her destroyed office. "Love is chaos. It makes people irrational. It ruins carefully constructed lives."

"Is that what happened with David? He made you irrational?"

The question caught Nina off-guard. She looked up sharply. "How did you—"

"I pay attention. And you have a very specific way of talking about emotions—like they're weapons that might go off." Ezra's expression was gentle, not accusatory. "What happened?"

Nina wanted to deflect, to build her walls back up. But something about the way Ezra looked at her—patient, understanding, like he had all the time in the world to wait for her truth—made the words come anyway.

"David proposed eighteen months into our relationship. Christmas Eve, actually. Very romantic—snow falling, ring in champagne glass, the whole production." Nina stared at her hands. "I said yes because it made logical sense. We were compatible. Similar goals, similar lifestyles. He didn't ask for more than I could give."

"Emotionally, you mean."

"Yes. He accepted that I didn't do big feelings, didn't celebrate holidays, didn't want to get married on some significant date with emotional weight." Nina laughed bitterly. "He said he loved me anyway. That it was enough."

"But it wasn't."

"No. Six months later, he called it off. Said he realized he didn't want someone who could take or leave him. That my detachment wasn't strength, it was fear. That he deserved someone who could actually love him back, not just tolerate his presence."

Ezra was quiet for a moment. Then: "He was right."

Nina's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"He was right. Not about you being broken or unlovable—you're not. But about fear." Ezra's voice was soft. "You weren't protecting yourself by staying detached. You were punishing yourself. And him. Making sure neither of you could get too close."

"That's not—"

"Yes, it is." Ezra crouched beside her chair, bringing his eyes level with hers. "Nina, you've spent sixteen years making sure you never care about anything enough to lose it. That's not living. That's existing. There's a difference."

"Existing is safer."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, existing got you cursed. Got you here, terrified and alone, watching your life fall apart because you've been running from pain for so long you forgot how to feel anything else."

The words hit like physical blows. Nina stood abruptly, needing distance, needing air. She moved to the window, staring out at the Sunday morning street.

"My parents died because I wanted something too much," she said finally. "Because I made a wish, and the universe granted it at the worst possible cost. How am I supposed to risk that again?"

"You were twelve years old. You didn't kill your parents. An icy road and bad timing killed your parents." Ezra came to stand beside her, not touching, just present. "And whatever you wished for that Christmas—it wasn't worth their lives. But Nina? It also wasn't your fault."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Because I know what it's like to blame yourself for something you couldn't control." His voice went rough. "I made a deal to save my sister. Gave up everything. And she died anyway. For years, I thought if I'd just tried harder, researched more, found a better deal—but the truth is, there was no saving her. The leukemia was too advanced. Magic has limits. I was always going to fail."

Nina looked at him, seeing the pain etched in every line of his face. "How do you live with that?"

"Badly. I don't recommend it." Ezra's smile was self-deprecating. "But I'm trying to learn. That's what this is, for both of us. Learning that we deserve to be alive, not just half-present. Learning that wanting things doesn't make us responsible for every bad thing that happens."

"What if I can't? What if I'm too broken?"

"You're not broken. You're wounded. There's a difference." He finally reached out, the barest touch to her arm. "And wounds can heal, if you let them."

Nina's phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A text from Sienna: CALL ME. NOW.

"Duty calls," Nina said, grateful for the interruption, for the excuse to step back from the vulnerability threatening to crack her open.

She dialed, putting the phone on speaker.

"Nina." Sienna's voice was tight with barely controlled panic. "I just got off the phone with the Fairmont. They're saying the flooding was worse than initially reported. The entire basement level is destroyed. They're canceling all December events. All of them. Insurance will cover deposits, but—"

"But we need a new venue in twenty-three days." Nina's mind was already racing. "Okay. I have some options. Let me make calls, and I'll get back to you with—"

"I want to meet. Today. In person." Sienna's voice cracked. "I need to see that this is fixable, Nina. My followers are asking questions. The other vendors are getting nervous. My fiancé's family is flying in from London. If this wedding doesn't happen, if it's not perfect—"

"It will be. I promise." Nina caught Ezra's eye. He was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Give me until this evening. Six o'clock. I'll have a plan."

"Six o'clock. My place." Sienna rattled off an address in Beacon Hill. "And Nina? Don't disappoint me. I can't afford for this to be anything less than perfect."

The line went dead.

Nina stood in the silence of her destroyed office, feeling the weight of impossible expectations pressing down. Twenty-three days. No venue. A curse actively sabotaging her. And a Christmas Eve deadline that lined up perfectly with her deepest trauma.

"I can't do this," she whispered. "I can't pull off a celebrity wedding in twenty-three days while breaking a curse. It's too much."

"You can't do it alone," Ezra agreed. "But you're not alone."

"You're not a wedding planner."

"No. But I know people. And more importantly—" He pulled out his phone, scrolling through contacts. "I know someone who owns a historic property in Beacon Hill. Beautiful, intimate, very Christmas-appropriate. She owes me a favor."

"Why would she owe you a favor?"

"I helped her find her grandmother's lost wedding ring. Long story, involved a pawn shop and some creative negotiation." He hit dial. "Let me see what I can do."

"Ezra, you don't have to—"

"I know. But I want to." He held up a finger as someone answered. "Mrs. Chen? It's Ezra Solomon. I need to call in that favor..."

Nina watched as he worked magic of a different sort—charming, negotiating, somehow convincing someone named Mrs. Chen to open her private property for a three-hundred-person wedding on Christmas Eve with less than a month's notice.

"She'll meet with you and Sienna," Ezra said after hanging up. "Three o'clock today. Says she's been thinking about using her place for events anyway, and this could be a good trial run. Also, she likes you."

"She's never met me."

"I told her about you. She likes you anyway." Ezra smiled. "Mrs. Chen is my neighbor. She's also possibly a witch, definitely a romantic, and has a house that looks like it belongs in a Christmas movie. If anywhere can save Sienna's wedding, it's there."

Nina felt something dangerously close to hope flutter in her chest. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need help. Because I can give it. Because—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Because helping you helps me remember why I wanted to live in the first place."

The honesty of it stole Nina's breath. Before she could respond, her phone buzzed again. Maya: Data recovery guy says 6 hours. Most files are salvageable. Crisis averted!

One crisis, at least. Nina had about five more lined up behind it.

"Okay," she said, squaring her shoulders. "Mrs. Chen at three. Sienna at six. Which means I have—" She checked her watch. "—five hours to put together a venue proposal that will save my biggest client and my reputation."

"And then?"

"And then I meet you at Frog Pond for ice skating. Because apparently, even when my life is imploding, I still have traditions to complete."

"That's the spirit." Ezra headed for the door, then paused. "Nina? For what it's worth, I think you're going to be okay. Scared, overwhelmed, probably going to fall on your ass a few times—literally, given the ice skating—but okay."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you're still fighting. You could have given up, could have called David and retreated to safety, could have decided the curse wasn't worth the effort. But you're here, making plans, asking for help. That's not someone who's given up."

He left before Nina could find words to respond.

She stood alone in her ransacked office, surrounded by evidence of the curse's escalation, with an impossible deadline and a terrified client and twenty-nine more days of forced vulnerability ahead of her.

But she was also standing with a potential venue contact, a friend who found things in storm drains, and a tiny, fragile feeling in her chest that might have been hope.

Nina touched the mark on her wrist. It pulsed once, warm and steady.

Okay, universe, she thought. You want me to fight? Let's fight.

She had five hours to save a wedding.

And then—assuming she survived the venue meeting and the client crisis—she had an ice skating date with a man who saw too much and understood too well.

A man who was slowly fading while trying to help her come back to life.

A man she was starting to care about more than was safe.

Nina picked up her phone and started making calls.

Day two of thirty was going to be complicated.

But then again, she'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

Even when the challenge was learning how to feel again.

3:00 PM - Mrs. Chen's House, Beacon Hill

The house was perfect.

Three stories of red brick and black shutters, tucked on a quiet street lined with gas lamps and trees strung with lights. The moment Nina and Sienna stepped inside, Nina knew Ezra had saved her.

Mrs. Chen was exactly as advertised: elegant, knowing, and clearly delighted to be hosting this chaos.

"Ezra spoke very highly of you," she said, leading them through rooms that belonged in an architectural magazine. High ceilings, original moldings, fireplaces in every room. "Said you were someone worth helping."

"He's been very kind," Nina said, trying not to stare at the space. It was intimate but grand, traditional but somehow fresh. Everything a Christmas Eve wedding needed.

Sienna, for once, was speechless. She wandered through the rooms, touching walls, peering out windows at the small courtyard garden that would be perfect for photos.

"How many can it hold?" she finally asked.

"Comfortably? Two hundred. Push the furniture and bring in chairs? Three hundred." Mrs. Chen smiled. "I've been thinking about event hosting for a while. My late husband would have loved seeing this house filled with celebration again."

"It's perfect." Sienna turned to Nina, eyes bright with tears. "It's better than the Fairmont. More intimate. More meaningful. This is—" She laughed. "This is exactly what I didn't know I wanted."

Nina felt the knot in her chest loosen slightly. "So we have a venue?"

"You have a venue," Mrs. Chen confirmed. "On two conditions. First: I get to attend the wedding. I haven't been to a good party in years."

"Done," Sienna said immediately.

"Second: You let Ezra help with setup. He's been alone too long. Needs a project."

Nina met Mrs. Chen's eyes and saw something there—understanding, concern, a grandmother's worry for a boy who wasn't actually hers. She wondered how much Mrs. Chen knew about Ezra's curse, his slow fading, his resignation.

"I'd like that," Nina said. "If he's willing."

"Oh, he's willing." Mrs. Chen's smile was knowing. "Now, shall we discuss logistics?"

6:00 PM - Frog Pond, Boston Common

Nina arrived at the ice skating rink to find Ezra already there, sitting on a bench and lacing up rental skates. He looked up as she approached, and his smile made something flutter in her chest.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Your Mrs. Chen saved my life. Sienna's thrilled. Crisis averted." Nina sat beside him, accepting the rental skates he'd already gotten for her. "Thank you. For the introduction, for the help, for... everything."

"Mrs. Chen's been my neighbor for seven years. She was the first person who treated me like a human instead of a curiosity." Ezra finished lacing his skates. "I'm glad she could help. And glad you're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"Anywhere. You could have canceled, could have said the venue crisis was too much, could have taken the night to recover." He stood, offering his hand. "But you came anyway."

Nina took his hand and let him pull her up. The skates felt strange, unfamiliar. She hadn't done this since—

Since before. Since that last Christmas, when everything was whole and uncomplicated and she was just a twelve-year-old girl who loved winter.

"I haven't skated since I was a kid," she admitted, gripping Ezra's hand tighter as they moved toward the ice.

"Then tonight should be interesting." He stepped onto the ice smoothly, still holding her hand. "Come on. I've got you."

Nina took a breath and followed.

She immediately regretted it.

Her ankles wobbled. Her balance was nonexistent. She would have fallen in the first three seconds if Ezra hadn't caught her, steadying her with practiced ease.

"This is humiliating," Nina muttered, gripping his arms like a lifeline.

"This is learning." Ezra started skating backward—how was he skating backward?—pulling her gently forward. "Small movements. Don't fight it. Let the ice carry you."

"The ice wants me dead."

"The ice is indifferent. You're the one panicking." His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Relax, Nina. I won't let you fall."

"You can't promise that."

"No. But I can promise that if you fall, I'll help you back up. There's a difference."

They moved around the rink slowly, Nina clinging to Ezra while children half her age zipped past with effortless grace. It was ridiculous. Undignified. Completely outside her comfort zone.

And somehow—gradually, incrementally—she stopped hating it.

"You're smiling," Ezra observed.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You're also getting better. Look—you're not gripping my arms hard enough to cut off circulation anymore."

Nina realized he was right. She'd relaxed slightly, her movements smoothing out, her confidence building. She was still terrible, but maybe slightly less terrible than five minutes ago.

"I used to love this," she heard herself say. "Ice skating. My dad would take me every December. We'd come here, to this exact rink, and skate until my fingers were numb. Then we'd get hot chocolate and walk around looking at lights."

Ezra said nothing, just kept skating, kept holding her steady.

"He'd make up stories about the people we passed. The woman with the red coat was actually a spy. The man with the dog was a retired circus performer. Silly things that made me laugh." Nina's voice went soft. "The Christmas he died, we were supposed to come here. One last skate before the big day. But then I wanted that stupid toy, and everything changed."

"What was the toy?" Ezra asked gently.

Nina laughed, but it came out watery. "I don't even remember. Isn't that ridiculous? I blamed myself for sixteen years over something I can't even remember wanting. Some doll, probably. Or a game. Something completely forgettable that seemed essential when I was twelve."

"That's how desire works. It's not about the object. It's about the wanting itself. The belief that this thing, this person, this moment will complete you." Ezra's grip on her hand tightened. "Your parents didn't die because you wanted something, Nina. They died because of ice and timing and tragic randomness. The wanting was just being twelve."

"But if I hadn't—"

"If you hadn't, it would have been something else. A work emergency, a friend's crisis, a forgotten grocery item. Life doesn't need wishes to be random and cruel. It just is sometimes." He slowed their movement, turning so they were face to face. "You've been punishing yourself for being a child who wanted something. Don't you think sixteen years is long enough?"

Nina felt tears prick her eyes. "I don't know how to stop."

"Start small. Let yourself want this." Ezra gestured to the rink around them. "Want the ice skating. Want the hot chocolate after. Want the conversation and the lights and the small, silly joy of doing something just because."

"And if wanting leads to losing?"

"It will. Eventually. Everything does." His smile was sad but genuine. "But Nina? The alternative—never wanting anything to avoid the pain—that's not protection. That's just slow death. I should know. I've been dying slowly for seven years."

The honesty shattered something in Nina's chest. Without thinking, she let go of his arms and wrapped her own around him, hugging him in the middle of the ice rink.

Ezra froze for a heartbeat. Then his arms came around her, holding her steady, keeping them both balanced.

"Thank you," Nina whispered against his shoulder. "For seeing me. For understanding. For not giving up on me."

"Same," Ezra said quietly. "You're the first person in years who's made me want to fight instead of fade. So thank you too."

They stood like that for a long moment, two wounded people holding each other up on borrowed skates, surrounded by strangers celebrating a season that hurt them both.

And then Nina pulled back, wiping her eyes, trying to smile.

"Okay," she said. "Let's finish this. I want to make it around the rink without falling."

"Ambitious."

"I'm a wedding planner. Ambitious is my middle name."

They skated for another hour. Nina fell twice—Ezra caught her once; the second time they both went down in a tangle of limbs and laughter. By the end, her legs ached and her face hurt from smiling and the mark on her wrist had dimmed to almost nothing.

Over hot chocolate at the same stand from yesterday, Ezra asked about Sienna's wedding.

Nina found herself telling him everything—the vision, the pressure, the fear of failure. And Ezra listened, really listened, occasionally asking questions that showed he understood not just the logistics but the emotion underneath.

"She's not just worried about the wedding," he observed. "She's worried about the marriage."

"How did you—"

"I see wishes, remember? And hers is loud. She wishes she could be sure. That love was a guarantee instead of a gamble." Ezra sipped his chocolate thoughtfully. "That's why the perfect wedding matters so much. If she can control this moment, make it flawless, maybe the marriage will be too."

"But it doesn't work that way."

"No. But hope makes people illogical." He smiled. "Like going to a stranger's curiosity shop because someone told you it might help with a curse you didn't believe in twenty-four hours ago."

Nina laughed. "Fair point. So what's your professional diagnosis? Will Sienna's marriage work?"

"I have no idea. I can see what people want, not what they'll do with it." Ezra finished his chocolate. "But I think if she stops trying to control everything and just lets herself feel—really feel—she has a chance. They both do."

"Is that advice for her or for me?"

"Both. All of us, really." He stood, offering his hand. "Come on. Let's walk. I want to show you something."

They walked through Boston Common, past the lighted trees and festive displays, until they reached a quieter section near the Public Garden. Ezra stopped at a bench facing the frozen pond.

"I used to come here with Sarah," he said quietly. "Before she got sick. She loved feeding the ducks, even in winter. Would bring bread from home, insist the ducks needed it even though you're not supposed to feed them bread."

"How old was she?"

"Eight when she died. But she'd been sick for two years before that. Treatments, hospitals, hope that kept dying." Ezra sat on the bench, and Nina joined him. "The doctors said six months. We got two years. I thought that meant we'd beat it. That magic could finish what medicine started."

"But magic couldn't."

"Magic can do incredible things. But it can't reverse cellular damage that's already done. Can't remake a body that's been poisoned by its own blood." His voice was hollow. "The person I made the deal with—Octavia, though I didn't know her name then—she told me that. Said magic has limits. But I was desperate, so I agreed anyway."

"What exactly did you trade?"