Page 36 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

“Sleepover time,” he murmurs in my ear. I grin.

Sleepover time.

This night and every night, forever and ever.

Merry Christmas to me.

Epilogue

On Christmas morning, I wake up alone.

After donning my thickest socks, I venture downstairs to find Baz and Frank, lying together by the Christmas tree. Frank is shredding the wrapping paper on one of the gifts I oh-so-carefully wrapped for Baz one night in my room. I’d had to kick both of them out for a few hours so I could focus, managing to get every gift wrapped perfectly thanks to Youtube, tape, and a load of prayer.

I lean against the back of the couch now, merrily watching as Frank decimates my wrapping in her pursuit of the big handmade bow on top of it.

The peace of the moment is broken by a pounding on the door. I twist, scowling at the Archie-shaped shadow in the window.

Whyis he always ruining my precious moments?

I stomp to the door, whipping it open to glare at him to his face.

“What doyouwant?” I ask.

“Just here to see how my favorite love birds are faring!” he declares, pushing past me into the house. I elbow him in the ribs as he passes. He wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me backward into the house, half dragging me while I scramble to find purchase on the slippery hardwood in my socks.

“Let me go, you little rat!” I yell, digging my nails into his forearm. He chuckles, then flings me by my head over the couch. I land with an irate shriek.

His head appears above me, a smug grin stretching his mouth, then it disappears as it’s yanked backward – hard. Ifind great satisfaction in the look of surprise he wears before he leaves my view.

Take that, rodent boy.

I sit up, turning to see what punishment Baz has decided to deal out. You won’t catch me missing out on a touch-her-and-die, that’s for sure. I am going to savor every moment of this, my favorite trope.

He has Archie in a headlock, feet off the ground, and I swoon a little when I see Frank laying serenely on his shoulder, watching the discipline. Her mustache twitches.

I hope she’s taking notes.

“This is how we deal with annoyances in this household, little one,” I tell her. “Learn our ways, that you may one day protect us as your father does.”

“Is this the thanks I get for giving you a wife, you brute?” Archie wheezes. I frown. Baz must not be squeezing hard enough if he can still talk. “I present to you both the best Christmas gift of your sad little lives, and I’m treated thus?”

The end of his sentence comes out as barely more than a whisper, and I smile big at Baz. He smiles back at me – tiny, soft, and so full of love. My heart swells.

I look back at Archie.

Ugh.

I mean, I guess hedidkind of help me out with Bazzy…

I sigh.

“Oh, let the boy go, Basil,” I say, eyes rolling. “It’s Christmas. We can kill him tomorrow.”

He nods, then drops Archie, who lands on the hard floor with a thud. He grunts.

“You two have theworstway of saying ‘thank you,’” he complains.

“Thank you for what?” Baz asks, crossing his arms as Archie rises.

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