Page 45 of That Time I Kissed My Brother’s Best Friend

Yet.

“I missed you so much,” she breathes, closing the space between us. This time she doesn’t leap on me, though. So I wrap my arms around her and breathe in her sweetness.

“Me too,” I say, feeling every inch of the distance that’s been separating us. Luckily, we’ve become experts at FaceChatting until we both fall asleep. Kasey always drifts off first, despite the time difference. What can I say? I’m a night owl. And sometimes I’m also a whole day ahead of her. So her nighttime is my morning. Either way, watching Kasey Graham drool into her pillow is my new favorite thing.

That is until I can do it in a bed of our own.

“I have something for you,” I say into her hair, and Kasey steps back, tipping her chin up. When our eyes lock, my heart flounders in my chest. This is it. The plan that’s been in the works for the past month: Operation Christmas Surprise. Or OCS as it appeared on my text thread with Brady, in case Kasey ever saw me texting her brother about it.

I glance at him now and cough into the crook of my elbow. Not subtle. “Ahem.”

Brady’s eyes pop. He caught my signal to leap into action. “Oh, yeah. Yes … All right … Ummm …”

Okay. My best friend isn’t so much leaping into action as stammering. “Hey, Mom and Dad. I need to talk to you in the kitchen. Right away.”

“Now?” Mrs. Graham protests. “But Beau just got here!”

“Yes, now.” Brady frowns. Which makes his mom frown. And his dad frown. “What’s this about, son?” Mr. Graham asks.

“It’s about … me borrowing money for some home renovations,” Brady says. “The Kellmans said while I was renting the place, I could knock myself out. Or knock out a wall or two. So yeah. That’s it. I want to bring their house into this century. I mean my house. Whatever. I just need cash, okay?”

“Now hold on a minute,” Mr. Graham says. “That’s exactly why we let you live here for so long after college.” He shakes his head. “Lots of pennies went into your savings account instead of paying rent. I saw a statement or two come through the mail before you moved. You have plenty of money in the bank. Or at least you used to. What did you spend it all on?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Or should I saywhom?”

“Brady has awhom?!” Mrs. Graham gasps. “Is that why you want to fix your house up? So you can have yourwhomover?”

“No, Mom. I don’t have a whom. Or a who. Or an anyone. No girlfriend. Nobody.” Why is he sputtering like that? “I just—” He widens his eyes even more. “I need to talk to you. That’s all…” His voice trails off, and Kasey must catch the drift of what Brady’s trying to accomplish, namely get her parents out of the room.

“Mom. Dad.” She smiles at them sweetly. “Could you please just go down to the kitchen?”

Mrs. Graham pats at her Mrs. Claus hat. “But—”

“Beau hasn’t tried one of your cinnamon rolls yet,” she adds. And no surprise, this lights a match under Mrs. Graham.

“I’ll make a fresh batch!” she yelps, grabbing Mr. Graham by the arm. “Phil, you come help me. You too, Brady. We might need more butter!”

The three of them hustle downstairs like a row of quacking ducks. They’re all crazy, but I sure do love those people. Almost as much as I love this woman standing in front of me. I wait a beat, then ask Kasey to close her eyes. She lifts a brow, and exhales.

“Okay, fine. I trust you.”

As I lead her to the stairs, she can’t stop giggling. It’s adorable. She’s adorable. And she doesn’t even know what’s in store for her. Once we get to the living room, I tell her to open her eyes. She scrunches up her shoulders and slowly lifts her lids. Then she tilts her head, blinking at the tripod camera that’s hooked up to the Grahams’ television with cables.

She cuts her gaze to me. “What’s going on?”

I turn around and look over my shoulder like I’m as surprised as she is. “I have no idea,” I say, in an exaggerated Santa voice. “So we’d better investigate.”

Kasey grabs my hand and drags me across the room. On the coffee table in front of the TV are a couple of remote controls with yellow sticky notes attached to them. The note on the left says READ ME FIRST in all caps. Kasey picks up the television remote first and reads the attached note out loud. “Turn me on,” she says, with another giggle.

I puff out a laugh. “I don’t think the remote means it likethat.”

“Either way.” Kasey shrugs. “Kind of bossy for a post-it.”

“The nerve,” I agree with her, arranging my face into a mask of seriousness. “But you’d better do what the note says anyway.”

Her lip curves up on one side. “Because Santa’s watching?”

“Something like that.”

“Fine.” She clicks on the television. I’ve already got it programmed for the camera to stream directly onto the screen.

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